The Summer of Us

by Cecilia Vinesse

  “But your sister decided to go back,” Aubrey said. “She’s there now.”

  “Sure. But just to study abroad. That doesn’t really count. Anyway, after a couple years at Barnard, Z’s in love with New York. She wants to get her master’s in urban planning, move into a brownstone, and stay there forever. Barcelona definitely isn’t home. Neither of us even speaks Catalan.”

  “I’m jealous of her. I wish I was as certain about what I wanted.”

  “You are.”

  She turned to face him. “You want to know the truth? I have no clue anymore. Everything I planned had something to do with somebody else—this trip was about the future Rae and I used to talk about, New York was about the one I had with Jonah. My life doesn’t make sense now.”

  “Your life isn’t supposed to make sense at eighteen.”

  “But I hate that!”

  “Me too!” He grinned. “I was just trying to make you feel better.”

  A small car wheezed up the narrow road, crowding them against one of the houses. Aubrey examined its red front door and sheer curtains, its windowsill with a lavender-painted radio and a pineapple sitting on it. She still felt tired but in a good way. In the way she used to feel when she would run in the woods behind her old house in Connecticut, eventually collapsing on the grass of her backyard. In the way she used to feel when she would swim in the ocean on family trips to Maine, the heaviness of the water pressing down on her. “What do you think?” she asked. “Should we start figuring out our lives?”

  “Right now?”

  “We’ll start simple.” She pointed behind her. “Do you want to live in that house?”

  “Hold up. Explain to me how picking a house is the simple place to start?”

  “Because. You can work your way from there: house, job, family, blah, blah, blah.”

  He moved slightly closer to get a better look. “I guess I could be into it. These hills would be fun to bike around. And I’m especially feeling that pineapple.”

  “If I never live somewhere with a pineapple in the window,” Aubrey said, “I won’t be living at all.”

  He laughed, and Aubrey’s mood lightened—it was the first time in days she’d made someone laugh. “Do you want to see what’s up there?” she asked, gesturing at a set of stone stairs built between two small gardens.

  They climbed farther above the city. It was nearly dark and everything around them was calm. Aubrey was almost convinced that she and Gabe were entirely alone, that the rest of the city had somehow been abandoned.

  They emerged onto a small courtyard surrounded by houses. There was a fountain in the center with a stone lion carved into its base, and outdoor chairs and potted plants were arranged by each of the front doors. A few children’s bikes leaned against one another. A tiger-striped cat slept, curled across the cracked ground.

  Aubrey sat on the top step and lay back. Her hair was damp with sweat, and her limbs felt even weaker now.

  Gabe sat next to her. “That—was not a fun climb.”

  “Shhh,” Aubrey said. “Listen to how quiet everything is. I bet the people who live here don’t want tourists walking around.”

  “I get it. We want it to be a surprise when we stroll through their front doors later.”

  “So we can hang out in their living rooms.”

  “And possibly their kitchens.”

  There were no streetlights here, only a few lamp-lit windows and the streaky summer sky. Aubrey had always liked this time of the evening, when it was still just bright enough to make out the shapes of clouds. Someone must have been cooking, because the rich smell of basil, garlic, and tomatoes wafted from a slightly open door. It mixed with the mineral scent of bubbling water in the fountain.

  “I liked your idea.” Gabe lay down, too, folding his hands over his stomach.

  “Which one?”

  “About my major. About studying English. I didn’t sleep much last night, so I did some research on my phone, found all the requirements.”

  Aubrey propped herself up on her elbows. “You do realize I was kidding about us figuring out our lives right now?”

  The sleeping cat woke up and began padding toward them, eyes bright with curiosity.

  Gabe propped himself up as well. “You know what I found out? Reed offers classes in poetry. And that made me think of this interview I read with Leonard Cohen once. The way he talked about writing lyrics, it was like he was talking about writing poetry. You were totally right, Bryce. Music minus the instruments. It’s perfect.”

