twenty
Third Summer
Friday night, we headed to a new bar in town that Laurel had heard about from some of her social media friends. It was a detour
from our traditions, but it was good, she said, not to get too stuck in a rut. The place struck a bewildering balance between
an early aughts all-ages music venue and a maritime-themed bar: all-black floors and furniture, the hint of a possible blacklight
in the corners, anchors and fishing nets adorning the bar, a carved wooden captain statue at the door.
An hour in, it was clear something was going on with Gabe.
We were sitting in a booth, Laurel and I on one side. She’d been responding to comments on her phone for the better part of
the hour, while Gabe nursed what, on the menu, was called a “Siren’s Call,” a bright red drink that came in a beer stein and
was served with a skewer of tropical fruit.
“Hey,” I said after he morosely sucked on another pineapple wedge. “What’s up?”
Gabe finished the pineapple before dropping his face into his palms. His already broad shoulders expanded on a sigh. I glanced
at Everett, who looked as confused as I did.
“Hey,” Everett said, patting a hand on Gabe’s back. “It looks like there’s a nautical pinball machine in the back. You want to give it a go?”
“No,” Gabe said. Then, out of nowhere, “I miss Zoey.” His voice was muffled from where he still had his head in his hands.
We all exchanged a glance as he lifted it. “Did I just say that out loud?”
“You did, pal,” Everett said.
Gabe groaned, rubbing his palms down his face. “I don’t mean that,” he said.
“It’s okay if you do,” Laurel said.
“I don’t,” Gabe insisted. “I don’t miss her, I just miss . . . I miss heading toward something. I wanted to get married. I wanted to have kids. I wanted a house and
vacations and music lessons and soccer games and the whole stupid thing.”
“You’ll have that,” I said, reaching across the table to pat his hand. He gave me a grim, disbelieving smile.
“Okay, I have an idea,” Everett said. We all looked at him. “Gabe, we’re going to help you meet someone.”
“Meet someone?” Gabe said, like it was a foreign concept. “Where?”
“Here,” Everett said, gesturing to the bar at large.
“I don’t live here.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Everett said. “You don’t have to meet your wife tonight, but you do need to get back on that horse
if you’re ever going to find her.”
“I’ve been on the horse,” Gabe said glumly. Everett raised an eyebrow at him. “I haven’t been on the horse.”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Laurel said, already scanning the crowd like she was searching out potential prospects.
“Me too,” I said. “We’ll all help.”
“But I don’t know how to just talk to someone,” Gabe said. “I’m all or nothing. I’m a relationship guy.”
“Well, then, good thing you have these two here to help you,” Laurel said, gesturing at me and Everett. “Last I checked, they’re
both experts at no strings.”
Everett and I exchanged a quick, panicked glance, but Gabe’s puppy-eyed expression told me we weren’t caught.
“Gabe,” I said, ignoring the small sting Laurel’s comment left behind. “Everett and I will guide you through finding someone
for tonight rather than forever. Okay?”
“Okay,” Gabe said, sitting up, an eager student.
“I’m going to scout out the bachelorette party over there,” Laurel said, picking up her drink and nodding toward the far side
of the bar.
Everett moved from his side of the booth to mine so we were both facing Gabe, who still looked glum. His arm brushed against
mine, and I had to fight the urge to lean against him, let his warmth seep into me. I stayed still.
“Okay,” I said. “Gabe. What would you say to a girl you just met?”
“This is stupid,” Gabe said. Then, quickly, “Come here often?”
“You wouldn’t say that,” Everett said.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re not looking for a pickup line,” I said. “More of an opening line.”
“What’s the difference?” Gabe asked, leaning forward. He kind of looked as if he’d like to take notes.
“One runs the risk of you looking like a sleaze,” I said. “The other one is just human. You’re just talking to another person.”
“Hmm,” Gabe mused, before looking at Everett. “What would your opening line be?”
Everett squinted a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Contrary to Laurel’s belief, I’m not actually picking up women all that often.”
“Sutton just said it’s not a pickup,” Gabe pointed out.
“Okay, I’m not meeting women in bars all that often.”
“But you’re the one who said I should do this,” Gabe said. “This was all your idea!”
“You’re right,” Everett said. “I’m sorry.”
“Where are you meeting women, then?” Gabe asked.
Everett shifted a little. I could feel him glance down at me, so I looked up at him, face curious as Gabe’s. If we were going
to give him advice, we couldn’t worry about hurting each other’s feelings by talking about the other people we saw during
the year. Besides, in our arrangement, that didn’t matter. We were nowhere near exclusive.
