Keyframe

You're So Last Summer

"Maybe I should hate you for this.

Never really did ever quite get that far."

- "You're So Last Summer," Taking Back Sunday (2002)

Jordan

I check my phone and lower it when there's nothing from Alex, disappointed but not surprised. We're in a fight—no shocker there—yet we're both staying holed up in the Hamptons house rather than storming off from each other. We're too stubborn to cede territory, so I can either be the first to apologize or just stick it out by myself.

I chose the latter.

I lower my shades over my eyes, hoping he doesn't see me walking down the driveway and think he's won. I'm paying a visit to our neighbors next door, just like I have periodically for the past two summers.

Besides, there are worse places I could be than in Bridgehampton—like the Bronx, or New Jersey, or anywhere in the Midwest. The sun is bright today—it's just after noon—but the ancient oak trees block the worst of the rays as I stroll past tall privacy hedges on my minute-long journey.

I lift my shades once I reach the neighbor's blue and gray mansion, immediately going around back and using the key underneath the stone owl to let myself into the garden.

I'm greeted with the fresh smell of flowers and the gentle song of wind chimes, pausing a moment to take it in. If I close my eyes and turn back time, I can still feel her here.

When I look up at the house, there's no movement in the upstairs windows—just like the past two summers I've spent alone after the disappearance of my favorite plaything. Bouncy brown curls, adorable freckles, and big brown doe eyes—I used to see them here in the summer and in the city the rest of the year. Even though I know the person they're attached to is gone, I still haven't been able to stop looking over my shoulder for one last glimpse.

My heart ached for Lillian Elizabeth Bennett long after she was gone. Even if I grew up with her for sixteen years and fully intended to marry her one day, I didn't know how much I liked to be with her until I couldn't anymore.

We had been in each other's lives since we were babies, and I knew everything there was to know about her. She was a genius, on par with Alex, but without his popularity and social life. She was a lover of animals, a vegetarian, and an environmentalist. But she was also a bit of a coward: afraid of thunderstorms, public speaking, clowns, and dying alone. She needed me, and I needed her to need me.

Even now, I still miss her just as much as I hate her guts for leaving.

I nod at one of the groundskeepers, lowering my shades again and closing the gate behind me. He's trimming the hedges, but he knows not to touch the corner of the backyard covered in planter boxes, hanging pots, brick pathways, a wooden canopy to shade the worst of the sun, and a swing bench where Lily and I used to sit for hours.

Both of her parents were lawyers and worked all day every weekday, so when summer hit they didn't hesitate to ship her and her brother off to the Hamptons with their grandparents. To my luck, they just so happened to be our neighbors, year-long Bridgehampton residents whereas I'm only here for the summer. She hated every part of being with them but three things: her garden, the ocean, and me.

I roll the sleeves of an old button-up above my elbows, picking up the hose and gently watering the vivid blooms of red, yellow, orange, purple, and pink. Lily's garden is summer-blooming, and I've taken it upon myself to tend it since she disappeared. It's my job exclusively; I won't let anyone touch it as to not soil my connection. It sounds pathetic when I think about it, but it's really the only thing of hers I have left.