Page 42 of Same Time Next Summer

I come to. “So what’s a go?”

“The wedding?”

“Well, of course,” I say, taking Jack’s hand. “We’re definitely getting married.”

“Yes,” my mother says, “we assumed that, dear. She means out here. Is it a go to have the wedding on Long Island?”

“For sure,” Jack says for me. And I don’t want to argue. It’s beautiful out here, even if it’s full of ghosts.

“Yes, I’ll call and set a date as soon as we’re back home,” I say. Then, “Did you guys know Wyatt was a big deal in the music business? Like he’s a success?”

“Like he has a band?” Granny asks.

“No, more like he’s written a bunch of really big songs for a pop star, who at some point was his girlfriend,” I say, scooping eggs onto my fork to avoid looking at anyone.

Jack says, “I have to admit I never saw that coming. He doesn’t give off a vibe that would make you think he’s got anything going on.”

“It’s news to us,” my mom says. “Good for him.”

My dad is watching me. He is the only witness to the conversation that Wyatt and I had last night, and I have the feeling that he didn’t mention it to my mom. He’s seen behind the curtain, and I like that he’s protecting my privacy this way. I can’t remember the last time my dad and I shared a secret.

“Yes, good for Wyatt,” he says.

Jack and Iare quiet as we drive home on the Long Island Expressway. He’s getting in and out of the express lane like he’s trying to shave fifteen seconds off his best time in a race. I have an email from Eleanor saying that she’d like to see me in her office on Monday morning at ten. All this mystery is really getting on my nerves. After I was pulled off that client, I spent an entire week just sitting at my desk waiting for someone to make a decision about me. I organized my files. I color-coded a spreadsheet I’ll probably never use again. And somehow they needed another week tomull it over without me there. It feels like Eleanor wants to punish me before she fires me. I reply, “See you then!” and immediately regret the cheery exclamation point.

I sneak looks at Jack and wonder what he’s thinking about, staring ahead at the road. Is he as gobsmacked as I am about Wyatt? Did he like being out at the beach with my family? Did he get that that song is about me? He’s millions of miles away, so I ask the annoying question.

“What are you thinking about?”

He turns to look at me, like he’s surprised I’m there. “Elliot.”

“Elliot?”

“Yeah, he needs to move our Tuesday evening tennis to Wednesdays. But Wednesday is my push day at the gym and if I switch it to Tuesday, it’s too close to the Fritz workout for proper recovery.”

“Ah,” I say. “Tricky.”

He keeps driving and chewing on his dilemma.

“Eleanor emailed. Wants to meet with me tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” he says. “Then you should take a few weeks off before you start looking for another job.”

“I’m not necessarily getting fired.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “Samantha. Come on.”

I want to teach art, is on the tip of my tongue. Jack and I are getting married, I should be able to tell him my dreams. I just don’t want to hear him tell me I can’t, that it’s impossible. That I’ve established myself as a consultant and I need to stick it out. It’s not like I want to be a trapeze artist, I just want to be doing something creative with kids.

“I want to teach art,” I say to the passenger window.

“Did you say something?”

“No,” I say. Then, “I want to teach art.”

“That would be fun,” he says.

I turn to him, relieved. “Right? All those kids making things out of clay and construction paper. Everyone going in totally different directions with the same assignment.”

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