Page 46 of Same Time Next Summer

I stop walking. “I thought you were the one who wanted to get married out there.”

“Oh I do. I love it. But not the whole thing with your parents and that house and the stuff everywhere. The paint fumes alone took a year off my life.”

“Huh.”

“I figured the next time we went out it would be for the wedding. We’d stay at the Old Sloop Inn and then head out on our honeymoon. It’s closer to JFK from there anyway.”

I’m speechless, and I’m not even sure why. I may have thought that Jack’s wanting to get married out there was abuy-in to the whole summer-at-the-beach thing. I may have even thought it was a buy-in to the complete picture of who my family is.

Jack puts his arm around me as we walk. “Listen, you know I love your parents. But them, out there, letting their freak flags fly, that’s a once-a-summer thing for me. Can we make decisions over FaceTime?”

“We could. But it’s our wedding. We’re only doing this once. I’d like to taste the cake, feel the napkins, you know?”

Jack laughs. “Well, if you really need to taste the cake. You’ll miss the US Open.”

I’ve never been able to convey to Jack how little I care about tennis. I’ve probably never even tried, but you’d think he would have noticed that I’m the only person in the stadium not leaning forward in her chair with rapt attention.

“That’s fine. You can take Elliot.”

“That’s a great idea,” he says. “See how good we are at getting married?”

I take thetrain out to Long Island on Thursday night to avoid the Labor Day rush. Jack has parking passes to the US Open, so he didn’t want me taking his car. I like the feeling of boarding the train by myself with everything I need stashed in my backpack. There’s a little kid sitting behind me singing Christmas carols, and I know Wyatt would have something funny to say about that. I think it’s okay to think that because we’re friends now.

I text him: I think it’s good that we’re friends

There’s no response. The train starts moving and soonwe’re out of the city, chugging along past neighborhoods containing families with dramas all their own. I know there is a way to make my life something lighter. My parents are free spirits, and they’ve built a life that supports everything they want to do and be. Travis seems to be doing the same. I wonder what it would be like to be an adult who followed her spirit around, who just up and quit her well-paying job to start over as an art teacher. What if I could spend my time showing kids how to make things, how to access that part of your brain that is uniquely you and then use it to create something that people can see? Creating art is about being vulnerable enough to invite people to spend time in your skin. I can’t think of a better skill to teach.

It occurs to me that Jack is a person whose skin I can’t quite wear. I try to imagine his satisfaction at working his muscles so hard. I try to imagine his caring for patients he kind of resents. I try to feel how he feels about me, and I settle on hopeful. He loves me, and he seems hopeful that I’ll figure out a way to get focused again. My phone vibrates.

Wyatt: We’re friends? This seems so sudden

Me: Haha. I know, we’ve only known each other 25 years

Wyatt: Okay, well as long as you’re sure you’re not in love with me anymore

Me: I’m good.

There’s no reply. I don’t really like what I’ve said. It feels short and wrong. But then again, I am on my way to pick out wedding cake for when I marry someone else. I decide to double down.

Me: I’m on the train headed to Long Island. Going tospend the weekend with my parents picking out tablecloths and tasting wedding cake

Wyatt: Did you decide to get married outside?

Me: Jack doesn’t like the idea. It could rain

Wyatt: Let’s hope he picks a good cake

Me: He’s not coming. He had stuff to do, so I’m going to decide

There’s no reply, not that that was anything important to reply to. I am a little disappointed, having thought maybe I was going to spend this whole train ride shooting the breeze with Wyatt. I’d really like to laugh. It’s five o’clock in the afternoon in LA; maybe he’s working? Or surfing? After twenty minutes, I get a text:

Wyatt: Well, I’ll see you there. Coming for the long weekend to check on a few things for my mom. I’m taking the red eye, get in tomorrow morning

Me: Wow, okay. Meet me at the beach

That was a loaded thing to say. As soon as I send it, I feel embarrassed. We are trying to have an adult friendship, and here I am dragging up the past. He doesn’t reply. My heart is racing a little and I try to breathe my way through it.My friend Wyatt is going to be there this weekend. What a nice coincidence.My mind immediately goes to what it’s going to feel like when I hug him hello, burrowing my face into his neck. Maybe he’ll write a song about it. These thoughts terrify me as they move throughout my body.What a nice coincidence.

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