Page 17 of Seven Summer Weekends

“Really?” Addison asked.

“Yes—the guy kept repeating one sentence over and over again.”

Addison waited for him to spill—but he didn’t.

“What was it?” she asked with more than a hint of impatience.

“I don’t like getting it stuck in my head.”

“Oh my God. Just—whisper it.”

He took his hand and gently pushed her hair away from her ear. She could feel his warm breath on her neck, and the intimacy stirred her until his words set in.

“You don’t know what you don’t know.”

She jumped back.

“Oh my, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know.”

They both laughed. Hard. Like old friends in on an inside joke.

They arrived at the market, where he gallantly placed her bike in the stand and joined her in the produce section. He grabbed a head of lettuce and tossed it to her.

“You Again! Think fast!”

She caught it, and he seemed weirdly impressed.

“Since we keep bumping into each other—maybe it’s time we exchanged names?” she suggested, with an awkward laugh.

“I don’t know, I was kind of enjoying this little ‘You Again’ flirtation we have going on,” he laughed back.

Aaaaah. She knew he was flirting. The confirmation felt good though.

“Is that what this is?” she teased, with a coy smile.

“It’s been a while, but I believe so. There’s a big block party this Sunday night on the bay. Want to meet me there on purpose and maybe flirt some more?”

“Sounds good.” She smiled, reined in the pheromones a bit, and headed out.

At home, Addison found a note from Paresh. Well, it wasn’t much of a note; it was more a word.

Wandering.

At first, she was relieved. Whatever path he had taken on his walk, she was glad it wasn’t the path to her enlightenment. But, as the day went on and the sun began to set, she found herself pining for his return. Eventually, she gave up on any attempt at mindfulness and embraced mindlessness instead. She made a bowl of pasta with butter, crawled into bed with her laptop, and watchedLove Is Blind. It was just the decadent thing to do that she had never had time for when she was working.

In the morning Paresh was standing over the sink, looking out the kitchen window, drinking tea. Even in his seventies, she could see the beautiful young man in the painting by her bed.

She wondered where he had been but wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Late night?” she asked, fully aware of the absurdity of her question.

“I sat on the beach for hours. It was a buck moon.”

“What’s a buck moon?”

“A full moon named for the new antlers that appear on the male deer in July.”

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