The Summer We Ran

Six

Six

JULY 1996

“You need a hat, Tess. Your cheeks are pink.”

I looked up at the sun, already high and hot even though it was still morning. “I ran out this morning without it. I’ll be okay.”

“Nonsense,” Kay said. “I’ve got plenty inside. Besides, I could use a break. Come.” She stood up and I followed, knowing it was easier to go along with Kay Alexander than try to fight her on something.

It had been a few weeks since I started working for Kay. There was a rhythm to our days that I came to enjoy, and despite the perpetual dirt covering my body, my mother was relieved I was occupied.

I was surprised by how happy we both were in this place that was so different than anything we’d ever known, surrounded by a culture of wealth that made us seem like foreigners in our simplicity.

My mother worked for rich people before, especially at the Homestead. Whenever she came home from those shifts, she’d mumble complaints about being invisible. She refused to even let me consider applying for a job at the hotel. “It’s not a world where you belong,” she’d say. We didn’t belong in Ms. Milton’s world either, but at least we felt welcome.

I loved my early mornings, helping my mother with breakfast preparations, and then walking to the Alexander house, where I got to watch the summer come alive. The heather bloomed tiny purple flowers, the yellow black-eyed Susans scattered across the fields. It took about thirty minutes to trek across the properties. My mother offered her car, but I knew she needed it for grocery runs. Besides, I liked to walk alongside the sunrise.

I kept my head down, focusing on my job. Kay seemed to trust my abilities more and more. At least I thought that was the case, because she spent less time in the gardens and more time occupying herself upstairs.

But this morning, we worked together for a few hours, pruning the new growth on the forsythia bushes that created an explosion of yellow in the spring and a green fence in the summer. Sweat beaded down our foreheads as the sun’s heat intensified. We left the pile of debris and headed inside in search of a hat.

I followed Kay upstairs, tiptoeing since Grant would still be asleep. Kay stomped. “Don’t cater to his lazy schedule,” she said. “He needs to wake up.”

We entered her bedroom and I gasped as Kay turned on the light to her walk-in closet. My old bedroom would fit in the space where she stored her shoes. I stared at rows of beaded evening gowns and shelves of handbags. Diamond tennis bracelets and chandelier earrings hung in a jewelry cabinet. I couldn’t imagine why one person would ever need so much stuff. I glanced over at her, a woman dressed simply in worn linen and a straw hat, knowing that she would look equally comfortable draped in jewels and a silk gown. I tugged the hem of my cutoff shorts and knew that would never be me. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved.

Kay pointed to a wall where various hats hung on pegs. There were beautiful woven hats with ribbons around the brim. They looked like something I saw women wear to the Kentucky Derby. “Pick one,” Kay said.

I shook my head. “Oh no, I couldn’t.” One minute in a hat like that and it would blow off my head and be ruined. “I’ll just take a ball cap.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, opening a bottom drawer filled with caps in every color. I searched for the most worn and picked it up.

“That was Grant’s Little League team,” Kay said, smiling longingly.

I slipped my ponytail through the back of the hat. “It fits,” I said.

Kay pulled the brim of the cap downward as she said, “Good. Now that beautiful face of yours will be protected.”

I stared at the floor as I said, “Thank you.”

“You are beautiful, Tess. Get used to hearing it. Accept a compliment with grace. It will serve you well in the future.”

I looked up and forced myself to smile as I said, “Yes, ma’am.” I wanted to believe Kay. I wanted to feel beautiful, but standing next to her, I just felt silly.

“Follow me,” she said, walking into her bathroom. She led me over to a vanity with bright lightbulbs and every possible item of makeup. “Sit,” she ordered.

I sat on her stool, the silk upholstery smooth against my thighs as the blazing lights illuminated every millimeter of my skin.

Kay spun me around, removed my hat, and got to work. She pulled out brushes and began painting my face with her jewel box of cosmetics. I followed each of her commands as she told me to “close my eyes” and “look up” and “stop squirming.”

Midway through this makeover, Kay laughed. “This isn’t torture, Tess. It’s supposed to be fun.”

“I have no idea how to act right now,” I said, my body finally relaxing.

“You’ve never had your makeup done?” Kay asked.

“Not unless you count sharing Lip Smackers in the girls’ bathroom.”

