Since Last Summer

  It made even less sense that she was thinking so much about Mike because things with Evan were going so well. He’d finally started inviting her over to his house toward the end of June. But it wasn’t her favorite place to hang out. Jeff’s uncle’s guesthouse was more of a storage facility for his uncle’s collection of midcentury modern furniture than a dwelling for guests. One couldn’t walk through the living room without banging a knee into an ottoman or a coffee table. There was almost nowhere to stand, but many, many places to sit. A depressing bare lightbulb hung from the center of the living-room ceiling over the furniture, which was upholstered in green felt or orange fabric. The bathroom was only wide enough for a toilet and a shower, and there was just one real bedroom, which happened to be Evan’s—but only for the month of June.

  “We switch off having the bedroom and being out here,” Evan had explained on her first visit, pointing to a tangerine-colored futon with a tangle of blankets and a pillow that lay smack in the middle of the living-room floor.

  “Oh,” Isabel had said, scrutinizing the futon. “So this will be where you’ll sleep next month?” Her fantasies of spending alone time with Evan—the kind of alone time she’d spent with Mike in his tiny but private bedroom—instantly trickled away.

  “Yeah,” Evan said, kicking the futon. “It’s not so bad. And Jeff is a pretty solid sleeper so it’s not like he’s up and walking around.”

  On this particular July evening, however, Jeff was at work, so they’d made themselves at home in the tiny, mildew-smelling back bedroom. They’d just graduated from making out to doing other, more serious things, and as she lay in Evan’s arms, kissing him, he started to take off her shirt. Thoughts of Mike shot back into her brain with a force that made her sit up.

  “You okay?” Evan asked.

  Isabel hugged her knees, feeling stupid. “I had this boyfriend last summer,” she said, looking down at the chocolate-colored bedspread.

  “And?” Evan asked.

  He had a different chest than you, she wanted to say. Mike’s chest had been well-muscled, sturdy, smooth. Evan’s was longer and thinner and paler, with a central tuft of chest hair. It wasn’t less attractive than Mike’s. But it was different. “It’s nothing,” she said. “Just my own weirdness.”

  “Do I need to break his knees?” Evan asked.

  Isabel gave him a bewildered look.

  “Man, that sounded macho, didn’t it?” Evan said. She laughed.

  Now, in the car, she drummed her nails on the car door and gazed out at a lonely vegetable stand, closed up for the night. It wasn’t Mike’s stand, but it looked just like it. “Would you ever want to try surfing?” she asked.

  “I tried it once,” he said, turning onto Montauk Highway. “I thought the skin was gonna get permanently scraped off my ribs from all the paddling. And I have no balance. But if you want to teach me, then I’m more than interested.”

  “Good to know,” she sighed.

  “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Connor said from across the table. “My dad wants me to stay over at his place this weekend. Would you have a problem with that?”

  Rory looked up from the overpriced menu. Isabel and Evan were late, and the restaurant was strangely empty. “You mean for the Fourth?” she asked. “Sure. Okay. We don’t have plans for it anyway, right?”

  “I mean, I think he wanted me to come by myself,” he said. “You know, for some father-son bonding.” Connor grabbed his water and took a quick sip, as if he was eager to look away from her stare.

  “So we wouldn’t spend the Fourth together?” she asked.

  Connor shrugged. “Is there something that you really wanted to do? I remember last year you stayed at home.”

  Yeah, but we hung out together, she thought. It had been the night they’d first kissed. “If that’s what you want,” she said.

  “It’s not what I want; it’s what my dad wants,” Connor said.

  “Well, exactly.”

  Connor smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t always have to do what your parents want you to do,” she said. “It’s like you always have to be the good kid. You don’t have to be that way.”

  “He’s just asked me to hang out for a couple of nights. Why is it a character flaw if I go?”

  “It’s not a character flaw. I’m just pointing something out.”

  “I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, annoyed. “It’s a couple of days.”

  Rory twisted her napkin in her lap. “Fine. Go. Have fun.”

