Page 74 of Summer After Summer

I hear another noise from Charlotte’s room. It’s Ann in there, enjoying herself by the sound of it. Good for you, Charlotte. Go for it.

“Unclear.”

“Why?”

“In case you forgot, my birthday hasn’t always worked out so well for me when Fred’s around.” I back farther away from Charlotte’s door and head toward the stairs. If I’m going to see Fred, it’s not going to be in these dust-stained clothes.

“One time …”

“Yeah.”

“Your next birthday was okay, though, wasn’t it?”

“Sure … a broken rib, a summer that ended with a broken heart.”

“Okay, okay.” Ash clucks her tongue. “Third time’s the charm?”

“More like fifth time.” I release a laugh. “Are you going?”

“Yep.”

“Any room at your table?”

“I’m stuck with a bunch of old boring people, but maybe I can fix something.”

I reach the third floor. It’s blissfully cool. “Thank you for the air-conditioning, by the way.”

“They came?”

“Yes, thank God.”

“Good. It’s on me. Your birthday present.”

“Thank you.”

“Happy to help.”

I go into my room and do a mental inventory of the outfits I brought with me. Nothing appropriate comes to mind, so I go to the closet. It’s full of the things I left behind when I moved out at twenty-two. “Maybe there isn’t even a seat for me.”

“Sorry to say I’m pretty sure there is. Charlotte bought a table weeks ago.”

“Sigh.” I flip through the dresses, a paved road down memory lane. I stop on one. The dress I wore to my birthday dinner when I turned sixteen. “Fuck it.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We say goodbye and hang up. I take the dress and slip the hanger over my head, then stand in front of the full-length mirror. I look a lot more like myself than when I arrived. Color has returned to my cheeks from the daily exercise, and I don’t seem so haunted now that I’m eating regular meals and drinking less, despite last night. The dress suits me—it always has—and it feels like a small act of defiance to wear it.

Little victories.

“And this is my daughter, Olivia,” my father says to Fred twenty minutes later. I’m wearing the dress and minimal makeup, just lip gloss and mascara. My hair is loose down my back, and I’m wearing flat sandals so I don’t tower over the shorter guests. There are more people here than last week, the effect, I assume, of my father’s leave-taking combined with the better cash flow. I make a mental note to ask Tracy when the annuity is going to be purchased. The sooner the better, before he drinks it all away, or his friends do.

“We’ve met,” Fred says.

Lucy has wandered off onto the lawn, so it’s just the three of us. Fred’s staring at me like I’m a puzzle, like he’s seen me before but he’s not sure where.

“Ah,” my father says vaguely. “In New York, I assume.” He’s on his third gin and tonic by the sound of his voice. It always gets slurry at that point, like it’s been diluted.

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