Page 27 of Summer's Echo
“Sonic!” We burst out laughing.
“Sonic always comes through,” I said, shaking my head.
“We ate so much damn Sonic back in the day, I should be tired of it. I had to stop eating those French toast sticks because my ass was spreading…wide.” She stretched her last word exaggeratedly.
Don’t say a word, Echo. Don’t say shit about her ass.It wasn’t easy, especially since her ass was looking better than ever. “Nah, Sun. You’re good,” I finally blurted. “Remember when you came back from winter vacation? You were gone forever it seemed, and I was sick. I didn’t know what to do without my road dog.” I pulled into the restaurant, parking in an available stall.
If my memory served me correctly, I already knew what she wanted to order. “Hey, sweetheart,” I greeted the car hop. “Let me get one double cheeseburger meal with fries, a six-piece chicken tenders with tater tots, two large blueberry slushies, and French toast sticks.”
“Extra ranch and barbecue sauce, please.” She leaned over me, giving instructions as if I was going to miss those important details.
Summer glanced at me, her lips quirking. “Yeah, but I took care of you when I got back, remember?” she said, clutching my hand. The soft, delicate touch was a balm to my weary soul. For a moment, we weren’t in the aftermath of her broken engagement—we were just us. Two friends reminiscing about a time when life felt simpler and happier.
As we waited for the food, my mind drifted to the past,pulled back by the quiet gravity of memory. My first winter in St. Louis was like springtime compared to Chicago. We were on break from school for the holidays, and Summer’s family was spending Christmas at her brother’s house in Nashville. I’d been counting down the days until she came back because I’d been miserable. Not only did I have a cold, but I was also missing her. I thought maybe I was high from the cold medicine when I heard a voice eerily similar to hers. But I wasn’t dreaming. It was like she appeared out of nowhere. I remembered that nightso vividly, it felt like yesterday. Her standing in the doorway, bags in hand, looking like she could sense that I needed her.
I heard her melodic voice beforeI saw her face. She had been chatting with mysister, the easy rhythm of their conversation carrying through thehouse. The sound of it alonemade my chest tighten.I had missed her so much it hurt. Andthen, finally,she walked in.She was balancing twobags and a drink carrier, herNike jogging pants huggingher curves just right—just enough to make it impossibleto look away.She smiledthat shy, knowing smile, andour eyes met. It was like she had never left. Without a word, she unpacked our food: double cheeseburger, fries, chicken tenders, tater tots, French toast sticks, and blueberry slushies.All for us to share.Then, without needing toask, she slid thebarbecue and ranch sauceacross thetable because she just knew.She always knew.
She settledonto thefloor pillow beside me, nudging my shoulder, hervoice low, soft, full of something unspoken. “Hey, E.”
I turned to her. “What’s up, Sunshine?”
The moment had beenso simple, so small, and yet, it was one of my favorites becauseit reminded me of everything I loved about her. Becauseshe knew me better than anyone ever could. And even though we’d been distant,she always would. I blinked, not fully realizing that we’d received our food and were now pulling in the driveway of my parents’ house.
Summer’s jawtightened, her gazesweeping overthe familiar brick two-story house she’d once frequented with ease.Her angst was voiceless, but I could feel it anyway.This place heldboth joy and pain, memories tangled together in ways only she could fully understand.
“Are they home?”she asked, her voice measured, but the weight behind it unmistakable. She meant my parents.
I shook my head.“No. They’re in Chicago, and Sadie’s at a friend’s house.” We both stared at thetan garage door, the silence stretching between us. “You’re good here, Summer,”I said gently.“Get some rest. I’ll take you wherever you want to go first thing in the morning.”
She nodded but remained wordless.
Walking to the front door, I struggled to unlock it while carrying the food bag in the crook of my arm, while holding her hand. This behavior was instinctual, just as natural as breathing for me. My fingers found hers without thought, no conscious decisions or deliberate moves, just muscle memory. Shit, my heart remembered, too. It didn’t matter that we hadn’t seen each other in years. Since I’d stepped foot on that hill, there was no hesitation nor awkwardness between us.
I switched on the lights in the foyer, slowly moving farther into the house. Summer’s fingers slipped from my grasp, and I turned to see her still standing by the door. The space hadn’t changed in years, every detail frozen in time, and I knew what she was thinking: This was the scene of the crime.
“Sunshine,” I called. With a tilt of my head, I motioned for her to follow me into the kitchen. She trailed, leaning against the counter as she sipped her slush.
I busied myself unbagging the food, then arranging it on a tray. When everything was ready, we climbed the stairs to my childhood bedroom. I loosened my tie, tossing it carelessly across the room, and unbuttoned the top button of my shirt. Summer perched on the bed, planting one knee before sitting crisscrossed. She leaned forward to slide the tray closer, her movements hurried because she had to be starving. With Sonic spread out between us and her sitting in that familiar position, it was like no time had passed at all. And damn, it felt good. I powered on the TV, but somehow, I was certain it would be watching us instead.
“How’s California treating you?” she asked, dipping a chicken tender into the barbecue-and-ranch mixture we’d concocted as kids.
“Good. Good,” I said, my mind briefly drifting to how much LA had become home. “I like the balance. It’s fast-paced but somehow steady. The opportunities are endless…so much damn money to be made.” I paused, mimicking her as I dipped my tender. “You’d kill it there with your design and marketing skills.”
She sighed, momentarily drifting off to somewhere far away. “I can’t even imagine leaving St. Louis. I stayed in Atlanta after college because I’d found my tribe, but California?” Her voice trailed off, a hint of hesitation threading through her words. “That would be a huge change.”
I chose my next words carefully. “Your world has already changed, Summer. When the church altar stayed empty today,everythingchanged.” My voice softened. “You made a big decision.” I brushed my thumb lightly along her forearm. “I’m proud of you.”
The words hung in the air, raw and honest, surprising both of us. She was caught off guard by the admission, but I meant every word. What she did today was nothing but faith and hella brave. Yeah, her future might be uncertain, but it was completely hers to define, free from doubt or hesitation. “Maybe,” I started, “maybe the universe is hinting at other shifts in your future.”
Summer didn’t respond right away, but a quiet ease settled over her face, and for the first time that night, chaos was replaced with curiosity—a glimmer of hope for what might come next. She stretched out on my bed, resting her head on her arm, and a deep sigh escaped her lips. I watched her quietly, taking in the familiar curve of her face and the way her lips naturally puckered when she was sleepy. The even rhythm of her breathing, soft and unhurried, seemed to settle something restless inside me.
There were times I thought I’d never see her again—thought she was lost to me for good. But now, here she was, just an arm’s length away, her presence grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Summer burrowed deeper into the pillow, surrendering to her exhaustion. A soft exhale escaped her, the last traces of tension fading from her pretty face before her eyelids fluttered closed. A moment of peace and serenity settled over her.
I felt a sense of relief watching her finally rest, but in the silence, the questions I’d buried for so long started to rise. What could come next for us? Would this fragile moment of connection be enough to bridge the years between us? Or would we fall back into the gaps life had carved? For now, I didn’t have the answers, and while I wanted to stop myself from hoping, I couldn’t.
Summer
October 2019
