The Last Summer Girl: A Coming of Age Love Story

by S. C. York

  She sits back and takes a sip of coffee, “That’s your problem, Vanessa. You dream too big. There’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Your father and I don’t charge you rent. We just bought you a car. Gee, I hoped you’d be more grateful.”

  “Mom, I never planned to live here forever. If that was my plan, I wouldn’t have gone to college.”

  “Well, I guess you do need that big city job to pay off your student loans then.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I appreciate your love and support. You’re the best.” I left feeling like a child whose balloons all got popped before her party. I fled the house driving away in the cherry-red MINI Cooper they had just gifted me. It felt like a token trap. I sped across the Mystic drawbridge so fast that I almost clipped a few car doors in my rush to escape down Route 1.

  And here I am crying alone again, because of her. Glancing at the clock, I force myself to get up and face another day. Dear God, please let my parents both be at work already. I can’t handle any more lectures.

  I still can’t believe Sean had the nerve to kiss my dad’s ass last night. My parents think Sean is such a great catch. They’ve completely bought into all the bullshit he projects of an honest, hardworking, and noble police officer. They know nothing of the night-time soirees he likes to host in the back of his cruiser.

  Living at home this summer seemed like such a good idea. I could save money, hunt for an apartment in Stamford and still be here with my friends. But after last night, I need to re-think my plan. My parents were adamant about setting a curfew.

  “Seriously? A curfew? I’m twenty-two!” I had screamed back at my mom, which of course made her cry. Then Dad got angry at me, not her. Never her.

  No wonder my parents freaked out. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, yesterday’s Dior mascara smudged like soot under my remorseful brown eyes. My hair that was full of sun-kissed golden highlights yesterday now hangs limp down my back. The ends stiff with dried puke. There’s an enormous purple knot on the side of my forehead. Maybe with some creative styling, I might be able to hide it.

  Undressing, I pull the vinyl shower curtain open and turn on the water. The curtain sticks to the inside of the tub as I step in and pull it closed. My parents should’ve renovated this old house but instead chose to buy me a car. Hanging my head in shame, I think maybe she’s right, and I have been ungrateful.

  The hot water rinses away the grime stuck to my skin. I bend my head and let the pounding water pour over me. It swirls by the drain full of sand and dirt. When the water starts getting lukewarm, I reluctantly shut it off. I probably just drained all the hot water from the tank. I better leave for work before Mom gets a chance to add that to her list of reasons why I suck.

  My hand wipes away the fog in the mirror; even the vent doesn’t work well in this old house built in the seventies. My hair’s a disaster, and I tackle it with conditioner and my blow dryer. I’m feeling much better now that at least physically, I’m better.

  Lifting my terry robe off the hook, I slip it on and pad across the hall to my room. It’s large considering the size of our house. The dormered ceiling of the Cape creates a cozy space, the worn oak floors creak as I cross to my closet. The summer dress code at the hotel is casual, but I still need to look professional. Finding a sensible pair of black leggings and a long tunic shirtdress, I whisk them off their hangers. Scrummaging through my jewelry box, I find my favorite chunky necklace and twist my hair in a bun. My fingers brush a few bangs over the bruise, the only physical evidence left to tell the story of how badly the night before was. I slide on a pair of flats since I’ll be on my feet again for most of the day. Applying fresh makeup and eyeliner, I’m ready to go.

  Rushing down the stairs, car keys in hand, I’m almost out the door when the back of my neck prickles.

  “Wait one minute, don’t move,” Mom says. My hand’s on the door knob, but she’s intercepted me again. I’m stunned when she comes back carrying a bagel and orange juice. This time, her lecture is about eating a healthy breakfast, yadda, yadda….

  “Thanks, Mom, but today’s a Starbucks morning. Orange juice won’t cut it.”

  “Oh, that pricey, sugary crap has no nutrition,” she says while pushing the breakfast at me.

