One S'more Summer

by Beth Merlin

  Perry was waiting for me outside the dining hall. He took my hand and held it as we walked inside. Gordy caught my eye and smiled with approval.

  As soon as I sat down, the questions started flying like I was in front of a firing squad. How long have you been together? When did it start? Is he a good kisser? I looked over to Perry for some support, but he was holding a mini press junket of his own. I crossed the room to get coffee, and Jordana followed me up to the machine.

  “Okay, Gigi, spill,” she whispered.

  “There isn’t much to spill.”

  “You didn’t sleep in the bunk last night. I covered for you the best I could. I even put a pillow under the blanket so it would look like you were there if any of the girls got up to use the bathroom. Now you walk in holding hands with your sworn mortal enemy? Spill.”

  I took a deep breath. “Can you hand me a sugar packet?”

  “Gigi!” she shrieked. Some campers turned to look at us.

  “Okay, okay. I spent the night with Perry, and we are certainly not mortal enemies.”

  “Well, that’s obvious,” she said, taking her coffee back to the table.

  I followed her and looked over at Perry. He glanced up and our eyes met. He winked at me, and I blushed, thinking back to earlier and how I’d woken in his bed to the sounds of him serenading me to Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue.’ He’d played in a complete trance, his fingers dancing over the strings of the violin. When he finished, I’d applauded like I’d been watching him perform at one of the greatest concert halls in the world.

  “Now, if only I’d written it,” he’d said, putting his violin back in its case.

  “Who cares who wrote it when you can play it like that?” I responded.

  “It’s our song, you know,” he said, climbing back into bed with me.

  “I guess it is now,” I agreed, snuggling close to him.

  I’d closed my eyes and fallen back asleep in his arms. Several hours later, Perry had woken me to tell me it was going to be light soon. He’d led me through the back path around the lake that my campers had used that first night to try sneaking into his division.

  After breakfast, the visitors started to trickle in. I took my post at the camp’s entrance gate, greeting the families and directing them to their children’s divisions. I watched as bags of bagels and coolers full of sandwiches and sodas went by. At least a dozen pizza pies were being carried in, not to mention trays of designer coffee and boxes of doughnuts. You would’ve thought these parents were visiting their children at Attica rather than summer camp.

  At noon, I went to the amphitheater, where the kids were getting ready to present a few scenes from Fiddler on the Roof for their families. Perry was the only character wearing his actual costume, so there wasn’t much for me to do. I grabbed a seat on the side of the stage, hidden from view, and watched as he took his place on top of Tevye’s house for the beginning of Act One. Jackie and Davis stepped to the front of the stage and explained the cast was going to perform a sampling of songs from the show, and all the parents were invited to come back to Chinooka in a few weeks to see the finished production. Then, Davis cued Perry, who started playing the opening notes. When the rest of the orchestra of campers and local musicians joined him, his superior talent was that much more apparent.

  I looked out into the audience, scanning the different faces, and saw my mother sitting in the last row of the theater, her Burberry coat spread out like a blanket on the log bench. After the final number, she stood up along with the rest of the audience to give the kids their ovation.

  When the show was finished, I went into the audience to greet her. She had stains down her cheeks where her mascara had run from crying. I motioned for her to wipe her eyes, and she took out a handkerchief and hand mirror.

  “I don’t know what came over me,” she said, blotting away the dark streaks. “What talented kids. And your friend—the one with the violin—he’s remarkable,” she said.

  “Perry. Yeah, he’s very talented,” I said.

  “That’s an understatement. You designed his costume?”

  I nodded. “I’ve finished most of them, but I’m still working on the wedding gown for the end of Act One.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, reaching into her tote. She handed me a stack of newspapers and magazines.

  When I was a camper, instead of bringing junk food on Parents’ Weekend, she would bring the Fashion & Style section from every single edition of the Sunday New York Times that had been delivered while I was away. Sometimes she included the newest issues of Harper’s Bazaar or Vogue. When all the families had gone, Alicia and I would lie on my bottom bunk, devouring them along with all the snacks Mrs. Scheinman brought up.

  “I can’t believe you remembered these, Mom. I can show the costumes to you if you have any interest, or we can find a quiet place to catch up—maybe one of the gazebos?”

  Her face softened. “I would love to see the costumes,” she said.

  The wedding dress was hanging over a form in the back of the arts and crafts cabin. I’d just recently finished draping the bodice with a tea-colored French Chantilly lace. I’d found the bolt of fabric years ago at an outdoor market in Paris and had been holding onto it for just the right project. As soon as I completed the sketch of the dress, I’d known this was it. Three-quarters of the way completed, it was finally starting to resemble the dress from my great-grandmother’s picture, with a bit of a modern twist. I pulled off the sheet covering the form, and my mother walked a full circle around the dress, looking at it from every angle.

  “It looks like my Grandma Ruby’s—”

  “Wedding gown,” I said, finishing her sentence. “I used the picture on your dresser as inspiration.”

  “It’s absolutely stunning,” she said.

  I had to admit that it was one of the best pieces I’d ever made.

  “The girl who plays Tzeidel will look beautiful in it,” I said.

