“Thanks for leaving on that note.”
“What better note to leave on than giving you something to think about? Especially when I need to get home to feed Daisy. She’s quite demanding when she’s hungry. Cats. What can you do?”
“Feed them, I suppose.”
When she’s gone, I walk up the street, trying to remind myself why I never pursued anything with Summer in the first place. Why I never let myself examine all those things I felt for her but couldn’t name.
It’s because she’s practically family.
Because she’s part of my life.
Because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.
Only, none of those reasons hold as much weight as they did a week ago.
* * *
The next morning, I meet up with Logan and Fitz to play paintball in Central Park.
“I had an epiphany last night,” Logan announces.
“You’re joining a monastery?” Fitz asks.
“You’re dying your hair all the colors of the rainbow?” I put in.
“You’re going to Vegas and betting everything on red?” Fitz says.
Logan rolls his eyes. “No, dickheads. It’s about the strategy. I had it all wrong. It’s not about crushing the other team. It’s about how fucking awesome we are.”
I shoot him a skeptical look. “Is this an empowerment moment?”
“Yeah, because I don’t know if I’m ready to sing ‘Let the River Run’ with you cats,” Fitz says.
Logan gives him the side-eye. “Did you just reference Working Girl?”
“Yes, does this surprise you?” Fitz asks. “One, Harrison Ford is in it. Two, I grew up with three sisters and a single mom. We watched it together.”
I snap my gaze to Logan. “More to the point, did you just recognize a Working Girl reference?”
Logan ignores me and proceeds with “As I was saying—Amelia and I were talking last night, and she said I was going at it all wrong.” Amelia is his daughter, and I appreciate the image of her telling him he was all wrong. “She said the point of the game is not to crush the enemy but to have fun. And I realized I’ve been focused on the wrong thing—on some stupid revenge on the guy at Lehman. But you know what? He can have my ex. I am done being angry, and I am letting it go. I just want to have a blast and move the hell on.”
Is he serious? I pull back to study him, and yes, he absolutely means what he’s saying. This is a huge step for my friend, and I smile, happy for and proud of him.
“That is big of you.”
Logan simply shrugs. “Time to move on. Also, my daughter is brilliant, so I should listen to her.”
“Sometimes kids have the best advice,” I agree. I wonder what Amelia would tell me to do about all these feelings I have for her Aunt Summer.
The advice she gave Logan is kind of all-purpose, and maybe I should apply it broadly. So I decide to follow the kid’s wisdom for the moment.
Just have fun.
Right now, though, we play, and Logan doesn’t obsess on crushing the competition to settle a pointless score. He seems happy, and like that—playing as a team, playing as friends—we win.
Afterward, as he packs up his gear, I tell Fitz, “Bet he meets someone new and is arse-over-elbow in love before we know it.”
Fitz claps me on the back. “My bet is you’re next.”
I scoff, dismissing that with a wave, then tell them I’ll take them out for breakfast. But over eggs and toast, I’m still thinking about Summer and the story of how we fell in love in Central Park.
Then I shove it out of my head because it’s time to play pretend with her again.
31
Summer
“Thrifting?” Oliver arches a brow as we walk to A Taste of Champagne, a consignment shop on the Upper West Side, then he shakes his head like a dog shaking off water. “You’re really taking me thrifting?”
“It’s apparently a very popular thing to do on a date.”
“For who? Teenage girls?”
“Well, the cookie-dough class seemed tailor-made for teenage girls, and women who were once teenage girls do most of the date planning these days, so I suppose, yes, dating trends are driven by teenagers.”
“Can we go to the mall next?”
I swat him and tell him no as we head into the vintage shop. As I comb through racks, he snaps pictures of me while I hunt for a cute jacket.
Focus on the date, I remind myself.
Focus on the article.
Don’t focus on memories of last night and the swoony words that fell from his mouth as he spun the story of how he fell in love with me.
Swoony words were part of faking it.
Who knew Oliver was such a good actor?
But he is. He’s a great actor.
I find a rack of short sequined dresses, labeled The Bridesmaid Dresses You Really Want. I sort through them, paying undue attention to the sparkles to keep my mind off all the things I can’t have.
