Mystic Summer (32 page)

“It won't take a minute,” I said, feeling some of my excitement quelled. “See? Up ahead, on the right.”

He sighed, but pulled over obligingly in front of the Edwin Bate house. I rolled down my window. “What do you think?”

Evan leaned across me and peered up at the house. I watched the expression on his face. “What about it?”

“This is the oldest house in town,” I explained. “It was my favorite house when I was a kid—Jane and I called it the Wedding Cake House. It was just renovated.”

“How old is it?” he asked. I appreciated he was making an effort, even though I could sense that the house didn't have quite the effect on him I'd hoped.

“Over two hundred years old. It was a whaling captain's home. Can you imagine all the changes this house has witnessed through Mystic's history? I think that's neat.”

Evan cringed in his seat. “Can you imagine all the dust and dirt in those floorboards? God only knows what's in the attic. Or down in the basement.”

I shook my head. “But it's all redone now. The builder kept the original plan, but gutted the walls and ceilings.” I pointed to the roofline of the house. “Look, he even made reproduction moldings to match the originals. Isn't it beautiful?”

Evan looked at me curiously. “You sure seem to know a lot about it.”

As we reversed out of the gravel drive quickly, Evan glanced at me. “That's what I like about new construction. Sleek, modern, and new. No one's ‘history' to worry about, except my own.”
He flicked his wrist to look at his watch. “Perfect. We're still on time.”

Now, Peyton is on my heels as I head across the Oyster Club deck to the small bar. “You feeling okay?”

The server pours me a glass of champagne but I realize I'm not actually thirsty, or feeling terribly celebratory. Despite the jaunty red, white, and blue table settings and the nautical striped linens. Even the starfish set against the glass votive candles, which flickered in the breeze up here on the decks. “Just look at this place. It's perfect.” I point out Erika, who is whispering something in Trent's ear at their table. “She's perfect, this night is perfect. How can some people be so . . .”

“Perfect?” Peyton asks. “Knock it off. If you're going to start using Erika as a measuring stick against perfect, you're worse off than I thought.” I let her drag me over to an empty corner of the patio. Below us, the Mystic River is glasslike in its stillness. Unlike the currents in my head.

“Look, we've all made it to the rehearsal dinner in one piece. Couples crisis averted. Cousins accounted for. Bridesmaids toasted. So, why are you in such a funk?”

“I can't stop thinking about Cam.”

Now she's listening. “Go on.”

“I let Cam walk out of my life almost ten years ago. So why can't I leave him there?”

Peyton lets out a long breath. I notice her glance over at our table, where Evan and Chad are finishing up dessert plates of chocolate framboise. “Maybe you guys aren't done with each other.”

“There's no way. His life is messy. And mine was finally
going well. I mean, just look at him.” I nod toward Evan. “He's pretty much perfect.”

She follows my gaze but looks unconvinced. “All right, listen. If you want to do this, let's really do this.” She scoots closer. “I've got news for you. You don't do perfect very well.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm serious. Remember when we all first moved to Boston and none of us could afford to eat out, but none of us could cook well?”

I could barely boil pasta. “So?”

“You insisted we come over for Friday-night dinners. You had all these big ideas, but you never had the right ingredients. Or utensils. The kitchen ended up a disaster, every time, and the fire alarm usually went off. But none of that mattered. Because somehow you took what you had and made it work.”

I smile at the memory. “Olive and tuna melt nachos?”

“Exactly. Just like when you started at Darby. Remember how nervous you were about teaching science? You almost didn't take the job.”

I cringe. “I was a literature major.” The thought of trying to teach the scientific method to a class of nine-year-olds paralyzed me.

“So you convinced the dean to get you those crab-things.”

“Crayfish.”

“Whatever. They stunk like hell. But the kids liked it, right?”

I nod.

“And then one day the dean popped in to do a surprise evaluation, and the kids had the crab-things crawling all over, and the floor was soaked.”

I
put my head in my hands. “This isn't helping.”

“It was another mess. But the dean loved the hands-on nature of your lesson. He ended up ordering those creatures for the rest of the grade.”

“Yeah. My friend Sharon wanted to kill me.”

Peyton reaches over and grabs both my arms. “That's what I'm trying to get at. You don't do perfect, Maggie. You excel at messy.” She points across the deck at Evan. “He's not messy.”

A cry catches in my throat. “He can get messy.”

“No. No, he can't, honey. He's as squeaky clean as they come. For crying out loud, Maggie—he was an Ivory soap model.”

We both burst out laughing, but just as quickly I'm crying.

“God knows why, but you're attracted to all things that need help. I used to think you wanted to fix things that weren't yours to fix. But now I realize it's just part of who you are.”

I look at her. “So, what's that supposed to mean?”

“It means, don't be afraid of messy.”

The tears are spilling down my cheeks now and Peyton hands me a napkin. She is one of the last people I would have expected to give me this little talking-to. But she's got me.

