The Summer We Came to Life

Chapter

18





JESSE WAS BACK IN THE ENORMOUS BED IN CESAR’S hotel in 1977. She lay on her stomach, her head nestled into an impossibly fluffy pillow, and smiled at Cesar. He reached out his hand and gently fingered a stray curl from Jesse’s hair. He tucked it behind her ear and traced her face with his finger—her arched eyebrows, the delicate bridge of her nose. He brushed his thumb across her lips. “I’m in love with you, Jesse Brighton.” Jesse blinked and giggled, started to protest. “No, wait,” Cesar said, stopping her. “I’ve waited a long time for this feeling. If you don’t share it, please don’t spoil it for me.” Jesse pulled the smile off her lips, and closed her eyes. She found that she had memorized his face. The number of hairs in his full brows, the diameter of his curls, and the laugh lines barely visible around his coal-black eyes. She loved that face. She loved the outrageous stories of his childhood and travels. She loved his impassioned talk of changing the world. She loved him.

“I love you, too,” Jesse said as she opened her eyes.



Jesse coughed raggedly with her hand over her mouth. She snapped her fingers and Isabel tossed her the pack of cigarettes. “Yeah, so, he came back to New York two weeks later and proposed. He flew my parents in for dinner, and then I packed and moved to Panama.”

“Wow, romantic!” I said.

“Your father let you go?” Cornell asked, indignant.

Jesse turned to Cornell. “I wasn’t asking permission. I’d been on my own a long time, and it’s not like my family had any room to give advice on marriage. My mother was the textbook definition of depression. She was in and out of hospitals my whole life. My father, he hired a nanny and—” Jesse looked away “—and had lots of affairs, I assume.”

Jesse looked down and realized she hadn’t lit her cigarette. She flicked the lighter. “And, anyway, they were as dazzled by Cesar Guerra as I was. As everybody was.” The flame went out immediately in the ocean breeze.

I shivered and looked around. The air was thick and humid with the now familiar scent of jungle meeting saltwater. But it would cool off soon. “Should we take a break and think about food, you guys?”

The group turned to look at me, a spell broken. Isabel stretched and stood up to go inside. “Let’s go change. I think it’s about time I got out of this bikini. We’ll have dinner on the porch?”

Lynette stood up next to her. “I’ll start cooking.”

I patted her shoulder. “How ’bout me and Isabel cook this time?”



While the rest of the group splintered off, Isabel and I convened in the kitchen over piles of veggies—familiar ones. We had a long-standing routine when cooking together.

“I chop. You cook?” Isabel voiced the protocol.

“Yup. Chop for chop suey.”

“Nerd alert!”

“Takes one to know one,” I said, and handed her the carrots and celery. “So you really don’t know these stories about your dad?”

“Do you know about the first time your parents had sex?” The fire in her eyes fizzled as she realized however little she knew about her parents’ love story, I knew less about mine. “Look, my mom always talked about my father like just another crazy thing she did in her life. Just one of her passionate love affairs. Or her one oopsie misstep into the messy world of marriage.” Isabel pretended to laugh. “Can’t say that anybody ever gave me a different impression.”

“If you ask, Jesse would know how to find him, I bet. You could call him.” It was something I’d asked my father a thousand times. He must know how to find my mother. I’d had no luck so far on the internet.

Isabel sighed. “He doesn’t call me.” Isabel held out a celery stalk. “Let’s mix some more Bloody Marys, yeah?”

I slid over the mix a little too hard and fast. That was exactly it. My mother certainly could’ve found me. “What’s he like now, you think?”

“Who? My dad? Probably more like the way she described my grandfather.” Isabel’s hands froze and she looked at me. “Look, I haven’t told you much about my dad because there’s just not much to tell. Listen to what my mom said. They had some crazy fling. My mom was a cokehead supermodel party girl. Cesar was rich and handsome. You do the math. Then, oops, they had me. Divorce. Move. I met you and you know the rest.”

I never knew when to quit. “Well, it sounds like it might be a little bit more complicated, is all I’m saying.”

“Well, it better f*cking not be!” Isabel snapped, and dropped the knife, which clattered to the floor. “My mother spent my entire life treating men like accessories and extracurricular activities, and encouraging me to do the same. Jesse Brighton thinks marriage is a sham and a sexist plot. Ask her.”

“Have you?”

“F*ck you,” Isabel said.

Silence. Neither of us moved. The frying pan startled to sizzle.

Isabel sighed. “Damn, I’m sorry. This is just weird, okay, hearing about my family like they’re strangers. You’re right. I never asked much beyond the standard-issue funny-Jesse answers.” Isabel took a bite of celery. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe everything was a lie.”