He leaned in and kissed me, confidently but quickly, then pulled away to gauge my reaction. I must have smiled or blushed or seemed otherwise receptive, because when he leaned in again, it was more purposeful. More artful. I felt my body melt into the rock beneath us, everything blurring as my world shifted on its axis.
This was hardly my first kiss; that had happened a few years prior, when I was thirteen, with none other than Greg Seavey. But all I remember from that experience was too much saliva—his or mine, I still don’t know—and Greg telling me a few days later that I wasn’t his type. No, this was something altogether different. This was my first kiss that felt like something more than an experiment; my first kiss that made me think I was finally doing it right; my first kiss that I could actually envision leading to sex in a canoe (or perhaps somewhere more hospitable).
Until this moment, I had never even considered sleeping with a real-life teenage boy. With a movie star? Yes. A rock star? Of course.But those people were conveniently out of reach, so I could cultivate the fantasy from a safe distance. The thought of sex with an actual peer horrified me—until now. Now it started to seem possible, and maybe even desirable. Still, it was terrifying: to be aware that you’re living the most exciting moment of your life as it happens. To be fully present but also out-of-body, overcome by a pleasant quaking.I feel alive, I thought. And even more astonishing: I felt deserving.
Eventually, having exhausted the ways we could make out on a boulder without injuring ourselves, we climbed down and headed back to the party. But we took our time, stopping along the way to kiss against the odd tree. By the time we got back to the dock around midnight, most everyone had dispersed. Chloe and Greg were nowhere to be found, and none of my remaining friends were in any condition to drive me home, even by boat. I was already late for my 11:30P.M.curfew, which left me with only one option. Nina was twenty-two and had just graduated from college with the highest of honors. She would head to her Peace Corps post that fall, but for the summer, she was here. And she had a car.
When my sister arrived twenty minutes later, I left Seth by the dock and scampered up the lawn, propelled by giddiness and beer. As I dove into the passenger seat, she raised her eyebrows, intrigued.
“What?” I asked defensively, though I knew I was radiating excitement.
Nina reached over and lifted a lock of my hair that was matted with balsam sap. “Fun night?”
I touched the snarl proudly. She grinned but didn’t pry as she backed the car up and performed a perfect K-turn. The whole way home, I let my right hand fly out the window, watching it rise and fall in the clean night air. In that moment, I felt absolutely certain that everything in my life was going to work out just fine.
Chapter 11
Something is not right with Dominic. In addition to his clumping fur, I notice that he is getting grumpier, even just in the month that I’ve been here. When I call Nina to ask when he last saw a vet, she says, “Hmm. Well, his checkups lapsed during COVID.” When I press her further, it’s clear he hasn’t had an annual in over five years, maybe more. “He always seemed fine,” she insists, but I make him an appointment nonetheless.
On the day of the visit, I wrestle Dominic into his carrier, which my father keeps on his lap during the forty-five-minute drive to the nearest clinic. The appointment costs $180 and takes all of fifteen minutes.
“All in all, Dominic looks good,” says Dr. Raymond, feeling the cat’s abdomen and then taking a look in his ears. “Except for his teeth, which isn’t unusual for a cat of this age.”
“What’s wrong with his teeth?” I ask.
“Not a thing,” says my father, in Dominic’s defense.
Dr. Raymond pulls the cat’s lip up to show me his inflamed gums. “Periodontal disease, and at least one rotten tooth. I would suggest a full dental cleaning, and at that time we can take X-rays and remove any necessary teeth. It’s completely up to you—but it will make him much more comfortable.”
“Okay, let’s do that,” I say, without hesitation.
“Great,” says Dr. Raymond. “It takes a few hours—we have to put him under to do the procedure. But I believe we have some openings toward the end of the month.”
The receptionist is only able to give me a vague estimate of whatDominic’s dental work will cost, explaining, “We won’t really know until the day of, once they assess the X-rays. We can give you an estimate then. It’s typically about $100 per extraction.”
I figure I can afford a tooth or two, so I schedule the appointment, but I make a mental note to begin my job search in earnest this week. I have no savings, and for now, we are living on my father’s income. It’s enough to keep us afloat, but we certainly don’t have money for extras or emergencies. And when his licensing deal expires at the end of the year, I will need to step into the role of breadwinner, in addition to caregiver.
On the drive home, my father asks again about Nina. “Where did she go? That woman who used to live with us.”
“Stockholm. She’s on a trip,” I say.
“How nice.” After a moment, he adds, “Though it’s a shame she had to leave before the loons come back.”
“The loons?” I ask.
He nods with certainty. “Any day now.”
Loons were a fixture on the pond when I was growing up, but Nina says that in recent years they have not come. Perhaps the changing climate has pushed them elsewhere, or perhaps they prefer the larger lakes of the region, where they can claim more territory. Whatever the reason, we have no more loons and haven’t for some time. But I don’t want to tarnish whatever memory my father is holding on to, so I go along with it. “Yes, it’s a shame she had to leave before the loons come back.”
That afternoon, my father wakes from his nap in a sprightly mood. According to the schedule Nina left us, this is his designated window for playing the piano, but before I can suggest that, he chirps, “Time for a swim!”
I can tell he is determined, and as his caregiver—I’m still getting used to the term—I decide to prioritize his real-time interests over Nina’s dictates. I feel a sizzle of rebellion.
“Okay, let’s find your swimsuit,” I say.
“Swimsuit? Who needs it!” he says punchily as he beelines for the door. I saw my father naked once, by accident, when I was a child. I was so horrified that I vowed never to see an unclothed man again.
“I think you’d better put it on, Dad,” I say, hoping this doesn’t become a struggle.What would Nina do?I wonder.