Kay’s face pulled tightly. “You are almost an adult. Your makeup should not be flavored like bubblegum.” Kay began applying mascara on my lashes, and although she said it wasn’t torture, trying to hold still while she pointed a wand at my eyeball felt a little bit like it.

“Your mother never taught you about makeup?” Kay asked.

I shook my head. “She doesn’t wear it. Never has.”

“You remind me so much of myself at this age.”

I snorted because it was impossible that this polished, glamorous woman saw even a sliver of herself in me.

She turned my chin to swipe powder on my cheeks and stared into my eyes. “It’s true. I grew up here, and unlike Madeline, I wasn’t shuttled back and forth to D.C. I’m a country girl just like you. The makeup and jewels and gowns came when Richard entered my life. I learned how to adapt to what was expected.” She didn’t say this proudly. There was an unexplained sadness in her voice.

I didn’t outright disagree, because it was flattering that a woman like Kay thought we were similar. But I doubted she ever clipped coupons or had the lights shut off in this grand home that happened to be located in the countryside.

I tilted my head and said, “Our country girl definitions are different.”

I saw the realization on her face as she nodded. “Yes. I’m sure there are some differences. Substantial differences in the ways we grew up. All I’m saying is that I know what it feels like to be thrust into a different world.”

I nodded. That’s exactly how my mom was feeling that summer too. One week, she had to let a six-course meal go to waste because Madeline took off on a last-minute business trip to California. And then the next, she was helping her pack for a quick getaway to St. Barts, which we had to look up on a map to see where in the world Madeline was.

And yet, Kay’s house made me feel comfortable even though I was there only because she hired me for a job. I was sitting in her bathroom, and she spoke to me as if, someday, I’d belong instead of just being employed in this world.

She swept one last brush of powder across my forehead. “Well, another day, I’ll give you a lesson, but for today, look at the results.” Kay spun me around and I faced the mirror.

I smiled, and this time it was completely genuine. I looked like myself, only better. The gold flecks in my brown eyes seemed to shine. My lips looked fuller and there was a smoothness to my skin that I thought existed only on magazine covers. I turned my head from side to side, examining every angle of this new version of my face.

“The most important thing to remember is that it’s your face. You choose to cover it in makeup or let your skin shine in the sun. You do it for yourself. Not to impress someone. Certainly never to impress a man. We have only one life, Tess. Don’t make decisions based on some false belief that anyone else’s opinion matters more than your own.”

I tried to hear what Kay was saying, but mostly, I couldn’t stop staring at my face and thinking how much I liked the way it looked and wondering whether Grant would like it too.

“I might call it a day, Tess. The sun is getting to me. Do you mind hauling away the rest of the debris? It needs to go into the burn pile.”

“Of course not,” I said, standing.

Kay had a wistful look on her face. I realized how fleeting her smiles had been the last week. Grant mentioned that his father stopped by. I never saw Richard Alexander, but his presence was obvious. For days after he left, Kay was on edge and Grant was grumpy.

“I’ll take a long bath,” Kay said. “Maybe even go into town for lunch today. I’ll call Madeline and see if she can join. She’s been working so much, I’ve hardly seen her this summer. She’s worse than Richard these days.”

Spending this morning with Kay, I realized that it was nice to see her back to herself, or at least back to the person I first met. We spent so much time gardening together that I felt like I knew her, but I supposed I didn’t really know Kay Alexander at all.

We both heard a door creak open and a familiar clomping down the stairs.

“Good. He’s waking up,” she said. “Do not let him touch my roses.”

“I know, I know,” I said, eager to get downstairs.

Grant was not allowed to touch Kay’s flowers. She referred to it as the Rose Massacre of ’85. Apparently, a seven-year-old Grant had butchered her prize roses when he thought it was a good idea to use the petals to create a jumping pit. Despite Grant’s promises that he could be trusted, Kay refused to let him near her flowers. I didn’t blame her. Kay’s roses were some of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. Grant had laughed it off, explaining that only his mother would think it was punishment to prohibit working in the garden.

I glanced at myself once more in the mirror before leaving Kay’s bedroom and heading downstairs. Grant would be waiting.

Most mornings, he hung out while I worked. We discussed books, and our friends, and sometimes our parents. But mostly he lay in the grass beside me, a comfortable silence between us, until he broke it with a joke that made me laugh so hard, I had to stop pruning the flowers.

