Page 39 of The Book of Summer

“I’d apologize,” she says. “But you know Felicia.”

“Yep.” Bess smiles. “That’s your sister, through and through.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

For a moment Bess feels an undeniable ache, that of missing her own sister, or what her sister should’ve been. Bess has never been as close to Lala as she’s been to Palmer. Or Felicia for that matter. Never as close in terms of miles, or years, or even heart. She loves Little Julia, sweet Lala, but the seven-year gap sometimes seems like an entire generation. And in many ways it is. Bess certainly didn’t have a phone in her backpack when she was in high school. She knows how to write in cursive.

“So how are you, Bessie?” Palmer asks, forehead rising in concern. “Are you doing okay?”

“Yes, I’m doing okay. Just barely.”

Bess gives a tight smile as she fiddles with a blue-striped dish towel.

“Is… is it still true?” Palmer asks as she leans forward. “The… ya know?” She lifts her eyebrows three times. “The people?”

“You mean the hookers?” Bess asks. “Yup. That still cannot be undone.”

Palmer gulps, as if hearing it for the first time. Her face goes even paler than porcelain, just this side of blue.

“It’s still so shocking,” she says.

Bess nods as she pulls her cardigan snug around herself. It’s hard to fathom he’s the same Brandon she fell for those six or so years ago.

They met at a party. Bess can’t remember at whose house, but there were purple rugs and floor-to-ceiling mirrors involved. She spotted Brandon across the seventies-era monstrosity, he dorky-hot with his wavy sun-streaked hair, stone cheekbones, and black glasses. He’d spotted her in return and within seconds sidled up.

They chatted as young unattached people do—who are you, what do you do, who will you be—and then Brandon stopped short. He stared at Bess, curiously, as if someone had asked him to opine on a movie with decidedly mixed reviews.

“Well, nice to meet you, Brandon…” she stuttered, and began to back away.

“Wait.”

He placed a hand on her forearm. Even today she remembers being surprised by the strength of his grip.

“This is going to sound silly,” he said. “But coming to talk to you was calculated.”

“Uh, what now?”

“I had to see for myself. I figured you couldn’t be as smart as you are beautiful. Then I thought, well, okay, she’s smartandbeautiful, but she can’t possibly be as cool as she is those two things. But, I was wrong.”

“Um?” Bess said, blinking. “Thanks?”

He’d tease her about this later, mostly in front of other people.

I made this big romantic gesture, if I do say so myself. And she answered “um.”

“One day,” he said after Bess’s fabulous display of graciousness. “One day, probably within the year, I’m going to ask you to marry me. You’ll say yes because you and I, we’re meant to be.”

Brandon was decisive like that, one of the things Bess appreciated most about him. Usually when Bess acted with such resolve it resulted in some sort of calamity.

“We will get married, Beth,” he said.

“Bess,” she told him.

“Either way.” He shrugged. “Within the year.”

After a great, long pause Bess replied deftly: “Okay.”

Brandon took this as advance acceptance of his future proposal. A preapproval, if you will. Alas, Bess would never be sure what she meant by her reply. “Okay.” It’s what you say when you lack real words.

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