Page 46 of Songs of Summer

“I don’t really have a type. You?”

“Hmm. Well, all the guys I’ve dated had one thing in common: they were all jealous of Jason!” she laughed, adding, “Feeling jealous about Dylan is kind of like a taste of my own medicine really.”

“I get that. Who can compete with that kind of history?”

“No one, really. Plus, I was never willing to give Jason up, even just a little.”

“I get that too, though I would think if I really fell for someone, they would have to love and accept Dylan because she’s a part of me. Especially now that she and I have a lifetime guarantee of sorts—you know, with our parents getting married.” He yawned, muffling the last part of the sentence.

Matt looked at the clock. “We still have time. You know you only need twenty minutes for a solid disco nap.”

There was no response. He took a peek; she was out cold. He set the alarm on his watch, but never fell asleep. Dylan texted about pre-gaming, and he slipped out quietly to partake.

In the kitchen, Matt and Dylan downed their second shot of tequila, sucked a lime, and then licked salt off theirforearms before dissolving into giggles. There was truly no one in his entire life that he felt more at home with than Dylan. He contemplated telling her the truth about Maggie, one less person to be lying to. As if choreographed, Maggie came down the stairs, looking quite fetching, just as Dylan’s boyfriend, Steve, came through the back door looking quite red.

Dylan reacted.

“Dude, you’re really burnt—you look like a lobster!”

“You should see my back.”

“I’ll get you two Advil and rub some aloe on it.”

“Would it be awful if I stayed home tonight? I won’t be much fun like this.”

“It’s fine. I’ll run you back a bowl of paella.”

Steve headed back out to the guest house while Dylan slipped by Maggie on her way upstairs to fetch the aloe.

“You look pretty,” Matt said as Maggie entered the kitchen, for no one’s ears but her own.

“Thanks.” She looked over her shoulder to see that Dylan was out of earshot. “Funny that a marine biologist is dating someone that burns so easily.”

“That is funny,” Matt agreed.

Track 23

Pulling Mussels (from the Shell)

Beatrix

There was nodenying that preparing paella with her sister tugged at Bea’s heartstrings. First, she missed her mother terribly, and her sister was the spitting image of her. Second, the act of chopping and peeling and scrubbing clam and mussel shells with Veronica was steeped in memories—even if Veronica did always bail by the time they got to the langoustines. It would not be a problem this time. Bea had ordered them cleaned and beheaded.

Preparing paella, especially for a big crowd, was a true act of kindness that always brought Bea joy. She loved to cook for people, loved inviting her and Paul’s colleagues in Gambier over for fondue night or taco night or a big barbecue. Paella, though, was next level. Paella was reserved for Fire Island.

Bea climbed on a chair to retrieve her mother’s cookbook from the top shelf of the pantry next to forgotten appliances. It was an old black-and-white composition notebook, the marbled design scribbled in with yellow and orange highlighters, a Silver sister original, no doubt: they were both bigdoodlers. The notebook was stuffed with recipes. Some were ripped from magazines and theNew York TimesCooking Section, while others were written out in their mother’s signature long hand, with names of Fire Island legends, such as Gicky Irwin’s Scones, Florence Hammer’s Fried Chicken, and Joy Perkal’s Five-Alarm Chili.

The yellowing pages of both clippings and recipes handwritten in her mother’s telltale loopy script caused tears to sting Bea’s eyes. This was the thing about making up with her sister. There was no one else on earth who would flip through those pages with as much emotion as she did. Her mother was gone. Shep, though he would certainly try, couldn’t live forever. Veronica was the only one left who really knew the greatness that they came from.

V and Bea’s parents were characters, in the most complimentary sense of the word. Gorgeous redheaded Caroline with her British humor and tremendous style, handsome Shep with his Yiddish humor and lack thereof. And though each of the sisters had fine qualities of her own—Veronica’s mostly ornamental, Bea’s mostly cerebral—neither rose to the grandeur and spectacle that were Shephard and Caroline Silver in their heyday.

When Beatrix and Veronica were growing up, their parents were Bay Harbor royalty. Shep and Caroline’s parties, whether intimate dinners or poolside nights filled with drinking and dancing, were the most sought-after invitation in town. And not just this town; their parties at their brownstone in Greenwich Village were equally epic.

Beatrix hated that her estrangement from her sister had reduced their parents’ massive charisma to a footnote in the Silver story. A mark of good parenting is knowing that yourchildren care for each other and will do so after you are gone. Bea, being older by four years, could close her eyes even now and picture teaching Veronica how to put on her winter coat by placing it upside down on the floor and flipping it over her head. She’d shown her how to tie her shoes with bunny ears, and even how to ride a two-wheeler after Shep threw in the towel (and threw out his back). For all the family values they’d instilled in them when the girls were growing up, Shep and Caroline knew that the lifeguard debacle was the beginning of the end.

Beatrix observed that the page containing the paella recipe had a distinct yellow hue from the saffron. She began by listing the ingredients for Veronica to check off, just as their mother would have done.

“A quarter cup olive oil,

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