Grant spent afternoons at the ice-cream shop in town, scooping treats for desperate children and starving mothers. He hated every second of it, but it was part of his summer punishment, getting some type of employment. Grant would come home in the early evening with the best stories of town gossip and ice-cream meltdowns. Kay spent late afternoons walking barefoot among her flowers, snipping blooms for her table. She’d set the flowers in the outdoor dining area, and I’d find plates of cheese and crackers, ripe olives, and nuts, and always a bottle of wine. Kay frequently invited me to stay, which made me uncomfortable at first, but after a few days, I started giddily accepting, trying cheeses I’d never heard of, watching the sky turn to purple. The three of us would sit, snacking and chatting, and it seemed like a place where I was meant to be, which was a dangerous feeling. I’d leave before Kay finished the bottle of wine, but I’d see it empty the next morning, along with the dishes on the table. It was the first thing I’d do when I arrived at the Alexander house. I cleaned up any evidence of the night before. Messes led to regrets, and I didn’t want Kay to regret my presence in her life.

“Good morning,” Grant said. He had pillow lines on his face and clothes still settling on his body. He liked to pretend he had been awake for hours, but I could tell that he’d just pulled himself out of bed. For me.

“It’s almost noon, Grant.”

“You sound like my mother,” Grant said. “Although maybe you’re both right. I’m starving.”

Grant’s eyebrows shot up and he looked over his shoulder before grabbing my hands and pulling me against his solid body. He bent down and kissed me, slowly at first and then with more urgency.

For the last few weeks, I’d woken up to the memory of Grant’s kisses; I’d gone to sleep dreaming about more of them. It turned out that my unlucky streak ended. After three horrible kisses, my fourth, and fifth, and all of the dozen after that had been perfect. It was hard to keep track of how many times we kissed when every stolen moment was spent plotting how we could get our lips together.

We broke apart at the sound of footsteps about to enter the room. I’d hoped Kay would stay upstairs a little longer. I loved talking to her, but I loved being alone with Grant even more.

As soon as Kay walked into the kitchen, a nervous energy filled the room.

“I just got off the phone with Madeline. She is beside herself,” Kay said.

Grant rolled his eyes behind his mother. But I politely asked, “What happened?”

I hoped I hadn’t done something wrong. I hoped my mother hadn’t done something wrong. I didn’t want this summer to end any sooner than it had to.

Kay scurried around the kitchen, placing items in her purse—a container of Tic Tacs, a hair scrunchie, sunglasses, and her large bifold wallet. “It turns out that a few of the stable boys she hired were arrested. They had taken shotguns from Madeline’s property. The sheriff returned the guns today. The barn manager never mentioned missing guns. He only told Madeline that they needed to hire more staff since some of the boys stopped showing up for work. Her employees were in jail and she had no idea. I’m going to head over to Madeline’s to see if I can calm her down.”

My eyes whipped toward Grant, but he was staring at the floor.

“Did you know anything about this, Tess?” Kay asked.

I swallowed, unsure how much to say. Grant finally looked up, his body behind his mother’s as he shook his head slowly, mouthing, “No.”

I answered as honestly as I could. “I had no idea anyone took guns from Ms. Milton. What’s she going to do?”

Kay shrugged. “Right now, she wants to fire everyone. I’ll admit, someone wasn’t doing their job if a bunch of teenagers got access to guns that should be locked away. My guess is that she’ll be looking for a new barn manager.”

I felt a wave of panic. I didn’t know what kind of responsibilities my mother had as the house manager, but could she be fired too?

Kay continued, “Madeline is lucky that the police arrested those boys before they hurt her. She really should do better background checks on the people she hires.”

I found this to be an incredibly ironic statement, given that Kay hired me without knowing anything other than the fact that I could identify a few flowers. But I decided that this was not the time to speak up.

Kay walked toward the back door, looking out at the garden as she said, “I’m heading over to Madeline’s now. Do you want a ride home?” Kay asked.

I shook my head. “I haven’t finished hauling the debris.”

Grant quickly added, “I can give you a ride home on my way in to work.” Before his mother could say anything, Grant added, “I won’t touch any flowers. I promise.”

Kay nodded and waved goodbye, preoccupied with the agenda of soothing Madeline.