  My mother put on her glasses and lifted the lace from the gown, leaning in to examine it more closely. “You’d look beautiful in it.”

  “Me? No, it’s cut too straight. It’s not forgiving at all. It’s meant for someone with your body type or Alicia’s, not mine,” I said.

  She sat down at my sewing table and flipped through my sketchbooks. The top book had the sketches of the costumes for the show. The rest were filled with sketches of wedding gowns inspired by the one I’d done for the show. As my mother closed the last page, Madison came running into the cabin looking for me.

  “Oh, good, Gigi, there you are, I’ve been looking everywhere,” she said breathlessly.

  “Mom, this is one of my campers, Madison Gertstein,” I said, introducing them.

  Madison smiled at my mother, who couldn’t take her eyes off of the young girl. From the look on my mother’s face, I was certain she was amazed by the likeness between Madison and me at that age. Chubby with unkempt hair she’d tried to tame into a braid, her clothes just a little too tight and not quite on trend.

  “Well, you found me. What’s going on?” I asked. Madison motioned for me to come closer to her, concerned someone might overhear us. I lowered my voice. “Maddy, I don’t think anyone’s eavesdropping.”

  “Alex wants me to meet his parents,” she whispered.

  “That’s great. What’s the problem?” I asked.

  She chewed on her nails. “What if they don’t like me?”

  I looked over at my mother, who was pretending not to listen but could no doubt hear us. “Not possible,” I said, putting my arm around Madison.

  “You’re just saying that because you have to.”

  “I have to do a lot of things as head counselor, but trying to convince you that you deserve the attention of some guy isn’t one of them,” I said.

  “It would be so much easier if I looked like Candice or like you.”

  “It’s you he’s liked from day one. Not Candice. You.”

  She still looked unconvin
ced, but she gave me a hug before running out to go find Alex and his family.

  “I had no idea you were so good with kids,” my mother said.

  I picked up the sheet off the floor and arranged it back over the dress form. “I just told her what I would have wanted to hear at her age,” I said, a bit more harshly than I intended.

  “She looks a lot like you did at thirteen.”

  “I know. That poor girl, right?”

  “I was just thinking that she was lovely.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Mom, what are you really doing here?”

  “It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t we take out one of those rowboats they have at the lake?” she suggested.

  It was obvious she didn’t want to talk about why she’d come to visit, so I decided not to push her. I followed her down to the lake while she chirped away about the Hamptons’ July Fourth party, Joshua and Alicia’s wedding, and her most recent trip to Martha’s Vineyard. When we reached the dock, we put on life jackets but had to wait a few minutes for a rowboat to be returned. When one was available, a member of the waterfront staff helped us into it and pushed us off. My mother grabbed a set of oars and we rowed out to the middle of the lake.

  “I love this. I’m going to ask your father to get us one for the Hamptons,” she said.

  “A rowboat?”

  “Can’t you just picture the two of us enjoying lazy afternoons out on Georgica Pond?”

  Unfortunately, after that night my father had shown up with his paralegal, the only person I could picture him enjoying Georgica Pond with was Samara. “Dad’s staying in the city this weekend?” I asked.

  “He had a lot of work to catch up on,” she answered. “You know, I had the most wonderful massage at the hotel this morning. I can’t remember when I’ve felt so relaxed.”

  She was obviously trying to steer away from the subject of my father. The unspoken tension between us was killing me. We were both dancing around the one topic neither of us wanted to confront. I bit the bullet and spat out, “Is he staying in the city alone?”

  My mother dropped the oars out of her hands, and they fell into the lake.

  “Damn it,” she cried.

  “It’s okay. I’ll flag down one of the lifeguards,” I said, turning around to see if any were doing their usual patrol of the lake on Jet Skis. She started laughing hysterically. In my entire life, I’d never seen her come undone like that. “What’s so funny?” I asked, turning back around to face her.

  “I’ve been avoiding this conversation for over twenty years, and now there’s no getting away from it. Literally.”

  “We don’t have to talk about this,” I said.

  She took my hands into her own. “Oh, yes, we do.”

  One of the lake lifeguards came by on a Jet Ski and handed us back the oars, which had already floated pretty far from the boat. My mother thanked him, and then, after he sped off, she put them back in the water. She saw my puzzled look and said, “I might not be brave enough otherwise.” She pushed her oversized sunglasses onto her head so we were finally eye to eye. “No, Gigi, I’m sure he isn’t spending this weekend on his own. I’d venture to guess that one of his girlfriends will make sure of that.”

  I tried not to let disappointment register on my face. “One of?”

  “Yes, there’s more than one.”

  “How long have you known about his…” I was going to say “cheating,” but in that moment, the word seemed too severe.

  “Women my age usually say indiscretions,” she said, finishing my sentence. “Let’s see, I’ve known for about twenty years.”

  Just then, the wake from the Jet Ski hit the rowboat. I put my arms to the side to steady it. I wasn’t sure if the revelation or wave was making me queasy. I closed my mouth and swallowed hard, hoping to suppress the feeling.

  “I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

  She moistened her lips, the remnants of her Chanel lipstick barely visible. “You know, your grandfather thought your father and I were out of our minds when we decided to name you Georgica, but we didn’t care. To us, the name represented a dream, a life we someday hoped to have.”

