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“Were you?”
“Yeah. Should we go on a proper date?”
I turn onto my back and prop my hands behind my head, watching her pour the red. “Do you mean sleeping together in your apartment all week doesn’t constitute a date? Shocking.”
She sticks out her tongue at me. Her blonde curls are tousled around her face, and in her rumpled summer dress, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“I was thinking we could go back to Montauk,” I say.
Summer raises her eyebrows. “Really? I thought you hated that house.”
“Yes, well, it grew on me last weekend. There’s something about seeing you swim naked through my pool that’s really made it come alive to me. You were the missing furniture piece.”
She laughs again, setting out wineglasses on the table. “You make a compelling argument.”
“Well, I was in debate club in high school.”
“You were?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
She shrugs, sinking down on the plush oriental carpet with crossed legs. Much too far away for my taste. “I don’t know, really. You seem the quiet type.”
“I was, but it looked good for college. Besides, I usually ended debates, not started them.”
“Hmm. I can see that.” She looks down at her wineglass, spinning it around on the long stem. “There’s actually a thing happening this weekend.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s one of my best friend’s birthday parties. She’s invited a bunch of her friends to a bar in Midtown Saturday night.”
“Sounds nice.”
“Yes, I think it could be fun, actually. I haven’t seen Posie in a while. The thing is…”
I know what’s coming before she says it. Still, I ask. “What?”
“My ex-boyfriend will likely be there.”
My muscles lock in anger, like she’s flipped a switch. The fact that she dated someone who was so manipulative, who belittled and mocked and broke her down brick by brick… Her, this woman who deserves so much. Who deserves everything.
“I want to go for my friend. I don’t want to go because of Robin.” She shrugs, looking at me with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear about this.”
I sit up and brace my arms against my knees. “I’ll come with you, if you want.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, Anthony, I’d really like that.”
The thread of unease inside me lessens at her smile. It’ll be crowded and dimly lit. My worst nightmare. But perhaps it won’t be quite as bad if she’s there.
“We don’t have to stay long.”
“We can stay for as long as you want,” I say and wonder who I’ve become to be promising this. More than likely, I’ll be miserable and in a bad mood from the darkness and the constant chatter of her friends. It’ll be a headache-inducing experience.
“Thank you, Anthony,” she says, smiling. It’s filled with trust and hope and tenderness. No pity, either. So far, I haven’t gotten the crushing sense of it from her.
