Page 9 of Bad Summer People
And then he met Jen. Sam brought her out to the beach one weekend toward the end of that summer, after it became clear that the relationship was more than a fling. They came on a Saturday morning; Jason was cooking eggs for breakfast on the Viking stove in Sam’s mom’s country kitchen when they arrived. Jason turned around to say hi, not knowing what to expect from Sam’s new girlfriend. Sam had hardly ever dated anyone seriously. Jason figured it had something to do with Sam’s parents’ fucked-up relationship. So, when he’d said he was with a psychologist, of all things, Jason had been surprised.
“Jason! This is Jen. Jen, this is my best friend, Jason. I’ve known him since I was five, and I’ve obviously told you all about him already.”
“So nice to meet you,” said Jen. Jen was the most beautiful thing Jason had ever seen. She had a throaty, mature voice and lovely, pearly teeth. Her eyes were large and hazel, nearly the size of a Disney Princess’s, and she had clear skin that glowed. She was wearing a plain white tank top and cutoffs, her body smooth and thin.
“I’ve heard all about you, too,” said Jason, turning the oven off. He suddenly felt stupid cooking eggs in front of this perfect person. “Sam never brings girls out here, so he must really like you,” he continued, feeling awkward. Jen blushed. He could feel her staring at him for a second too long as he averted his eyes.
“I do!” said Sam, oblivious. “I’m going to show her around Salcombe, and then we can go to the beach later. What do you think?”
Jason nodded dumbly. The happy couple left, and Jason remained standing in the kitchen, his breakfast burned and bitter.
Later that day, the trio went up to the beach together, laying out towels and baking in the sun. Jen was wearing a white bikini, and Jason had a hard time looking at anything but her. Why did Sam always get everything that Jason wanted? Jason hadn’t thought of Lauren once since Jen had arrived. But he could also sense that Jen was looking at him, too. He could feel her interest. At least he thought he could.
Sam wandered off to go chat with some of the lifeguards, buff and tanin their red swimsuits. Jen looked up from herNew Yorkerand propped herself up on her side, facing Jason, who was lying on his back, eyes closed.
“Are you asleep?” she asked, knowing the answer.
Jason smiled. “Nope,” he said. He felt her hand move up his leg toward his waist. He kept his eyes closed.
“Sam hadn’t told me that his best friend was so cute,” she said, leaning closer into him. “It sounds like you two have a very complicated, codependent relationship.”
“I wouldn’t call itcodependent,” said Jason, putting his hand over hers, feeling its heat. “I sort of despise him, but I’m stuck with him forever.”
“Well, if you hate him, you won’t mind fucking his girlfriend,” she whispered.
Jason’s breath came fast. He glanced over toward the lifeguard stand to make sure Sam was still a safe distance away. He was there, smiling and chatting, handsome as ever, completely unaware of what was transpiring between his most trusted friend and the girl he would eventually marry.
“I definitely wouldn’t mind that,” said Jason.
They left the beach without a plan. Jason didn’t know what to expect, but he assumed Jen would take care of it. She seemed to know what she was doing. They all had dinner together—Sam grilled steak on the outdoor Weber, they had loads of red wine—and then Jason went alone to his room, the former maid’s quarters, on the first floor of the house.
He couldn’t sleep. The familiar little bed felt lumpy and strange. At 2:00 a.m., he heard the door crack open and felt Jen slip in beside him, in underwear and that sexy white tank, this time without a bra.
This summer was the tenth anniversary of that night. Jason remembered that as he skulked home in the dark from his and Jen’s meeting at the beach. Ten long years of wanting something that he couldn’t have. Ten years of having to fake his way through his own life, married to someone he didn’t really love.
That was the first and last time Jason and Jen had slept together. Until this year, that is. After that weekend, Jen acted as if nothing had happened, and she and Jason didn’t discuss it. He was too humiliated to bring it up, but he thought about it constantly. He continued to date Lauren,and the four of them—Sam, Jen, Lauren, and Jason—became a little unit, going on double dates, taking trips to Italy together, spending summers on Fire Island. Sam proposed to Jen a year later, and Jason proposed to Lauren a couple of months after that. Jason and Lauren got married in California, near her parents’ home, while Sam and Jen, ever so chic, did an intimate ceremony on the beach in Salcombe, followed by a raucous party at the yacht club.
