The Summers Between Us

Chapter 17 Present Day

CHAPTER 17

PRESENT DAY

July

As we approach the general store, the silence between us stretches taut. Wes ties the thick rope cord carefully around the dock cleats and wordlessly steadies me so I can pull myself up. I ignore the snap of heat that jolts through me at the contact. I shouldn’t have read those books last night. They put ideas into my head that don’t belong.

The door chime of the general store is a rusty song. The bells must be older than I am. The layout is the same, the aisles with the smell of rubber and metal boating tools blending into shelves with overpriced groceries. The only differences are the new laminated counters, the sleek freezers and the lightbulb in the back left corner that has finally been replaced.

We walk around, filling my basket with fresh produce, snacks and pasta. Bags weigh us down as we leave the checkout counter. Wes pauses as we pass the ice cream counter on the way out. A bored red-headed teen boy startles when he notices us, his pink bubble gum bubble deflating as he mutters. “Can I get you anything?”

The large vat of chocolate mudpie catches my attention. Decadent, sugary, everything I want but don’t need. “I should be getting back to work,” I say, but my mouth waters, looking at the ice cream streaked with gobs of cookie dough and chunks of brownie.

“I’ll have a double scoop of chocolate mudpie in a cup,” Wes tells the boy. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t have to get that,” I tell him, as we walk on the crib dock back to the boat, the wood reverberating under our feet.

“This is for me,” Wes says, straight-faced, scooping a big bite off a neon plastic spoon.

“You’re not going to share?” I shoot him a look and he sees my eyes fall to the droplet of ice cream attached to his top lip. He smirks as he licks it away. I flush, staring out into the blue current, as if I wasn’t wondering what it would taste like if it was my tongue on his lip.

After we load the groceries quickly into the pedal boat, we pull away from the dock and start drifting. Three loons have the same idea, floating in a gaggle next to us without a care in the world.

I start to feel like that too, when Wes hands me the cup of ice cream. “Here,” he says, smiling crookedly, a challenge in his eyes.

“Thanks,” I say and take a bite, keenly aware of how sharing the small spoon is so close to a kiss. I avert my eyes from his as I take another bite. Something about ice cream hits differently on the water. It’s both richer and more refreshing. “Do I have to go back to work?” I ask, a little wistfully.

“Lia,” Wes’s voice is soft, his eyes softer when he looks at me. “Are you happy?”

“What does it really mean to be happy?” I ask. There must be something that makes me happy. Maybe not my work. But the moments when I step out with Norah for a coffee. Or the summer mornings when I stop by the waterfront to watch the lake sputter against the concrete of the city and let myself feel completely at home. My dad was never able to enjoy such rest. “I have more than my parents did. So yeah. I’m happy. Does that answer your question?”

“That sounds a bit like settling. Do you do anything just because you want to?” he says, as I hand the ice cream back to him, careful to avoid the interplay of our fingers.

“We’re adults,” I say, gesturing to the bags in the back. “We can’t do things for the sake of wanting to do them. Even this, really, was for Ciji.”

He doesn’t like my answer; a frown twists his lips. “Really? Our time together today was only for your cousin. You didn’t enjoy it?”

“No, that’s not what I meant, I just mean…” I squirm under his piercing gaze and let the truth slide out. “This, today, spending time with you, being here. This was for me.”

Satisfaction brims in his smile. “I know. It’s nice to hear it, though.”

Heat jumps from his gaze to mine. Blushing, I take the ice cream back from his outstretched hand, filling my mouth so I won’t have to answer any more questions.

After we lick the last drops of ice cream, we paddle home with the wind on our backs. My skin itches with the thought of how many emails I’ll return to after a couple of hours away from my desk. I try to feel relief at escaping Wes’s knowing eyes, but my mood immediately sobers when I’m back inside.

I quickly unload my groceries and slide back in front of my dad’s desk to find that my instinct was correct. Eleanor has sent over more documents for review and I am supposed to perform like a diligent circus monkey, but I keep worrying about Shehla Auntie. My mom hasn’t sent me any updates and I suppress the urge to message.

