Page 29 of The Summer You Were Mine

Ellie sat on the bamboo couch in the living room of her parents’ apartment in her bathrobe as she watched them get ready for dinner while trying to avoid each other.

She had already taken a shower but was currently providing the valet services for them that they usually provided for each other.

It wasn’t exactly the quality time she wanted in order to talk some sense into either one of them, but it would have to do.

She already steamed out the suitcase creases in her dad’s shirt, zipped up her mother’s dress, and was now waiting for the next potential crisis she needed to triage before getting ready herself.

Ellie had been wasting time going down rabbit holes on her phone when she read about a fellow NYU PhD student from the Steinhardt School who was publishing a book on self-compassion and achievement.

She tried to ignore the wistful pang she always got when reading about fellow alumni who were doing amazing things.

There was this tug from somewhere in her mind about whether or not she measured up to what she considered to be the “real” psychologists in her program.

It wasn’t jealousy—more like embarrassment, but she wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

She had the PhD in clinical psychology, but what she did not have was a license to practice as a clinician.

On match day at the end of her doctorate, she waited along with all of the other graduates to hear where she would be accepted for her internship.

As part of a national program, the internship was necessary training for anyone seeking to be a practicing therapist. Without it, a PhD was almost useless for its intended purpose.

One by one, her classmates posted on social media, sent texts, or called one another to share their good news.

Ellie’s email never came. In the deepest part of her heart, she knew that she’d half-assed the application process, only selecting a tiny number of programs that she would want to be accepted to—even winging it through an interview or two.

She’d sabotaged her chances and as much as she hated to admit it, it was partly because it was easier to get swept up into the life of a show host.

At the end of match day in her final year of the doctoral program, she calmly picked up her phone and accepted a different kind of offer.

Magniv Media had given her the shot of a lifetime to take her little kitchen-table podcast to the next level.

Sure, she’d be going against every instinct she had to stay away from the world of sports, which seemed to suffocate her family, but at least she’d be working in a psychology-adjacent field.

At that moment it had felt like the smart move, and she could always try to get into an internship program the next year.

At least, that’s what she told herself as the months ticked by, but she was no closer to reapplying for a match.

Worse still, when she found out that she was autistic, a secret relief whispered into her ear, You did the right thing.

Who would have wanted an autistic therapist, anyway?

The voice was tiny, but it was so powerful that it scared her.

She would never admit to hearing it, but it continued to haunt her.

“Ellie, can you help me with this clasp?” her mom called from the bedroom. Ellie passed by the bathroom, where her dad was using an enormous brush to rake back the scant hairs that covered the top of his head.

“We have a smaller comb, Dad,” she said to his reflection in the mirror.

“It’s okay, I have a big head,” he said, placing the brush into a drawer. He reached for an orangey-red bottle of cologne that sat on a ceramic tray on the clean counter and held it out to her for inspection. “This one?”

“That one is nice,” she said, smiling at the same bottle of Fahrenheit he’d probably had since the fragrance launched.

He spritzed the cologne into his hands and patted it around his neck like he always did, as though it were aftershave.

Ellie was going to tell him for the millionth time that it would last longer if he just sprayed it directly onto himself, but her eyes fell on a book that was sitting on the edge of the counter.

It had a black cover with a drawing of a red truck in the middle.

The title, A Thousand Naked Strangers , was scratched out in a bold white font.

“Um, should I ask?” She poked at the corner of the book with her finger.

“It’s not mine,” he said, grinning.

“Well, whose is it? And what is it?” Ellie picked up the book and flipped it over to read the blurb on the back.

“It’s Cris’s. He said it was very good, so I asked if I could borrow it.” Gio wiped around the sink with a towel and folded it.

“Ellie, are you coming?” Peggy called from the bedroom.

“Let me help you,” Gio called to her, maneuvering around Ellie to get out of the bathroom.

“I asked Ellie.”

“Well, I’m standing right here, Peg,” Gio said.

“I don’t care where you are standing, George, I asked my daughter.”

“I’m coming,” Ellie yelled over her shoulder.

The book was a memoir written by a former reporter who craved a greater sense of purpose after 9/11 and decided to become an EMT.

She flipped through the pages and could see that there were chapters about his training and details about the kinds of things he saw out in the streets.

She saw the words “blood,” “dead,” and “gunshot” quite a few times before closing the book and going to make her own rescue.

“You’re not dressed yet,” Peggy said, looking Ellie up and down.

“It will take me only a minute,” she said, fastening a gold bracelet onto her mom’s right arm. It was the antique scarab that her maternal grandmother had given to her mother when she graduated from high school.

“I’m going to walk over now. It’s sweltering in here,” said Peggy, fanning herself with her small clutch handbag.

“I’m leaving, too,” said Gio. It would probably take them more effort to avoid walking together than resigning themselves to the fact that they were, in fact, unavoidably together, as usual.

“Be nice, okay? It’s a seven-minute walk. Try not to kill each other.”

“I, for one, don’t have the energy,” said Peggy. She turned to open the front door, but Gio had already opened it. He smiled and gestured for her to go out first.

“All of a sudden, huh?” Peggy shook her head. “Sure, thirty-three years later.”

Ellie closed her eyes the second they closed the door, honestly hoping her mom would cool down before dinner.

She walked back toward her bedroom to change, but the black book on the counter in the bathroom called her over again.

Why would Cris be reading this? Maybe he liked autobiographies.

Maybe he knew the author. Then she remembered him saying something at the tennis match about healthcare.

And classes. He said he might be taking classes and that he was afraid to tell people about it.

She scanned the prologue of the book, where the author wrote about friends he knew from his military high school, who were all in Iraq or Afghanistan while he was in a relatively cushy job as a reporter.

He wanted to change his career from writing about brave people to being one of them.

He wanted to do something that tested his limits, and he wanted to save lives.

Ellie picked her head up from the book. Could this be what Cris was talking about?

Her phone pinged in her bedroom, pulling her out of her thoughts. She figured it was probably her mother wondering where she was. Instead, it was Greta.

Been busy with the puppies all day

How did it go with C this morning?

Not sure

We talked and maybe he’s not trash

Progress

What are you wearing tonight?

Navy dress

Oh good one

Plz have fun OK?

Drink wine

For me

No really

Start now

It’s bath night isn’t it?

How can you tell?

Now Ellie was definitely going to be late.

It was 7:45, and she was still in her bathrobe.

She quickly fastened on her necklaces, carefully slipped on the silk dress, and grabbed her sandals from their tissue paper nest in the closet.

Mascara took no more than sixty seconds to apply and lip gloss could be swiped on without a mirror while she walked.

Ellie took a deep breath as she locked the door to the apartment.

She hated being late, but she didn’t want to walk fast and start sweating.

It was a gorgeous night along the Riviera, at the perfect hour when the light began to turn pink and golden.

She exhaled quietly, already beginning to feel more relaxed.

“Hey.”

Ellie’s skin prickled with goose bumps. She turned around slowly.

Cris—rather, a glowing and groomed man in a suit she assumed was Cris—walked toward her with a half smile that pinked her cheeks.

Of course they were both a little bit late and would end up walking into the dinner together.

Why should she expect anything else? She wanted to immediately ask him about the book but figured it might be a little odd to launch into an interrogation before even saying hello.

“Hi. You look nice,” she said, and internally complimented herself on her restraint.

“Well, you look gorgeous,” he said. He took her hand and politely double-kissed both cheeks.

His face was smooth and cool in contrast to the scruffy creature she’d sat next to this morning.

When he pulled his head away, there was still a lingering puff of his citrusy scent. “That dress is spectacular.”