Page 24 of Same Time Next Summer

“Oh hey.” Wyatt waves from his driveway. He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, holding his guitar case. If he weren’t about to get into his mother’s station wagon, he’d look like he stepped off an album cover.

“That’s Wyatt,” I say, like it’s a confession.

“Hello,” Glen and Donna say.

Wyatt walks over and shakes their hands. “That’s a beautiful car,” he says.

“Thank you. Gets me from point A to point B,” Glen says with a laugh.

“Nice way to travel,” Wyatt says.

“He’s a mechanic,” says Jack. “At a Shell station. In Los Angeles.” And it’s not nice. I don’t know why, but there’s a tone to it.

“Not exactly, but I’m off duty tonight,” says Wyatt, like the punch didn’t even land. “I’m headed over to the Owl Barn to help some of the bands warm up.” He raises his guitar case.

“Oh, are you a performer?” asks Donna, with her hand over her heart like it just fluttered. I swear if I didn’t know her, I’d think she was flirting.

“I mostly just write songs.” He gives her a genuinely kind smile, like he’s glad she asked. Like he’s completely at peace. I like knowing this about his life in LA, that he’s still working at it even if he’s not going to perform. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Your son’s made a great choice.”

“We know. We couldn’t be happier. And it looks like they might decide to get married out here,” Donna says.

Wyatt looks at me in surprise.

“It was the draw of Skip Warren,” I tell him.

He laughs, “Of course. Your favorite.”

28

It’s Thursday, and I can’t believe I’ve stayed here for nearly a week. I also can’t believe I am starting to come around to the idea of having my wedding out here. I imagine my friends from the city coming out and seeing this other part of me, suntanned and easy. I don’t know where I’ve been keeping her, this other Sam, but I want to think they’d like her.

I’m up early. I’ve slept with the windows open, and I can hear the waves crashing. I lie in bed and let the sound wash over me again and again. I can feel the chill of water on my skin and imagine myself swimming all the way down to the linden tree. I hear the water rush by my ears and feel the way my shoulders would stretch with each stroke. I get up and put on my bathing suit immediately, the way I would have done as a kid, just knowing that the ocean was going to be woven into my day.

Out on the deck, the morning is breathtaking. There’s a slight breeze coming off the water that blows the dunes gracefully to the left. Gulls are gliding overhead, stretchingtheir wings to embrace the day. I hear a few notes coming from the treehouse. Wyatt is up. I imagine myself walking off the porch and into his yard and climbing up the rope ladder. I’d say, “Hey.” And he’d say, “Hey, Sam-I-am.” He’d smile at me in that way that had made me feel whole and seen my entire life. And maybe that would be it, we’d be friends.

Wyatt is playing a song that sounds a little bit like “Sam, I Am,” but different. I love that song, of course. It was Missy McGee’s first big hit and was the number one song on the radio forever. The first time I heard it, I was a junior at NYU. I was in a bar and thought I was hallucinating. I shushed the hair-gelled guy I was talking to so I could hear the chorus. Everything about it reminded me of Wyatt. The lyrics about catching the breath of the person you’re in love with and the rhythm of the music put me right back in the treehouse. For about six months there was no escaping that song at every party. If I heard it in a bar, I would walk outside; if I heard it in the car, I would change the station. If I was alone with Gracie, I would let myself listen.

Years ago I read an article about Missy McGee inPeoplewhere she was talking about old relationships gone wrong. And I thought,One of those guys must be the Sam in her song. And she must have felt all the same things about him that Wyatt and I felt about each other.I realized that everyone who’s young and in love must feel exactly the same. In a weird way, it made me feel better.

Which I guess is why it was such a relief when I met Jack. I love Jack, but I don’t need to be touching him all thetime. There isn’t this feeling of holding on so tightly because I might fall into the abyss if I let go. There has never been a moment where I felt like he was a part of me; he is just right next to me, a partner. Love like this is so much more manageable, so much less terrifying. He has his work and his friends, and so do I. He has wonderful parents. Sometimes we visit them together. Sometimes Jack goes alone, and I enjoy a weekend in the apartment by myself, or with Gracie, not talking about exercising. This kind of side-by-side love feels like a manageable kind of joy. I now understand that this is what grown-up love is. It’s not that the thing with Wyatt was magic and this isn’t; it’s just that back then I was sixteen years old. I hate it when Dr. Judy is right.

When I met Jack in the back of that cab for the first time, I thought,I want this.The thought grew louder in my head as I took him in. His shoulders and his haircut made him seem in control, as if he as a person was impervious to an unexpected gust of wind. He wore a waxed Barbour jacket, warm but also ready for rain. He turned his body toward me as we drove uptown in a way that made me feel like he was interested in me too.

He was going to Thirty-Fourth Street, and as we got closer, it didn’t look like he was going to ask for my number. In a panic, I started leaving him bread crumbs in case he decided he wanted to track me down later.

“I work for Human Corps on Forty-Third Street,” I said. He could wait outside the office and ask me out. Maybe there would be flowers.

Then, “It’s human resources consulting. My Twitter handle is Saminhr, but no one gets it and they spell out‘salmon’ like I’m a fish. There’s no such thing as salmon HR. I mean they all swim the way they’re supposed to, right?” This was not my finest attempt at the art of conversation, but we were half a block from where he was getting out.I want this.

When we pulled up in front of his office, he handed me a ten-dollar bill and said, “Well, Sam in HR, it was nice meeting you. Have a good day.” He lingered for a second but then shut the door and crossed the street.

Two days later, he sent me a Twitter message inviting me out for sushi. It was a Tuesday and he arrived at the restaurant with slightly wet hair. I now know this would have been a result of his post-tennis shower.

I want this,I thought.

Wyatt plays asong I’ve never heard straight through without stopping. It’s good and I wonder what words he’d put with it. He starts on another song, effortless and unhalting, and I think I know this one. I wonder if he’s singing quietly along or if he’s given up singing altogether. In my head, I can hear his slightly tentative voice.

I sort of hope he settles down with someone. It would be nice for both of us to have ended up with real, stable partners. When I think of all the shattered pieces of his life, all shattered at once, I sort of understand why he walked away. Plus, I got Gracie out of this whole thing. He got nothing.

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