As I scroll through, I see Hassan’s last text.

Hassan: Working hard or hardly working? ;)

Shit. Hassan. What am I doing here, with Wes, when I have a perfectly nice man, a man who is everything I want, pursuing me? My stomach is uneasy at the thought of flirting with Hassan after spending time with Wes.

Lia: Drowning in work. SOS. Be back once I resurface.

I don’t know why I feel so disloyal to Wes. We’re not dating. We haven’t spoken in a decade. I need to be all-in with Hassan. There’s so much potential before us and I’d be stupid to throw it away. These feelings, this relapse in my inability to stay away from Wes is temporary. We’re like the moon and the tide. Always falling into the same rhythm. But this time I must break free from his pull. Once I do, I can get back to building a future with Hassan.

A ping comes through my phone.

Eleanor: Please review attached files prior to our meeting to add to the outline documentation.

Everything I’ve worked for will slip away if I don’t get back on track. So I do.

Section 3.1. Governance. A) The company will be governed by a Board of Directors…

Time dissolves until it’s time for my standing meeting with Eleanor. “I reviewed your outline earlier,” Eleanor says. “I need the final documents by Friday morning.”

“There’s still a lot to get through,” I say. “I need more time. I can get them to you for Monday first thing.” To justify my delay, I launch into a description of my family’s recent challenges.

“I need them before Saturday, latest,” Eleanor interrupts, eyes lined with judgment. “This is the priority, Lia. It’s big money for the firm. Those who get promoted to partner have to always put the company first. You need to put in the billable hours. You need to do more than what you’re doing now.”

A defiant thought flies into my head. What if I don’t want to?

What if I want to unplug? Take a vacation? Pretend the rest of my life doesn’t exist? Is that so wrong?

Unbidden, I’m reminded of my father. “Lia, beta, we have come so far to this country to get ahead. I believe you can surpass every challenge. Work hard and then work harder.”

If I give up now, I’ll be spitting on everything he worked for, everything he sacrificed for my sister and me to succeed.

“Of course,” I murmur. “I understand what needs to be done.”

“I’m only looking out for you,” Eleanor says. “Women here have to do more than the men. You have to be so dedicated that no one questions you. Why do you think I’m the firm’s only female partner?”

I shrink under her gaze even as I consider how unrealistic that expectation is. Where are the moments for me to stop, pause? Maybe take a walk. Maybe wash my hair.

Still, I’ve made a commitment. Once I fulfill it, at least some of the pressure will be off and I’ll have the space to figure out what I want to do next.

“I’ll have the document to you by Saturday,” I promise.

My sister video calls late afternoon as I’m midway through the document. Her usually curly hair is flattened where she’s slumped against the sterile hospital walls. “Shehla’s out of surgery,” Mel says.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding as I collapse into my dad’s armchair. “How did it go?”

“Fine, I think. Mom’s with her.” She taps her finger on her chin, the same rate as the beeping of machinery in the background.

A beat of silence passes before I ask, “How are you?”

She brushes her hand over her face, her bright red nails chipped. “I can’t deal with Mom anymore. We’ve been sitting here waiting for the surgery to end and all she’s been doing is harping on me.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help.” She doesn’t reciprocate my sympathetic smile.

“I should have come up to the cottage instead, brought Norah and made a vacation out of it,” Mel says bitterly. “What’s the point of trying to please her? It’s futile.”

“She’ll get over it. We’re in a stressful period right now.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get it. You’re perfect. She’s constantly comparing us.” Mel’s eyes narrow.

I’m taken aback. “What does any of this have to do with me?”

“You’re just doing so well with Ciji. I thought you’d be more thrown off with Wes there. With everything.” She shuts her mouth, realizing what she said.

My fingers dig into the leather as I process. “Wait. You wanted me to fail here? You sold this to me as taking a break. Was all that shit about me taking a rest a lie?” Anger tenses my neck, creeping into my skull.

