Page 25 of A Novel Summer
The song “Shape of You” by Ed Sheeran played, and Hunter smiled. Shelby knew exactly what she was thinking: they’d gone to see him live in Center City Philadelphia sophomore year. On the way home their phones had died, they had gotten off on the wrong exit, and had ended up in a neighborhood called Manayunk, a small hipster town built on a canal. They’d parked and asked a group of people their age for directions, and ended up at a house party where they spent the night. Shelby was anxious, but Hunter had loved the adventure, and her calm helped Shelby roll with it. It was always that way between them: Hunter ran towards the unknown and the novel, while Shelby yearned for comfort and stability.
Hunter got up to use the bathroom and was noticeably wobbly.
“Be right back,” she slurred. While she was gone, Shelby called Chris over and said, “We need to cut her off.”
It was time to get her home. That was what friends were for.
Half a block down Commercial, Hunter sat on the curb and refused to get up.
“You have to walk,” Shelby said, holding out her hand. Hunter ignored her and pulled the vape pen from her bag. Shelby grabbed it away. “Not till you’re home.”
A breeze blew off the bay and the night was comfortable, but Shelby felt perspiration on the back of her neck. She also felt a sense of déjà vu; like they were back on campus, dragging themselves back to the dorm after a bar crawl on Lancaster. But they weren’t college kids anymore, and she wondered if Hunter always got that wasted.
Hunter sat on the curb, and Shelby searched the street for a pedicab. She saw one half a block away. It had a bright blue, open-topped passenger cabin and the driver appeared to be wearing a top hat. Shelby waved down the cab, but a group of men spilling out of 1620 Brewhouse got it first. Behind it, she spotted Justin behind the wheel of his trusty old Jeep Wrangler. He pulled over.
“Everything okay?” he called out. Shelby was relieved to see him, and immediately recognized this was a vestigial feeling. Justin was someone she’d once counted on and cared about, but it wasn’t appropriate to involve him in her messy evening.
“Everything’s fine,” she said. Hunter lay down on her side, as if she were on her bed and not the sidewalk.
“You sure about that?”
“Hunter’s a little wasted. I’m trying to get her home.”
He reached over and opened the passenger door. “Hop in.” He put the car in Park then walked over to lift Hunter to her feet and into the back.
Justin knew the way to Hunter’s house, having driven Shelby home many times that last summer. By the end of July, she started sleeping at his place. And in August, he told her that she didn’t have to worry about where she’d stay when she visited during the fall and winter: she was welcome at his house anytime. He’d give her a key.
She pushed the memory away and looked out the window. Cruising into the West End, restaurants and bars gave way to quiet houses and closed retails shops. It was dark enough down that way to see the stars in the sky.
The Coldplay song “Clocks” came on the radio and with it, she felt the undeniable intimacy of a car ride late at night. With a quick, subtle glance at Justin, she told herself it was normal to have mixed feelings. She’d done the right thing three years ago when she ended it, but at the same time, she hadn’t really had to confront the ramifications. When she moved to the city, everything was different all at once. Missing Justin had just been part of the mix. But now, in the setting of the place where they’d been together, it stung a little. On some level, she’d known it would. Maybe that was why she never returned to visit Colleen or Hunter. It wasn’t only because she was busy in New York.
They turned right before Pilgrims’ First Landing Park and headed up Creek Round Hill Road, passing marshes and dunes. Justin turned down the music and she heard the hoot of an owl. If she’d been with anyone else it would have felt strange not to talk, but Justin was someone who was comfortable in silence. It came from a place of deep confidence, and was one of the many things she’d liked about him.
He pulled into the Dillworths’ driveway.
“Thanks so much for doing this. Sorry for taking you out of your way,” she said.
“No problem,” he said, turning off the ignition. He turned to look at her. A painful few seconds of silence ticked by until Hunter interrupted with, “Oh, fuck off, you two.”
Shelby shook her head. “I’d better get her inside.”
Nineteen
Colleen made it clear that even though she was physically sidelined, she still intended to be involved with Land’s End. So Monday morning, Shelby picked up coffee and croissants from the Wired Puppy and went to Doug’s for a meeting.
She found Colleen sitting out back in the garden on a cushioned wicker bench shaded by a standing umbrella. The garden was mostly leafy hosta plants, irises, and daisies, with one stalk of bright pink hollyhock blooms. A bumblebee buzzed around it.
“Don’t forget you’re meeting with the publisher of Malaprop Books today,” Colleen said, handing her a printed catalog of their fall titles. Part of her job as a bookseller was to meet with sales reps—or in the case of small presses, the publishers themselves—to learn about the upcoming list and figure out what books to stock for her customers.
Malaprop was the Boston-based book publisher where Hunter had worked before losing her job. The company was small but prestigious, known for its signature book covers, which featured the title in white against a solid cobalt blue background. Their authors were so widely acclaimed, that was really all they needed. Malaprop Press won so many literary awards that the list on their website felt like an infinite scroll. Shelby became familiar with their books in college, and she obsessed over a particular novella calledOpaline, back when she aspired to write the type of debut they might publish.
“I know. I got your text. Don’t worry about it.”
Colleen had planned on taking the meeting herself—sitting and talking was one thing she could still do. But her doctor’s office rescheduled her appointment for the same time and she was hoping to hear that there was some improvement in her condition—that the doctor might ease up on the restrictions.
“It’s so frustrating,” Colleen said.
Shelby nodded. “Of course it is. I’m really impressed by how you’re handling all this.” She reached over and squeezed her arm. Colleen’s expression clouded.
