Page 9 of Until Next Summer

He looks good today; his hair is shorter than before, his beard a little longer. A North Fork Fire Department sweatshirt peeks out from under his coat.

Also: he’s holding the hand of a very pretty, verypetitebrunette woman.

“Jessie. Hello,” he says. “Uh—do you know Gwen? Her family owns the hardware store.”

“I’m sure we’ve seen each other around,” I say, holding out my hand to Gwen. “I’m Jessie. Great to meet you.”

She shakes my hand, a pained smile on her face. “Nick’s told me so much about you.”

By her icy tone, it’s clear that whatever he’s said, it’s not good.

“Do you guys want to take this booth?” Lisa asks, motioning to the one next to ours. “Or—”

“No!” Nick and I say at the same time.

He laughs awkwardly, then says, “We’ll take a table over there. See you around, Jessie.”

As they follow Lisa, Gwen waves goodbye with her left hand, showing off her pink manicured fingernails—and a sparkly engagement ring. I look down at my hands: calloused palms, short nails that only get painted if a camper asks to do it.

“Didn’t you break up with him just a few months ago?” Dot whispers.

“Last June.” I take a big swallow of coffee, wincing as it burns my mouth.

Dot does some counting in her head. “Seven months and he’s engaged to someone else? Wasn’t he talking about marrying you?” She shakes her head and mutters, “And people say lesbians move fast.”

“I guess when you meet the right one, you know.”

Still, I’m stung. And not just by the fact that he’s chosen my exact opposite, at least physically. Nick and I dated all last winter; by spring, things were getting serious. I liked having a boyfriend, someone to snuggle with during the long, cold nights. We’d go snowshoeing and cross-country skiing on his days off. Everything seemed to be going well.

But then I moved back to camp in April. We couldn’t see each other as often, though I came to town whenever I could and invited him to visit me on his days off. He seemed frustrated, but I assumed he understood this was the nature of my job.

It all came to a head the week before camp started, when he realized we were about to see even less of each other. He wanted a girlfriend who was actually around, he said. A girlfriend who prioritized their relationship.

I told him that I’d take off one evening per week during the summer. I’d never done this—the director is on duty 24/7for eight weeks straight—but I was willing to compromise. In reply, he started bringing up our future: What if we got married? Would I still spend summers up at camp? Didn’t I want to have children?

Of course I did; he knew I’ve always imagined being like Nathaniel and Lola, running the camp with my husband and raising our kids there. I knew it was unrealistic and unfair to expect Nick to leave his job, but I asked if he could find a way to compromise. Instead, he suggested I think about a more “family friendly” career.

Then he tearfully said he loved me, and I faltered. This was the most serious romantic relationship I’ve ever had, and I did care about him. He’s a good person; he’ll probably make a good husband and father. I thought I could even love him someday.

But when I tried to explain how much camp meant to me, he told me that my priorities were wrong. And that pissed me off, so I ended things. It felt like the right decision at the time…but now, with this summer being our last at camp?

Maybe I did have my priorities wrong.

My computer chimes with an email. It’s from [email protected].

The terms are clearly stated in the contract I signed. A full cabin for eight weeks. My deposit has been paid. I trust you will work out the details.

–WLD

I press my lips together, annoyed. It’s not only the response; it’s the tone. Guess his “I don’t give a shit” attitude hasn’t changed.

“What?” Dot asks.

“Luke—er, William Lucas Duncan—is being a pain about his reservation.” She gets a guilty look on her face, and I add, “No, no, it’s fine—I’ll work it out.”

I type a reply:

Good morning! I’m truly sorry, but it won’t be possible to have you take the entire cabin. I’ll send you an amended contract with the corrected cost.

---