  “I know all that,” I said.

  “Did you know that while your father went to law school at night, I held two different jobs so we could afford having you plus his tuition? He watched you during the day and studied while I worked. There were days we only saw each other long enough for him to tell me what your nap schedule had been or what you’d eaten. We had nothing back then, but I was so in love with him I didn’t care,” she said.

  This was all news to me. I’d always assumed their roles had been neatly defined and carved out from the very beginning. My father, uncompromisingly working toward his career, while my mother happily stayed home, dutifully cheering him on from the sidelines.

  She continued, “We were a team back then. He graduated at the top of his class, clerked for a judge, and then became an associate. He climbed up the ladder pretty quickly after that, and we were living our supposed dream.”

  I picked up on her sarcasm. “Supposed?”

  “We had our fancy apartment in the city and our house on Georgica Pond, but funnily enough, I would have given anything to go back to our one-bedroom apartment in Astoria. I hadn’t realized how much I gave up in helping him pursue his dreams. The resentment came later. Without even realizing it, I pushed him away. The awful truth is I wasn’t all that surprised the first time I saw your father in a dark corner whispering with a young, attractive associate at the firm’s Christmas party.”

  My head was swimming from her confessions. “I don’t understand. Then why did you stay with him all these years?”

  A smile crept across her face. “Your father can be very persuasive, as you know. It’s why they pay him the big bucks.”

  “Mom…”

  She suddenly looked very serious. “I stay because, after thirty-five years of marriage, I don’t know how to be anything other than his wife. I stayed because I wasn’t a noun. And mostly, I stay because, despite all his flaws, or maybe even because of all his flaws, I love him,” she said, locking eyes with me.

  A warm rush came over my body. It all made sense. Her constant badgering for me to pursue a career she thought would provide me with an independence and fulfillment she hadn’t found.

  “So then, this is an arrangement the two of you have?” I imagined her and my father negotiating the terms over our kitchen table.

  “I’ve made my life work, Gigi. I’m not unhappy. He fulfilled his end of our agreement and has given me everything I’ve ever asked for. I can’t blame him for the fact that it wasn’t quite enough. He doesn’t flaunt anything in my face. Our dynamic isn’t one I would choose for you, but when you’re in love with somebody, you do and accept things you’re are ashamed to admit to yourself, let alone to anyone else.”

  My mind drifted back to that day she and I had lunch—when she pleaded with me to demand more from my relationships. Now, having heard her confession, I was ashamed to let her know just how alike she and I were.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Mom, I carried on a relationship with Joshua while Alicia was doing that training program in London.” The words spilled out in a stream. “They weren’t together then, but still. I could never bring myself to tell her. She doesn’t know anything about it.”

  My mother closed her eyes and shook her head, and I prepared myself for the scolding I knew I deserved. “God, you must hate me,” she said and I was certain I’d misheard her. “All those times I went on and on about how lucky Alicia was to have found a guy like him,” she continued. “So this summer, being here, it’s about more than just you being fired from your job then.” I noticed for the first time there was no disdain in her voice when she said job. Her eyes softened. “Is it over now?”

  I stared down into the water. The small waves from the Jet Ski had subsided and the lake was still. “He’s not a bad guy. He never meant to hurt me. I don’t think he had any i
dea how long I’d been in love with him.”

  “They never do,” she said, her voice breaking.

  I looked up and at my mother’s face. Her skin was as luminescent as a teenager’s. Her big, dark eyes had only the smallest suggestion of crow’s-feet around them. Years of wearing big hats and even bigger sunglasses had preserved her youthful appearance. Her glossy hair, not pulled back into its usual chignon, framed her face in such a way that I could almost imagine that twenty-something girl confidently making her way in the world. I wished I could have known her, although I was grateful to have just discovered she ever existed at all.

  I took her hands in mine. “Should we try to get the oars back, or do you want to sit here for a bit longer?”

  “Let’s float a little bit longer,” she answered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Later that day, after my mother left, Perry came to find me at the athletic field, where I was watching a Parents vs. Campers softball game.

  “What’s the score?” he asked, settling down next to me in the grass.

  “Campers four. Parents one.”

  He pulled a Chipwich out of each of his pockets and handed me one.

  “I thought you hated these?”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” he responded with a coy smile. “How did things go with your mum?”

  “It was nice to spend some time with her.” I noticed his Chipwich melting all over his hands. “You still don’t like them, do you?”

  He shook his head. I held out my napkin so he could wrap it up. This playful side to his personality was all new to me.

  “Are you sitting OD tonight?” he asked.

  “No, Jordana’s sitting with Brooke.”

  “Good. I wanted to invite you to my cabin for a proper date.”

  Just as the sincerity of his invitation was sinking in, one of the parent batters hit a fly ball that landed a few feet from where we were sitting. Perry stood up to retrieve it and threw it back to the pitcher’s mound.

  “So a proper date, huh? What does that entail, exactly?” I asked.

  “Well, I swiped a pizza from Alex Shane’s pile and should be able to scrounge up a bottle of wine,” he answered.