Page 94 of Summer Longing
They stepped around Manny Barros’s tools, and Marco pulled her close and kissed her. In the near distance, she heard the din of the party. She glanced back toward the water, hoping no one could see them.
Marco, sensing her discomfort, said, “What do you say we cut out of here and have our own private fireworks viewing at my place?”
Um…yes!“You go first. I’ll meet you in front of the house,” she said.
Marco rented an apartment in the basement of an 1870s Queen Anne cottage on Franklin Street owned by friends of his family. His studio was small, but Marco barely spent any time at home. He didn’t even need to use the kitchenette because his mother still cooked dinner for him every night. Olivia teased him about this.
“You’re just jealous,” he said.
“You might be right.”
She’d told him all about her complicated feelings toward Ruth—the feelings she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing that first day out on the water—and he’d confided that his feelings of love and loyalty and obligation to his parents were sometimes complicated. “I want my father to be able to retire soon,” he’d said. “I feel responsible.”
This sense of responsibility drove Marco so completely, it made him seem older than his age. She thought about the men she’d hooked up with in Manhattan and their work-hard, play-hard ethos. Marco apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about the “play” part.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t fun. He took such joy in the water, in the vital work of growing food, in the deep roots the Barroses had established for themselves in town. He made her feel alive; he made her appreciate the rewards of working with her hands. A day cleaning cages was difficult and exhausting and dirty and unpleasant. But it did not leave her stressed and riddled with anxiety like her previous work used to. She was sleeping better at night. Her concentration seemed sharper. Sometimes she didn’t know where her love of this new lifestyle stopped and her love of Marco began. And, yes, she did feel she was falling in love with him. Not that she would admit this. Not that it mattered. Provincetown was her respite from the messy reality of her life back in New York. It wasn’t real. So why bother with real feelings?
She knew Marco would not push her for more emotional intimacy. Marco had told her about one summer fling that should have ended with the summer but instead turned into an engagement and then a broken heart. It was difficult to imagine that romantic, vulnerable version of Marco. He was so practical, so levelheaded. She liked that about him.
The house on Franklin was dark; everyone in town was at the wharf or the beach or various other spots to watch the fireworks. Marco took her hand and led her down the stairs to his studio. He put his key in the door but turned to her before opening it. “We should probably go to the roof for the best view,” he said.
“Can we get up there?”
He nodded. They backtracked, walking to the front of the house and using the main entrance to a winding stairwell.
She followed him up three flights to the widow’s walk. The night had fully settled into darkness. With every star visible above and a nearly panoramic view of the water, she felt like she was standing at the edge of the universe.
The first firework cracked in the distance, red, white, and blue like electric confetti. If Marco wanted to talk, he hadn’t picked an optimal time or place for her to focus on conversation. The sky erupted until it was impossible to tell when one firework ended and another began. Marco stood beside her, an arm around her shoulders, their bodies hip to hip as the sparkles in the sky formed shapes heading into the grand finale: a smiley face, a heart, a flag.
When the sky was dark again, lit only by the stars, Marco tugged on her hand. She turned to face him.
“So, what are we doing?” he said.
“Standing on your roof.”
“You know what I mean. All this sneaking around.”
She took a small step back. So here it was, the Talk. She had been so certain she would avoid this with Marco. There they were, happily engaged in a no-frills, hot fling—and now…
“Marco, I’m having a good time,” she said. “Aren’t you?”
“Of course. And I’m really happy we’re on the same page about not making a big display of things and getting everyone in our business.”
The minute the words left his mouth, she realized she actually wanted the Talk. She wanted him to push back on keeping their relationship under wraps.
“Yeah, I mean, what would be the point?” she said, reciting words that just moments before she’d actually believed.
“Exactly. You’re leaving town soon. I don’t get involved with summer people. But no one else would understand. My mother, your mother…I mean, can you imagine? They’d be planning our wedding.”
He smiled, and she forced a laugh. “Totally.”I don’t get involved with summer people.
He kissed her, and she heard the crack and boom of more fireworks. Or maybe she imagined it.
Chapter Forty
The scene in Lidia’s kitchen reminded Ruth of parties she’d hosted years ago at the house in Cherry Hill, back when Olivia was little and Ruth still had time to have her family and in-laws over for summer barbecues. Like Lidia, she’d used paper plates under the delusion that somehow this would minimize all the dishes to be cleaned only to find the kitchen counter and sink overflowing at the end of the evening.
“Please, Ruth, go back outside and relax. I’m fine taking care of this,” Lidia said, up to her elbows in dishwater.
