Page 41 of Same Time Next Summer

“What did you think I was going to grow up and write songs about? I’ve loved you my whole life.”

“Okay, now I’m uncomfortable.” My dad leans forward in his seat like that’ll give us some privacy.

“I even asked you about that song. I was holding your hand. Were you looking for a better time to tell me?”

“I wasn’t going to lay all that on you when you’re about to get married.”

“Well you did tonight.”

“I did, and I don’t know why.” He leans back into the backseat, and my dad lets out a breath. “Listen, I know it sounds creepy, like I’m obsessed or something, but it’s justthat you were my big love. I write love songs, so I go back to that. But we’re all grown up and you’ve found someone else. It’s just a beautiful moment, like something you’d draw. I write songs about it.”

“I don’t draw anymore. ‘Moonshine’?”

“About you.”

“Wow.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my dad smiling. I’m not going to turn my head to confirm because that’s going to annoy me.

We pull into our driveway, and my dad shuts off the car. “Okay, well I’m going in,” he says, and quickly gets out. It’s quiet and dark in the car; no one’s put the porch light on. Neither of us makes any move to leave. I have nothing to say, but I’m not done. My heart falls when I hear him open the car door to leave. It’s three seconds of regret before he opens the driver’s door and sits next to me.

“Sam, look at me.”

I turn to him and feel like there’s the right amount of space between us. The gearshift and the cupholders are a barrier. Also the dark.

“It was really bad for me,” I say. “I was in therapy for a long time. I didn’t sleep for a year. And I lost a part of myself, the part that was true.” I can feel tears on my cheeks.

“You’re still you, Sam.” He’s looking me in the eye, and I believe that he sees what used to be there.

“I can’t believe you wrote that fucking song,” I say, and he laughs.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know.”

“I just figured all young love feels the same. That at some point Missy McGee felt like we did.” I shake my head at the sound of her name. “You probably don’t call her Missy McGee.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m happy for you,” I say. “Your dream life and everything.”

Wyatt lets out a little laugh, the kind of laugh that comes out to keep the next thing you say from seeming sad. “Wrong girl, and I don’t get to perform. But the rest is pretty good.” He takes my hand in both of his, and I can barely see them in the dark. “I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I’m ashamed of how broken I was. But we’ve both moved on. You’re getting married and I want you to be happy.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s gently closed the door to the past, and we are now sitting here in the dark present. Yes, I’m getting married. I was still on Wyatt’s mind all those years, but as an idea of what love was, something to write about. Like a particularly delicious donut on a cold morning. You remember fondly just how it tasted on your tongue, but today you’ll order an omelet because you’re a grown-up.

He lifts a hand to wipe a tear off my cheek. I feel myself leaning in toward the smell of him and the feel of his breath right there, inches from me. “It’s ridiculous how much you want to kiss me,” he says.

And I laugh because, yes. There’s no point in denying it; Wyatt knows how to read every part of my body.

He smiles a tiny smile and takes both of my hands in his. “You mean the world to me, Sam, and I’m not going to do that to your life.”

I look into his eyes and feel the warmth of his hands in mine. I know this will be the last time, so I take it in. “If I’d googled you and called, what would have happened?”

“It doesn’t matter now, Sam.”

45

We have Sunday brunch on the back porch, and I notice there’s no music coming from the treehouse. Jack is saying how much he liked the Old Sloop Inn, how the crab cakes were the best he ever had. “Sam, I Am” is about me. All those songs are about me. I can’t quite wrap my head around the fact of it and the fact that I didn’t know. I wonder if he thinks of me every time Missy performs it, or if it’s like “The Star-Spangled Banner” to him now, a bunch of words you’ve heard too many times.

“So it’s a go then?” Granny asks. “Sam?”

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