  “Wow,” she said. “First the pineapple house, now your major. I’m on a roll.”

  “Yeah.” He breathed out a laugh. “You can honestly plan anything you want for me. You’re pretty decent at it.”

  “Okay.” She lay down again, got settled. “Radio.”

  “Radio?”

  “You have a great voice.” She blushed up at the sky. “It’s not showy or anything—not, like, a voice meant for the stage.”

  “Thanks?” he said.

  “But it’s low and kind of soothing. It makes everything you say sound convincing. Next year, you should work at your college radio station.”

  “How hipster of me,” he said. “Okay. And you should work at your school newspaper. Tell them you want to review museum exhibits and openings and stuff. That way you can go to as many of them as you want for free.”

  “Oh my God.” She swatted his arm. “That’s genuinely brilliant.”

  “Well.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “I owed you one.”

  The cat slunk between them, and Gabe reached out to stroke one of its ears. The fountain gurgled and the distant city hummed. The uncertainty Aubrey had felt earlier began to ease. She had this image—a small, barely tangible one—of what she could be doing next year. Of who she could turn out to be.

  “Tell me something else,” she said.

  “About what?”

  “About New York. About what I’ll be doing there.”

  The cat’s tail swished against her arm. When she turned her head to the side, she saw that Gabe’s features were creased, like he was concentrating on something above the clouds. “Okay,” he said. “But consider this practice for my radio show. You need to close your eyes so I can set the scene.”

  She closed her eyes. A minute or so passed.

  “A dorm room,” he said eventually. “New York City. It’s—nice. I mean, I know it’s a dorm, but you decorate it. You have piles of library books everywhere, and you never turn them in late—mostly because the library is where you spend all your time.”

  “I’m such a nerd,” she said.

  “Bryce.” His voice was mock-stern. “You can’t interrupt my radio show. And your eyes are open.”

  She squeezed them shut again as the cat curled up by her ear and began to purr. The stones beneath her were still sun-warmed.

  “Okay,” he said. “You take a bunch of classes, but you also go somewhere new every weekend. You take the Staten Island Ferry, and stand by the railing outside, even when it’s fall and it’s windy. Just so you can watch the Statue of Liberty go by—plus the ticket’s free, Bryce, don’t forget that part. Sometimes you do this kind of stuff with friends, but sometimes you do it by yourself.”

  Every word he said made it come to life even more—the streets of New York, a boat on the Hudson, the sidewalk forming under her feet one step at a time.

  “When it’s winter,” he said, “you don’t go out as much because of the snow. But in spring, you eat outside on the library steps with everyone else. It makes you think about right now—about these steps we’re sitting on and how all the stuff you do in New York isn’t so different from the stuff you did with us. It makes you think about how connected it all is.” He paused. “Is this getting boring? Can you still see it?”

  “Yes,” she said, her eyes shut so tightly it made the light burst around her. “I can see it.”

  22

  Rae

  Friday, July 8

&
nbsp; FLORENCE

  Rae lined up the tarnished Monopoly pieces along the pockmarked wooden floor. The room rang with the sound of Aubrey closing the door, but Rae didn’t bother looking up or even acknowledging that she was gone. Clara was watching her, probably wondering what she was thinking and why she hadn’t tried to make up with Aubrey.

  But the truth was pretty simple: Rae was still pissed off. And the more she thought about it, the more pissed off she got. Aubrey had spent the whole summer talking about her-and-Jonah or her-and-Gabe or her-and-all-the-things-about-New-York-she-was-afraid-of. She’d talked about her plans and what she wanted out of this trip, but she’d never cared if any of that matched what Rae wanted.

  A year ago, that might not have bugged Rae so much, but maybe what Aubrey had said on the train was true—maybe Rae was changing. Maybe they were growing apart.

  And now, on top of all that, Rae knew that Gabe was in love with Aubrey. And—holy shit! What was she supposed to do with information like that? Was she supposed to keep it a secret? She had so many secrets now that they were impossible to keep track of. It felt like they were crushing her.

