by Cecilia Lyra
She smiles. “I love this giant table.”
“I do, too.” Pretty soon we’ll have to talk next steps. What to do with the house. With the furniture. With Nana’s belongings. But not yet. “I’ve always wondered why she had such a massive table. We’ve never had a big family.”
“She wanted one,” Julie says.
“She told you that?”
“I asked her. Years ago. She said she had a dream where we were all around the table with our husbands and grandchildren. There was someone in every seat.”
“That’s a lot of grandchildren.” The table seats twelve.
Julie gives me a funny look. I know what she’s thinking. Nana’s dream probably included our father, too. Only a mother could hope to such a degree. Although Julie does, too—and she’s his daughter. Maybe it’s about how big their hearts are.
“I don’t understand why you love our father,” I say. I’ve told her about the realization that hit me when we were at his hotel room, about why he was so different as a father to two daughters born only two weeks apart. “I never have, and, frankly, I never will. I get that he’s different with you, that he didn’t do the things he did to me and my mom, but he was still a lousy father.” I place two open palms on my chest. “In my opinion. Which is irrelevant, I know. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t need to understand something in order to respect it. You do you. Have him in your life, if that’s what you want. Forgive him, love him. That’s your business. And you can talk to me about him if you want. For you, I’ll listen.” I almost add, I’d do anything for you, but I don’t because it sounds dramatic. Still, it’s true. It’s what sisters do for each other: everything.
She looks at me uneasily, chewing on her bottom lip. “He hasn’t reached out.”
And he probably won’t. I wish she didn’t care. Not because I want our father to be punished, but because I want Julie to be spared.
“He did get punched in the face.” I try not to smile. Try and fail.
“He deserved it.”
“Yeah he did.” A pause. “Also, my conversation with Elle probably didn’t help.”
Elle flagged me in the hotel lobby after I left my father on the floor, both his hands cupping his bloody nose. She grabbed my hand and asked me to explain what I meant when I said that my father had terrorized my mother and me. I did not sugarcoat it for her—she has every right to know the kind of man she’s dating. Especially given how young she is. They could have a child together. I shudder at the thought.
“I’m not calling him,” Julie says. “This time, he has to call me.”
“Good for you,” I say. I don’t add that she shouldn’t hold her breath. It would sound cruel, even if I don’t mean it to. She says she misses him, but I don’t think that’s true. She misses the idea of a father. She always has. We both always have. Except there’s no point in waiting for someone who doesn’t exist.
I, for one, will be glad to never see our father again.
Fifty-Eight
Julie
Thursday, July 26th
After dinner, Kiki and Ben unveil the poster.
“What’s this?” Craig asks, peering at the giant map of Montauk.
“Your birthday surprise, Daddy!” Kiki says. Her grin is almost as big as the poster she’s holding. And it’s a massive poster.
“Do you like it?” Ben beams.
“I love it.” Craig takes a step closer and studies the map. The kids drew it themselves, marking his favorite local spots with balloons. Next to Ditch Plains Ben wrote, This is were my Dad taut me to serf. Next to Nana’s house, Kiki asked me to write in purple, Nana Bertie’s house. And under that, in blue, And Julie’s. I followed her instructions very carefully.
“There’s more,” I say, walking into the kitchen. I come back with the cake: triple chocolate with crushed Oreos lit up by a single candle. We all sing ‘Happy Birthday’. I gleefully indulge in not one, but two slices. It’s liberating, knowing I’ll never fit into my silver dress again—and that I’ll never have to run an appearance checklist in front of the mirror.
We finish off the evening with a movie—Frozen 2. It’s Craig’s birthday, but somehow Kiki still got to pick. Ben is a good sport about it and doesn’t complain. He even sings along with Olaf (his favorite) and puts up with Kiki and I singing along with Elsa (our favorite). There’s a moment when I look around the family room and I think, I couldn’t be happier.
And then, when the kids aren’t looking, Craig squeezes my hand and gives me a mischievous wink. And just like that I’m proven wrong.
Craig walks onto the porch holding two champagne flutes filled to the brim.
“Surprise,” he says, handing me a glass.
“But it’s your birthday.”
“It’s also our three-day anniversary.” He takes a seat next to me. “I wanted to do something special.”
I giggle. “This is so sweet.” And it is. Even if, much to Sophie’s horror, I can’t stand champagne. My personal theory is that no one really likes it—they just say they do because it’s seen as fancy or whatever. I take a whiff of the golden liquid inside the flute.
“It’s Heineken,” he says, giving me a knowing look. “Your favorite.”
“Oh, thank God.” I laugh, toying with the seashells dangling from my neck.
“Come here,” he says, raising his right arm.
I look up at the second floor. “Are they asleep?”
“Like two rocks.”
I nestle in the crook of his arm. “This is my favorite place in the world.”
“Mine, too,” he says, his eyes on the view.
I wasn’t referring to Montauk—I meant in his arms. There’s something about being held by him that feels both exhilarating and comforting. But I don’t correct him.
“Tomorrow’s the twenty-seventh,” he says, stroking my hair. “One month since you arrived.”
