Sun-Kissed Christmas (Summer) (5 page)

“Don’t worry. You look just right. Besides, guys never catch the subtleties. All they ever notice is whether you smell good.”

“So who exactly is Sarah?” Summer asked, lowering her voice. “And why exactly is she here?”

Diana cleared her throat. “It’s a funny story, really. I mean, you’re going to laugh when I tell you.”

“Why is it I almost never end up laughing when someone says that?”

“See, she was sort of abandoned at the Christmas party. In the bathroom. Her mom—she’s, like,
our
age, Summer!—was reading one of Mallory’s books. The one with the Indian with cleavage—you know which one I mean?”

“Diana, Austin’s coming. I can hear his car. Give me the condensed version.”

Diana swallowed. She wasn’t used to sounding like a ditz, even a well-meaning one. She was the cool, rational ice queen. In this household, Summer and Marquez were the ones who came up with harebrained
schemes.

“We’re keeping her.”

Austin pulled up in his recently purchased, very old, shuddering green Dodge. Summer kept her eyes glued on Diana. “Keeping her?” she repeated.

“Just until her mom comes back.”

“Which will be when, exactly?”

Austin honked. Summer turned to wave. Esme was in the front seat, nuzzling his neck.

“Oh, fantastic,” Summer muttered. “This day is getting weirder by the minute.”

“I know this stuff with Sarah seems crazy … ,” Diana said.

“Actually, I think it’s really sweet. In a demented sort of way. But even if we all pitch in, Diana, we aren’t exactly ready to be parents of the year. The last time you had a pet, you killed it.”

“Sarah is not a turtle, and I promise I will not feed her Count Chocula till she explodes.”

“What if her mom doesn’t come back?” Summer asked gently.

“We’ll deal with that if it happens. Which it won’t. I hope.” Diana sighed. “It’s Christmas, Summer. We can’t let her be all alone on Christmas.”

Diana could tell from Summer’s hesitation that she was buying into the idea. Her cousin was an easy touch when it came to Hallmark moments.

“You’re right,” Summer finally agreed. “That would be awful. Okay, but just till Christmas, though. You really think her mother’ll come back?”

“I’m positive.”

“I can’t be much help because I’ve got to finish this paper. You think you can handle things?”

“Oh, yeah. No sweat.”

Summer gave a dubious smile. “I hope you’re right.” She put on her sunglasses and turned to go, then paused. “Listen, don’t forget to give Seth a call. He said maybe you guys could meet up at the boat parade tonight.”

“Are we going to be okay with this? You and me and Seth?”

“And the ghost of Christmas past,” Summer added.

Diana looked away. “Let’s not talk about Christmases past, okay?” she said softly.

Summer nodded. “I think things will go okay, Diana. If we all just lighten up about everything. Although to tell you the truth, I’ve never had to hang out with my ex-boyfriend before while he dated someone else.”

“Looks like you’re about to,” Diana said, jerking her thumb toward Austin’s car.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“You’ll be fine.”

The front door opened. Sarah stood there, lamb in tow, waiting for Diana.

“I wish I could say the same for you,” Summer said with a smile.

Summer climbed into the backseat. Esme’s arm was draped around Austin’s neck.

“Hi,” Summer said.

“Hi,” Austin said.

“Hey,” Esme said. She planted a kiss on Austin’s neck, leaving a lipstick shadow.

“You smell good,” Austin said.

“Thanks,” Summer said. Unfortunately, she said it at the same time Esme did.

Well, duh, Summer chided herself. He wasn’t talking to you. You could smell like fresh dog poop on the bottom of a sandal and it wouldn’t matter to Austin. Unless you got it on his carpeting.

“Es can’t come with us,” Austin said, looking into the rearview mirror. “We’re dropping her off.”

“Work,” Esme explained.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” Summer said, sounding not even remotely sincere to her own ears.

Austin pulled out of the drive and hooked up his iPod. It emitted a sinewy, howling sort of sound underscored by loud thumps. Summer wondered what was wrong with the speakers.

“You like Popping Zits?” Esme inquired.

Summer’s hand flew to her chin. Why hadn’t she used more Clearasil?

“The music,” Esme clarified.

