Summer at Sea: The Summer Series Book 1 Read online

  “Why is Graham answering your phone?”

  “Because it rang,”

  “Is that some kind of joke? I’m asking you a serious question.”

  “Sorry. Graham is answering my phone because Graham and I are sharing a room.”

  I hadn’t set out to give my mother a nervous breakdown; it’s all just falling into place so perfectly.

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “I mean Graham and I are sharing a room.” I delight in the four seconds of dead air on the other end. “It’s got two beds though, so it’s no big deal.” I fail to mention the fact that it also has two bedrooms.

  “Oy! Richard! She’s sharing a room with Graham!” Mom says his name like he’s the only man on Earth in possession of a penis. “I don’t want him thinking that he can have his way with you!”

  “Have his way with me?”

  Graham, who had been staring out the window at the harbor, looks over with raised eyebrows.

  “Boys only have one thing on their minds,” says Mom.

  “Graham’s not a boy. He’s almost thirty.”

  It’s at that moment that the almost thirty-year-old man moves away from the window and begins to make some very inappropriate gestures to the back of the couch. My eyes widen and I have to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Then he jumps up on the couch, pulls off his shirt, and twirls it over his head. Oh my. Graham’s been hiding a six-pack under those hideous shirts.

  “Men only have one thing on their minds,” Mom clarifies.

  “What?” To be honest, I haven’t heard a word she’s said.

  “I said that men only have one thing on their minds.”

  “And what is that, exactly?” I ask. Not that I want to hear my mother say the word sex.

  “S-e-x,” says Mom. Seriously, she spelled it out.

  “So you think Graham’s going to, like, assault me?”

  “No, but he might try to take advantage of you.”

  “Not likely to happen, Mom. Anyway, I thought you loved Graham? I thought that he could do no wrong? Remember how he played “Fur Elise” at that piano recital seventeen years ago?”

  Graham’s shirt lands on my head and I whip it back at him.

  “He plays the piano like an angel. But he’s still a man. Maybe you should come and stay in our room,” says Mom.

  “I’ve already unpacked!” I lie, glancing back over at Graham. Annoying, goofy Graham who used to yell “Suicide!” while throwing my Barbie dolls off the back porch, is gyrating shirtless on my couch.

  “Oy. She won’t listen!” Mom’s voice fades away as she hands the phone off to Dad.

  “I am listening!” I shout, holding the receiver a few inches from my face. “I’m just not going to do what you’re asking. There’s a big difference!”

  As if somebody flipped the off switch, Graham sits down civilly on the couch. He puts his shirt back on and gives me a thumbs-up.

  “Summer?” Dad is now on the line. “Your mother is very concerned.”

  “I know she is, Dad. But she shouldn’t be. Look, is there a reason that you guys called? I’m kind of busy.”

  “Oh, um. Hang on.” An alarming number of noises come from their end of the line—doors shutting and suitcase zippers going back and forth. Finally Mom comes back on the line.

  “I called because your father and I are planning to eat in the main dining room tonight. We assume that you’ll be joining us?”

  And so it begins.

  “What about Graham?” I ask. If I’m going down, he’s coming with me.

  “We would love for him to join us too, of course. Graham is wonderful, just wonderful.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Let me ask him. Hang on, he’s just putting his pants back on.”

  “What?!”

  “I’m kidding. Hang on. Graham, do you want to have dinner with me and my parents?” I form a gun out of my thumb and forefinger and point it to my temple. He laughs.

  “Sure, why not.”

  “Okay, the wonderful man is in,” I report back. “We’ll meet you outside the restaurant at six.”

  I hang up and sit down across from Graham. “Have you ever been tested for ADD?”

  “I was just trying to make you laugh. You did well, by the way. Not giving in to your mom, I mean.”

  “Really? Because I don’t think she heard a word I said.”

  Graham shrugs. “Whether she heard you or not, at least you said it. You need to do that more.”