“No,” Mel backtracks urgently, her voice tinged with guilt. “I’m sorry. Listen, I only meant that it would be easier for me if you also struggled sometimes. Just a little. So Mom wouldn’t see you as her perfect little doll.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me Wes would be here? You wanted to throw me into the deep end.” My voice climbs, the betrayal bringing hot tears to my eyes. “You hoped I’d struggle?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, shrinking through the screen. “I didn’t mention him at first because you told me to never speak of him again. But then when you started saying that you were dating again, I thought, well, why make it a bigger deal than it needed to be? And yes, maybe a tiny part of me wondered if it would throw you off. But I swear, I didn’t realize it would be so bad for you to see him again. You were so close. It’s felt like you haven’t been yourself since you guys stopped talking.”

I close my eyes. “Well, maybe there’s a good reason we haven’t talked. Maybe it would have been nice to get a heads-up.”

“You don’t tell me anything. How am I supposed to know?”

“Why do you think I don’t tell you anything,” I say, throat tight. “I can’t trust you. Clearly.”

We stare at each other silently, our dark eyes sombre mirrors, and disconnect the call.

I’m in the middle of highlighting documents when the front door swings open and Ciji strides in. With her oversized backpack, sweat shorts and a hoodie, albeit cropped, she reminds me of a kindergartner.

“Have you heard from Mom?” she asks, in lieu of a greeting. “She hasn’t been picking up my calls.”

I shove my laptop closed, pushing my chair back. “She’s out of surgery now and is sleeping off the anaesthetic. She’s going to be okay.”

“Okay,” Ciji breathes, tension melting from her shoulders. “Okay. Well, anyway, I’m going to go study for my quiz.”

“How are you feeling about the quiz?” I ask.

“Fine. I have tutoring soon.” She shifts between her feet.

I should be on top of things, more involved with Ciji’s school. Suddenly I regret having let her invite a friend over tonight. It’s not the best way to spend the evening before a quiz. But if Ciji’s struggling, she needs her friends, especially if she won’t turn to me. Mel’s words linger with me. I am failing. But now I don’t feel like I can turn to her.

“You are going to take it seriously, right? I’m just not sure how much extra studying you’re going to get done if your friend’s coming over,” I say.

“Yes, Li-a,” she huffs dramatically, drawing out the syllables in my name.

“Okay, fine.” Chastened, I step back. I hated it when my family micromanaged me, and now I’m doing it to Ciji. “Do you want a snack? We have chips and stuff. I didn’t make cookies today, though.”

“Damn,” Ciji says, unloading the contents of her backpack onto the kitchen table. A thick textbook, coiled notebooks and mechanical pencils. She avoids my gaze again. Should have made cookies.

On cue, there’s a knock at the door and Wes steps through.

“Hey,” I manage, trying to figure out where to put my hands so I can seem casual. One looped in my pocket, the other rests on the table. My laissez-faire persona falls apart in a flail when Ciji dumps a textbook on the table millimetres away from my hand. Ciji smirks as I glare at her.

Wes hides a smile. “All good?”

“Great,” I chirp, folding my hands to my chest. “I was just asking Ciji if you two want chips or anything? I didn’t bake today.”

“Chips work,” Wes says. “Oh, speaking of food, my mom and I planned a barbecue tomorrow. We’d love it if you both could come.” His eyes grow hesitant. “No pressure if you’re busy. I know it’s short notice.”

“I’d love to.” Ciji beams at Wes with the unquestioning adoration of a fifteen-year-old girl. “I don’t know enough people up here to have plans, anyway.” She turns to me. “We can go, right? I’ll be done with my quiz.”

I tilt my chin to the right and consider. Eleanor’s documents and emails are incessant, and Thursday night might be the only night I could actually maybe catch up. But Ciji needs to get out of the house and I can’t disappoint her. Plus the idea of eating fresh barbecue instead of popping open a box of Kraft Dinner has me salivating.

“Sure, we can make it,” I say.

Wes and Ciji are both smiling as they slide into their seats. I can’t deny it feels good to make them both happy. Ciji clicks her mechanical pencil, focusing on the loose-leaf sheets in front of her. I let myself hope a little. Maybe this summer will go okay. Maybe Wes and I can be friends. Maybe Ciji will do well in school. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

The maybes ricochet in my mind even as I sit at my father’s desk attempting to scroll through blocks of text on the screen. My head and ears keep focusing on Wes and Ciji. I tell myself I’m just supervising, making sure that the study session is on track, not that my hearing is attuned to the soft rumble of Wes’s voice.

