Page 90 of Summer After Summer

“They’re about to bring out dinner,” Charlotte says.

Our eyes meet. Her face is filled with compassion. “Sit down.”

Charlotte waves to the rest of the group, hovering just out of earshot.

“This is Ann,” I say to Wes. “She helped broker the deal on the house.”

Wes stands and shakes Ann’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He lets it go and gives a small bow to Charlotte. “Nice to see you again, Charlotte.”

She nods, a chill to her tone. “Wes.”

Charlotte has never forgiven us for connecting years after they broke up. It’s not rational, but then, unrequited love never is.

Everyone else returns and takes their seats.

“I’m going to go,” Wes says.

“You don’t have to.”

“Are you sure?”

I’m not, but if he leaves, then it feels like I’m telling him that things will never work out, and right now I don’t know what I want. We had something good once. Am I ready to throw that all away because of one mistake? I thought I was, but now I’m not so sure.

“Yes. Stay.” There’s an ooh that spreads through the crowd, the lobsters coming out. I reach for my bib and open it up. “For dinner. But not at the house.” I say that last part quietly so only he can hear.

“I booked a room here.”

Great. Wes and Fred staying in the same place. “Good.”

“You can watch Olivia play tennis in the morning,” Lucy says. “Fred tells me she’s amazing.”

Fred’s back is to us; he’s talking to Colin. But I can see the muscles stiffen in his neck.

“You’re playing tennis?”

“In the mornings with Matt. Just to get in shape.”

“And Fred is watching?”

“He’s staying at the club too. I guess he’s seen a few of my matches.”

“Ah.” Wes picks up his bib and ties it around his neck. He picks up his lobster cracker and breaks into a smile that only I would know is not entirely genuine. “Bring on the lobsters.”

After a dinner where the tension ebbed and flowed and settled into unease, the tables are removed, and the band transitions into dance hits for old people. Our group spreads out over the dance floor. Wes drank steadily through dinner, as did Colin, and now they’re off in the corner with the bartender, discussing scotch.

I don’t mind the drinking. Wes is more gregarious when he has some drinks in him, and I get the need to let loose in the circumstances. I have a few drinks in me too, plus a lot of strawberry shortcake and lobster, and as the evening winds on, the tension starts to seep out of my body. It’s my birthday, after all. Shouldn’t I be having some fun?

Ash is of the same mind, appearing at my elbow on the dance floor, her thin arms raised above her head, finally free of her “deadly boring table.” Her laugh is infectious, and I throw my arms up to meet hers. I shout out the night’s events to her over the thumping music, and she gathers me in a hug. “If you want me to punch him, I can.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She lets me go. “And they’re both going to stay here?”

“Apparently.”

“Maybe there will be some punching.”

“Not their style.”

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