“Oh.” Summer felt her cheeks heat, no doubt further highlighting her less-than-perfect complexion. “I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re big in clubs around here.”

Summer nodded sagely. “The name rings a bell. I haven’t been doing a lot of, you know, nightlife. School’s totally dominated my life this semester.”

“Tell me about it. I thought undergrad life was bad, but grad school’s really a killer.”

“You’re in grad school?”

“Biochem.”

Austin nudged her. “For now, at least.”

“Austin thinks I should chuck it all and turn to a life of poetry.”

“She’s a brilliant writer,” Austin said.

Summer stared out the open window. Austin had never called
her
brilliant. Come to think of it, no one had ever called her brilliant.

“How old are you, Esme?” Summer asked, holding her windblown hair back with one hand.

“Twenty.”

“And you’re in
grad
school?”

She shrugged. “I skipped some grades.”

“Oh,” Summer said. Was that hissing noise coming from the speakers, or was that just the sound of her ego slowly deflating?

Austin drove onto the FCU campus, the college Marquez and Diana attended, and parked next to a small red brick building.

Esme turned to smile at Summer. “Well, duty calls.” She pulled Austin to her, fingers twined in his hair, and kissed him. Not a quick good-bye-and-see-you-soon kiss. This was on par with any backseat all-out makeout kiss Summer had ever engaged in. It went on and on and way too on.

Summer opened her notebook, eyes averted. Where was a barf bag when you needed one? She hadn’t felt this awkward since Marcie Barrett’s eleventh-grade makeout party in her pine-paneled rec room, when Summer had been paired with George “the Droolmeister” Gurtz.

She stared at a blank page in her notebook until she heard the door open. Austin and Esme were just starting to disentangle. Austin’s cheeks were flushed.

Summer made a point of staring at her fingernails, convincing herself that she didn’t care about Austin’s being with another girl. That was fine, that was the deal. But she didn’t have to have a front-row seat to one of their tongue-diving exhibitions, did she?

Esme grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car. “Call me,” she said. She mouthed the words “Love you.”

Austin turned to the backseat. His eyes were a little glazed. He had a smear of red lipstick on the corner of
his mouth. Summer decided not to tell him.

He smiled sheepishly.

She took a deep breath. “I’d give it a nine-point-five,” she commented coolly.

“What?”

“The kiss. Average technique, but you get points for the high degree of difficulty. What with having an audience and all.” She was pleased with the casual tone of her voice.

“Come on up,” he said. “You’re not going to sit back there the whole trip, are you?”

“I’m allowed in the makeout seat? Would you mind wiping up the saliva first?”

Austin rolled his eyes. “Sorry. Esme is a little, um, demonstrative.”

Summer moved to the front seat. “What’s Esme’s job?” she asked.

“She’s a research assistant. Helping this Ph.D.—something about developing proteins that will keep cancer cells from growing.”

Of course. “Back when I worked at the Crab ’n’ Conch, I developed a way to pass out lobster bibs and refill iced teas at the same time.”

Austin looked over at her. His eyes seemed to clear. He grinned. “I’ve missed you, Summer,” he said softly.

A shrill whistle pierced the air. Esme poked her
head out of the second-floor window. “Have fun!” she called.

Austin honked.

Summer gave a vague wave. She’d always wanted to whistle like that, two fingers in her mouth, shrill, attention-getting noise.

“She’s something,” Austin said under his breath as he backed up the car.

Summer nodded, picking too hard at a hangnail on her thumb. “She’s something, all right.”

Survival of the Fittest

Austin lay in a hammock, eyes closed, on the wide back porch of his great-uncle’s town house. Summer’s laughter floated through the screen door. She and Harris really seemed to have hit it off. She’d been interviewing him for almost two straight hours.

It occurred to Austin that this was the first real time he’d spent with her since August. He’d run into her once or twice since then. They’d talked for a few minutes at Blythe’s party, but he’d been there with Esme.

Not that this was a date, really. Austin knew nothing would come of it. Didn’t want anything to come of it They’d broken up, and that was that.

Broken up. He hated that phrase. It conjured up images of dishes thrown in fury, feelings in a jumble of puzzle pieces that could never be reassembled.

And it hadn’t been like that at all. He’d been so cool that day she’d ended it.