“Ciji, you’ve got this. Remember, we’re solving for the missing variable,” Wes says as Ciji crinkles a loose-leaf paper into a ball. He’s so reassuring, the destruction stops.

“It feels like all the variables are missing,” Ciji quips. Her giggle is joyful and awkward, laced with the giddiness of a teenage crush. It’s a feeling I know well.

When Ciji and Wes take a break, he asks her, “So, have you been able to meet people out here since you moved? ”

“I know, like, two people. I guess there’s Helen, the girl who is coming over today. She’s lived here forever, so hopefully she’ll introduce me to her friends if I pass the vibe check,” Ciji says.

The longing and loneliness in her voice has me turning back to reply. But Wes shakes his head at me as he answers her, “You will.”

When Ciji’s friend arrives that evening at the end of her tutoring session, I get waylaid by Eleanor urgently calling with yet another briefing to draft on short notice. “I messaged you on Teams five minutes ago,” she says in lieu of a greeting. “Why were you away from the desk?”

She doesn’t want an actual answer. “Sorry,” I say. There aren’t really any excuses she’ll find acceptable anyway. Even associates with bathroom emergencies keep their cells with them.

Eleanor sniffs instead of accepting my apology. “One of the junior associates is incompetent. I need you to cover his briefing. He was supposed to have it done last week but he hasn’t started. I need it by tomorrow.”

“Of course,” I say. By the time I get off the phone with Eleanor, Ciji and her friend have already disappeared with Wes, who has probably taken them outside to grab kayaks from the garage.

Defeated, I turn back to the documents I need to review. Pages and pages to comb through. It’s like walking up Kilimanjaro only to be faced with Everest. The cursor on my computer screen flickers on a blank page, demanding my attention, but my phone vibrates with a message. I lie down on the couch and scroll, answering texts and searching for a recipe for dinner.

Hassan: Hey! How’s the rest of the day been?

Lia: Hectic with work and family stuff! Have to cook my cousin and her friend dinner now

Hassan: nice, what’s it going to be?

Usually, I’d ask Mel what to cook, but right now I don’t want to ask her for help. Not after our fight.

Lia: Ugh. I was debating between pasta or stir-fry. Something I can’t mess up.

Hassan: What ingredients do you have?

Lia: The basic spices, pasta sauce, some vegetables, rice, noodles. Google has ALL the recipes but I’m overwhelmed.

A bubble with a few dots pops up, and some moments later Hassan’s next message comes through with an attached link.

Hassan: Okay don’t judge me, but this is what I make guests when they come over. It’s super easy and tastes good.

Lia: Is this also your “I’ll cook you dinner” date night recipe?

Hassan: Busted!

Hassan: Sooo want to come over for dinner when you’re back?

My smile drops. I don’t know how to answer Hassan. He’s so nice and helpful. Logically, I know we’re only starting to get to know each other, but for some reason, my brain is a tape that keeps rewinding back to Wes.

The careful way he asked me questions in the boat, questions I’ve been scared to ask myself for years.

But we can never be together again. Not that he would even want to, if he knew everything.

Lia: I think I need to TRY the recipe first before I decide if I want more ;)

I turn my phone on Focus mode, work messages only, and go to the kitchen. Thanking Hassan silently, I pull out a box of pasta and tomato sauce from the cupboard and basil and Parmesan from the fridge. I’m stuck deciding between red pepper and spinach when I feel a presence at my back.

“The girls are out on the boats,” Wes says. “Can I help you?”

“You don’t need to watch this,” I say to Wes without turning around. “It isn’t going to be pretty.”

“Let me help,” he insists. “I thought you didn’t like cooking?”

“I don’t,” I say, brandishing my phone with Hassan’s recipe displayed. “But a friend sent me a recipe that’s supposed to be foolproof. Besides, you’re doing enough tutoring Ciji. Your job description doesn’t include kitchen support.”

