Page 44 of Songs of Summer

Maggie pulled open the door to Matt’s house and Mattstrolled in, scatting the first notes of “So What” fromKind of Blue.

“I can’t believe you guessed that!” she marveled as Matt headed to the fridge, grabbing a bag of baby carrots and hummus, and placing them on the counter.

“It was easy. I thought about what I would want to see if I owned a record store—plus I did a piece about them a couple of issues back,” he boasted. “So they’re top of mind.”

“That was you? I tore it out and fastened it to the center of my vision board. I want to open a listening bar in my store. I can’t believe you wrote that. How crazy!”

“I’ll call my favorite, the Tokyo Listening Room, and get us a reservation for lunch. It’sbashert!” he declared, dipping a carrot in the hummus, and taking a bite, before nudging the bag in her direction. She took one and dipped.

“You know I’m part Jewish now?”

He laughed. “You weren’t before, I guess?”

“Nope. My parents were basically atheists. Atheists who loved Christmas.”

“Mine are Jews who love Christmas,” he chuckled.

“What’s your favorite thing about it?”

“I think the music. I love Christmas songs.”

Maggie laughed. “Not Christmas, being Jewish.”

He took a minute to chomp his carrot and contemplate his answer.

“Oh. There are a lot of things. The culture, the food, the traditions. The way there are so few of us, yet when I find another Jewish person, I feel instantly connected. First shower or second?” he asked, changing the subject.

“First, if you don’t care.”

“Have you ever taken an outdoor shower?”

“I have not!” she replied, not bothering to temper her excitement.

“Aaaah. You’re going to love it.”

They brought her bag upstairs and Matt handed her a towel. She looked at it and blushed thinking about her forthcoming nakedness and how short a time she had known this man. He must have recognized her apprehension because he reached behind the door and handed her his big gray terry bathrobe. Relief flooded her face, and she took the stairs two at a time for her inaugural outdoor shower.

Track 22

Rock Lobster

Matt

Matt lay onthe bottom bunk, googling queen-size beds. It was an excellent distraction from the unfortunate attraction he was developing for his fake girlfriend, his engaged fake girlfriend who lived in Ohio and who was, for all intents and purposes, a total stranger. Looking at her like she hung the moon was great for the believability quotient of their ruse, but not so great for his heart. It wasn’t just that she owned a record store, which to him was the closest one could get to heaven on earth, or that it felt like there weren’t enough hours in the day to talk with her. And it wasn’t the breathtaking contrast between her light eyes and her olive skin, or the way his room suddenly smelled like a rainy spring morning. It was an inexplicable feeling of familiarity, as if he had known her for a long time, even though they had just met.

Plus, it was obviously absurd that he had never thought to replace the bunk beds. He knew why.

Without ever discussing it, he and his mom had gone to great lengths (or the opposite, really) to leave everything in the house as it had always been. It was comforting to themboth, after the divorce, to limit change. Now, with his mom marrying Jake, it seemed all bets were off. Jake’s house—a 1950s old colonial with multiple fireplaces and good insulation—was much better suited for year-round living. Matt could take his mom’s room and turn this one into a gym if he wanted to. His fantasy was cut short by reality. Maggie walking through his bedroom door, her silky olive skin glistening under his oversized bathrobe, was even sexier than it had been in his imagination.

“I’m up,” he announced, banging his head on the top bunk. He ignored the sting, grabbed shorts and a decent shirt for dinner, and escaped to the shower.

On his return, he stood outside his closed bedroom door, contemplating whether to knock, when his mother walked by.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, not sure Maggie’s dressed.”

“So?” She looked at him with the same suspicious expression she’d get when he came home drunk or high in high school, doing his best to act straight and hold a conversation. Now, he countered with a dubious shrug and entered, praying Maggie was fully clothed. She was lying on the bottom bunk, dressed in a beachy white sundress with her hair tied behind her in a loose braid.

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