Page 19 of Songs of Summer

In a shocking turn of events that no one could have predicted, least of all Matt, his mother, Renee, and his closest childhood friend’s father, Jake, were getting married. They had begun keeping company the winter before, when no one was around to catch them doing so. Jake Finley, the local ferry captain, had lived on the island year-round all his life. Until about a year and half ago, when Renee had some sort of midlife crisis, she had only ever lived on the island on summer weekends and a week or two in August.

Renee had been an uber-successful Manhattan divorce attorney until an irritatingly spoiled couple who couldn’t agree on the custody of their two-hundred-year-old bonsai tree pushed her over the edge. She quit her job and took a remote position at a New York City nonprofit called Her Justice, concentrating on underserved women who needed help withmatrimonial law. Renee had been souring on the corporate grind for years and was financially comfortable—from that same corporate grind—so taking the job did not come as a surprise to Matt. The surprise had come when she sold his childhood home, a three-bedroom condo on the Upper East Side, and moved into their summer place on Fire Island full-time. To some this may have sounded like no big deal, but it was very much the opposite.

Living on Fire Island in the winter is not for the faint of heart, and while Matt’s mom was a killer in the courtroom, she wasn’t the most capable in the domestic arena. The super had spent so much time in their apartment that, as a toddler, Matt had learned to say his name before “daddy.” Renee’s plan had all the hallmarks of an impending disaster, and as her only child, Matt did his best to convince her it was a poor, if not insane, idea. He began with a list of obvious things she would need to do without: her weekly manicure, her monthly hair color, the frozen yogurt at Bloomingdale’s, not to mention her favorite doorman, who placed a single cup of coffee from the corner deli in the elevator for her every morning and who assisted her with hard things, like turning off the flashlight on her iPhone.

Convinced that the move was a colossal mistake, Matt found that, as per usual, it was difficult to argue with his mother, the litigator. Still, he did everything in his power, short of pulling out the deed to the Fire Island home, which had been transferred to him during his parents’ divorce, and evicting her.

Eventually he gave up.

Truth be told, you would be hard-pressed to find a summer resident who didn’t daydream about living on the islandyear-round at one time or another, though you’d be much harder pressed to find one who actually attempted it. Matt, who was currently living a somewhat nomadic lifestyle as a concert reporter forRolling Stone, made the trip to check on Renee a couple of times over the winter, bundled up on the lone morning ferry, as its captain, the one whom he eventually found out was sleeping with his mother, navigated the patches of floating ice on the bay. When the bay truly froze over, the ferry stopped running altogether, leaving Renee stranded or at the mercy of residents with off-season car permits. To protect the fragility of the island, only 145 winter car permits were distributed yearly. Turnover for said permits, prompted by death or relocation, were rare.

Truth was, the image of Renee driving a four-wheeler down the beach to the Fire Island Inlet Bridge to the west, or the Smith Point Bridge to the east, was hard to conjure. Often feeling like his mother’s guardian since the divorce, Matt was not unhappy about the driving permit limitation.

The off-season vibe of the island was completely different from what they were used to. The few times Matt had visited Renee in the winter, he had to admit that he marveled at the sight of the low winter sun, the high ocean waves, and the herd of deer dressed in their winter grays. Calls from his mother, who now reported sightings of seals bathing in that low winter sun with the same enthusiasm she once reserved for spotting Paul McCartney at Nobu, were surprising as well.

The most obvious difference between the winter and the summer was the people. Specifically, the lack of them. While the island’s summer population could swell to over twenty thousand on a busy weekend, in the off-season it would befour hundred tops, dusted across the thirty-two-mile-long island like powdered sugar on a loaf of pound cake.

Renee’s social life, which had previously consisted of frequenting see-and-be-seen-in restaurants and hit Broadway shows, was now “filled” with potluck dinners at the firehouse and fish tacos at the bar of CJ’s—the one restaurant that remained open year-round. The community was tight, though. Renee claimed she was less lonely now than she had been postdivorce in Manhattan.

Even so, Matt figured that after one winter, she would come to her senses and move back to the city.

He hadn’t counted on the Hallmark version, in which she secretly fell for the ornery ferry captain. And he certainly didn’t count on her falling in love with the father of the first girl he himself had ever truly loved, his oldest friend, Dylan.

Dylan and Matt had “dated” for two summers when they were teenagers after being inseparable for the fifteen summers prior. They had never fully consummated their relationship back then, though not for lack of trying. On the few occasions that their trips to the island lined up as adults, their interest in carnal pursuits did not. One or the other was invariably in the throes of a serious relationship, and one year, Dylan had a bad case of mononucleosis. Somewhere along the way, like many best friends, they made a pact to get married if they were both still single at thirty. Dylan was about to turn thirty and Matt was a year behind her. This would have been that summer, their summer, not the summer of his mom and the ferry captain.

Matt never forgot their pact, even though he and Dylan never spoke about it, and she had a memory like an elephant, so he was pretty sure she remembered it too. Given that theywould soon be stepsiblings, the notion now felt insane, complicated, and kind of gross. Matt had zero desire to go down that road. He hoped Dylan felt similarly and was worried about them not being on the same page.

They’d had a few phone calls in recent weeks to report on, digest, laugh, and on one occasion, burst into tears (his) over the whip-fast trajectory of their parents’ relationship. Besides that, their usual communication over the years had dwindled to texting birthday wishes, remember when’s, and random memes of dogs surfing.

With the pact in mind, Matt checked Dylan’s social media, hoping for an update on her relationship status. Dylan was a big poster—usually of sea life and such. A mermaid at heart and a marine biologist by profession, she was never far from the water. When she had a steady guy, and for a brief stint, a girl, there was always evidence on her feed. Lately: nothing. His concern changed course when he looked out his bedroom window to see his mom’s oldest friend, Bea, looking panicked as she tossed her bike in their front yard, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew into their house.

Track 10

Up on the Roof

Renee

“Did you getthe eggs?” Renee Tucker, the bride-to-be, asked her oldest friend despite witnessing her dramatic entrance.

“I dropped the eggs,” Bea managed.

“Oh, that must have been embarrassing. Was it the last dozen?”

“Did you invite my sister to the wedding?”

“What? Of course not!”

“Well, she’s here, with a hanging bag.”

There was little reason to come to Fire Island with a hanging bag unless it was to attend a wedding.

“That can’t be. Sit down.” Renee pulled out a chair and poured Bea a glass of water.

“I think I could use something stronger.”

Matt came bounding down the stairs to say hello. It was obvious from the look on their faces and the way Bea had rushed in that something was up. Still, his and Bea’s visits hadn’t aligned in years, and he was delighted to see her.

“Matty!” Bea stood, clearly trying to refocus and match his enthusiasm.

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