“I really don’t mind. My mom told me to get out of the house. I think she’s getting tired of me always being around.” His laugh is heavy, laden with layers of worry that aren’t my place to unwrap. But still, that instinctive need in me to soothe him, and maybe my own loneliness, stops me from sending him away.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m sure Ciji and her friend would appreciate your help,” I say.

“And you?” he prompts, expression unfathomable.

“I’d appreciate the help too.” The admission that I want him here drags heavily out of my chest. His answering smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, like he senses my turmoil. It would be easier if we were kids again, if we could spill out all our tangled thoughts for the other to straighten. Instead, we silently start prepping for dinner.

The kitchen at the cottage is bigger than the one in my condo—big enough for two people to work. Yet it still feels too small. As he sets the pot to boil and I start chopping the peppers, I can sense his focus on me. “The knives are dull,” I say, to excuse the jagged job I’m doing.

“Looks fine to me,” he says, setting a saucepan on the stove and heating up oil. We deviate from Hassan’s recipe. Wes seems to know that red chili flakes work well with tomato sauce and that red peppers don’t need to boil in the sauce to be tender. The aroma emanating from the pan has my mouth watering.

By the time we’re finished cooking, the mountain of dishes climbs over the sink. Silently, we take our positions, me as the washer and him as the dryer as if we’ve done this hundreds of times, even though it’s the first.

When I was younger, I used to think adulthood would be a series of moments like this one. Simple and comfortable. Hard work would pay off, the worries would be gone, a smooth sail to a happy ending.

I hand Wes a mixing bowl to dry. “Did you think life would always be this complicated?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, leaning closer to me as I methodically scrub the cutting board. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that aloud.

“Never mind,” I say. “Things okay with your mom?”

Aside from the rustle of the dishcloth and the splash of water, we stand in silence while he deliberates. “Yeah, she’s doing well,” he says finally. “I’d told myself she needed me and was part of the reason I came back to Pike Bay, but her health has been good and she seems pretty happy. So maybe I shouldn’t feel like that’s a reason to stay. I don’t know.”

“I get it,” I say, side-eying him. His hair sticks up in a way that makes me want to smooth it down. I press my fingers tighter, so they squelch into my wet sponge.

“What about you?” he asks, taking the board from me. “What’s on your mind?”

I also don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch him dry the board with a worn blue towel. One stroke and then the other until the board is glistening. His eyebrows are knit together in focus, making sure this small task that he’s doing for me is done right. As if he still cares about what I think, even though it’s been years and so much hurt between us.

For some reason, it brings pressure to the back of my eyes, my nose. I know so many things have been my fault—Wes, my family. Sometimes it feels like I’ve given everything I can in trying to fix it, and all that’s left of me is a flimsy shell.

“I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” I say.

Something in that cracks him open. Wes places the board in the drying rack and pulls me close. Instinctively, I rest my head on the sinewy juncture of his neck and shoulder. His arm encircles me, and the fresh scent of pine calms and stills the burn in my eyes.

“We all have our moments,” he tells me. His hold on me is careful, as if I’m something precious. I stay there for a moment, letting his heartbeat echo mine, our breaths synchronize.

“You don’t,” I say.

“I do.” His voice is pained. “But I’m not good at letting people see. I’m trying to be better with that.” His eyes glint with another meaning, but I can’t decipher it.

“It feels like it’s been my duty all these years to not break down. When I do, it feels like a failure. I should be able to keep it together for my family,” I say fiercely.

“You’re not a failure, Lia.” He’s earnest now, steadfast in his need to convince me. Except that’s one thing I know for certain: I failed everyone I love.

Suddenly, it feels wrong to be in Wes’s arms, leaning on him for support. I tug free. “Wes, what are we even doing right now?”

His eyes are an expansive ocean as he whispers. “I don’t know. But being with you feels right. I still miss you. I have for years.” The words scrape at the crater of yearning in me, the one that I filled with work and family obligation. “Life isn’t the same without you, Lia. There’s no one I can talk to like this. Be with like this.”

