My Bittersweet Summer

by Starla Huchton

  Zach was standing in front of the pantry, frowning at the contents when I stepped inside. When he saw me, he immediately perked up, his grin a little wider than his damaged face had allowed the day before.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d actually show up,” he said, crossing his arms. “You were taking so long, I thought…”

  “I went home to change first.” I motioned to my ensemble, my gray yoga pants and white t-shirt the very definition of haute couture. “Besides, Carter didn’t exactly give me a lot of leeway for bailing.”

  He shrugged and winced, shuffling over to the other side of the island counter to lean against it. Judging by his expression, he was trying to hide his pain. “Nice of Carter to loan you out for a night.”

  I rolled my eyes and walked over to him, pulling out one of the chairs and pointing at the seat. “Sit.”

  “But—”

  I grimaced. “Look, you’re clearly hurting and probably shouldn’t be out of bed, so if you’re going to insist on cookies, you are going to sit so I don’t get in trouble for letting you make yourself worse. Chair. Now.”

  Zach lowered himself into the seat, holding his breath. He released it in a slow, steady exhale as he got comfortable on the high chair.

  Once he was down, I made my way around to the pantry, preheating the oven as I went, and collected some of the things I needed, setting them on the counter by the stand mixer. Zach didn’t say anything as I worked, but watched my every move.

  “For the record, Carter and I are only friends,” I said as I cracked an egg against the side of the bowl, probably a little harder than I needed to. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you can quit with the attitude about it.”

  “I don’t have an attitude about it,” he huffed at me. “You can be friends with whoever you want.”

  I turned and set a hand on my hip. “Thanks for the permission. And yes, you do have an attitude about it.”

  His face scrunched up in a frustrated pout. “It’s just…”

  “What, Zach?”

  “Why are you hanging out with him? You know what he’s like.”

  I sighed and shook my head, adding the butter to the mixing bowl. “Well, that’s hilarious. See, I do know what he’s like, and it’s not what everyone else seems to think. Then again, everyone else probably knows better than me. They were saying the same stuff about you not that long ago.”

  That shut him up, and I added the vanilla and sugar, turning the mixer on to cream the ingredients together. As it ran, I looked at him again. “Did you forget that already? Because, from what I hear, other women are still getting in line for you as much as him. I’d argue their taste, but there’s plenty of stupid people out there.”

  “Point taken.” He picked at some imaginary something on the counter.

  “Is it?” I asked. “Because you seem awfully ready to start telling me what opinions I should have about other people while you’ve been working pretty hard to convince me they were all wrong about you. You can’t have it both ways, you know.”

  I shut off the mixer and worked on the dry ingredients, trying not to let my irritation mess up my baking. “He’s the reason I’m here right now. You should probably be thanking him instead of criticizing my decision to hang out with him.”

  While I stirred together the flour mixture, I heard him sigh. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t help smiling a little. An apology and telling me I was right? Maybe he was learning.

  “So the only reason you’re here is because Carter told me on the phone you’d come?”

  Pausing with my hand on the mixer switch, I considered it. Rather than answer, I started adding the dry ingredients to the wet little by little. When all that was left was the chocolate chips, I stopped the machine.

  “No. He also told me it was okay to like you, and that I’d probably feel bad that I didn’t come see you. Carter said those things. The same Carter everyone tells me is only out to sleep with as many people as possible. That guy.” I snatched up the bag of chocolate chunks, cutting it open with a satisfying snickt of the scissors. “Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s just this island, but apparently it’s become my job to collect lost causes and hand out second chances like free samples at a mall food court.”

  I dumped the chocolate in the bowl. For a while, the only sound in the room was the whirr whirr of the stand mixer. I watched the paddle fold the chunks into the dough until it looked consistent enough and shut it off.

  “So… why do it?”

  Lifting the head of the mixer, I scraped the paddle clean and set it in the sink. “Because I got one when I left here the first time, and I want other people to know what it feels like. I won’t be a person who steals other’s hope. If I become that, then I didn’t deserve that second chance.”

  The oven beeped in readiness, and I spooned out the dough onto cookie sheets. My mind wandered as I worked, the task more muscle memory than anything. Putting the first sheet in, I set the timer and started on the next one. When all but the last small lump of cookie dough was ready to go, I picked up the bowl and the spoon I’d used to scoop and walked around the island to where Zach was sitting, looking pretty sorry for himself.

  “It sort of clashes with the bruises when you wallow.” I slid the bowl in front of him. “I usually find this helps.”

  He poked at the raw dough with a spoon for a moment, then sighed. “I’m sorry I made you come up here tonight. I didn’t know you’d be… out. That was kind of a jerk thing to do.”

  I reached over him and snagged a fingerful of dough for myself. “You didn’t make me come up here. And I was leaving the beach anyway. Carter was walking me to my car when you tried to give me a heart attack with that text message.”

  A little of his smile returned. “I didn’t really spin you up that bad, did I?”

  I pointed my dough-loaded finger at him. “After all that crap last week, and knowing you’re still busted, what do you think? I thought you were going to tell me Matt drove a car through your house or you were bleeding internally or something.”