Grant and I waited in silence until we heard Kay’s car driving over gravel. The space between us evaporated. He pulled me in for a kiss, starting with my lips and then trailing down my neck. “Finally,” he whispered.

Despite the thrill of Grant’s body next to mine, the sandpaper of his stubble rubbing against my cheek, my mind was elsewhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kay’s news. Grant sensed this and pulled back.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I feel horrible. All those kids are in jail and the manager could lose his job.”

Grant ran his hand through his hair, leaving it standing up before it flopped back to the side. “I know. It’s intense, right?”

I looked at him suspiciously. “The SATs are intense. This is life-changing. For the rest of their lives, this will be something that follows them. It’s terrifying.”

I’d seen the kids in handcuffs, but I didn’t think anyone would be charged. Or maybe I was too focused on Grant’s lips to consider the consequences of that night.

Grant chewed on the inside of his cheek. I learned he did this when he was nervous to tell me something. Like when he said staring into my eyes made him forget what he was going to say. I didn’t understand why Grant would be nervous.

But then he said, “They deserve it.”

“Deserve what?” I asked, unaware of the weight of this simple question.

“They deserve to get fired. They deserve to be in jail.”

“Grant, we were at that party too. Should we have been arrested?”

“We weren’t chugging beers and shooting weapons.”

“The police arrested more than just the kids with the guns,” I said, my eyes darting across the room with its china dishes and marble counters. I didn’t know what made me feel less like I belonged: this house or his words. “It could have been me.”

Grant joked, “Well, I know, you froze like a rabbit. It is a good thing I was there to grab you.” He meant to comfort me, but it did the opposite. I sat on the edge of so many different emotions with a person I was just getting to know.

I looked at Grant and asked, “And if you weren’t there, and I was sitting in a jail cell right now? How would you feel? Would you think I deserved it? Or if you ran slower and they arrested both of us? What then?”

Grant tossed his hair back with little effort. “But none of that happened,” he said. I began to realize that Grant’s whole life required little effort. “Why are you worrying about this?” he asked.

“Why aren’t you? You’re eighteen, Grant. Forget goats in a gym. Do you think Princeton would let you come this fall if you were arrested at a bonfire?”

Grant shrugged. “But I wasn’t arrested, so I guess I don’t have to worry about that.”

His nonchalance frustrated me, but I recognized that he never knew any different. I tried to explain. “Sometimes it feels like life is so fragile. One mistake can change the whole trajectory of our future. I guess I feel like my place in this world is a lot more precarious than yours.”

“Tess, that was not one mistake. Those kids made a series of mistakes that you had nothing to do with. If you were unlucky enough to be arrested, you would have been released right away. You weren’t drinking. You didn’t have a gun.”

“No, if I’d been arrested, I’d still be sitting in a cell. I have no doubt you would have been released. Your family can afford to hire a lawyer. Your mother probably knows the sheriff. A few phone calls and you’d be back in your own bed. But my life is nothing like that.”

“Tess, let’s not fight about hypotheticals. The bad guys got arrested. And I made lunch,” he said. He gestured to a picnic basket sitting on the counter that I hadn’t noticed before and reached for my hand. “Can you stop worrying so that I can take you someplace special?”

I looked at him, with his genuine smile and sparkling eyes. I wanted to stop worrying. But I knew how close I had been to wrecking my future just by attending the bonfire, and that was hard to shake.

Instead of letting it ruin my day, I pushed those fears away. Because I was seventeen, and there was a boy who packed me a picnic, whose kisses made it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of our heartbeats synching.

“Come on, I want to take you down to the river,” Grant said. “You up for a walk?”

“Yes,” I agreed, trying to let the conversation about the arrests drift away.

I motioned toward the giant fruit basket in front of Grant and said, “Give me an apple. I need some fuel for the walk. One of us did a lot of work this morning.”

“I’m going to let that subtle dig slide,” Grant said, handing me the apple. “Because even though I left the manual labor to you, I did prepare a feast. So I’m not completely useless.”

“When did you prepare this feast?”

“Last night. I planned ahead,” Grant said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Grant and I walked outside, his fingers laced with mine. We hiked to the river, along a path cut into the tall swaths of grass. The sun was high. Gone were the gentle June days. The temperature had settled comfortably in the high nineties, leaving my clothes clinging to my body. Grant kept grinning, nudging my side, and I wondered what exactly he had in this basket, because teenage boys weren’t this excited about lunch.