The words are a squeeze around my lungs. He’s right. Being together has always felt right. Hearing he feels that way still is a growing threat to the dangerous feelings I’ve sealed away. “We can’t, Wes.” My fingers clench into the cotton of his shirt. “You don’t know me anymore. We’re different, so different now, and there’s so much you don’t know.”

“Then tell me,” he urges, hot breath against my cheek. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”

We stand in a stalemate. He looks steadily at me, ready to carry my burdens. I search for the right way to air out the musty hurts in my mind’s attic. But before I find it, the front door swings open.

“Hey,” Ciji says. She’s standing next to a tall girl with strawberry blond hair and a saucy grin. She must be Ciji’s friend. Ciji’s eyes swoop between Wes and me, the close angle between our bodies. “Lia, this is Helen.”

I shuffle away from Wes and reach out to shake Helen’s hand. “Hi!” I can’t help but notice the septum ring between her nostrils and the high cut of her crop top. Is this the style now? Maybe I overreacted to Ciji’s shirt the other day and I’m just out of touch. I must have sounded like my parents.

“Nice to meet you,” Helen says, eyes skirting off me and towards Wes. “Thank you sooo much for letting us use your kayaks.”

“Not a problem,” Wes says, clearing his throat.

Ciji smiles when she notes the pasta on the table. “Finally, no sandwiches.”

“I hope it’s good,” I say nervously. “Did you want to eat now?”

In between mouthfuls of pasta, the girls murmur quietly to each other while Wes and I sit bemused, exchanging glances.

“So, how did you two meet?” I ask during one of their pauses for air.

“Well,” Helen says, “I saw Ciji standing in a corner at one of the end-of-the-year parties.”

“Like a school dance?” I ask. “Do you still have those?” I never went to any; my parents wouldn’t let us. Now, in retrospect, gyrating in a sweaty high school gym didn’t sound that fun, anyway.

“Ew, not a boring school dance,” Helen says. “A party.”

Ciji talks over her. “Just a get-together at a friend’s house.” When Helen looks at her curiously, Ciji throws up an eyebrow.

“Right! Yeah. Everett throws boring, parent-friendly get-togethers,” Helen says, snickering.

Ciji can’t hold back her answering laugh before she responds, straight-faced. “Yeah, we watched movies and stuff. That’s where we met.”

“Exactly, what she said,” Helen replies, stuffing down more pasta.

I peek between them, both of them with faces the epitome of innocence. Something about Helen makes me feel a little shifty. Maybe it’s the casual way she’s lying to my face. I’m not buying the puritanical Disney-watching party story for a second, but then again, they’re fifteen not twelve. As long as Ciji manages herself and studies for her exam, I won’t trample on her social life just because Helen isn’t the friend I’d choose for her.

The girls push back from the table as soon as their plates are cleared. “We’re going to hang out in my room,” Ciji says.

“Sure,” I say. “Are you going to study?”

“Helen is a whiz at math,” Ciji replies in a non-answer, disappearing upstairs with her friend.

“She has the concepts down,” Wes says reassuringly as he helps me tidy up. “She got most of the practice questions right today.”

I smile at him. “Thank you.”

“Did you want to go for a walk?” Wes puts the last dish in the drying rack. I do. I want to go outside, feel the fresh evening air against my skin, listen to the waves on the shore. But my phone rings. Sighing, I check the caller ID and answer Eleanor.

“Lia, do you have time to chat?” She phrases it as a question but I can’t say no.

“Yes,” I say, shooting Wes an apologetic look, mouthing “Next time.”

He lingers for a moment, but eventually, I shift to my laptop to reference the forwarded paperwork she’s sent me. We have to finish the due diligence review this week and then I’ll get a reprieve.

I notice Wes’s goodbye from the corner of my eye.

After Eleanor and I hang up, I go back to my room. Upstairs, the blare of boy-band music from Ciji’s room is deafening. I pull on my noise-cancelling headphones so I can focus.

By the time I break for bed, Ciji’s music and the lights are off. Helen must have left while I was working. I tiptoe to the bathroom so as not to wake Ciji. Maybe things are finally under control.