  He cocked his head and gave her a pained look. “Are you just saying that?”

  “No, it’s fine,” she lied. “Go to your dad’s house. You’re right, it’s a couple of days.” She saw Isabel and Evan coming toward them.

  “Hey, you guys!” Isabel called, waving.

  Quickly Rory waved back, hoping that her fake smile was convincing. Connor turned around and waved, too, as friendly and graciously as possible. Here we go again, she thought. The fake happy couple.

  Evan had the same open smile that she’d seen at the pizza place. “Hey, sorry we’re late,” he said. “It’s all Isabel’s fault.” His green eyes twinkled.

  “It’s because someone drives like they’re a senior citizen,” Isabel said, socking him in the upper arm.

  Evan sat down across from her. Once again, Rory noticed how attractive his eyes were.

  “Hey, man, I’m Evan,” Evan said, extending his hand toward Connor.

  “Connor,” said Connor. “Isabel’s told me a lot about you.”

  “She has?” Evan asked, amused.

  “Not too much, don’t worry,” Connor said. “I am the older brother, after all. I get very little info.”

  Isabel gave Rory a look. How are you guys doing? it seemed to ask.

  Rory gave her a half smile, which she hoped conveyed, Not great.

  “So… where are you from again?” Connor asked.

  “Wilton, Connecticut.”

  “I think I had a guy on my floor at St. Paul’s who was from there,” Connor said.

  “St. Paul’s?” Evan asked.

  “It’s a boarding school,” Connor said.

  “Oh,” Evan said, a bit self-conscious.

  “Connor goes to USC,” Isabel pointed out. “He used to be a big swimming star.”

  “Are you into sports?” Connor asked.

  Evan shook his head. “Not so much. I tried playing basketball, but I found myself getting beaten up a lot.”

  Connor was quiet.

  “Why does everyone think that because a guy is tall, he has to be amazing at basketball?” Rory asked, breaking the silence.

  “Where were you, like, three years ago?” Evan asked. “I could have used you then.”

  “Hey, what are you guys doing for the Fourth?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

  Rory glanced at Connor, to see if he was willing to answer.

  “I’m spending it at Dad’s,” Connor said.

  “You are?” Isabel asked.

  “I’m sure you’re invited.”

  “No, thanks,” Isabel said abruptly. “Are you going, too?” she asked Rory.

  Rory shook her head.

  “Dad wants it to be just family, I think,” Connor put in. “At least, that’s how he made it sound.”

  Isabel arched an eyebrow. “So Rory’s not invited?”

  Rory lowered her eyes to the table. She could feel Evan watching the three of them closely.

  “It’s not up to me,” Connor said.

  “Then you’re hanging out with us,” Isabel said to Rory, tipping her head to include Evan. “Once we figure out what we’re doing, that is.” Isabel threw a dark, shaming look in Connor’s direction.

  “So does everyone know what they want?” Rory asked, eager to move on. As she glanced down at her menu, she made eye contact with Evan. She was startled to find sympathy in his gaze. Then she looked away.

  Isabel walked with Evan ba
ck to his car, even though she was getting a ride home with Connor and Rory. She’d been distracted for most of the dinner, thinking about Mike, and now she felt disoriented, as if she’d shown up late to a class and had no idea what anyone was talking about. Plus, she’d felt a strange energy whizzing back and forth across the table, as if the four of them had been engaged in an intense bout of doubles Ping-Pong. “Thanks for doing that,” she said. “I think my brother really liked you.”

  “You think so?” Evan said. “I couldn’t tell. He seemed a little weird toward your friend, though. Did you pick up on that?”

  “Rory?”

  “Yeah. He seemed… well, they both seemed like they’d been kind of bugged at each other. You didn’t notice that?”

  “Not really,” she said.

  When they got to his car she stepped closer to him, cuing him to put his arms around her. But he didn’t. In the moonlight his eyes held a new, unfamiliar distance.

  “Well, see you tomorrow,” he said. “Sleep tight.”

