Page 74 of The Summer I First Saw You
My mom’s still at work when I get to her house, which is okay because I need a moment to process my disappointment as I walk in the door. I need a moment where it’s okay to admit that I miss the sight of the ocean, the sound of waves crashing, and, most of all, how much I already miss Harrison. That I’m more than a little heartbroken at the fact that I won’t see him tonight, that I’ll be sleeping in my childhood bed alone.
I place my stuff in my room and scrounge around in the fridge for dinner. I find frozen chicken and cream and pasta and whip up a casserole. As miserable as I am, cooking soothes me somehow. I play my music and though I’m too sad to dance and sing…I feel slightly better by the time the dish goes in the oven.
Mom sniffs the air when she walks in a half hour later. “You cooked?”
I shrug. “I made a chicken casserole—it should be done in a few minutes.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” she says with a frown.
I swallow down my irritation, but I wish to God she’d just…give it a rest. Why is it the end of the world if I take some time to make a meal? “I like cooking, Mom.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “One day, you’ll be like Doctor Thomas. You know she doesn’t even do her own laundry? She has someone in her house full-time to take care of everything. All the cleaning, the cooking, the shopping—that’s going to be you eventually.”
She says this with a wistful smile, the way someone might talk about winning the lottery. Except…I like to cook. I like to go shopping. Is there a single thing I actually enjoy that my mother would approve of?
After dinner, we watchThe Notebook. Ryan Gosling repeats that same move—the full-on kiss, Rachel McAdams’ face gripped in his hands. I picture Harrison calling it assault. Saying he’s never kissed anyone like that. I would like to be the first, the one he feels that much for.
Is he eating? Is he working late? Is he setting up a dating profile, ready to re-enterthatworld? Maybe I got him over the hump. If I were a better person, I’d be happy about it.
I pick up my phone to text him and put it down. Telling him I miss him is clingy and puts him in the awkward position of needing to say it back. He’d probably worry I was getting too serious, was forgetting the impending end date.
Or I could say something so filthy that he’d beg me to come see him. So filthy that he’d be desperate for it.
I glance sideways at my mom to make sure she’s thoroughly engrossed in Ryan Gosling. She is.
What’s the dirtiest thing I could possibly say? What’s something we haven’t done yet? There are a few things, not many, but I’m fully prepared to offer one up. I lift my phone…just as a text arrives from him.
Harrison: When can I see you?
My chest floods with sunlight. It’s better than anything he could have said. It means he misses me and wants this and that I’m marked safe, for today, from being the needy, childish nymphette he wishes he hadn’t met.
Are you asking for a naked pic or my actual presence?
Harrison
I’ll take one of each if both options are on the table.
Sunday morning? My mom will be at mass. I’ll tell her I’m surfing.
And the picture?
Coming soon. (Imagine me saying that in my dirtiest voice.)
You say everything in your dirtiest voice.
And you love it. I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a video.
I’m new to this. If I’d realized video was a possibility, I would have.
I smile to myself. It’s not the same as being with him. But it’s not as bad as having nothing of him at all.
39
HARRISON
Baker is thrilled that I’m working on a Saturday.
The condescending little “good to have you back” he sends my way grates like nails on a chalkboard. I’d like to ditch work for a week just to make him understand I’m simply here to avoid an empty house and not because of his threats.