  Ignoring her, I open the door and hop into my MINI breathing in the new car smell. I look up and see her through the windshield. She’s standing on the sidewalk, dejected in her worn blue robe and slippers and clutching the breakfast she made for me in both hands. The distance grows between us as I reverse. Midway down the driveway, I hit the brakes. Shit, I’m going to be late. Dashing out, I run up and give her a hug knowing that sometimes her mood swings aren’t her fault. I think she’s going through the change.

  “I’m sorry about last night. I promise to be more responsible. Honestly, I didn’t realize how much I was drinking.”

  “Vanessa,” she sniffles stroking my back. “I’m just glad you’re okay, and you remembered our talks about drinking and driving. At least you had enough sense to call Dad. How’s your head this morning?” She pushes back my bangs and inspects my bump. She puts up a few fingers testing for a lingering concussion. “Are you sure you feel well enough to work?”

  Smiling, I decide to take the bagel. I’m fine. I just need coffee. I’ll see you tonight.” I back down the driveway for the second time and Mom smiles, waving goodbye from the front porch. Dad’s watering the garden and waves as well. They make an odd couple, but it seems to work for them.

  The streets are empty and in ten minutes I’m at The Wharf. My boss, John, usually doesn’t arrive until eleven when he counts the morning’s receipts and takes yesterday’s cash to the bank. Grabbing my iced drink and purse, I open the back door to the lobby. The newly waxed hardwood floors look fresh and I breeze in feeling optimistic about the new day. Yesterday was a fluke; I know I’m going to have an awesome few months with Eva and TJ.

  “Good morning, Brian. How is everything?” I ask the night manager. He’s recently widowed and wanted a job to keep busy; take his mind off things. Brian’s like a grandfather to me. The old man insists the job keeps him young and I’m always surprised at how chipper he is after staying up all night.

  “You’re looking fresh and lovely today, Ms. Lyman.” I laugh knowing he’s full of shit.

  “Brian, you’re not flirting with me? I could be your granddaughter.”

  “But you’re not,” he jokes.

  “Oh, stop,” I tell him batting his arm and handing him the black coffee I bought for him at Starbucks.

  “Just how I like it, strong and hot in the morning,” he says with a wink.

  I shake my head at men in general. No matter their age they’re all the same.

  “How was last night? Any fires?”

  He sips his coffee, “Last night was good. The PITAs were all happy. The couple you left me a note about raved about the good meal they enjoyed at The Oyster Club. But I did have some young hooligans cutting through the back lot around two.

  They were loud, talking about some girl’s butt they got an eyeful of at the beach concert. I had to go out there and put a stop to it. Part of me wanted to hear more, but when then they started smashing beer bottles, all I could think was, ‘for God’s sake, don’t wake up the PITAs, we just put them to bed!” My eyebrows rise at his story. I wonder if it was Blake and his friends talking about me.

  “It wasn’t Blake Foster, was it?”

  “No. I might be an old man, but even I would recognize The Blake Foster in person. They were making such a ruckus I had to blind them with my Maglite. When I threatened to call the PD, they left peacefully and that was it. I was a young carouser myself, no harm.” He grabs his coat and keys and gives me a light kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, sweetie.” I watch him walk out the back door, his legs stiff. He might have a light heart, but I know these humid nights make his aging bones swell.

  Sipping my iced latte, I enjoy the rich taste while looking over the list of check-ins for t
oday. The two Advil I took earlier relieves the pounding in my head and I assign housekeeping their rooms to clean and start fielding calls from the reservations line. My phone buzzes in my purse. Pulling it out there’s a text from a 617 area code.

  (617)335-5987: Sweet Cheeks! Dinner?

  Staring at the message in disbelief, I frown, utterly perplexed. Why would Ryan ask me out after the fool I was last night? I hesitate, not answering right away. Instead, I decide to call Eva to find out what happened after I made my not-so-great escape. Picking up the front desk phone my fingers punch in the numbers I already know by heart.

  “Foster Sailing Equipment, purchasing department. Eva Cruz speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Eva, it’s me. What the heck happened after I left?”

  “Vanessa! How are you today? You were so wasted last night.”

  “Thanks for the reminder. I made a total ass out of myself. I just got a text from Ryan asking me to dinner. What the hell is that about?”

