Page 96 of One Last Summer
“Well, wife always felt weird too,” she said as she focused on guiding Olive’s mouth toward her breast. “We used to say ‘my person,’ which worked. Until, you know, our marriage didn’t.”
“How do you even know, though?” I asked, and suddenly felt very self-conscious, like I was back in middle school, trying to work out a math equation on the whiteboard in front of the whole class. “I thought Nick and Trey were, like, this perfect couple.”
“Well, first of all, perfect is bullshit,” Sam said. “Every couple has issues and differences and, honestly, shit they downright hate about the other person.”
“Sure,” I said. “I guess what I mean is, how do I know if Mack is my person? What if I’m wrong?”
“Clara,” she said as she stroked the dark wisps of Olive’s hair and then traced a finger lightly across the two perfect arches above her eyes. “There is no way to really know. You just have to trust yourself. And be okay with it, and yourself, if you do end up being wrong.”
“There is a part of me that thinks maybe Mack has been my person this whole time,” I confessed. “I just never wanted to admit it.”
“Aw, look at you!” Sam squealed. “I love that. I love you. I love the two of you together. Why do you think I’ve been pushing you to get up here every summer?”
“Uh, because I’m your oldest friend?” I guessed. “And you wanted to see me?”
“Okay, fine, that is true,” she said with a laugh, just as a nurse breezed in through the door. “But maybe also because you and Mack have been in love with each other forever and so goddamn stubborn about it, so someone had to help you two get there.”
“I think that’s my cue to go,” I said, nodding at the nurse. “But I’ll let you know what he says.”
“You’re going back to camp?” Sam asked.
I nodded, giving her a wink. “I have one more thing to check off my list.”
“I hope it’s that you’re done with lists,” Sam teased.
I gave her mom a quick hug before placing a kiss on the top of Sam’s head and ogling Olive one last time.
“Hey, Clara?” Sam said as I grabbed my shoes, which were still on the floor next to my bag.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“You’re my person, too, you know.” I don’t think I’d ever seen Sam look more beautiful than right now, and the sight of her melted me, overwhelmed me with all that was good in my world.
I nodded. “You too.”
“I’ve always known that,” she said. “I’m glad you finally figured it out.”
“Me too,” I agreed.
“And I guess if I have to share you,” she said, giving me that sly look of hers as she stretched her arm out for the nurse, “I’m okay doing that with Mack.”
41
I DEFINITELY DID not need to run from the Pine Lake parking lot directly to the waterfront, but somehow it was the only way my legs would move. I couldn’t get there fast enough; I took off the second I parked, barefoot, dashing in the dark past the soccer field and down the rambling field, toward the shores of Pine Lake.
I left everything behind in my car—keys, phone, the shoes I had been wearing this morning. My camp letter, and the revised list I wrote last weekend, remained shoved inside my purse next to the medal I shared with Mack.
All that I had right now was myself. And for once, that felt like enough.
My feet tangled with the hem of my pants as I moved—they were meant to be worn with an extra three inches of heel, but I somehow managed not to trip as I sprinted. Maybe it was the superpower of being in love, or the rush that came from drastically altering your life on a whim. Whatever it was, I was unstoppable. I even managed to yank my suit jacket off my arms, hurling it behind me as I ran.
I had something I needed to do before I found my friends, and Mack, and unfurled the entirety of my heart onto them. This mission involved me ripping at the button of my pants and kicking them off frantically on the beach as if at any moment I might lose my courage. Finally, I waded into the lake in nothing but my camisole and underwear, pushing through the chill of the water and forcing myself to dunk fully underneath.
My breath caught in my chest as the water surrounded me—had it somehow gotten five degrees colder since I left yesterday?—but I forced myself to stay in, taking off with a swift rush of arms and legs, moving straight toward the diving dock. Of all the things I’d listed in that letter years ago, jumping off the high dive had seemed like the easiest thing to complete. All I had to do was swim out, climb up the ladder, and leap.
Simple.
And yet.
