Page 21 of Same Time Next Summer

“Jack seems like a nice person,” Wyatt says, finally. He reaches for the pitcher and pours milk in his coffee.

“Yes.” I should be filling the air with words about what a nice person Jack is, but I am distracted by Wyatt’s coffee.

“Do you want a sip or something?” he asks.

“No, it’s just that I thought you drank your coffee black.”

Wyatt takes a sip and turns to face me. “Why would you think that? You’ve never seen me drink coffee.”

“That’s not true.”

“I started drinking coffee when I was twenty-five, and I am a hundred percent sure I haven’t seen you since I was seventeen.”

Is that true? Of course it is. When we were teenagers, I drank coffee and he didn’t. He used to kiss me after I had coffee and say I smelled like an old man. And then he’d kiss me again anyway. Why is it that every time I imagined Wyatt drinking coffee, it was black like mine? Why is it that I’ve ever imagined Wyatt drinking coffee? I am on the precipice of mortified.

I shake my head. “I must have been thinking of someone else.”

This wounds him a little; I can see it in the set of his mouth. It would wound me too if Wyatt confused anything about me with someone else.

Chippy comes back with our lids and we secure them. I hope we are putting the lid on this whole conversation.

“You biking back?” he says.

“Yeah,” I say.

We walk outside and both head to the bike rack. He grabs his, and I kneel down to unlock mine.

“Expecting a crime wave?” he says.

“You never know,” I say. I could fill a book with the words I don’t say about the importance of protecting things that matter. Predictable outcomes.

A man who looks like a young Willie Nelson stops to say hello to Wyatt. “I was just down at the Owl Barn. The place is looking great.”

“Yeah, I stopped by yesterday, I think we’re in good shape,” says Wyatt.

“Thanks so much for doing this, man.”

“Are you kidding? It’s fun to have it here,” says Wyatt. “Sorry, Jason, this is Sam.”

Jason shakes my hand and gives me a big smile. “Sam, like the song!”

“What song?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes in a good-hearted way. “ ‘Sam, I Am,’ of course. Good to see you, buddy.” And he walks off.

“I should get back,” I say to the sidewalk. It’s so dumb that the mention of that nickname and that song makes me feel flustered. I steady my bike and, for the first time, consider how different biking with a cup of hot coffee is frombiking with an ice-cream cone. The lid’s on tight but there’s plenty of opportunity for coffee to spill out of the sipping hole and scald me. Wyatt’s standing there watching me, and there’s no way to make a graceful exit on this bike. I hold up my coffee to him in a gesture meaning cheers, goodbye, and I give up. “This was a terrible idea,” I say, and he laughs. I start to walk my bike home. I’m not getting burned again.

25

“He’s really part of the family, isn’t he?” Jack says with an eye-roll. Wyatt and Travis are walking up the beach late that afternoon, surfboards under their arms.

“He and Travis were friends when they were kids. They’ve been out of touch for a long time, this is kind of new,” I say.

They walk through the dunes and leave their surfboards at the bottom of the porch steps.Wyatt should be wearing a shirt,I think. It’s not right for him to be standing there, tan and wet and a little sandy. There’s a tiny piece of seaweed on his shoulder, and my hand prickles with the desire to reach over and pick it off. The urge is so strong that I shove my hands in my armpits. This, I realize, is sort of a gross thing to do, and now I don’t know what to do with my hands.This is just the beach,I think.In the city, my body totally behaves itself.

“You should have a shirt on,” Jack is saying. I couldn’t agree more, butwhat? “All your sunscreen will have washed off in the water and your shoulders are already red.”

Wyatt looks at his shoulder and picks off the seaweed. “I’ve got to get better about that.” He grabs a towel off a lounge chair and drapes it over his shoulders. He tosses another one to Travis. I am relieved.

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