Page 36 of Songs of Summer

Right on cue, they were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Maggie fought the urge to yell, “We’re not dressed,” to give them more time. She was really getting into character.

Renee didn’t even wait for them to answer.

“Can I speak with you alone, Matt?”

He began to rise, but Maggie grabbed his hand tightly and settled him back down. She had a feeling that after two minutes of cross-examination, the jig would be up. She must have been right because Matt quickly played along.

“You can ask me anything you want in front of Maggie,” he insisted, falling into character as well.

“OK, well, for one thing, who is Maggie?”

“I’m sorry, Mom, she told you, this is Maggie May Wheeler, my girlfriend.”

“OK, no offense, Maggie May Wheeler, but when did this happen?”

“We started dating a few months ago, long distance. I guess this romantic wedding of yours inspired me—after how Matt spoke so lovingly about you and your fiancé, I couldn’t miss it!”

“She couldn’t miss it,” Matt repeated awkwardly.

“I imagine you want to move to the guest room, next door?”

“That’s not necessary!” Maggie answered too loudly.

“You know how sentimental I am, Mom. We’re good here.”

“Whatever. Between you and Dylan springing plus-ones on me at the last minute—no offense, Maggie—I have to go redo the seating chart.”

She stormed off, leaving them both to breathe a sigh of relief.

A temporary sigh of relief was more accurate.

Track 19

(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay

Beatrix

“Dad!” Beatrix shoutedup the stairs. “I’m going to pick up Paul from the ferry! Do you want anything from the market?”

“Yeah, a newspaper and some pickled herring. Not the kind from the jar, the kind—”

“From behind the deli counter…I know.”

Veronica appeared at the top of the stairs wearing a Missoni sarong over a matching bikini, her oversized Chanel sunglasses now perched atop her head. She looked like she was in the South of France, not the south shore of Long Island, and it irrationally bugged Bea, though not as much as her next request.

“Can you get me an iced coffee, please, with a smidge of almond milk and the sweetener that gives you dementia—not cancer.”

“The green one?” Bea asked.

“Yes,” Veronica replied with a smile. Bea doused it with one word.

“No.”

Veronica stared back, wounded, which only annoyed Bea more. She had no doubt that Veronica knew better. Breathless with anger that she didn’t care to explain, Bea walked out.

She biked to the market with a half hour to spare before Paul’s boat was due to arrive, trying her damnedest to justify in her mind her irrational fury toward her sister. It was as if V did one thing that irked her and they were back to square one. She admonished herself for it.

Why can’t I cut her a little slack, let things bounce off my shoulders like I would for just about anyone else?she wondered.

---