Page 34 of The Summer I First Saw You
Shit. “I was studying all week. Didn’t you see me reading?”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Funny, I don’t recall readingDiary of a Rock Star Groupiebefore law school myself.”
“The heroine has to sign a nondisclosure agreement, so it’s legal in nature,” I reply, but I can tell he’s still waiting for a real answer, dammit. I sigh heavily. “I’m not actually sure about law school. It’s another of my mom’s plans.”
“You can’t get an expensive three-year degree just to make your mom happy.”
Oh, can’t I?Because I just undertook an expensive four-year degree to make her happy—not that it has.
“I know. This professor told me I was a good writer last year and suggested I consider an MFA, and I was excited simply because it seemed like a wayoutof law school.”
“Are you interested in getting an MFA?”
“No. Not at all.” I’ve been grasping at straws just as recklessly as my mother has, trying to find a way to make her proud. I wanted to become someone for her more than I wanted to actually grow into a better version of myself.
The board rolls beneath me as a small wave approaches. “I just don’t know how to tell her. Because if I’m not going to law school, she’s just going to come up with a different plan, some new way for me to be special when I need her to understand that I’m just…not. I’m not special.”
“Ofcourseyou’re special,” he insists, sounding almost angry on my behalf.
I laugh, but it’s a sad sound. “You had to say that. But I’m really not. My mother was a great student, and she loved school. I’m just okay at everything, at best, and I hate school.” I tip my head toward the wave ahead of us, but he ignores it.
“There are other ways to be special—”
I shake my head as I start to turn my board. “Not ways that matter. Not to her. And I’m not really sure what to do with myself in the meantime.”
“I think you start by considering that maybe you don’t have to doanythingwith yourself,” he says as we paddle, and once again he sounds angry, as if he’s defending me from myself. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”
I smile, unwillingly.
There are a hundred people in the world who could detail my failures. It’s hard to care when Harrison, the best of them, likes me regardless.
When we get home,I take an extra-long, extra-hot shower, and then open all the doors and blast music while I make us acai bowls. He playfully carps about the mess I’ve made and eats every bite.
We both sit out on the deck together afterward. He reads the paper and does some work. I finish readingDiary of a Rock Star Groupieand am disappointed to discover there’s only one sex scene between the main character and the rest of the band.
In the evening, he grills us steaks while I make potatoes and salad. I hum as I cook, and it hits me that I’m happy, just like this. That if I really didn’t have to make something of myself, if I could simplyexist, this is the precise existence I’d choose. I’d cook, and I’d surf, and I’d take care of someone, and it would be more than enough, as long as he was the one I was caring for.
It would beeverything.
“You want to watch a movie?” I ask as we clean up dinner.
He hesitates. Most nights he goes to his room and watches something on his laptop, and it’s pretty clear he’d prefer to do that tonight too.
“Not if it’s some Teen Disney bullshit,” he finally says. “The two times I babysat you, you made me watchbothof theCamp Rockmovies.”
I groan. “Harrison, I was what…seven? What did you want to watch when you were seven, and do youstillwant to watch it?”
“Star Wars,” he replies. “And yes. But I see your point.”
We pick an older movie, one that has a little something for both of us—violence for him, Ryan Gosling for me.
He positions himself on one end of the couch and I curl up on the other, though soon I’m stretched out, taking up most of the space. My toes brush his thigh, and he scrapes a nail along the sole of my foot, which makes me laugh.
The movie is slightly too violent for my liking and slightly too romantic for Harrison’s. Every time Ryan Gosling starts flirting with the heroine, Harrison mutters, “Give me a break,” which I ignore because it’s the best part of the movie.
No matter how committed I am to remaining single, I want what Ryan Gosling and that girl on screen have, though it’s clearly not going to turn out well for either of them. When Ryan Gosling kisses her, I release a wistful sigh. I want that too.
Harrison smirks. “He just bludgeoned someone to death, yet you’re still swooning over him.”