  “What?”

  “Assert yourself. Stop letting them force their opinions on you.”

  “Oh.” I click my tongue, not in the mood to analyze my relationship with my mother. “Aren’t you late for a flash mob or something?”

  “Is that how you think of me? As some clown who lives only for the spotlight?”

  “Of course that’s how I think of you. You know you don’t actually have to come to dinner with us, right?”

  Graham shrugs. “What other plans do I have?”

  Proverbial crickets chirp while I mull this over for a few seconds. It wasn’t the most flattering response in the entire world, but he has a point.

  “What are you going to do all week without your best friend here?” I ask. “It’s going to be lonely for you, isn’t it?”

  Graham shrugs. “Even if Eric had come, I would have been on my own most of the time since he was bringing his girlfriend. I was prepared for it. What about you? I could ask you the same question.”

  “I love being alone,” I say. “I actually prefer it. If there was one thing I was looking forward to about this trip it was that I might get some time to myself while Eric entertained Mom and Dad. But without him here, that plan is in serious jeopardy.”

  “Hey, your parents may surprise you. Maybe they’re not so keen to hang out with you either.”

  “I would never be that lucky. I’m surprised that you were okay with being alone all week. Don’t you thrive on social interaction?”

  “A man can be an island when he needs to. But even an island doesn’t necessarily want to eat dinner by himself on vacation.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, thinking that I would much rather order room service and eat it alone on my bed, than join my parents in the dining room. “But if a better offer comes up between now and dinnertime, feel free to bail on us. I’m kind of hoping for a better offer myself.”

  “You flatter me,” says Graham.

  “I meant a better offer than my parents,” I clarify.

  “I know what you mean,” says Graham. “There are plenty of single guys on this boat that you’re dying to get your sticky little paws all over. I’m not offended.”

  “Who says I was talking about guys?”

  “Girls? Even better.”

  I give Graham a look. “No, not girls. Okay maybe I was talking about guys. But my paws are not sticky. Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  Graham studies my face in silence for a few seconds. “I’m not here to cramp your style or anything. You just do your thing, and I’ll do my thing, and every so often, if you happen to feel like it, we can meet in the middle. Right here.”

  “Deal,” I say, sticking out my sticky little paw. Graham shakes it. “But if you’re dancing shirtless on the couch when I meet you here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “And if you’re dancing shirtless on the couch when I meet you here, I’m going to have to ask you to keep it up.” Graham glances down at his watch. “You going to come up on deck when we leave Boston?”

  “I think I’ll pass.” The sky over the harbor is a bit overcast and I have a vision of Mom and Dad standing on either side of me with their umbrellas open. Sure I’d be standing on the top deck of an ocean liner, but I’d still be suffocating.

  “You need time to recover from all this,” he says, running a hand down his chest. “Understandable.”

  “I actually need a few hours to repeatedly wash out my eyeballs.”

  “I like a girl with a sense of humor,” says Graham, winking at me as he carries his bags into the bedroom. “I’ll catch you later for dinner then. A good time will be had by all.”

  7

  Okay, so the good times haven’t exactly started rolling yet.

  I’m sitting across the table from my parents waiting for them to finish their salads, which is taking an eternity. I was hoping to get this dinner over with quickly and then start putting my plan into motion; not that I have any idea how to go about doing that. I assume I’ll have to hit up one of the bars or nightclubs, but the idea of doing that alone makes me feel a little sick. I had been planning on going out in the evenings with Eric, Graham, and Tanya. But that sure as hell isn’t happening now. I mean, Graham is still here, but the last thing that will help me pick up men is to walk into a bar alone with Graham. I take a long sip of wine. Okay, another long sip of wine. I told you that this dinner has been taking forever.

