Page 8 of Cool for the Summer

“Except when you’re texting me to check on Cleo.”

“Which I promise to do no more than once a day. Twice at most,” he amends. “Anyway, I just want you to know that I admire your stubborn streak. It’s what’s gotten you where you are—an honest-to-god working New York actor. You did it. The thing you wanted to be—you made it. And I think that the play you’re writing will be amazing. Stubbornness can be a good thing when you aren’t giving up on your dreams, but don’t let it stop you from going after other things, too.”

“Things like long-term relationships?” I ask sharply, stubborn enough to be unwilling to let him get the last word.

“Maybe. Or maybe just more than a one-night stand. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing. Keep an open mind. Isn’t that what writers should do, anyway?”

I roll my shoulders to relieve them of the anxiety that’s locked them up. “Come on, Pete, I’m not really a writer.”

“What are you talking about?” He waves his hands and knocks the printed instructions to the floor. As I bend down to pick them up, he keeps talking. “I read the one-act play you won that award for. It was freaking good. Which reminds me—The Rosedale Art Center puts on a Shakespeare comedy every summer. I think they already cast it, but maybe you’d want to ask them if they need any help.”

I straighten up and heroically refrain from wincing. Add community theater to the list of things I don’t dig. But Pete means well, and he is giving me a place to stay rent free, even if I have to share it with a too-cute, currently hungover, off-limits boy.

“Yeah, maybe,” I say noncommittally. “Look, you and your man go have the time of your lives and don’t worry about anything—especially me.”

“I’m good with that plan,” Jack says, coming into the kitchen dragging a giant rolling suitcase.

“I thought you were packing light?” Pete’s eyes widen when he takes in the size of his husband’s luggage.

“I tried, sweetheart,” Jack says plaintively.

“Where are we going to put all the clothes you said you’d buy me?”

“I guess we’ll just have to get another suitcase while we’re there.” Jack sidles up to his husband and gives him a sickeningly besotted grin.

I absolutely do not make a gagging noise. I’m thirty, not thirteen.

“We better get going. You got everything you need?” Jack asks me.

“Pete has thoroughly briefed me. You two crazy kids get out of here. Europe is waiting.”

“Thanks for doing this. And thanks for being cool about Beck. He doesn’t really have anywhere else to go right now, so I’ll feel better knowing he’s set for a little while. And between the two of you, I know Cleo will be well taken care of.”

“Sure, no problem,” I say, wondering again why Beck is so transient. “Now get.”

Pete and Jack take turns giving Cleo goodbye kisses, then they each give me a goodbye hug. We all tromp out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the front door.

“You guys leaving?” It’s Beck, standing in the doorway to the living room. His pink shirt is as wrinkled as yesterday’s newspaper, and he has matching pink sleep lines from the couch pillows etched into the side of his face.

As I hope the nap has done him some good, a wave of fondness hits me low in the chest and throws me off-balance.

“Hey, sleepyhead, just in time to say goodbye,” Jack says, pushing past me to give his cousin a bear hug. “You be good this summer, you hear?”

Beck yawns expansively. “I promise.”

Pete takes a turn hugging his cousin-in-law, and then the newlyweds are gone, whisked away by the car service they ordered to take them to the airport.

The house suddenly feels extra quiet. I glance at Beck, who’s rubbing his eyes like a little kid. “I bet you could eat a horse.”

He groans. “Oh my god, I’ve never been so hungry in my life.”

“Come on, let’s see what’s in the fridge.”

FOUR

BECK

Okay,so maybe this summer won’t be a total shitshow.

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