  “I will,” she said. “You, too.”

  He rubbed her shoulders and then got into his car. It was hard not to feel a little bit rejected as the door shut. But she knew that she sort of deserved it.

  When she got in the backseat of Connor’s car, Rory turned around in the shotgun seat. “Evan’s so cool,” she gushed. “Did he have a good time?”

  Isabel slammed the door closed, and Connor started the engine. “Yup,” she said. “He did.”

  As they took off in the dark, Isabel clutched the door handle in frustration. Evan was cool, she thought. And if she didn’t get herself together and stop thinking about Mike, she was going to lose him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Rejecting people all day long had to be bad karma, Rory thought as she cut and pasted yet another filmmaker’s name and address into a form rejection on East End Festival letterhead. WE APPRECIATE YOUR INTEREST IN THE EAST END FESTIVAL, BUT DUE TO THE OVERWHELMING AMOUNT OF SUBMISSIONS IN YOUR CATEGORY, WE ARE UNABLE TO ACCEPT YOUR FILM AT THIS TIME.… She wondered how she’d feel if she got one of these letters. Probably the same as she’d felt that morning watching Connor pack his bag for his dad’s house. She’d sat on his bed, watching him open drawers and dump clothes into a gym bag, trying to act as if she hadn’t stayed up most of the night before, wondering if she’d been too nitpicky at dinner.

  “What do you guys have planned for the Fourth tomorrow?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too interested.

  “Something mellow, I’m sure,” Connor said. “It’s not like my dad’s gonna be at the Georgica. I think he’ll have some friends over. Grill some steaks.” He placed a suspiciously hefty pile of T-shirts in the bag. “You and Isabel gonna do something?”

  “Me and Isabel and Evan,” she corrected him. It was a cheap shot, bringing up another guy, but she couldn’t help it.

  Connor continued to pack his bag. “He seems like a nice guy,” he said. “You’ll have a lot more fun with them.” He glanced at the Swiss army knife on the end table but didn’t pack it.

  “Yeah, probably,” she said, feigning a smile.

  After her tenth form letter, she started to feel tired. She closed the file, and then closed her eyes, letting herself drift off to sleep, her chin on her hand. Then she smelled the familiar scent of vanilla-and-musk perfume wafting over from somewhere close by.

  “Rory, do you have a moment?” she asked.

  Rory jerked herself upright. Nina hovered over Rory. She blinked groggily. “Sure, what do you need?”

  Nina didn’t seem to notice Rory’s drowsiness. Instead she wore an oddly giddy smile as she stood by Rory’s chair, hand on her narrow hip. “We heard back from the Rules. They RSVP’d yes to the gala.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Rory said, unsure how happy she was supposed to be about this piece of news.

  “Between you and me,” Nina said in a conspiratorial voice, leaning closer, “everyone on the fund-raising committee is beside themselves that they’re coming.”

  “Oh.” For some reason this made her feel less than excited. “Wonderful.”

  “And Andrea?” Nina asked, leaning over toward Amelia’s cubicle.

  “You mean Amelia?” Rory heard Amelia say.

  “Sorry, Amelia,” Nina said with a bashful smile. “I just wanted you to know that we all voted to include Flower Child in our shorts selection. Congratulations.”

  “Really?” Amelia cried. From the other side of the cubicle, it sounded as if she’d almost fallen out of her chair. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, we all loved it,” Nina said, her brown eyes gleaming. “And you can thank Rory for bringing it to our attention. She clearly has good taste.” Then Nina clip-clopped off down the hall.

  Amelia sprang up over the cubicle wall. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “That actually happened. Thank you.”

  “I didn’t do anything. They obviously liked your movie.”

  “Who are the Rules?” Amelia asked, with a skeptical arch of her brow.

  “These people I’m staying with,” she said. “My boyfriend’s parents.”

  “They sound pretty important.”

  “They have a lot of money,” Rory said.