“Where have you two been?” Erika sweeps in behind us. “You're missing dessert. Wait, why are we crying?”

“I'm making a mess,” I tell her.

Peyton grabs my hand. “Don't worry. She knows how to clean this one up.”

An hour later, Jane pulls up in front of the restaurant. “How'd it go?” she asks, as we pull away from the Oyster Club.

“It was beautiful. Erika and Trent are going to have a great day tomorrow.”

She glances over at me. “So, why aren't you staying at the hotel with the girls tonight? Or Evan?”

I roll down the window and tip my head back. “Did you ever want something so badly that you just pushed through whatever obstacles were in your way, until you had it, never slowing down to really ask yourself if it's what you really needed?”

She turns onto our old neighborhood street and slows the car. “You mean that once you get it, you're disappointed? I guess so. Probably more when I was younger.” She smiles, ruefully. “These days I have so little time to think about anything I want, it's all about needs. None of which are my own.”

I look at Jane out of the corner of my eye. For all the teasing I do about her mom's-uniform yoga attire, or her harried state, or her cluttered minivan, she has accomplished so many things. Beautiful things.

She rolls to a stop in front of our parents' house and puts the car in park, but neither of us makes a move to get out. “You're unhappy with Evan.”

I nod.

“Then tell him, Maggie.”

“But he's such a great guy, Jane. He's the guy I've been holding out for. He's thoughtful and smart. He orders me my favorite drink before I even arrive at the restaurant. He doesn't complain when I'm late. And he's got this amazing job. My friends and family are crazy about him.”

Jane nods, in agreement, her gaze level. “Yeah, but are you?”

“I want to be. He fits all the boxes. I'm afraid that it's me who's the problem. And that if I let him go, I might regret it.”

She sighs and looks past me through the window at our family's cape. “When Toby and I were first married, I thought that we'd have smooth sailing because he checked all my boxes. We wanted kids, but first our careers. We both loved to travel, but hated to camp. We share the same politics and loved old movies. On the surface, it was sunshine all around.” She shakes her head. “But it's the deep dark stuff that matters. Like, when you're in the middle of a heated argument, he knows that all I really want is a hug. And despite the hideous thing I just called him, he still hugs me. Or when I'm up with a crying baby in the middle of the night, he can tell when I'm about to lose it and relieves me. Or when Grandma died, and I wouldn't talk to anyone, for days, he didn't try to make me. He gets me. It's those unspoken understandings that save you.”

I wonder if Evan and I have any understandings. Or if all we've really acquired are merely polite habits. He puts toothpaste on my toothbrush every night before bed. And he doesn't mind my staying up late to read when he falls asleep. But when I told him about Darby, he quickly pointed out all the private schools in the area and narrowed down the ones with the closest commutes on a map. In red pen. Missing entirely how I felt about it. And not bothering to ask me, either.

I open the car door.

“Hang on a sec.” Jane nods toward our house. “When we were growing up here, remember how great this neighborhood was? You could throw a rock in any direction and hit a kid that you could play with.”

“Nice, Jane.”

“No, really. But when we got older, it didn't matter as much that this was the best hill to sled down. Or that we could hit
thirty houses on Halloween night. Remember how we used to get embarrassed, living in such a small house? We had to share a room. And so many of our friends were living in those new-construction neighborhoods on the southern end of town.”

I nod, recalling with a pang how we complained as teenagers. Thinking our house was too small and plain, the yard too narrow. The furniture too old. And how we cringed over the big Chevy my mom drove around in, a model practically as old as we were.

“But when we got off the bus every afternoon, Mom was home with snacks on the counter and pencils sharpened for homework.”

I can see it now—a plate with two cookies, two glasses of milk, and a sliced apple on the side. “And dinner on the stove,” I add.

Jane laughs. “Remember how Dad would walk into town with us on weekends and let us buy Vanilla Cokes at the diner? But he didn't want us to tell Mom.”

I look at Jane, with narrowed eyes. “Careful, this is bordering on sentimental for you.”

Jane shrugs. “It was a no-frills childhood. But it was the best. And I think it's funny that tonight, with all your Boston pals home for the wedding, and all the ritzy plans they've made, this is the place you most want to be.” She punches me lightly in the arm.

Upstairs in my bedroom, I slip out of my dress. The night is warm and the old bedroom window creaks in protest as I tug it open.

Evan is in the village at the Oyster House, probably having another drink. Later, he'll spend the night across town at the Mystic Inn. I wonder if he's angry that he'll be stretched out across the king mattress alone. When I said good night to him at the rehearsal dinner, he didn't protest. Instead, he walked me out, and while we stood solemnly on the sidewalk waiting for Jane, he loosened his tie. “I think you need to figure things out, Maggie,” he said finally. By the time her minivan pulled up to the curb, he'd already gone back upstairs to the party.