Page 19 of One Last Summer
“Hi,” Eloise purred back, dragging out the word as she squeezed me, a departure from her usual curt staccato. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assumed she was stoned, but Eloise rarely let any substance other than pure, type-A energy, and the occasional cocktail, control her. She could be both effortless and calculated, which had been a formidable combination on the soccer field and in swim meets back in the day.
I inhaled the faint scent of some sort of luxurious hair care product as we embraced, that intoxicating mix of chemicals intertwined with florals. Her eyes trailed down my neck as she pulled away, her lip crooking up just a bit. “Nice necklace.”
“Mack was waiting at the entrance of camp to give it to me,” I said with a shake of my head as I yanked the stupid thing off and shoved it into my tote bag.
“Of course he was,” she replied, brows tweaked knowingly. Eloise was a stock analyst, a Wall Street job I didn’t quite understand, other than it meant she was paid to see things from all angles and then attempt to tell the future of a company’s financial prowess.
She grabbed the man next to her by his elbow, tugging him close. “Clar, this is Linus. My partner.”
Eloise’s normally controlled, clipped delivery dripped with affection, the closest I’d ever seen her come to swooning. Nick and Trey weren’t lying. Eloise was smitten.
“Nice to meet you, Clara,” he said with a firm grip of my hand.
Linus was handsome, with close-cropped black hair, olive skin, and delicate, wire-frame glasses.
Sam leaned into my shoulder. “He brought a solar-powered lantern,” she murmured in my ear. “He thought we’d be in tents. He’s sweet.”
“She seems different,” I mused as we watched Eloise and Linus saunter hand in hand over to the rest of our group.
He was decked out in a loose white button-down and army green hiking pants—the kind that you could unzip at the knee and turn into shorts. I distinctly remembered my seventy-one-year-old dad wearing a very similar pair last summer, and the fact that Linus was almost definitely half his age and wearing them unironically made me like him instantly.
“She is,” Sam agreed, nodding. “She’s in love.”
“I heard, but I didn’t quite believe it until I saw it with my own eyes.” I shook my head, overwhelmed. “I’ll process that in a second, but first can we discuss you?”
Arms wide, I finally gave Sam a proper hug. She was so short my chin practically rested on her head, and I squeezed her as hard as I could without squashing her beautifully round belly.
“Were you going to wait to have the kid before you told us?” I asked, looking down again to make sure what I was seeing was real.
“Well, you’re the last person to find out, actually,” she said, and her eyes shifted slightly. “I tried to tell everyone in person or over the phone. I’ve been waiting for you to text me back so we could set up that FaceTime chat.”
My stomach sank. All around me were signs that my friends’ lives had chugged on together, with me on the periphery. They shared a closeness that I’d once been part of, but now I was the outsider, the last to learn about all the ways their lives were growing and changing while mine had seemingly stalled out.
And I had no one to blame but myself.
10
“OH, FUCK, SAM. I am so sorry.” My entire face was on fire, one hundred degrees warmer than the rest of my body. “Things have been crazy, and I just totally spaced.”
Because, of course, Sam had texted months ago that she wanted to talk. Clare-bear, I have things to tell you!
I’d replied, telling her I’d respond soon with some free days when we could hop on the phone. And I’d meant it at the time—as soon as I could come up for air, I’d get back to her to set up our chat. But then the days ticked on. Meetings bled into other meetings, late nights went later than expected.
It had crossed my mind occasionally that I owed her a call, but my brain always moved on to the next thing, and the thought of catching up with Sam fluttered away back into the ether.
These were all excuses, of course. And none of them made this situation any better.
“I’m so sorry,” I said again. “I really flaked.”
“Well, hey, now I get to tell you in person.” She gave me a big smile, and I hoped that meant we were okay, though it didn’t erase the sick feeling coursing through my body.
I hadn’t texted an old, dear friend back, even though it was clear they had news to share, because I was too busy. But was I, really? Sure, work was a lot, but I’d had time to scroll TikTok for hours on end, just waiting for my brain to shut off. What kind of person chooses mind-numbing videos of strangers over talking to their very oldest friend?
I pushed all the uncomfortable thoughts aside and focused on Sam. A person I loved, I reminded myself, quoting from teen Clara’s list of intentions. “I have many questions for you.”
She pressed a hand to her lower back and shifted on her feet. “I figured,” she chuckled. “Sperm donor, thirty-seven weeks, yes, it’s fine for me to drive still, yes, I have to pee all the time, no, I don’t have any weird cravings, but the thought of touching raw chicken makes me want to die.”
She stuck her tongue out, gagging slightly.