She needed time to figure out who she was, she’d said. To be Summer alone, not Summer part of a couple, part of Austin-and-Summer. She needed to concentrate all her energy on college.

No problem, he’d said. He’d said, “I love you, Summer.” He’d made a joke of it: “I know you’ll come to your senses eventually.” He’d told her he could wait.

Only he hadn’t waited. He’d met Esme and tried not to look back.

Because waiting, he knew, would have been like promising Summer that he would be there for her forever. And he didn’t have forever anymore.

The screen door opened, and Summer slipped out. She was holding a glass of lemonade. The ice cubes clinked liked tiny bells.

“For you.” She handed it to him. Her soft cotton dress brushed his arm.

“Thanks.” He took a sip, set the lemonade on the floor, put his arms behind his head. “How’s it going?”

“Great. Harris is incredible. I just came out to see if you’re okay. I feel like I’m sort of hogging him. But Harris said you wouldn’t care because you’ve heard it all a million times before.”

Austin laughed. “I’m kind of enjoying just lying here, thinking profound thoughts.”

“Such as?”

“Actually, I was thinking about that day when you told me to get lost.”

Summer looked away. “I don’t think that’s what I said, Austin.”

“Okay, that you wanted to fly solo.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what I said either.”

“Words to that effect, then.”

Silence fell. Austin rocked the hammock, one leg on the floor. Summer moved to the edge of the porch, leaving a touch of her perfume in her wake. She’d
worn that perfume all summer. It made him think of vanilla, of sunshine, of kisses under the stars.

“It was a good thing,” Austin said. “I think you needed to be on your own. You’ve changed.”

She turned. “I have?”

“You’re calmer. More self-confident or something.”

She smiled. “Or something.”

She always smiled with her whole face—her eyes, her lips. It was the first thing he’d noticed about her. It was, come to think of it, probably the first think he’d loved about her.

“Well, I should get back. Harris said he’s got a photo album I can look at.”

“Thanks for the lemonade.”

Summer opened the screen door, then hesitated. “You know, I think what I said that day was that I needed to be by myself for a while. To figure out who I was and stuff.” She shrugged. “Just for the record.”

“I stand corrected.”

He watched her go, slipping away into the shadows. He’d tried so hard to hold on to her the past summer. She’d been trying to mend her relationship with Seth, the rightful heir. Seth was her first real boyfriend, and later her fiancé, and she had tried to work things out with him until even loyal, steadfast Summer could see it was time to call it quits.

And through it all, Austin had waited. He’d known she was in love with him. He’d known that if he just trusted in fate, she’d see they belonged together.

Fate, it had turned out, had an extremely warped sense of humor.

Still, maybe it was all for the best, his losing Summer. There were a lot of good reasons for them not to be together, actually. Reasons he never wanted to have to tell her.

And he had Esme now. Free-spirited Esme, who never needed to talk about the future. Esme, who read the
New York Times
every day and liked to swim in the nude and claimed to understand the poems he wrote.

All of which, it seemed, were about breaking up with complicated girls with amazing smiles.

Girls who wanted to fly solo.

“So, my lad,” Harris said as he and Austin walked the neighborhood later that day, “can I safely assume you’re aware that you are sporting a spot of lipstick on the corner of your mouth?”

Austin groaned. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Man, Summer could have said something.”

Harris stopped to observe a mockingbird in a nearby oak. Austin was used to such pauses and detours. His
great-uncle couldn’t walk ten feet without stopping to examine a plant or watch a bird.

“I suppose I can also safely assume that said lipstick did not belong to the lovely young lady with whom I’ve been having such an interesting discussion today?”

Austin shook his head. Harris had a way of asking the bluntest questions while sounding as discreet as a British butler. It was a good thing Summer was safely out of earshot back at the house, putting her notes together.

Austin wondered if Harris had already asked her the same question. Probably. He wondered what her replay had been. Something sarcastic about Esme, maybe even with a hint of jealousy?

“Summer and I are just friends, Harris.”

“Shame, really. Such a charming girl.”

“Things didn’t … work out.”

Harris pointed to a spiny little plant clinging to the oak. “Bromeliads,” he said. “Such an evolutionary marvel, getting sustenance from air. Ingenious little plants. Survivors.”