By the time we got to the river, I was a mess of dirt and sweat. Grant unpacked a blanket, spreading it on the soft bank. I was starving, but the running water was too tempting. As Grant set up the picnic, I kicked off my socks and shoes and waded into the icy water.

The spot was perfect. There were giant oak trees dotting the riverbank, a slight bend with the stream rushing over rocks. A rope hung from one of the branches and I wondered how many days Grant spent here, swinging into the river. The mountains in the distance stretched out beyond the reaches of my vision and I thought if I grew up here, I’d never leave this place. I wanted to make a little house in that spot and wake up every morning to that view, bathing in that river.

I turned to climb up the bank and join Grant on the blanket, but he was already easing himself into the water, a mischievous grin on his face. He was too quick for me and before I knew it, he scooped me up, twirling me around and then lowering me dangerously close to the water.

“Grant, do not drop me. I cannot go back to my mother in wet clothes.”

“Then maybe we should take our clothes off. For the sake of decency,” he said, laughing as my body hovered precariously over the rushing river.

“Threats are not the way to get a girl naked, Grant.”

“Oh really. What’s a better strategy?”

“Well, I can’t speak for those big-city girls, but I expect some romance,” I said with false confidence.

Grant lowered me down, my body sliding against his. The river water was so cold that I should have been shivering. But my skin against his left me burning.

Grant kissed my cheek and then whispered in my ear, “That’s what the picnic is for.”

I looked over at the riverbank, where Grant had a spread of food prepared. There were sandwiches and bags of chips and a big plate of cookies that I hoped he bought somewhere because I didn’t trust Grant’s ability to follow a recipe. He even managed to gather some flowers.

It was just lunch, but it was also so much more. It was the first time someone other than my family had done something for me, not out of obligation but out of want.

All of our physical interactions had been under scrutiny or the threat of scrutiny. Quick kisses before his mother emerged from the house, fingers brushed under the table, sideways hugs that allowed us to touch without garnering suspicion.

But now we were alone. It felt exhilarating and terrifying.

Grant led me to the blanket and pulled me down beside him. We were kissing and his hands were moving over my body. I was on sensory overload, keenly aware of the location of every one of our body parts. We were lying side by side and his left leg swung over mine. His hand rested on the small of my back and then slipped under my shirt, moving toward my bra.

I felt the breeze prickle my skin as he moved on top of me, my entire body electrifying. I could kiss Grant for hours. I no longer needed food. My air intake requirements were minimal. All I wanted was the sensation of Grant’s lips pressed against mine, the feel of his warm mouth trailing across my neck, my collarbone, and finally back to my swollen lips.

Grant leaned back and pulled off his shirt, grabbing it from the nape of his neck and removing it in one fluid motion. It was probably something he’d done a thousand times, but it left me speechless. I’d obviously seen a boy without a shirt, but I’d never seen a boy without a shirt while he was straddling my body. His body was harder and more muscular than I’d imagined. Suddenly, he didn’t seem like the teenage boy swinging me around the river. He seemed so mature. And I felt very self-aware of how inexperienced I was in all of this. With someone who clearly wasn’t.

He leaned down and kissed me gently, cupping my face and drawing me toward him. “You are so beautiful, Tess.”

He moved to pull up my shirt and I inadvertently tensed, instinctively pushing my shirt back down. I wanted to stay tangled in that moment of intensity, but my nerves wouldn’t let me. The air seemed to shift, all the heat between us evaporating. Grant rolled off me, not away from me but clearly inserting space between our bodies.

I sighed, wanting to reverse time but knowing I couldn’t. Up until this moment, I’d only dreamed of having a hot, smart guy lying on top of me. Clearly into me. But, of course, my swirling mind of logistics and insecurity messed up my dreams.

“Grant, I’m not …” I stuttered, embarrassed to admit what I was about to say. “I’m new to all of this. I haven’t …”

I saw a momentary flash across his face, surprise, maybe embarrassment. I was still memorizing his expressions and this wasn’t one I’d seen before.

“Shit. I had no idea.” Grant looked away, running his hand through his hair and leaving it sticking up in a million different directions.

For a moment, I worried that my virginity and my mouth full of confessions and lack of action had ruined whatever was developing between us. But Grant fixed it for me. Above all else that summer, I remembered believing that Grant could fix any of our problems.