“Through friends,” Everett said, turning back to Gabe. “At work, events and stuff.”
“Parties,” I added, smirking when Everett’s elbow dug into my side.
“But that’s not the point,” Everett said. “Where do you meet anyone? We’re at a bar right now, which I’ve heard is a great
place to meet people.”
Gabe glanced around morosely. “I met Zoey in a history seminar.”
I nudged Everett. “Didn’t Gabe ask what your opening line would be?” I asked. Everett narrowed his eyes my direction.
“You could just say hi,” Everett said.
“Hi,” Gabe repeated.
“I’ve heard it works,” I said.
“I need hypotheticals,” Gabe said. “Give me a scenario.”
“Maybe you say you’re a fan of the beer she’s drinking,” I said, nodding toward a woman at the bar who had been nursing the same craft, tastes-like-a-pine-tree IPA since we arrived.
“Okay,” Gabe said, nodding.
“You love her jukebox choice,” Everett said, as Talking Heads came over the speakers and a chorus of cheers erupted in one
corner.
“I could do that,” Gabe said. “And then what?”
“Then you . . . talk,” I said. “Hopefully she’ll respond.”
“Don’t bring up wanting kids or a house,” Everett said quickly. “You’re just practicing talking to someone.”
“Right,” Gabe said, nodding. “Just talking.” He looked at Everett. “About what?”
I sat back in the booth as Everett coached Gabe through talking points and the natural flow of conversation, like Gabe didn’t
already talk to people all day, every day. But his nervousness was endearing, a trait of Gabe’s I’d always loved.
Laurel came sailing back through the crowd, her drink held high above her head until she reached the table. “There are at
least seven single women over there who would be thrilled to meet someone like you tonight, Gabe,” she said once she reached us. She looked
at me and Everett. “Did you prep him?”
“He’s ready for surgery,” I said, nodding at him.
“I think I might throw up,” Gabe said.
“All part of it, pal,” Everett said, grinning at him.
“I’m going to post myself at the bar,” Laurel said. “So if anything goes awry you can tug your ear and I’ll intervene.” She
held her hand out to Gabe. “Up, up, up.”
Gabe gave us one last nervous glance before he took her hand and let her lead him through the crowd.
We watched as Laurel pushed him toward a blond woman. Even from our spot, we could easily make out Gabe’s crimson cheeks.
“He’ll do fine,” Everett said. He had one arm thrown across the back of the booth, eliminating any barrier between us.
“You don’t really feel like you’re going to throw up when you talk to a girl, do you?” I asked him. He looked away from where Gabe was anxiously
smiling his way through the interaction to me. His mouth curved, eyes warming.
“You make me pretty nervous sometimes, Hale,” he said. The words rooted into my stomach with all the others, fluttering around.
Pleasant. But that wasn’t the right word. Things were more than pleasant with Everett. I couldn’t think of anything better
then, though. It was like floating in the water on a warm day, something bobbing gently in me.
“I’m not supposed to make you nervous,” I said. “I’m your pit stop before the real thing, remember?”
Everett’s gaze roved over my face, his expression going serious. For a minute, I worried the joke had gone too far, that I’d
poked the same thing in him that Laurel’s comment had scraped against in me earlier, this idea that neither of us were interested
in a real relationship, something I didn’t think was true.
“I wouldn’t call you a pit stop,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t we decide we’re summer people?”
“Right,” I said. “Summer people.”
For a brief, breathless moment, Everett’s gray-blue eyes flashing as he looked at me, I wished the week were over. I wished
it was the two days we’d promised each other, however foolishly. I wished that everyone else didn’t care so much about the
stupid fucking pact, and that I could kiss the half-smug smile that showed up on his face the longer we watched each other,
the longer the silence stretched. That maybe it wasn’t just two days ahead of us.
But, rule aside, he was right. We were summer people, Everett and me.
If the rest of us were year-round, constant, then the two of us only came around once a year.
And there was something exciting in that, in a way.
In the anticipation of it. In knowing there was nothing permanent here that could go away.
We couldn’t disappoint each other if the only expectation was showing up.
Romantic as a life outside of this time with Everett might seem, it was impossible; or so I kept reminding myself.
My phone buzzed on the table, and I looked down to see Laurel calling me. We both whipped our heads to where she was sitting.
She was pointing toward the group, smile huge, directing our attention to where Gabe was fully making out with the blond girl.
“That was fast,” Everett said.
“He never needed our help,” I said. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t fall in love with her.”
Everett laughed, but Gabe would bring the girl back over to our table a little while later and introduce her to us. She was
a pediatrician, visiting from Denver for her friend’s bachelorette party. Her name was Mia.