  “He’s into you. He kept asking me where you went and seemed very disappointed that you left. He asked for your cell number. I stuck around until the concert ended, I don’t know what happened after that. I ended up going to Margaritas by myself since TJ deserted me for a ride on Her Majesty!”

  I listen in disbelief. Why would an older and successful guy like Ryan want anything to do with me after last night? I lean into the desk and fiddle with my necklace. My curiosity is piqued. I can’t stop myself from grilling her. The phone beeps. All six reservation lines are lighting up with callers. We’re booked solid anyway, telling them no vacancy can wait, my love life can’t.

  “Eva, I need every detail, word for word.”

  “Nessa, he just asked the basics. If you were seeing anyone…where you work, etc. I did spill the beans about you living at home.” I cringe in embarrassment.

  “Thanks, Eva. Did you find out anything about him?”

  “No. I didn’t get much out of him. You might want to give TJ a call since he ended up going to Fisher’s.”

  “Wasn’t that strange? TJ doesn’t have anything in common with Blake and his friends.”

  “Nessa, it’s simple. They’re guys, not much to figure out; girls, boats, and beer.”

  “Wouldn’t that be ironic if TJ becomes Blake’s new wingman?”

  “Let’s not get carried away, Nessa. Blake’s cool, but he already has his circle.”

  “That’s exactly why I don’t think I should go out with Ryan. What’s the point? He lives in Boston and comes from an entirely different world. And then there’s my dunce of the year performance from last night. By the way, I ended up puking all over Sean. Not sure if it’s because he’s a gross pig or from the concussion I gave myself when falling into the engines of Blake’s outboard.”

  “Oh, shit! My God, Vanessa! You should have called one of us! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Upstanding Officer O’Neil called an ambulance, Mom freaked when she found out. Not because I fell, but because of the bill that’s coming.”

  “You know what, Nessa? You deserve a night out with some eye candy. Take your mind off things. Seriously, you need to relax. It’s just dinner. Just don’t have more than one drink and be yourself. He’ll see that you’re smart, witty, and down to Earth. Just be you and it will be alright.”

  “You’re right, Eva. What’s the worst thing that can happen after last night?” Bursting into giggles, we chat for a few more minutes. I hang up when hotel guests start making their way down for coffee and the continental breakfast that Brian had laid out earlier.

  I never got a chance to call TJ as the morning goes by in a rush. By the time I check-out the last guest, it’s 11:30 am. I decide to text Ryan before I chicken out.

  I type, Prince of Tides-yes to dinner. 7:30? Full moon not in the forecast for this evening!

  (617)335-5987: Sweet cheeks! Thought you were blowing me off! Good movie reference, where can I pick you up? Settle for a half-moon?.... He responds.

  Shit, I can’t have him pick me up at my parents’ house! Ugh, the fact that he knows I’m living at home is embarrassing enough and then there’s the fact that my parents just embarrass me by nature... I type:

  At work, meet u at S&P Oyster?

  (617)335-5987: See you then, baby cakes.

  Is he already calling me cutesy names before a first date? Oh, he is good. Sighing, I put the phone back in my purse. The reservation lines start lighting up, and I find myself being much more patient to the demanding voices on the other end.

  “Yes, we have HD TVs and continental breakfast. AAA discount is fifteen percent. We are in downtown Mystic. You can walk to all the shops down by the drawbridge. Of course, we have free Wi-Fi. You want the Sunset Suite, okay let me check the availability—great, I just need a credit card for confirmation to hold the room.”

  The rest of the afternoon goes by quickly, and I plan my date night outfit in my mind. I hope I have time to walk over to Rob River’s salon for a quick gel manicure. Maybe a spray tan, too. I’m excited for the chance to prove I’m much more than the drunken townie girl Ryan met yesterday.

  I smooth down my new dress as my heels tap across the sidewalk. Friday nights in Mystic are full of activity in the summer time. There’s a line to get into every restaurant and the shops all have their doors wide open inviting people in. A Frisbee whizzes by, barely missing me and lands on the sidewalk. I pick it up and fling it back into Mystic River Park.