I nod quietly. I don’t want to think about it too much. I’m scared of what’s waiting for me back in Boston. Packing up my things. Moving in with Janette, at least for a while— she’s gotten me an interview as a receptionist at a law firm. Filing for divorce. These are all steps I’m choosing to take. Steps that will lead me to where I want to go. But I wish there was a way to skip them, to be done with them with a magical snap of a finger. To be in the after side of my recent decision.
“Would you consider staying longer?” he asks.
“I would love that.” It’s the truth: I would. “But I have to go back and figure out what to do with my life.” It can’t be summer forever.
That’s what my next story will be about—a place where it’s summer forever. Kiki and Ben will love it. I’ll be a storyteller to them via FaceTime.
I can feel Craig holding his breath. His chest has stopped moving. “I need to tell you something, but you can’t freak out.”
“What?” I get up and meet his gaze.
“I’m falling in love with you.” He says it without hesitation, without fear. A deep-water dive executed with mastery and confidence.
“I am, too.”
His face lights up. He pulls me into a kiss, gentle at first, but then hungry, intense. He wraps his arms around me, his hands working their way down my back. My entire body tingles at his touch.
I pull away reluctantly, mindful of Kiki and Ben’s presence above us.
“The kids,” I whisper.
“I love them, but this is the first time I wish they were at sleepaway camp.”
“I’d miss them during the day. Maybe someone can come up with a sleepover-only camp.”
“When can you spend the night? I’ll arrange for a sleepover at a friend’s house.”
“Saturday?” I say. It’s when Daniel is coming. It’s also when we’ll officially be allowed to leave the house.
“Done,” he says, pulling me in for another kiss. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll convince you to stay, if only a little longer.”
“I could be persuaded to stay for an extra day or tw
o.” It’s getting dark now, twilight turning into night. Soon, the sky will be covered in stars.
“How about for the rest of your life?”
His words catch me off guard. I look at him curiously. I’m expecting a goofy smile, but instead his eyes are locked with mine, a question mark on his face.
“You’re not serious.”
“I am,” he says. “I know it’s soon. But I’m ready. I’m in love with you, Julie.”
“But we’ve only known each other for a month.” Less than that, actually.
“And we’ve spent every day together since. By choice.” A pause. “And what does it matter how long it’s been? When you know, you know. And I know. I love you. My children love you. You love them. I don’t care if that sounds crazy. It’s true.” A pause. He kisses my hand. “I’ll wait. Years, if I have to. But just know that I’m all in.”
I stare at him, wondering what to say. I want to tell him that I feel it, too. The rush, the certainty. I also want forever with him. But I’m afraid. I can’t deep-dive like he can—I need to inch my way into the water.
“I get that you’re still married,” he continues. “And I respect that. I know that you could go back to Boston and decide to stay with him—”
“That won’t happen.” I shake my head.
It’s the truth. Whether or not Craig is in my future, Patrick is a part of my past.
“I worry because I can’t give you the life he can.” There’s a catch in his voice.
“If you told me you could, I’d be out of here. I don’t want that life anymore. I want something real.” I exhale. “We can’t move too fast because of the kids.”
“OK.” A slow nod, the beginning of a smile.
“And because of me, too. I feel like I need to be whole before I can be with you.”
“Whole?” he asks.
“I feel like a part of me is missing.”
“You mean there’s more?” He registers my frown and continues, “You’re nurturing and kind. You’re generous with your time and talents. You’re patient with everyone, whether it’s Mrs. Bunsen or me or my kids or your sister. You’re creative—the most creative person I’ve ever met. You see the world in a way that no one else can, full of color and light and poetry. You have the biggest heart. You’ve been through so much and yet you resent no one. You say you’re not whole, but I can’t imagine what’s missing.”
I let his words sink in. They’re a cool glass of water—and I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. No one’s ever described me like that before.
“Is that how you see me?”
“Jul, don’t you see?” he begins, softly. “That’s how the world sees you.”
I feel my eyes well up with tears. I can’t believe that anyone—let alone someone as wonderful as Craig—sees me like that. The person he’s describing is magical, special. And I’ve never been special. Not to my dad. Not to Sophie. And certainly not to Patrick.
But then I remember Nana. Nana, who knew me at my worst, and still loved me. Who never made me feel like the other granddaughter. Who helped me come into my own. For years, Nana was both my safe harbor and my wind. Mine and Cassie’s.
Cassie. I’m special to her, too.
“I’m getting there,” I say, mostly to myself. “I need something of my own though. Not just a job. A career.”
Craig nods like this is all very reasonable. And it is—I know that. I’m just not used to this level of validation. I’ve been with Patrick for too long.
“You have all the time in the world to figure out what to do,” he says.
“Actually, I think I might already know.”
I lean in to tell him.
Fifty-Nine
Cassie
Friday, July 27th
We’re calling it The Last Friday. And it is: our last Friday in Montauk. As of tomorrow, we’ll be free to leave Nana’s house. All we have to do is spend one final night here. Together.
“I’m a little sad,” Julie says, taking a sip of lemonade. “Are you sad?”