  Amelia snorted. “Of course they do.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’ve lived here all my life,” Amelia said. “Not in East Hampton—on the North Fork. But whatever. Same diff. And there’s no question—money means everything around here.”

  “So you’re saying that’s why they chose your film?” Rory asked.

  “Depends. What did you promise them about these people you’re staying with?”

  “Nothing,” Rory said. “I didn’t promise them anything.”

  Amelia thought for a moment and then waved her hand. “Ah, forget it,” she said. “You’re right. I should be happy. At least one of these dumb internships actually turned into something.” Then she popped out of sight.

  Rory turned back toward her computer. She knew that Amelia was probably right. Living with the Rules seemed to give her clout here, in a way she couldn’t have foreseen. But she hadn’t “promised” Nina and Luis a thing. If they wanted to put Amelia’s short in the lineup, that was their choice. Her conscience was clear. And she would make sure it stayed that way.

  “I can’t believe he left you alone on the Fourth,” Isabel said the next day as they sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Montauk Highway, headed east. “That is so not cool.”

  “What am I gonna do?” Rory asked. “Force him to hang out with me?”

  Isabel leaned her head out of the window, trying to assess the traffic situation. The smell of cold fried chicken wafted from the backseat, making her stomach grumble. Fee had packed them a three-course picnic dinner for the fireworks that night, but Isabel was hungry enough to break into it now. “Maybe we should have left earlier,” Isabel said. “I think everyone in the world is trying to get to Montauk right now.”

  “Do you think there’ll be any spaces left?” Rory asked.

  “It’s a beach. It’s not like they can close it off.” Isabel slammed her foot on the accelerator as the car in front of them lurched forward, then slammed her foot on the brake as soon as the car slowed down.

  “Has Connor always been like this?” Rory asked. “You know, the perfect son?”

  “I made it pretty easy for him,” Isabel said.

  “The funny thing is, that’s what I liked about him last summer—his goodness,” Rory said. “I knew that he’d always do the right thing. I could trust that about him.”

  “Yeah, but a person’s best quality can be their worst quality,” Isabel said. “You ever notice that? Like with Evan. He’s so sweet, he’s so considerate, he’s so open about how he feels about me.”

  “So all those things are his worst qualities?” Rory asked.

  Isabel gave Rory a look. “Sometimes I think he’s too open, too nice. It can be a little bit… boring.”

  “Maybe you don’t
know what it’s like to be with someone who doesn’t play with your head,” Rory said.

  “I knew you’d say that,” Isabel said.

  “No, I’m listening. What about all that is bad?”

  “I saw Mike,” Isabel said bluntly. “At the Ripcurl that night. I didn’t want to tell you, because I was afraid you’d think I’d be into him again. And I’m not.”

  “Uh-huh,” Rory said cautiously.

  “But there was more… I don’t know, heat in the five minutes I was standing in front of him talking than there is when I’m actually hooking up with Evan.”

  “But you’re not into Mike,” Rory said in a deadpan voice.

  “No, I’m not. He wanted me to give him a second chance, and I said no.”

  Rory looked impressed. “Good for you.”

  “But I think about him,” Isabel said. “I’ve been trying not to. But I do.”

  The car ahead of them finally began moving again. Isabel lurched forward and turned up Rihanna on the radio. The sun was setting fast, and straight ahead, toward the east, the sky was awash with pinks and lavenders.

  “I get it,” Rory said. “There’s no perfect package. You date a guy who’s good to his parents? Then he wants to hang out with them on major holidays instead of with you.”

  Isabel laughed. “If only he knew the real reason for the divorce,” she said. “Maybe I should tell him.”

  “But didn’t your mom make you promise not to?”

  “Forget my mom,” Isabel said. “She’s so caught up in denial it would probably do her good.”

  “But what about me?” Rory asked.

  “What about you? You’ll just pretend that you didn’t know anything about it.”

  “But I don’t think I could do that,” Rory said.

  Isabel was quiet. “Fine. I won’t say anything. Even though he deserves to know.”