  Inhaling sharply, I stare at the bright red doors of S&P Oyster for a few seconds then yank them open. Waving to the hostess, I point to the stairs. The bangles on my wrist jingle, as I race up to the second floor.

  My eyes search the crowded room for him. It’s packed with middle-aged men that all look the same. Most are dressed in salmon shorts and those Vineyard Vines belts with lobsters on them. And then I see him. My eyes meet his. He’s standing at the bar. He’s too young to be sporting pink shorts but he is wearing a Vineyard Vines belt, but I like this one. It’s dark blue with different sailboat flags embroidered on it. With his white golf shirt tucked into his shorts, I notice the curve of his butt. But why is he wearing the same Adidas flip flops from yesterday?

  “Vanessa—seriously? My feet again?”

  “Can’t you afford better shoes?” I ask shaking my head at how dressy but casual he is at the same time. He smiles and takes my hand, kissing me lightly on the cheek.

  I’m nervous at seeing him again. My palms sweat. Great, I’m already flustered, and it’s only been three seconds.

  “I love that belt,” I say playfully trying to recover. Before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out and lightly finger the buckle.

  “Vanessa!”

  Ryan almost spits out his drink and I snatch my hand back. There’s a lot of nervous tension on my end. He moves closer angling his hips in front of mine blocking out my view of the bar completely. His head lowers slowly. He cups my face and gazes into my eyes for a few beats. He leans down as if he’s going to kiss me and I freeze in shock.

  At the last second, he pulls away, “Just kidding, Lyman. But I could tell you totally wanted me to.”

  My face flushes bright red. This is a guy who knows. He knows what he is without question. Deciding to take Eva’s advice from earlier to heart, I try to enjoy this and have fun. I reach up and grab the side of his face, supporting all my weight on the tips of my heels. My eyes stare at his for a beat then move down to his lips. Leaning closer my eyes flutter shut. His hands squeeze at my waist and his forehead brushes mine. Huffing out a breath that lands on his mouth, I move left giving him a peck on the cheek, “I’m glad you asked me out after last night. Hearing from you made my day.”

  His face is red as he stares at my mouth.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I wanted that kiss,” he says, straightening up and taking a few steps back.

  “Whoa—easy there. A kiss comes at the end of a date and only if you’re lucky!”

  “Vanessa, you’re
the one who went straight for my belt— just pointing that out to you.”

  I hear my mom’s voice in my head calling me a ‘Lady of the Night,’ something she frequently says every time I try to sneak past her to go out with my friends. Breathing in, I steady myself and try to get my nerves under control.

  Ryan breaks the tension by offering to get me a drink, “Corona, right?”

  “Actually, I’ll have a glass of Riesling,” Ryan smirks and raises an eyebrow at my request.

  “We’ll have an Australian Riesling anything 2007 or earlier, and another Macallan 18 on the rocks,” he informs the bartender.

  “What’s a Macallan?” I ask.

  “God, you’re so young. It’s an excellent scotch,” he answers.

  “We only sell that Riesling by the bottle,” the bartender informs us.

  “No problem. Pour my date a glass and send the bottle over to our table,” Ryan replies nonchalantly.

  He turns his attention back to me and my breath hitches at the serious look of interest in his eyes. He’s about to say something but we’re interrupted by the hostess telling us that our table’s ready.

  We follow her across the room to the last table. It’s against a bank of windows and overlooks the water. The lighting over here is subtle, most of it coming from traditional, glass hurricane lamps at the center of each table.

  There are a few yachts docked below us but none as impressive as Her Majesty. From my seat, I have a perfect view of River Road across the small channel. I shudder quickly at a memory that runs through me.

  “What’s wrong, Vanessa?”

  “Nothing,” I smile at him, determined not to let the past ruin this moment for me.

  I raise my glass, “I’d like to make a toast. To do-overs! I am truly sorry and embarrassed by my behavior both yesterday and just now,” I tell him placing a hand over my heart

  “Vanessa, you have nothing to apologize for. I thought you were cute yesterday, and tonight you’re surprising me again.”

  His eyes twinkle and he gives me a small smirk over the rim of his scotch.