  Speaking of being alone with Graham, it’s totally strange having dinner with just him and my parents. He’s been carrying on most of the conversation—asking Mom and Dad about their cabin, telling them about what he wants to do when we reach Bermuda, and other such topics that are of interest to the elderly. He’s a natural. He doesn’t even look annoyed when Dad tells him about a parasailing accident that he saw on the news. I study his face from the side. How does he control his eyes like that? They’re not rolling at all. Not even a little.

  Our main courses finally arrive, and it’s nothing but oohs and aahs over the quality, and most importantly, the quantity of the food on Mom and Dad’s plates. Dad ordered the filet mignon, and Mom the baked haddock. There is a flurry of activity as they both, in perfect synchronization, produce two bottles of hand sanitizer, squirt one glo
b into each hand, and rub until dry. Then begins the process of trading side dishes back and forth—some of his potatoes for her, some of her asparagus for him. Confirmations are received from both parties that the food is neither too spicy nor too bland. I’ve seen this routine a thousand times, but Graham watches them with interest.

  “You two are adorable,” he says, motioning to their plates. “I hope someday that I find a special lady to share my meals with.”

  I snort.

  “Something funny?” asks Graham.

  “Don’t you have a new special lady every other week?”

  He looks at me for a few seconds, slowly biting a baby carrot off of his fork.

  “None of them were really the side dish sharing type,” he says. Then, without taking his eyes off of me, he reaches his fork onto my plate and steals a piece of broccoli.

  Oh. I stare at the empty spot on my plate—the gears in my head turning, trying their damndest to make something out of nothing.

  That was nothing, right?

  “How can such a wonderful young man not have a special lady in his life?” asks Mom, steamrolling over my moment of speechlessness. She looks at me with that look, the one that means Summer, there’s a man sitting next to you and he’s rich and single. I know that Mom would be ecstatic if Graham and I ever got together, but there’s also a part of me that has the feeling Mom thinks I’m not good enough for him.

  “It’s shocking, I know,” says Graham. “But I’m on a bit of a self-imposed relationship hiatus. I’m looking forward to some alone time this week, just me and my thoughts.”

  I snort again.

  “Now what?” he asks.

  I shake my head and take a large gulp of wine. Graham is on a relationship hiatus. So when he stole my broccoli, he really just wanted some broccoli. Of course he just wanted some broccoli.

  “I was just wondering what kind of thoughts you were planning on hanging out with. The dumb ones or the dirty ones?”

  That may have been a bit mean, but it really is time to get down to business—and Graham is not my business. I can’t let this entire week be a wash. We’re only a few hours into the cruise, and broccoli-stealing Graham and his stupid sunglass wearing hot dog undies are already distracting me from my goal.

  It’s excusable to get distracted once, okay twice, but I won’t let it happen again. Graham can be a very charming guy, but he’s not husband material. Especially since a very important requirement for a man to be husband material is that he not be on a relationship hiatus. And also that he not be Graham Blenderman.

  I have one goal—fulfill The Prophecy. Simple.

  I turn away from the table in order to start checking out the other guests. It’s quite a disappointing lot if you must know—old people and happy couples as far as the eye can see. Anybody single probably isn’t going to be dining alone in a fancy restaurant. I’m about to give up when my eyes are drawn to a cute guy in a black button-up shirt on the far side of the dining room. He’s seated across from an older couple that could potentially be his parents. That would definitely make for a good icebreaker. Hey are you on the most stressful and soul-crushing vacation of your life? Me too! I stare at him until he looks over at me. I maintain eye contact, take a sip of wine, and then look away. Smooth move, Douchewell.

  Unfortunately, looking away brings me into direct contact with my mother’s death stare.

  “What?”

  “That was very rude what you said to Graham.”

  “What did I say to Graham?”

  “You know, about his thoughts.”

  “Oh, right. I was just joking. Graham knows that.” I look over to see Graham’s response, but all he does is silently pluck the wine glass out of my hand and place it on the table.

  “Hey!”

  “Pace yourself.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to be able to keep up with me later.”

  “Later?”

