Summertime Sadness
Ifollow the explicit instructions Alana texted me.
It’s early August. Sean has recovered, and my mother is, well, still my mother. Nothing I can do to change that. She apologized for losing it. She always does. And stupid me, I forgive her. And even feel sorry for her.
She’s given me plenty of reasons to hate her, but I can’t.
I know I should. But, I don’t.
I don’t exactly have to like her though, either.
I pull into the parking lot of one of the area’s most exclusive beach clubs. I’m surprised to find no armed guards in towers when I park. I’ve been working at the track all day, so I’m hot and sweaty and ready to go for a swim. It’s nearly seven in the evening, but the sun is still up, and the air is still warm. There are barely any cars in the secluded lot, but I do see Alana’s. I walk up to the ornately decorated security fence and punch in the code. The lock clicks, and the private access door swings open. I follow the paved path down to the beach where small — they almost look like huts — structures are lined up one next to the other. When I reach the first one, I find Alana sitting under a small grass awning with papers spread out on a table wearing only sunglasses and a bikini. My favorite bikini, the tie-dyed one with the strings. What did she call them? Fringe.
“You found me,” she teases when she looks up.
“It’s easy to do when I have a map and detailed instructions.” I lean down and softly brush her lips. She tastes like coconut. I take a seat in the chair next to her and check out my surroundings. A modest-sized wooden structure with a tiny patio and an unobstructed view of the Atlantic.
“So, this is your spot, huh?” That’s what she called it when she told me about the cabana. Her hideaway, her solace place.
“Yes.”
“Not too shabby.” The freakin’ place is nicer than my apartment.
“I like the view.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I look out at the palm trees swaying in the wind and the magnificent blue ocean.
“Do you want a drink?” She lifts her sunglasses off her face. “Water?”
Her gaze feels different tonight. There’s anticipation there, and maybe even a little fear. We’ve discussed all the pre-sex issues. Birth control, no birth control. Condoms, no condoms. Testing, no testing. She’s thorough, I’ll give her that, and surprising, since she’s on BC and was cool with no condoms. I’ve never had sex without protection before. Never really wanted to, but with Alana, the thought of nothing between us was too tempting to pass up. She’s not like any other girl I’ve known or been with. It doesn’t matter to me if we go into that room and have sex or not. I’d be just as happy laying there all night with her wrapped in my arms. Nothing is going to change the fact that Alana is the one.
“I’m good, babe.”
“Oh, we’re using terms of endearment tonight?” She’s such a smart ass.
“Not just tonight, for the rest of our lives,” I throw that out there.
Alana just stares at me stoically. I have a slight panic attack. Those blank looks are daunting as hell. Then her expression cracks, and she smirks sweetly at me.
Small sigh of relief.
“What is all this?” I pick up a loose piece of paper. Time for a subject change. We can talk more about the future in the future.
“School stuff. Syllabi for classes, campus map, housing paperwork. All fun and games.” She rolls her eyes like she’s bombarded. The harsh reality that Alana is leaving for school soon ties me in knots. I feel myself frown as I read what’s on the paper. What am I looking at here? It’s a bunch of names and numbers.
“Is that the price per class?” I point to a number with four digits.
Alana takes a look.
“Per credit.”
I nearly fall out of my chair. “And how many credits do you take a semester?”
“Eighteen. Why?”
“College is stupidly expensive.”
Alana laughs. “Princeton is one of the best schools in the country. Of course, it’s stupidly expensive.”