“Are you going to stay longer this weekend?” I ask, wishing she doesn’t have to leave immediately, but she shakes her head, crushing my hopes for some company.
“Nah. Sorry, babe. I have to get back to work on Monday morning bright and early.” I frown and am truly disappointed, but I know that this summer internship is what she has been working for, and I start mine in the fall, again, so I get it. They were so excited to have me there this spring for tax season that they invited me back and offered me a job pending graduation. To live in the city and work in Boston is expensive, but Savannah and I plan on sharing a space and I hope it works out because I really want to be able to have my career and now that I have to rely on myself for everything, there doesn’t seem to be any other choice. Commuting in will be easy, and I love that my parents have their home so close. Well, my home, now. I guess. It was like the best of both worlds, being close to the city, but not having to hear the hustle and bustle of city life that comes with it.
Being out here at the lake house has been nice, but in less than two months, I will have to face the adult responsibilities I have been avoiding at my parents’ home and in returning to college for my final year. Savannah walks toward the guest bedroom that she has claimed since we were kids.
“I’m going to shower,” she states as she starts peeling layers. “I want to get the road grime off me. I was in such a hurry to get over here this morning.” She grabs a towel and a face cloth,disappearing into the bathroom. She’ll be in there for about an hour. The girl doesn’t even wash her hair, and I swear she stands under the shower for about half an hour without doing anything. It’s kind of nice, I have to admit, but I don’t take many hot showers, so I don’t see the point. It makes my skin kind of blotchy, to be honest, and I just wash, rinse, and towel off. I’ve never seen the need to take longer showers, but maybe if I had someone to share it with, I would think differently.
My phone rings, and I follow the sound’s direction. I see it perched on the kitchen island, and I rush over to take the call when I see Parker’s name flashing on the screen.
“Hello,” I answer, and I hear a lot of commotion coming from the other end of the line.
“Hey, Nadia. What are you up to?” I walk around to the fridge and grab the ingredients for some frozen daiquiris.
“Oh, just grabbing some stuff for some frozen concoctions.” I pull out some fresh strawberries for garnish and place them on the counter. “I have yet to try out this amazing slushie machine. My friend Savannah just got here, and we are going to hang out. The fridge is stocked and the alcohol will soon be flowing.”
I hear a chuckle come from the other line. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to come over here, but it appears you already have plans.”
“Parky-poo, you guys are more than welcome to come over here with us and celebrate.” I hear him shout over to someone whom I assume is Hadley and Jasmine.
“Hey, you guys want to go over to Nadia’s house?” I don’t hear the response, but he responds quickly. “Give me the address.”
And I do. Savannah is just getting out of the shower, and I have managed to get the slushie machine working. I place a strawberry garnish on it and hand it over to her. She waggles her finger at me.
“Nope, where is my rum coater?” she says, but it comes out more like rum coatah. Her Boston accent is thick tonight. I laugh, mimicking her action with her wagging finger.
“Nope, it’s not going to happen, sweets. I have friends coming over, and you have to pace yourself, or there will be no swimming or boating activities for you.” She pouts but meekly acquiesces.
“Okay, but after, I am getting one.” I nod. “Now tell me about these friends of yours,” she asks, and I begin to tell her about Parker and how I met him.
“So you have had these friends for a couple of weeks and met Parker having ice cream?” she asks, and I nod. “Do you like him? Is he cute?”
“I like him very much and he is very handsome.” I pause.
“You’re just not into him?”
“I’m just not attracted to him. He has become a great friend, and honestly, he hasn’t even tried anything more than a quick pec. I think he just likes me as a friend, too. He’s fun and sweet, but there’s absolutely no chemistry between us.” She searches my eyes and sighs.
“That’s too bad,” she comments. “I really want you to meet someone.” I look around, not meeting her eyes. She puts her hand on my arm. “Wait. Stop. I know that look, Nadia, when you are trying to avoid the topic.” Her smile widens, and she smacks me on the arm, sloshing the alcohol from my drink. I jump up with my drink like she is at risk of spilling it all, and she might if I have to sustain another of her hits.
“Dang girl, that is straight up alcohol abuse. Look.” I point at the offending spot on the leather couch that is sliding onto the floor.
“Whatever, get a napkin or just top it off, but you,” she tries to stab at me with her pointed pink fingertip, “are not getting off that easy.” I grab a napkin to clean up the mess and sit back down, taking another sip of my now full drink. She is staring at me intently.
“What?”
“Ugh, don’t act like you don’t know what I am talking about!” she shouts. “Spill the tea, babe. I’m dying here. Please, put me out of my misery. I know how picky you are, and if you have found someone that piques your interest, then I want to know all about this mystery hottie.” She exhales, having gotten that all out in one solid breath.
“Well,” I begin, building the suspense and trying to decide how to tell her this story. So, instead of being subtle, I just blurt it out. “I am super attracted to the father of the girl I nanny for.” I stop and wait to gauge her reaction, but she says nothing.
“Explain,” is all she says as her eyes narrow.
“He’s single—” I start, and she cuts me off.
“Bitch, from the beginning.” And so I do. I tell her about the first time I saw Manny Torres at the diner with his daughter and how he looked at me like he hated me. I tell her about the second time I saw him at the tavern, and he bumped into me, calling me that term of endearment. Her eyes bug out.
“No way!” she screams. “That is the same guy?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “What are the chances, right?” She sits up, crossing her legs underneath her. “So, you answered the ad and then what were your thoughts when you met him and found out it was him?” she asks, fully invested in this story.
“Well, I was shocked, and then there was this girl who is like a stalker mom who now hates me.” I take a sip of my drink, and she laughs.
