“Okay,” Mom finally says. “I’m happy you’re thinking about the future, Sera. It sounds like the start of a good plan, but let’s not cut school applications out entirely yet.” Dad nods in agreement. I drop my dish towel and hug them both quickly, then disappear up to my room before they can change their minds.
I flop onto my bed with my laptop and look up the fellowship. As I flick through the photos of the house, and the studio, and a group of artists painting on easels by the Seine, I feel something swelling in my chest that has nothing to do with my heart, physical or emotional. Hope. Purpose. I open the application, read through the requirements, and clock the deadline for next year. August 11. I set a reminder in my phone for August 1.
I’ve never been out of the country, and I wonder what Paris is like. Cafés for breakfast and picnics by the Eiffel Tower for lunch. Maybe I’d meet a cute French boy and we could tour the city on his moped, drink wine, and talk art and books. I click through a map of the city, looking for the gallery Iris mentioned.
I’m thinking about croissants versus pain au chocolat and downloading a language-learning app on my phone when Iget a text from Luke. I deleted his contact info two years ago, but I still know his number by heart.
Jumped universes today without you. Wasn’t the same!
There’s a rush in my ears and an old familiar feeling of excitement and anticipation that I thought was long dead. I think about the way he looked in the sun. He was practically glowing. I think about how hard it was to keep my eyes off the places on his skin I wanted to touch. I hover my finger over the text. Then I remember what happened two summers ago and the pain is so sharp, my breath catches. Maybe we’re friends again, but I need to keep my distance. I quickly close out of his message and go back to the fellowship’s website. I click through the photos again, stopping to watch the mixed-media artists from last year present their pieces. I imagine what I would paint in Paris and wonder if the city really does glimmer with lights.
Chapter Seven
Sera
A couple weeks into our stay in Northport, and we’ve already fallen into a rhythm. Dad and Abbi get up early and go for a run, while I sleep as late as I can, which is never later than eight, then start the crossword with Dad when he’s back. We finish it before everyone splits up for the day, though Mom, Abbi, and I have managed a few full beach days together too. Now that my job has started, things will shift a little on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Wednesdays, Dad has scheduled golfing with another professor who spends the summer on the Cape, so he’s offered to drive me to work. He drops me off at camp with an iced chai and an egg sandwich from Lorell’s after we make a quick pit stop for my lab tests.
“You’ve got everything you need?” he asks as I get out of the car with my bag.
“Yup.” I smooth out the long-sleeved white linen top I stole from Mom’s collection of beach cover-ups and straighten my beaded necklace. On the first day, Iris and I taught together,and after the kids did their Bee presentations, we did some beading. I now have a dozen stunningly ridiculous chunky necklaces to choose from. I carefully labeled each one gifted to me to make sure I remember whose is whose. I plan to wear one every day I’m teaching.
“And Abbi is picking you up at four?” I fight the urge to tell him we’ve been over this three times already. Even though I’ve been stable for half a year now, any medical test or pharmacy run still makes Dad uneasy.
“Correct.”
“Okay.” Dad turns back to the wheel but doesn’t pull away.
“I’m fine, Dad. Thank you for driving me. Watch out for wild swings from Mr.Price.”
He chuckles and the concerned look on his face vanishes. “Have a good day, Sera.”
“Love you, Dad.”
“Love you!” he calls back, then puts the car into gear and drives off.
It’s funny how quickly I’ve taken to teaching. I’m not even nervous for my first day alone. It helps that the kids in my group are total sweethearts. And there are a few who remind me of myself and Luke: a little more focused, a little intense for their age. I want them to feel how special this place can be, how special they are. I want them to remember me and this short time we have together. Judging by their enthusiasm, we seem to be off to a good start. From the minute they arrive, with hugs and a garble of stories to share about what happened since I met them two days ago, they fill the studio with their energy.
Today, we’re working on mixing colors. The kids react like it’s magic when we make purple and green and orange. I have them paint little scenes using their mixed colors on flat rocks collected from the beach. The day goes so quickly I don’t have time to wonder if I did anything right. Suddenly it’s pickup, and I’m holding ten new pictures drawn for me by the kids. Three of the moms tell me how much fun their kids are having, so it must be going fine.
Abbi picks me up a little late, pulling into the dirt parking lot with the windows down, one of Cam’s band’s EPs blasting.
“Can you turn that down, please?”
Abbi sighs but hits the volume so it’s no longer shaking the whole car.
“We’re eating dinner at home first, right?” Tonight is the annual drive-in movie fundraiser at the harbor, where I plan to eat my weight in sour candy and popcorn, but I need some real food.
“Yup. Hey, is it cool if Cam comes tonight? His gig got canceled, and he’s feeling a little sad.”
“Of course. Maddy’s got plans for where to park. I’ll just make sure we can fit one more. But if you two start making out, I’m kicking you out of the car.”
Abbi rolls her eyes but seems placated. “It’s a fundraiser. For the broken footbridge at Thirds Beach. There will be no making out.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say. Abbi bats her eyes at me, feigning innocence.
“Is that rich kid going—the one you’ve been texting? What’s his name? Theodore? Robert? John?”
“Jackson,” I say.
