Page 54 of Same Time Next Summer

“Sam, if you want a chocolate cake, get one. People love chocolate cake, it’s something no one can argue with.”

“Jack won’t like it,” I say, and mop up the last chocolate crumbs with my finger.

“You should have what you want.” He’s not joking around anymore.

“I’ll take the first one,” I say.

We walk backup Main Street toward the Old Sloop Inn, where we are supposed to be looking at linens for the tables. I haven’t slept and now I’ve eaten too much. “I’m tired,” I say. “Let’s skip the linens and take naps.”

“You’re probably just going to pick white anyway,” Wyatt says.

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I nap hard. It’s that narcotic kind of nap where you wake up sweaty and you don’t know what time of day it is. My room is a forest now, and I lie flat on my back to take it in. I check my phone, and Jack’s sent a photo from the US Open. I reply: Looks fun! I just had a long nap.

Jack: How was the cake?

Me: Delicious

Jack: What flavor did you choose?

Me: Vanilla

Jack: What about the linens?

Me: I haven’t decided, I sort of liked the yellow

Jack: What were the other choices?

Me: All the colors, I’m going back tomorrow

Jack: Really, yellow?

Me: Probably white

I find mydad on the back porch, drawing straight lines in his sketchbook. I take the lounge chair next to his and sort of wish it was time for cocktails.

“There’s no life in a straight line,” he says.

“Are you Confucius now?”

“Sounds like. My agent, who is very close to giving up on me, keeps telling me straight lines are selling. Horizontal gradations of color.” He holds up his sketchbook to show me. “Does nothing for me.” He turns to a new page and draws a straight line across the middle.

“Do you know much about wedding linens?” I ask him.

He doesn’t look up. “Not one thing.”

“I kind of skipped going to the Old Sloop Inn today and lied to Jack about it. I can just go back tomorrow, right? They don’t run out of them or anything?”

“It’s a weird thing to lie about,” he says. “Especially for a person who’s so straight about everything.” I’m looking at the water, but I can feel him looking right at me. He’s been watching me ever since he drove Wyatt and me home that night. Like he’s waiting to see what happens next.

His comment hangs in the air, inviting all the ugliness in.Well you’d sure know about lying, Dad.We’re quiet for a minute.

“Cheating’s just lying, but with your body,” he says. I turn to him, and he’s put down his sketch pad. I guess we’re really going to do this.

“I’m not cheating. I lied about looking at linens.”

“I think you lie to yourself a lot.”

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