One Golden Summer

by Carley Fortune

“Alice.” Charlie interrupts me yet again. I inhale, annoyance growing. “Yes?” “Take a breath. I can feel your anxiety all the way in Barry’s Bay.”

(How impressed are you right now? Text me a picture of your face.) —Charlie

Does he want my photo, or is he joking? I know there’s a breezy, quippy middle ground between purely platonic and the melding of souls, but it’s not familiar turf. I’m a soul melder through and through. I’ve never been good at flirting—and I’ve never gone for cocky.

Harrison passes me the bag. “Charlie also wanted me to bring you these. He said you forgot them at the store yesterday.” I peek inside. The bag is full of English cucumbers. “What do you need all these cucumbers for?” “I might whack Charlie over the head with one, for starters.”

“You’ve turned a very red shade of red,” Charlie says. “It’s cute.”

“It makes sense,” he says. “What does?” “You’re acts of service.” My stare is blank. “It’s your love language.” “I’m sorry, are you citing romance self-help to me?” “Not with that attitude.” I stifle my smile. “My apologies. Please, do go on.”

“Anyway, people often show love the way they want to receive it. You’re acts of service. You show love by performing thoughtful acts, like helping your ex with his business and bringing Nan to the lake. But those gestures can go unnoticed or unappreciated.”

“But the thing about love languages,” Charlie says, “is it’s not just about how we express love, but how we receive love. You need someone to do something for you that makes you feel loved. Someone to help you.” I shake my head. “I hate asking for help.” “That’s because deep down, you want someone to see what you need before you have to ask.”

“Alice. Can I come in?” he asks from the other side of the door. I look around for an escape route, but short of throwing myself off the boathouse deck into the water, I’m cornered. “I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “And it’s too shallow to jump.”

“You should have said hi,” Charlie says, voice low. Time ticks by slowly. My perception shrinks to the space between us. “I should have,” I murmur. “I wish I could have, but I was so shy. I’ve always wanted to be someone different, someone who could talk to cute boys and race around in a yellow boat.” “I like the person you are. I wouldn’t change a thing.” “No edits?” “Not a single one.”

“No, it’s because when you speak, he listens. When you smile, he smiles. When you need something, he offers help. When you give him something, he thanks you. You’re peas and carrots—I think you’ve found yourself a lifelong friend.”

I’m too angry to explain myself. “Are we done now?” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. “What do you think, Charlie?” Nan asks. Charlie fixes his gaze on me. “I think it’s time to end this call.” And then he walks over to the phone and hangs up on my sister and father.

“Why would you do that to me? I’m a grown woman. I make my decisions.” “I thought it would help.” “You embarrassed me. I’m trying to respect your independence and privacy when you ask me to. I’ve been trying to give you what you need.” My voice rises in an unfamiliar way. “I’m here for you. Why can’t you be here for me, too?”

He gives me a long look and says, “Fuck it.”

AHH

I’m still as pale as a boiled pierogi, whereas his tan is deeper than when we met, his hair spun with blond.

Charlie hasn’t opened his eyes when he speaks. “Stop staring at me, Alice.” Every word sounds pained.