He turned to me, reaching for my hand and kissing the back of it as he said, “I’d never rush you, Tess. We’re on your timeline. Let’s eat lunch. All we have to do is eat.”

“We don’t have to just eat,” I said, my eyebrows raising. We kissed again, slowly at first and then with more urgency. I could feel his hands moving across my body, tingling warmth spreading from every brush of his fingers. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and started to pull it upward, but Grant’s hand stopped me.

He groaned as he said, “You’re making a hard situation even harder.”

My eyebrows shot up and I smirked, feeling him press against me. He kissed my lips softly and then my cheek as he said, “We should take this slow, Tess. It’s a big deal.” He disentangled our bodies, creating unwanted space between us. “As much as it is killing me, we should stop. Your first time should be special.”

A part of me was relieved, but another part of me didn’t want to stop. I thought that maybe a picnic by the river was as special as it got. Especially with someone like Grant. I leaned toward him, hoping my actions changed his mind, but he shook his head.

“Tess, I care too much about you to rush this. When you’re ready, and there is a bed instead of a questionably dirty blanket, and I don’t have to leave you to serve ice cream to whiny kids, then we will do it.”

“I didn’t know the blanket was dirty,” I said, smiling.

“I’m an eighteen-year-old boy. Do you think any of my blankets are clean?”

“Eww, Grant. I can’t believe I almost had sex with you. Dodged that bullet,” I joked.

He reached over and pulled me onto his lap, tickling me until I could barely breathe. When I begged him to stop, he finally relented and said, “Let’s eat. You must be starving.”

“I am,” I said, reaching for a sandwich. The tension and excitement frizzling between us had now transferred to my appetite. We both dove into our lunches. He even remembered to put pickles and mustard on my ham sandwich.

“I love it here,” I said between bites. “It would have been such a great place to lose my virginity. Too bad.”

Grant shook his head, “Tess, I am using every ounce of my restraint.”

“So, you’re saying you want to have sex with me, just not right now, because you are trying to be a good guy?”

Grant nodded slowly.

“Okay, just clearing things up. Did you have a particular date in mind when you think you will want to have sex?”

Grant shifted uncomfortably between bites. “I will want to have sex with you every minute of every day. But I’m not going to have sex with you until you are 100 percent ready.”

I nodded and stopped joking, because he was right. I wasn’t ready. And the fact that he could see that left a lump of gratitude in my throat.

“Do you come here a lot?” I asked.

“I used to. I used to come here every day when I was a kid. But it’s been a while. I miss the days when I could come here whenever I wanted.”

“I’d be here every chance I got.”

“ Well, a young man should be cultivating his future, not wasting it away in the woods ,” Grant said, imitating his father, a voice I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to hear in person.

“And what exactly does ‘ cultivating one’s future ’ entail?” I asked.

“Mostly being around the right people, as far as I can tell.” Grant took a bite. I wasn’t sure if he was done talking or just thinking about what he wanted to tell me.

After a minute or so, he continued. “My father stopped coming out to Virginia when I was in seventh grade. We used to spend almost every weekend, the summers, and all the holidays here. I don’t know what happened between my parents, but something changed. My dad was traveling all the time. My mom never wanted to stay in D.C. They couldn’t be in the same room anymore without screaming. It’s not like either of them were ever going to win some parenting award, but it became clear that I was an inconvenience to the life they both wanted.”

Grant poured us cups of lemonade and continued. “They hired a few nannies to keep track of me in D.C., but I was in middle school and the last thing I wanted was to have a babysitter. I’d spend a few weeks out here during school vacations and the beginning of summer. Then my dad started shipping me off to these ‘young leader’ retreats that I didn’t even apply for, surrounded by kids who were dying to be there and have mock debates. Then there were the private coaches for lacrosse. It was miserable. Every August it was a different camp—Maine, Vermont, Connecticut. If it’s full of rich white boys, I’ve been there.”

“Same. I surround myself with rich white boys too,” I said, nodding.

He laughed and I was glad because sometimes you need a break from the heaviness of life. Whenever Grant mentioned his father, his heaviness seemed inescapable.