“More than a little.” Though I don’t get why. It’ll be a relief to know that we’ve fulfilled our obligation, to be able to have people over, to sleep wherever we want. Not that I have any other place to go on the island. Julie does, of course. She’ll probably go over to Craig’s tomorrow and spend the night.
“Would you stay an extra few days?” she asks. I can tell by her tone that she’s thinking of doing just that. She should, if that’s what she wants. The house will soon be ours. Officially.
“It depends on Daniel.” This shouldn’t irritate me, but it does. A lot about my life feels dependent on Daniel lately. I don’t like it.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asks.
Tomorrow is when Daniel arrives. He’s staying for the weekend. We’ll talk, I’ll ask him about Jill. Hopefully, he’ll tell me that Tatiana is a liar. Hopefully, I’ll believe him.
“I’m dreading it, to be honest. I’ve had this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach ever since she called.” Daniel and I talk every day, but I’ve managed to refrain from bringing it up. I’m proud of my self-control—and more than a little relieved to finally deal with this in person tomorrow.
“That’s understandable.” Her tone is soft, tender.
“I don’t know.” I crinkle my nose. “A month ago, I wouldn’t have cared. I would’ve been sure she was lying.”
“And now?”
“Now, I feel plagued by doubt and it’s eating away at me.”
“You’re used to certainty.”
“I am.” I take a deep breath. “But at least I’m certain about what I want.”
“Which is?”
“He needs to leave her. Now. I’m not waiting.”
“An ultimatum? Are you sure?” There’s a note of apprehension in her voice. It’s upsetting. Does she think he’ll choose her? “Labor Day is a little over a month away.”
“And what if she asks him to stay until Thanksgiving? Because Ava or whoever is having a Turkey-Day feast. And then Christmas? Where does it end?” The real question is this: when do I get to be his priority?
“Your phone,” Julie says.
“What?” I shoot her a confused look.
She juts her chin towards my phone. It’s buzzing. I hadn’t even noticed. It’s Daniel.
“I’m going to take this inside,” I say, getting up from the daybed. It’s as comfortable as a cloud. “Hey, when did Nana get this, do you know?” I ask, pointing to the daybed.
“About five years ago.”
“I love it.”
Inside, I answer the phone.
“Guess who’s on his way to you?” he says.
“You are not,” I say, feeling a smile at the corner of my mouth. “Are you really?”
“Don’t worry, I have a room for tonight. I know I’m not allowed to stay over yet.” I can hear him smile. “But I’ll be there in time for dinner.”
A beat. Julie and I had made dinner plans at the Barracuda Bar. A few gray clouds have started to form in the sky, but I’m hoping it’ll be nothing more than a short burst of summer rain. We want to sit outside.
“Cass?” he asks.
“Sorry, I’m here. Julie and I made plans for dinner. But we’ll make it a double date. Craig will come.” Assuming he can get a babysitter, that is. “What about the kids?” I remember Daniel telling me that Tatiana was spending the weekend in Nantucket with Ava to plan for the party. “Weren’t you going to drop them off at Bella’s tomorrow on your way here?”
“She picked them up today.” And then: “I thought you’d be happy with the surprise.”
“I am,” I say. I’m also a little nervous.
I open the fridge. I wasn’t going to eat before our outing, but I need a snack. I take out a half-eaten jar of peanut butter. I’ll have that with leftover bruschetta bread. Maybe some bananas, too.
“Good. Because I can’t wait to see you.”
“Me, too.”
We hang
up. I feel a flurry of nerves in my stomach. I decide to forfeit the bread and eat the peanut butter straight out of the jar. Upon further inspection, there’s at least two-quarters left.
I’m not sure how long I stay like this: standing dumbly in Nana’s kitchen, compulsively stuffing my face. But by the time Julie walks into the house, I’ve finished the jar.
Sixty
Julie
Friday, July 27th
It is not impossible that Cassie is pregnant. Even if she seems to think it is.
“It’s something I ate.” She’s hugs the toilet, sweat beads gathering at her forehead.
“But we ate the same things.” I’m trying to hold on to her unruly mane. “And I feel fine.” This is something I’m particularly thankful for. No one likes getting sick, but I have a particular aversion to throwing up.
“Peanut butter.”
“What?”
“I had peanut butter.” She looks up at me from the bathroom floor.
“When did you buy peanut butter?”
“I thought you did.”
“I don’t like peanut butter.” It’s one of the few tics of Sophie that she’s managed to successfully pass on to me. She’d sooner eat sand. “It must’ve been left behind by Nana.”
Cassie groans. “I thought it tasted funny.”
“Then why’d you eat it?”
“I had to eat something,” she says. Her voice is a plea. “I’m a stress eater, you know that. When Daniel called to say he was coming, it made me think of asking him about Jill, and the ultimatum. I’m feeling insecure.”
An insecure Cassie: the personification of an oxymoron.
“You’ll be fine,” I remind her. “Even if it is true, even if he has seen someone before, you know he loves you. That counts for something.” This much is true: Cassie might not realize it, but she talks about Daniel with the ease of someone who is confident in their lover’s adoration. What I don’t add is that the same was true of Sophie. She had reason to be, too—I grew up around their love. But some men simply don’t leave their wives.