  “Yeah, later. We’re going dancing.”

  “Excuse me?” I snatch back my wine glass.

  “How much has she been drinking?” interrupts Mom.

  “Since you find my being alone with my thoughts such an amusing concept, you get to hang out with me instead.”

  “I don’t want her drinking too much!” says Mom.

  “I already have plans,” I say.

  “No you don’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Is she drunk?” asks Mom.

  “You haven’t left the suite since we got onboard. Who did you make plans with?” asks Graham.

  He’s got me there. I finally look across the table at Mom who’s in the throes of a nervous breakdown.

  “Mom, I’m not drunk. I can handle a few glasses of wine.” I give her the death stare right back and take another long, spiteful sip.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hartwell. It’s just that the night is young and I don’t want her falling asleep on me.” He shimmies his shoulders back and forth. Mom’s eyes light up.

  “Maybe we should all go!” she says. “Oh, Richard. We haven’t been dancing in such a long time!”

  Oh God. Mom and Dad haven’t exactly grasped the concept of modern day nightclubs. They still think that The Penguins are going to be onstage singing “Earth Angel” while couples box step around the room.

  “We’re not going dancing!” I say. “And even if we were, it would be very late. Like after midnight.”

  I hate to say it, but hanging out with Graham might be my only option for finding some nightlife. And it’s not like we’ll be joined at the hip or anything. I’m sure Graham will want to mingle with women who aren’t his friend’s little sister. The only thing that I can’t have is Mom and Dad showing up. I’m not able to act normally around them. Never have been.

  “Oh,” says Mom, a bit crestfallen.

  “You guys should go to the casino,” I suggest. “That might be more your speed.” I feel somewhat bad about crushing my mother’s dreams of fast dancing to techno music, but Dad seems a bit giddy at the thought of playing the slot machines.

  By the time the check comes, I’m convinced that I have a fifty-fifty chance of an evening of total freedom.

  ***

  After dinner, Mom and Dad head off in one direction and Graham and I in another. It’s still too early for any sort of nightlife, so we wander aimlessly. People are dressed up and gravitating toward the theater for the eight o’clock variety show. A piano player is singing “Beyond the Sea” at the atrium bar. I wonder if he just plays that one song in a loop. I don’t mind; it’s one of my favorites. Occasionally I bump into Graham and convince myself that it’s the choppy Atlantic Ocean making it difficult to walk straight.

  “So are we really going dancing?” I ask, giving him a sidelong glance and trying to sound indifferent.

  “I was just trying to make you uncomfortable in front of your parents,” he says. “We don’t have to. I know it would go against the whole ‘you do your thing and I’ll do my thing’ agreement we made like two hours ago.”

  “It does,” I agree. “But, you know, I could make an exception for our first night here.”

  Graham comes to a stop in front of a pink, velvet loveseat and sits down. I sit next to him. “So you want to hang out with me after all?”

  I turn sideways and look meaningfully into his eyes. “I don’t want to walk into a nightclub all by myself.”

  Graham laughs. “That’s flattering. You should have tacked a ‘no offense’ onto the end of that statement. It would have taken away the sting.”

  “Hey, you only came to dinner with me because you didn’t want to eat alone,” I say, sinking against the back of the loveseat. “Now we’re even.”

  “So we’re just using each other? Kinky.”

  I whack him on the arm. “You’re so dirty.”

  “And that surprises you? I think this is just the most time you’ve ever spent alone with me. Get used to it. We’ve got seven days left.”

  “Oh man.” I lean forward and rest my forehead in my hand. “I’m still just a little thrown that you’re excited to hang out with me. You realize I’m not very exciting, right?”

  “Have we met before?” Graham sticks out his hand. “The name’s Blenderman. I make fart apps for iPhones. And you are?”

  I laugh. “Come on, the fact that you make fart apps for iPhones is exactly why your life is so amazing. I’m a librarian.”