Page 76 of One Last Summer
“And how is she doing?” Marla crouched down, tugging at a bin on a lower shelf. “Your old self, I mean.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, considering the question for a moment. From anyone else, it would have seemed judgmental, asked with the purpose of making a point. But Marla was inquisitive and open, someone who genuinely wanted to know.
“I guess she’s happy my current self is here, out of my comfort zone,” I said finally. “I haven’t really let that side out in a long time.”
“Yeah?” she said, cracking open a bin’s lid and examining the contents inside. “Why do you think that is?”
“Well,” I said, “I’ve spent my entire life—or I guess, since my parents got divorced—trying to do everything the right way, you know? No surprises. But I’m starting to think all this overplanning and thinking has just led me in circles.”
Marla began unloading jars of chocolate sauce onto the industrial-size island in the center of the kitchen.
“I remember how hard that summer was for you,” she said, pausing to glance up at me. “It makes sense that you’ve tried to carve out a life that feels good to you.”
“I’m working on it,” I said.
“I think it’s great you’re making the most out of this week,” she continued, “and I’m not just talking about you know who.”
“Oh my god, Marla.” My face flushed, unable to hide my mortification, and I briefly pondered jumping into the freezer to avoid her beaming smile.
“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to embarrass you,” she said sweetly. “But I’ve just known Mack for so long. And I know he’s always pined for you.”
“That is an amazingly appropriate pun,” I said, still blushing as I arranged the glass containers of chocolate sauce in a perfect line in front of me, just to do something with my fidgety hands.
“I know, and I don’t get to use it all that often.” She chuckled before pointing at a giant cupboard. “Plates and bowls stored in there.”
I wandered over in that direction and swung open the wooden doors. “Reconnecting with Mack this week has really been nice.” This was the understatement of the century, but it was as far as I was going to go with someone who had second mom status in my life.
“He’s a good egg, that one,” she said as I dug around a crate of plastic bowls. “Mack’s really made this place into something extra special, over the last few years especially.”
My skin prickled at the mention of his name, and suddenly I could feel every drop of sweat on my skin. She swung open a cabinet door. “Jackpot. Did you want cones?”
“Uh, sure, we could use cones.” I opened up a drawer in my search for spoons and then paused. “Marla, I hope it’s okay to say this, but, if he’s been so great, why didn’t you guys offer to sell Pine Lake to him? It’s so obvious that he wants to stay, and we all know he’s sitting on a trust fund, so he could afford it, I would assume. I know money is money, and I’m not trying to judge the choice you and Steve made. But, like, a glamping company? Over Mack? I just don’t get it.”
The words spilled out before I could censor myself, and I knew, when her lips formed a straight line, that I’d pricked a sensitive spot, and I immediately regretted asking.
“I’m sorry, it’s not even my place to ask that,” I said, scrambling to figure out how to back out of this conversation.
“No, it’s okay, Clara.” She sighed, like someone who so badly wanted to solve a puzzle in front of them but wasn’t sure how. “I just assumed you two had talked about this already.”
“About what?” I said, an anxious lump growing in my throat. “Did something happen?”
“Oh, no, honey, I’m sorry.” She paused in thought for a moment, running her fingertips up the bridge of her nose. “It doesn’t quite feel like it’s my place to say anything, but we’ve already opened the door to this conversation, so…”
I pushed the drawer I’d been digging through closed and leaned my elbows on the counter, sliding closer to her, in anxious anticipation over what she was about to tell me.
“See, we actually asked Mack first, right before we listed the place,” she continued. “We had hoped he’d say yes. But he had his reasons for saying no, which we respected.”
“Wait, I’m not sure I’m following,” I said, though the dread thumping through my stomach told me otherwise, that maybe I was following along too well.
“He came back to us a couple of days ago, right after you guys got back from the hospital, and asked us to reconsider, but as you know, we’ve already moved forward with Glamp Camp.” Marla’s forehead creased, and it was clear she’d been agonizing over this. “Steve almost cried when he had to turn Mack’s offer down, and that man never cries. Not even when the Red Sox finally won the World Series.”
I was silent, speeding through my memories of these last few days with Mack, on the boat, in the car, in his bed, the art barn. Our conversations about the shoulds of life, him moving back home, my job. Me, self-righteous and so certain I knew what was best, trying to convince Mack to talk to Marla and Steve, assuming they’d overlooked him somehow. But no—they’d offered it to him first.
This was the big decision he’d mentioned cryptically the other night, the stuff that hadn’t worked out. He’d been so pissed off that night on the boat, but as the timeline shifted into place I realized why: He’d just tried to fix his mistake and had been told it was too late.
He could have told me. I’d confided in him about my life’s disappointments, laid myself bare about my struggles, because he’d felt safe, and because whatever this was between us had me thinking he felt the same. But he didn’t; that much was obvious now.
A flush of foolishness sank through my body; how dumb had I been to read into a few days of sex and whispered feelings? I’d been a distraction for him, a convenient escape from the shit he’d been wallowing in secretly. This really was just a fling, a passionate love affair like I’d once wanted, but nothing more.