  “Rae?” Clara’s voice made everything go still.

  Rae’s eyes met hers.

  Gabe’s footsteps squeaked on the stairs, and Clara looked to the side. Rae picked up a Monopoly top hat, pressing it until she felt an indent in her forefinger and thumb.

  “That was fast,” Clara said to Gabe.

  His hair was dripping wet, and his shirt was rumpled around his stomach, like he’d just pulled it on. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m all about—water conservation. Saving the planet. Stuff like that.”

  “Okay,” she said, clearly confused. “Are you going somewhere?”

  He paused by the front door. “I thought I might walk around. You know. Get a feel for the area.”

  “Sure,” Rae said flatly. “Walking is good.” She put the top hat down and picked up a tiny metal dog. The door opened and shut again. But Clara was still right there, hair piled on top of her head, twisting a heart-shaped ring around her index finger. It dawned on Rae that there was no one else here. She and Clara were finally alone.

  “Do you want to get food?” Clara asked.

  “Now?” Rae asked. “Together?”

  “Now,” Clara said. “Together.”

  “Cool.” Rae stood up, legs shaky. “I’ll just—let me get changed first.”

  Upstairs in the bedroom, she quietly panicked. She didn’t know what to wear. She didn’t know how to look like the type of person Clara would go on a date with. (If this even was a date. Which maybe it wasn’t. But then again, maybe it was!) Okay, okay, Rae, you’ve been on dates before. You are totally good at dates. She settled on a jersey dress with a strappy back she’d been too self-conscious to wear before and fussed with her short hair until it curled around her chin in a way that was, thankfully, cute. Usually, the feeling of makeup on her face creeped her out, but she decided on some eye shadow and flavored lip gloss. Just in case.

  Back downstairs, Clara had put away the board games and was sitting on the back of the couch. Rae resisted the urge to tug and fidget with the thin material of her dress. She felt raw and nervous, her blood buzzing in her veins. “Okay,” she said. “You—um—ready?”

  Clara stepped forward and took Rae’s hand, their fingers sliding and fitting together. “Yes,” Clara said. “I’m ready.”

  Rae’s impressions of Florence at night were a blur.

  She managed to register a line of restaurants, buildings with sandy exteriors, and postcard racks crowding the sidewalks. With each step she and Clara took, all she could think was this is a date, this is a date, this is a date. Her heart beat in her palm. Even walking was giving her motion sickness.

  “So,” she said. “Is there somewhere you want to go?”

  “I have an idea,” Clara said.

  “Great!” Rae said. As long as you don’t let go of my hand, she thought. As long as I don’t somehow realize I’m still asleep on a train from Prague to Vienna and this is all a dream.

  They stopped for pistachio and hazelnut gelato, and then Clara led them to a rose garden that curled along a hillside with visitors lying on the grass, gazing down at the city. A few bronze sculptures were dotted around the lawns. They must have been part of some modern-art exhibit—a few were shaped like cubes, others like arcs that appeared to dip in and out of the ground.

  Clara dropped her beat-up purse beside one of the arcs and climbed on top of it.

  “Should you be doing that?” Rae asked.

  Clara got settled. “Sitting here?”

  “Yeah. What if we get in trouble?”

  “Aubrey?” Clara scanned the area. “Where are you? Why does your voice sound exactly like Rae’s?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.” Clara tucked a loose piece of her hair into one of her bobby pins. “Look around. If we weren’t supposed to climb them, a sign would say don’t climb the sculptures. Anyway, since when do you care this much about rules? You used to skip European History all the time, because you said Mr. Carson was too sympathetic to patriarchal systems of government.”