  He chuckled and examined a chocolate chunk. “Well, it’s a little comforting to know it took you all of ten seconds to call when you thought I was in trouble.”

  “Pretty sure that’s what friends do, isn’t it?” I stuck my finger in my mouth and froze that way, stunned at what I’d said without even thinking about it. Friends? Were we friends already? Did I really mean that? I sucked the cookie dough off my finger as quickly as possible, looking at anything but him in the weird awkwardness that followed.

  Blessedly, the oven timer went off before either of us could say anything. I pulled out the first batch and let them sit for a minute while I put the other sheet in and dug out the cooling racks. Glancing at him, Zach was on the edge of his seat, practically drooling over the cookies as I moved them over. I sat down again and leaned on my hand, watching him as he scraped the last molecules of raw dough out of the bowl.

  “Are you okay with that?” I asked, knowing he probably had something to say on the subject of friendship.

  He stared at the spoon, remnants of dough clinging to the wood. “Does that mean I’m sitting at one-hundred percent now?”

  I shrugged a shoulder at him. “Eh, I think you’re a solid ninety-five. Let’s not get too crazy.”

  Grinning, he waved the spoon at me. “Then, yes. I’m fine with it.”

  My eyebrows lifted a little. “Really?”

  “Well, there’s still room for improvement,” he said and stuck the spoon in his mouth, winking.

  Without thinking, I landed a light punch on his shoulder, but instantly regretted it when he sucked in a gasp through his teeth.

  “Oh my God, I am so sorry.” I stood and set a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

  He coughed a laugh. “Should I be worried that being your friend comes with a constant threat of violence?”

  “If I said yes, would it make a difference?”

  His eyes tu
rned up to the ceiling, thoughtful for a moment, but it didn’t last long. Zach reached over to the cooling rack and snagged a cookie. “I think I’m willing to overlook it, but only if I get these as compensation.”

  * * * * *

  A strange, happy calm settled over my life in the following weeks. What started as a tentative truce between Zach and me gradually became… Well, we really did become friends.

  He was told not to work for two weeks after the fight with Matt, but after that he was allowed back, pending he didn’t have to do a lot of heavy lifting. I’d occasionally catch him fighting through the pain of his cracked rib and help where I could, but for the most part, he refused to let people baby him. It was actually kind of inspiring to see him trying so hard.

  The biggest change in my life didn’t have much to do with him, however. Well, it did in that with Zach on prep, it freed me to move up to the line, where the real cooking happened. I was smiling so much my first shift there, it even rubbed off on the normally grumpy Chef Antoine. Kareem told me later that he’d never worked a shift where he’d been yelled at so little. Granted, that might’ve been because I totally rocked everything I did that night, but I liked to think my cheery disposition made a difference, too.

  When we weren’t working, Zach and I actually spent quite a bit of time together. We watched movies, played video games, hung out at the beach with Destiny and some other local kids, and we even went out on his parents’ boat one day. I wouldn’t say we were inseparable or anything, but it stopped feeling awkward pretty fast and became a normal thing. When I realized that, I was probably more surprised than anyone.

  “No boyfriend today?” Destiny said with a smug look over the rim of her mug.

  I gave her a flat look and leaned back in the cafe chair. “He’s working, and I really wish you’d quit with that. We’re just friends.”

  She laughed. “Friends with Zach Robinson. So freaking weird. I mean, we’ve all hung out together and everything, but…” She shrugged. “I’ll get used to it. I guess people really can change.”

  Leaning on the table, I frowned a little. “Do you think so? It feels like he has, but there’s still this part of me that’s holding my breath and waiting for him to do something terrible. I don’t like feeling that way, I just can’t help it.”

  Destiny shrugged and scratched the scalp between her blonde cornrows with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “Not sure what to tell you, Margie. I don’t see him as much as you do, but he’s definitely not the Zach he was in high school. Like, he was a little different after Chad died, but not like now. Maybe it’s true what they say about graduation being a turning point for people. People either get stuck in high school forever, or move on to better things.”

  “Speaking of, you’re really staying here after this summer? I thought for sure you’d had enough and were ready to get off the island.”

  With a wistful sigh, Destiny set her mug down and broke off a piece of biscotti, dunking it in her latte. “Eh, this place doesn’t bother me. I’m going to take classes at the community college in Galloway, but it’s not a huge deal. I like working in the bakery, and my mom can’t do it forever, you know. I don’t bake like you do, but I enjoy it. I’m okay with not having fancy dreams of Paris, except maybe for a vacation someday. I like it here.”

  I sipped my chai and smiled at her. “You know that’s okay, right? You aren’t required to have delusions of grandeur like me. The important thing is that you know what you want in life. A lot of people don’t, and I think that’s why they end up miserable.” I smirked at her. “Well, that sounded good coming out of my shrink’s mouth, anyway, so it seems like a smart opinion to have.”

  “So when are you heading for the train station? NYC tomorrow, right?”

  I absolutely couldn’t control my grin at the reminder. “My train leaves at nine, but I’ve been packed for a week already. I’m so excited about this trip. You don’t even know.”

  “I bet. What show are you going to see?”

