Page 12 of Summer Romance
“What, what?” he asks, and turns back to the moon.
“You looked like you were about to say something.”
“No.” He shakes his head a little. “It’s nothing. I’m really glad we got to do this.” And there’s something he’s not saying. It’s almost like the words he wants to add are “just this one time.” Which, of course.
We’re quiet for a bit, and I concentrate on the feel of his arm next to mine and the slight rocking of the boat under me. “So where are you with your divorce?” he asks.
“It’s imminent.”
“Do you want to talk about it? I’m a pretty good lawyer.”
“Yeah, but not in Manhattan, I hear.” I turn to him to see if he knows I’m kidding.
He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Honestly, I think the whole reason I went to law school was to get my parents to take me seriously. But even back when I was a corporate lawyer, they still treated me like I was fourteen and maybe about to burn the house down.”
I laugh. “Did you grow up around here?”
He looks away, back up at the moon.
“Did you grow up in New York?” I try again.
The crease is back in his brow. “Connecticut,” he says.
“I’m a big fan of the Southport Rockets,” I say. “So were you kind of a screwup in high school?”
“For sure.” He meets my eyes and his face is open again. I feel that connection that’s been building all night, like he’s telling me something that matters.
“How so?” I ask.
“In a quiet way. I didn’t make a big splash about it. My acts of terror were mostly against myself.” He looks back to the sky, and I know this is something he doesn’t want to talk about. I want to know more, and I want to keep hearing the sound of his voice.
Instead, we’re quiet for a while. I listen to the sound of the water lapping up against the boat. I watch our bare feet next to each other on the console. I watch a cloud pass over the moon above us. I try to memorize this fun night with this fun man. A night like this could easily never happen again, and I want to be able to look back and remember it—the sound of the water hitting the boat, the stripe of moonlight, the press of his shoulder against mine.
I turn to him just as he turns to me.
“So how’d your first date go?” he asks.
“So much eye contact,” I say.
He smiles, just a little. There’s a sadness to it that’s totally out of place. “I’m glad I got to be the guy.”
The water keeps lapping up against the boat in a slow rhythm. The moon keeps laying its rippled stripe down the middle of things. And Ethan keeps looking at me like he’s going to kiss me any second. But he doesn’t.
He takes my hand, and it startles me. Both the strong feel of it and the way he’s entwined our fingers like this is something we do all the time. He feels soft and strong at the same time, and I think the whole construction-worker-turned-concert-pianist thing may have been spot-on.
“I’m going to get you home,” he says, and sits up, releasing my hand.
We’re back in Baxter more quickly than I’d like. He cuts the engine and ties up the boat. And as we walk back down the dock to the car, my mind reeling, he takes my hand again.
We’re quiet on the drive back to the rec. He parks next to my car and gets out. He’s definitely going to kiss me now. I am loopy with anticipation. He comes around to my side of the car and reaches out his hand to help me out. I get out, and he doesn’t let go. We’re facing each other, and I take a small step forward, just to make my consent crystal clear.
“Thanks for tonight,” he says. “It was perfect.” And he does not kiss me.
8
“Who’s feeling fun-tastic?” Mrs. Hogan greets us at the door the next night in a pineapple-print sundress and, more notably, Carmen Miranda’s fruit headdress. Cliffy lets out a little squeal of delight. I think he would love to live in a world where everyone was as playful as the Hogans. Iris beams. Greer averts her eyes, embarrassed for herself, Mrs. Hogan, and everyone on earth who has ever considered eating fruit.
“Well, I am now,” I say, giving her a hug and pressing my face into the side of a plastic banana. This banana is reality. I am not in a life with soft, entwined hands and too-close lips. I am in a life with plastic fruit. I need to embrace my reality and recalibrate after that date. In addition to not kissing me, Ethan did not ask for my phone number. I am officially bad at dating, like I need a seminar, and that’s that. “You look fabulous.”
