Chapter 22
twenty-two
. . .
SUMMER
I love my van but having space to move around is something I haven’t had for a long time. Also, Rory’s gigantic shower is beyond luxurious. Dual waterfall shower heads, a steam shower system, and adjustable body jets. I’m not sure how he gets anything done. I could be in here for hours.
After my shower, I towel off and pull on a tank top and underwear. I’m about to pull on shorts but then I glance at the clock. I don’t know exactly what time Rory will be home, but it can’t be for a while, so I take advantage of the alone time and walk around the house in my underwear. That’s something I haven’t done in years.
There’s not enough time to paint before Rory returns, so I decide to explore the house instead.
It feels odd to be in Rory’s house without him but he told me to make myself at home.
In the closet, I browse through Rory’s clothes. There’s a wide array of athletic shorts and t-shirts, polos, and slacks. He’s got a large collection of suits. I sift through them, noting the one he wore to our wedding earlier.
I’ve never lived with a guy before. Tripp and I dated for three years but I lived in on-campus housing with Scarlett while he had his own apartment.
In the dining room, Edgar is living his best life sprawled out in front of the large sliding glass window. When I pull the shades closed so I don’t flash anyone who walks by, he groans at me.
In the refrigerator, I find an insane amount of food. Premade meals, protein shakes, fruits, and vegetables. Pickles.
I stare at the jar of pickles. It’s my favorite kind. Brand new. Unopened.
A coincidence? Or, did Rory buy them for me?
The thought sends my stomach aflutter, so I close the door before I can get carried away.
I pour myself a glass of water, and lean against the kitchen island to drink it. When I lift the glass, my wedding band sparkles, catching my eye. Holding my hand out in front of me, I inspect the foreign piece of jewelry.
That’s when my eyes land on Rory’s record player across the room. When I saw it earlier, I’d been excited. I used to have one in my apartment, but had to downsize when I moved into my van.
Listening to music has always been enjoyable for me, but there’s something about the sound quality of vinyl that hits different. It’s warm and textured, the music somehow softer around the edges. Even the faint crackle and pop from the needle settling into the groove is so satisfying.
I walk over and drop to my knees on the floor to check out Rory’s collection of records.
Bruces Springsteen, Hozier, Radiohead, Tom Petty, The Rolling Stones.
We hadn’t talked about it, but it’s interesting to see Rory’s taste in music is similar to mine. Eclectic, classic, with some pop hits thrown in. I smile because he’s also got ABBA and Taylor Swift next to Frank Ocean and Nirvana.
My fingers stop on a record I remember my grandmother playing often. Fleetwood Mac— Rumours . Carefully, I slide the record out of the sleeve and load it on the turntable, then flick the on switch and move the needle to the rotating vinyl.
There’s a moment of static, then Stevie Nicks’ raspy voice fills the room. It’s whiskey-warm, a mix of gravel and velvet. I let her natural vibrato serenade me while I explore the kitchen.
I’m not a great cook, but I wouldn’t mind learning to do more now that I have a full kitchen at my fingertips. This time I stop in front of Rory’s refrigerator to look at the magnets clinging to the stainless-steel finish.
A giant taco-shaped one that says “Tacos Are Life.”
A bottle opener magnet.
A Carolina Current Swim Club magnet.
A polaroid of Rory and his teammates tucked under a “I got crabs in Charleston” magnet.
There’s also a bunch of refrigerator letters you can spell words and phrases with. Most are pushed around haphazardly, the only readable phrase is “IN HARD, OUT WET.”
“Is that a swimmer thing?” I ponder out loud.
There’s a crackling pause between songs, then “Go Your Own Way” starts playing.
I’m reminded of how Scarlett and I would belt this out in our dorm room. It was my anthem for most of my senior year, as I yearned for a life far different from the one my parents were dictating at the time.
I grab my phone off the counter and text Scarlett.
Listening to Fleetwood and missing you
She responds immediately with a video of us singing together. I laugh watching our younger selves belt out the song while dancing around our dorm room.
Scarlett
Miss you like crazy. I need to come visit.
A moment later another text comes in.
Scarlett
Don’t forget the microphone
I glance around Rory’s tidy kitchen, my eyes landing on a utensil canister sitting on the counter. After a quick perusal, I select a whisk as my microphone of choice.
When the chorus hits again, I’m dancing around the house, belting the song at the top of my lungs. My hair, mostly dry now, but wild and wavy, is giving Stevie Nicks vibes.
My movements aren’t graceful and I know I’m off tune, but there’s no one here but Edgar to witness it.
Edgar is disturbed. He’s never seen me like this. There’s no space in the van and the proximity to other people at the RV park wasn’t ideal for private concerts.
As the song hits the guitar solo, I turn the whisk into a guitar, giving it everything I have. I’m bouncing on my toes, playing my air guitar.
I’m mid-spin when I spot the audience: a wall of broad shoulders and horrified expressions.
My instinct is to shriek and dive behind the couch. While I’m cheek to the carpet, I notice Edgar lying on the rug nearby doing absolutely nothing to help me during this home invasion.
Rory was right. Edgar’s guarding instincts are non-existent.
“Summer, it’s just us,” comes a deep, but soothing voice from the doorway. “We didn’t mean to scare you.”
Slowly, I peek my head over the couch to get a better look. I recognize Eli, Logan, and Charlie but there are a few others hovering behind them. A moment later, the group parts and Rory appears.
At the sight of him, I rise from my flattened position. Still holding the whisk, my face burning.
He’s freshly showered, hair still damp with a dusting of scruff on his jaw. His eyes sweep the room and land on me.
“Well, this is the end of my sanity.”