  Ducking my shoulders, I was a little embarrassed to admit it. “I know it’s sort of old and cliché, but I’d love to see Les Miserables. I know all the music, but the one time I had the chance to see a traveling show in Providence, I got the flu and couldn’t go. The movies just haven’t done it for me.”

  “Well, if you get to see more than one, you should try for tickets to Wicked, too. I saw it last summer with my dad and it was awesome.”

  “That’s what Angela says we should see,” I said. “If we end up having to choose between them, it could get ugly.”

  She blew out a long, sad exhale. “I really wish I was going. I wouldn’t want to live in New York, but visiting is amazing. Maybe I can con people into going down one weekend this fall.”

  “Or,” I said, lifting my mug in a toast, “you can save up and come see me in Paris. I’ll make cookies, and you can buy the wine.”

  Laughing, she lifted her cup and clinked it against mine. “That sounds perfect. You got a deal.”

  Chapter 21

  While hauling a rolling suitcase through the subway system and streets of New York City wasn’t the most fun thing in the world, I couldn’t help the bounce in my step as I made my way to the hostel on Varet Street. I called Angela the moment my train pulled into the station, excited to see her, Nadine, and Charlie after months apart. They’d only gotten there maybe fifteen minutes before me, and we spent a solid five minutes hugging and running our mouths before we went inside the building. Nadine had chopped all of her hair off into a pixie cut, and I spent a good chunk of that time gushing over how cute her bleached out blonde looked that way. Charlie, as laid back as ever, couldn’t help cracking jokes about them going to the same barber, as their styles were practically the same now.

  Eventually we bustled through the big red entrance and up to the office window to check in. I paused for a moment to admire the policies and procedures painted on the white wall, all done in a style that looked like a subway map. The whole place screamed young, European traveler: the perfect way to prep for the life I’d be leading in a few short weeks.

  The brunette at the desk smiled as I walked up. “Checking in?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The reservation is under Margaret Walsh.”

  She blinked at me a moment, then sat up straighter. “Walsh? Oh, of course. ID please?”

  As she typed in the information for me and my friends, my mind was already five steps ahead of me, thinking about where we’d go for dinner, what we’d do the next day…

  “And, just one last thing before you head to your room.” She stood up and walked to the other side of the small office, returning a moment later with a vase of bright yellow daffodils and a large manila envelope. “These were left earlier for you, Margaret. I told the courier I’d keep them until you checked in.”

  I stared at the flowers, dumbstruck. “For me?”

  Angela giggled. “Did you get a boyfriend in Carrinaw and forget to tell me, Margie?”

  My mouth sagged open. It couldn’t be.

  Angela continued laughing. “Well, don’t just stand there gaping. You can tell me every last detail once we put our stuff away.”

  Charlie carried the envelope while I carted my bag and the vase of flowers to our private room. Charlie and Nadine grabbed the full-size bed, while Angela and I snagged the twins. After setting the vase on one of the small end tables, I sank down on the mattress with the envelope, not sure what the contents would hold. The others settled in, and I took a deep breath, opening the metal clasp holding the flap shut. Inside was a letter-sized envelope and several sheets of paper that looked to be some kind of list.

  1. Turned down an easy date.

  2. Spent 3 hours learning to carve flowers.

  3. Turned down two more easy dates.

  4. Took out the trash for Lettie.

  5. Spent 30 minutes asking Lettie about her mom’s health.

  6. Practiced Spanish with Rosie. Taught her some French.

  7. Fixed the lo
ose sign at the park.

  8. Gave my old laptop to Rosie’s daughter for her college classes.

  9. Spent 20 total hours to date practicing cutting techniques.

  10. Asked Mr. Walsh for extra training on Mondays.

  11. Researched micro-investing. Picked 7 to fund, one on each continent.

  12…

  The list went on and on, way past one hundred. By the time I hit fifty, the words blurred together, and I blinked away tears.

  The carrot flowers.

  Was that what the tags meant? Did they all signify something he’d done?

  I set the papers on my lap and turned my face away, trying not to cry. As I did, I caught sight of the daffodils, but noticed something I hadn’t seen initially. In the center of the bouquet, nearly buried by yellow flowers, a single carved carrot poked up out of the arrangement, tiny sprays of orange petals bursting out in the most complex carving I’d seen in a long time.

  “Margie?” Angela sat beside me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  I shook my head, my hands covering my mouth as I pinched my eyes closed. “He even remembered yellow was my favorite color!” I blurted out through a sob. “Why is he so dumb? I shouldn’t even like him! It’s all so stupid, and frustrating, and horrible, and wonderful, and I hate him for making me cry.”

  “What are you talking about? He who?”

  “Stupid Zach Robinson!” I blubbered against her shoulder.

  It took about an hour, but I managed to get through the whole story of what had happened since my return to Carrinaw Island. By the time it was over, I was sitting in a pile of dozens of soggy tissues, scuffing my feet over the floor.

  “Damn,” Angela said, scrubbing a hand across her forehead. “He did all that for you? I couldn’t even get my last boyfriend to pick me up from work when my car wouldn’t start. That’s crazy.”