Occasionally, over the years, Jason felt that he was over Jen. He’d be having an okay moment with Lauren, or enjoying his kids, or making more and more money at work, and he’d think,Fuck her, I’m fine.Sam and Jen had moved to Westchester to get more space, while Jason and Lauren had stayed in the city, Jason’s increasingly large income paying for them to exist in a rarefied crowd. As soon as Jason was able, he bought their beautiful home in Salcombe. He was attached to the town, yes, but more importantly, it was the only place he’d get to see Jen consistently. He loved to look at her, and speak with her, and smell her. He liked the way her jewelry clinked on her wrists, and the stories she told, and the way she licked her lips. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she was also thinking about that night a decade ago. He justknew.
For what seemed like forever, Jason thought that this would be it. He’d pine for his best friend’s wife until the day he died. He’d come to terms with it. He was successful, he had a family, nice homes. That was enough. Lauren bugged the shit out of him, but didn’t everyone’s wife bug the shit out of them?
Then, one night last summer, that all changed. Rachel Woolf had hosted cocktails at her house for the usual group. It was late August, close to the end of the season, and everyone was looking well rested after months of beach time. As usual, Rachel had been plying them with alcohol, and they’d gotten wasted, particularly Lauren and Sam, both of whom had taken themselves home to bed, leaving their spouses to mingle. Jen and Jason had been alone before in situations like this; that wasn’t new. The end of the evening was approaching, and the few remaining guests, including Rachel, decided to head to the yacht club for a nightcap. Jason, blurry and buzzed, chose to stay on her porch and finish hisdrink. He’d thought he was the only one left. He’d thought Jen had gone. But then she was there, sitting down next to him, close, too close, touching her thigh to his as she leaned in to whisper, “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” All Jason felt was relief.
They’d stumbled up to the beach, taking care to avoid any of the boardwalks with streetlamps, holding hands like teenagers and occasionally stopping to kiss, Jason running his hands greedily up and down her body. She was dressed in white pants and a silk tank top, and she felt the same to him as she did all those years ago. Warm and soft. Exactly what he wanted.
They’d found cover underneath a stairwell leading down to the beach—not the main beach on Broadway but one about a hundred yards away, off a walk called Pacific. They were sitting together on the sand. It was dark and cool, and the ocean looked black.
“Why now?” asked Jason.
“Because I’ve had it,” said Jen. “I’ve just turned forty. I have three kids. I’ve spent years trying to convince myself to be happy with Sam. He’s so sweet, and he truly loves me so much. He’s a great dad. He’s everything I knew he’d be when we started dating. And you—” She trailed off, turning to him, and putting her hand on his head, pulling up on his hair. “You were his dark and intense friend, the person he loved the most. And I was so attracted to you. I think about you when I’m in bed with Sam. I picture your body instead of his. I knew I’d do this eventually; I knew I would break. Everyone thinks I’m so good, I get that,” she said, pulling harder on his hair. Jason closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation. “But I’m not.”
That was a year ago. Since then, there hadn’t been a week without them somehow seeing each other, mostly at hotels in the city, though a few times, in desperation, Jason drove out to the suburbs and they had sex in his car. Jason felt crazed with lust. He finally understood whatcrazed with lustmeant. She was all he thought about. He could barely pay attention at work, or when Lauren was droning on about a friend’s face-lift or complaining about the headmaster controversy at their kids’ school.
At first, Jason didn’t think Lauren had a clue. He’d been faking business trips and work dinners, and she didn’t even seem to notice, otherthan to occasionally inquire about his schedule to plan dinner parties and make sure he could come to fundraisers. She’d become increasingly vapid over the years, Jason thought, leaning into this rich-housewife lifestyle in a way that repelled him. She was obsessed with the school stuff, obsessed with her friends and what they were doing and wearing and buying, obsessed with looking a certain way. It was so unattractive. To be fair, he’d known she was like this when he’d married her. But Sam had proposed to Jen, and so Jason was left with no choice but to soldier on with Lauren, his beautiful girlfriend, whose worst trait was that she wasn’t Jen.
Then this spring, Lauren seemed to get a whiff that something was up. She kept asking him about his work travel and then harping on this idea of possibly moving to Miami. Jason would never move to Miami; Jen lived in New York.
“The Goldbergs just bought a place in South Beach, the Adlers moved to Delray. Everyone is going,” Lauren had said to him.
