Page 12 of One Last Summer
“‘Three, surround yourself with people you love, who love you.’ Done.” Lydia pointed at herself.
“‘Four, do something that scares you. Daily. Take risks, goddamnit! (Jump off the high dive, you chicken.) Five. Take a lot of LOVERS (lol). Or at least have one passionate love affair.’”
I audibly snorted as the memories rushed back in an instant. “Eloise brought a bunch of historical romance books to camp that summer. I was on a kick.”
“You actually wrote ‘LOL’ there. But still, good advice.” She chuckled. “‘Six, Chop your hair off. Come on, do it once! Or at least cut it short! (I almost did it this summer but I bailed, so now I’m holding us to it.) Seven. Experience real joy. Eight. Be kind to yourself!’ With an exclamation point,” Lydia added, giving me her brightest smile. “‘Nine. Have a shitload of fun. Ten. Be a great friend.’”
I looked up and watched as her eyes scanned the paper. “Is that it?” I asked. Please, god, let that be it.
She nodded. “Yeah, then you just say, ‘That’s all from me. I can’t wait to find out who I am as an adult. Remember—I love you. Xo, Me/You/Clara.’ See? It’s not that bad!”
Lydia pushed the letter back toward me.
“I sound so naively optimistic,” I murmured, staring down at my words. “Like I was in total denial about all the shit going on at home.”
“I’m sure it was a lot for you to process,” Lydia said.
“Also, why are there no actual, concrete goals here?” I traced my finger over my instructions. “You know, like, save for a down payment, or run a marathon.”
“Ew, that’s boring adult shit you’d write now. This”—she leaned forward and tapped a finger down on the letter—“is a sign. A DM from the Universe. A checklist for your soul. Teen Clara wants you to go to New Hampshire. Take a risk, goddamnit.”
Disagreement perched on my lips, ready to remind her again that we had a huge, life-changing pitch staring us down. But instead, I kept my mouth shut and ran my fingers along the blue lines of the notebook paper, trying to remember how I’d felt when writing these words. So much had changed since then, but a piece of me still lived on this page, and she’d wanted so much from her life. From me.
Could I even check a single box off Teen Clara’s list? Work could be considered meaningful. Right? And I did love working with Lydia, so maybe I could give myself a check there as well. I loved my parents in theory, I guess, even if they did both drive me a little nuts. But I didn’t have a group of friends around me who cared for me unconditionally as I’d had back then. I tried to think back to the last time I felt truly joyful and drew a blank.
I’d had the same dull, shoulder-length, layerless haircut since I was thirteen years old.
Jesus. Maybe this letter was a sign.
“So, what, you think I should just say fuck it, and actually go up to camp for the week?” I asked, and for the first time, I felt a genuine pull to do just that.
“Yes!” She threw up her hands again, completely exasperated with me. “I’ve been telling you this all night. Go take a week. You owe it to your fifteen-year-old self. And your current self.”
“I guess I do feel a little fried.” I took another sip of wine, weighing the idea. “I could even live up to teenage me and check off the rest of this list. Except for the hair chop part, obviously.”
“I’m not sure this is a do-it-all-in-five-days sort of list, Clara,” she mused. “This is, like, big life stuff.”
“Excuse me, if there’s one thing I’m good at it’s killing a to-do list,” I said adamantly, and she held up her hands in defeat.
“Okay, okay, that is true.”
“I mean, look.” I shrugged. “I can at least try. I’ll go on my playcation—”
“See!” Lydia clapped her hands together. “That really works!”
“I’ll follow this list, check everything off, come back to Boston, and kill the pitch,” I reasoned. “Show Amaya that I’m still just as good at this as I’ve always been. Better, even. And maybe if Alewife goes well, I’ll finally think about getting a dog.”
And joy, I thought to myself as I folded the letter back up and tucked it inside its envelope. Pure, unadulterated, ecstatic joy. Laughing so loud that you don’t care who hears you, running so fast it feels like your legs will never stop. The sensation of your heart cracking open with so much happiness you almost break into tears. That one word was so simple, and yet it contained an entire world of emotions in just three letters.
“And a lover,” she said, lips curling. “Who has a boathouse.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” I said, though my body warmed at her words. I still thought back to that kiss with Mack at the strangest of times. Late at night, sure, but also in the middle of grabbing a burrito for dinner after work. One minute I’d be asking for extra guac, and then suddenly I was pressed up against the rough bark of that tree, Mack’s mouth hot on mine.
“Whatever you say, boss,” she said with a shake of her head. “Now, let’s go get you packed.”
“I haven’t done laundry all week.” I chewed at the edge of my index finger, suddenly unnerved at the thought of traveling at the drop of a hat. “Normally I’d have planned all my outfits and packed already.”
“Aw, look at you living on the edge already!” Lydia cooed, hand pressed against her chest.