  Rae adjusted the straps of her dress. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

  She clambered up to join Clara, feeling the cold, mottled bronze against the backs of her thighs when she sat down. She had to brace her feet against the side to stop herself from slipping off, but the view made all the discomfort worthwhile: She saw the Duomo and craggy apartment tops and church spires. This had to be her favorite thing ever—looking onto something that was so much bigger than she was, getting a small sense of how expansive the world could be. She’d felt that way sitting on the beach in Georgia when she was a kid. And hanging out in the back of her mom’s antique shop, looking at pictures of Australia’s coastlines in these old guidebooks Lucy had collected.

  Clara tugged at the ring on her index finger. “You don’t feel weird, do you?”

  “No,” Rae said. And then, “Wait. Do you?”

  Clara shook her head. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Great. I’m glad.” But she wondered why Clara wasn’t holding her hand anymore. Would it be awkward if she took hers instead? Farther down the hill, a couple lay on a picnic blanket, whispering in each other’s ears.

  “Rae,” Clara said. “Did—did you really think I was straight? Until I told you about Leah?”

  Rae began to skid down the arc. She pressed her palms against it to keep herself from falling. “Honestly? I did. I mean, you never said so explicitly, but I guess I assumed.” She pushed some curls away from her forehead and felt frustrated by how heteronormative she kept being. She really, really didn’t want to fuck this up. “But it doesn’t matter what I thought,” she added. “I guess I was just a little surprised that you never told me you liked girls. Obviously, you didn’t have to. But if anyone would have understood, it would have been me.”

  “I didn’t think there was anything to tell,” Clara said. “When that whole thing with Leah happened, I didn’t know if it meant I was a lesbian or bi or pansexual or what. All I knew was that I liked kissing boys, and I liked kissing her, too.”

  “So she just kissed you? Out of nowhere?”

  Clara squinted at the sunset. “She came backstage to the costume room one day when I was fixing hemlines. I thought she must have been bored with rehearsal or something, but instead, she told me how obvious it was that I was into her. And then, somehow, we were making out.”

  “Romantic,” Rae said.

  “Shut up.” Clara shoved Rae’s shoulder, making Rae lose her balance again. Clara grabbed her arm, pulling her back up.

  “Thanks,” Rae said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She was still holding Rae, and they were sitting so much closer now, hip bones touching. Rae inhaled, and the evening air smelled like roses. She exhaled and said, “But you never dated her?”

  “We kissed a couple of times, but that was it. We n
ever even talked about it afterward. I tried once, but Leah got super evasive. She told me I was being clingy.”

  “Wow. I always knew I didn’t like her, but it turns out I actually hate her.”

  Clara shook her head. “You shouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, I should. She treated you like crap, which means that she is, by definition, crap. In fact, do you have her number? I’ll call her right now and tell her exactly how crap she is.”

  “But this kind of thing happens all the time.” Clara twisted her ring around her finger again. Her dress was green with small red polka dots. It matched the scene perfectly. “You hook up with someone, but you’re not in love with them. You don’t even have a crush on them. I can’t be mad at Leah for doing to me what I’ve done to other people.”

  “Seriously,” Rae said. “You are nothing like Leah.”

  “Maybe not. But sometimes a kiss doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a kiss. And that’s another reason I wanted to talk to you.” She sat up straighter. And Rae’s throat began to close up. Please, oh, please, she thought. Please don’t say it was just a kiss with me.

  “I know I was flirting with you in Amsterdam,” Clara said, “and I know I kissed you first in Prague, so if this isn’t a big deal to you, I completely understand. But you should know something: It is a big deal to me. The reason I kissed you is that I like you, Rae. I like you so much.”

  The wind shifted and played across them. Rae felt like the whole garden was whirling. In the past year, she had dreamed of this exact moment so many times. She’d imagined the places they would stand and the tone of Clara’s voice and the way their hands and lips might touch. Rae had felt the thrill of believing—even for one second—that this was possible. But she’d never imagined how nervous she would be, or the flowers that would be growing all around them, or the way they would both sit teetering on this ridiculous sculpture. And she never could have guessed how, even when it was happening, it would still feel like a fantasy. Like maybe even this garden wasn’t real. Like maybe this was all just a story Rae was telling herself.