“I guess I never made the connections my father was hoping I’d make,” Grant said. “I’m a terrible lacrosse player, and as my father likes to say, I seem to seek out the losers. Each year, he’d sit me down and outline the ‘ new plan for success ,’ including specific friendships I was supposed to make, the grades he expected, the internships I would land.”

When Grant repeated his father’s instructions and criticisms, his body would tighten. A rigidity came over him and the playfulness in his eyes disappeared.

“Every aspect of his life is calculated with detailed goals, and he forced that same plotting on me,” Grant continued. “Nothing like turning fifteen and being handed a bar graph charting your personal failures along with expectations for ‘ significant improvement in the next fiscal quarter .’ I think he’s only moderately less interested in me than in one of the companies he takes over. Don’t most fathers high-five and say ‘good job’?”

“I have no idea,” I said, and it was true. Because I’d never known my father, I had no idea what typical father behavior was. A part of me felt jealous for an instant, for the opportunities that Grant had that I would never in my wildest dreams experience. But it was also very clear that those opportunities came with a high emotional cost, at least for Grant.

“What about your mother?” I asked, still confused as to how she could sit silently while her son was clearly miserable.

“When she moved out here full-time, she just kind of checked out. I’d hear from her once in a while, if my dad was traveling. I’d see her when she came in for parties, but that wasn’t really her. That was the woman she pretended to be when my father summoned her. She’d come into D.C., barely speak to my father. They’d go to whatever embassy party or client dinner he needed her to attend, and she’d be gone before I woke up the next morning. Like I said, I don’t try to understand their marriage anymore.”

“I can’t imagine your mother barely speaking. She’s the most outspoken person I’ve met.”

“Besides you.” Grant elbowed my side.

“Fair point.”

“I know,” Grant said, “I feel like this summer I’m getting to know a whole new person. I’m still shocked my dad has left me here this long. It’s supposed to be a punishment, but it doesn’t feel like that.”

Grant kissed my neck and I felt my whole body smile. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make it on your father’s list of the right people,” I said.

“You’re on my list, Tess. That’s all that matters.”

I stared at Grant, unsure how to communicate how much his words meant. I spent most of my life feeling invisible. When Grant wrapped me into his world, it made me feel like my life could go in all kinds of unimaginable directions.

“Grant, I’m done eating,” I said, wrapping up the remainder of my sandwich.

“Ready for a swim?” he asked. “We can wear our underwear. I can even keep my back to you the entire time?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Oh, are you ready to head back? I still have an hour before I have to go to town.”

“Nope,” I said. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, Tess?”

“Ready, ready.” I raised my eyebrows and shifted onto Grant’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

Maybe it was because I couldn’t say the word sex , or maybe it was because he saw the truth in my body that I was trying to push away. Because I wanted to have sex with Grant, but I was also nowhere near ready.

Grant did the thing that no typical eighteen-year-old boy was capable of doing. He turned me down as gently as possible.

“Tess, this is a big deal. I can’t sleep with you.”

I looked away, rejection stinging in my eyes. I was afraid I’d ruined the moment. Grant shared feelings about his parents that I suspected he didn’t tell many others. It made me want to feel even closer to him. But why would he want to sleep with a virgin when he could sleep with anyone he wanted. I was embarrassed I’d misread the situation.

“That’s fine. I get it. No big deal,” I said unconvincingly.

I grabbed my shoes and threw them on quickly, careful not to run away but moving fast enough so that he couldn’t see the glisten in my eyes.

But Grant was too quick. He grabbed my arm and spun me around.

“Tess, I cannot wait to have sex with you. I just want it to be special. I want to make it special for you.”

“Why?” I asked, before I could stop myself.

“Because you say exactly what you are thinking. And the way you listen to me makes me feel like what I have to say matters. For the first time in my life. Because you make me laugh with your quirky facts. Because I’ve never seen anyone so sexy with mud streaked across her face. Because you are so special to me, Tess,” he said, and I felt my heart rise into my throat.

Grant wrapped his arms around my waist as he asked, “Think you can wait for me?”

“I can wait for you, Grant.” We fell back on the blanket, kissing with all our clothes on while my body felt like it was going to explode in a million directions.

“I love you,” he whispered. We didn’t stop kissing. Maybe we both realized that it was too soon, yet nothing could slow the tidal wave of our emotions.

In that moment, I knew I’d do anything he wanted. And that summer I did. Until he asked too much and it destroyed us both.