Day Three.
She's standing by the coffee maker, talking idly with one of the girls from Sympathy when Tom passes by on his way to the copier. He tries not to make eye contact but finds himself drawn into the slow, shy way she smiles at him over the rim of her chipped mug. She bites her bottom lip in the way that she does, and he remembers this moment later as the first point on his checklist of things he loves about her. It's a small thing, really, something that she probably doesn't even know that she does, but Tom is pretty sure that's why he loves it so much. It's just innate, completely natural, just like she seems to be. And then he takes a deep breath and inhales the subtle scent of her lilac perfume and she reminds him of warm June afternoons in his grandmother's backyard from when he used to visit her when he was a little kid.
Summer is still an enigma to him now, just beyond his grasp and yet still completely attainable to him. He knows that she has the power to change him, the power to sustain him, the power to completely wreck him. It's like this force of gravity whenever he's around her, and it scares the hell out of him because he hasn't said more than two words to her at this point. She's just this girl…okay, she's the girl. And then she smiles at him again on his way back to his desk, and he is terrified all over again.
Day One Hundred and Two.
Tom always wanted a girl that could just hang out with his friends without it being awkward, and when he takes Summer with him to this impossibly long science fiction marathon with the guys and she laughs in all right parts of the incomparably cheesy Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, he knows that she is indeed just who he has been looking for. He holds her hand on the subway afterward, tucked between McKenzie and Paul, and they talk about getting drinks at this dive bar near the studio where Paul has been living.
"I really like your friends," she tells him later as she brushes her teeth. Tom catches her eye in the foggy bathroom mirror and grins genuinely. It's the most perfect thing she could say
Day Three Hundred and Ninety Two.
He stopped counting how many days it had been since they broke up a few weeks ago, and he counts this as progress. He knows that it's been two weeks since he last ventured out in his bathrobe, and from the number of Twinkies still left in the box in the kitchen, he has been eating viably for at least nine days. He hasn't brought himself to delete all the photographs he has harbored on his hard drive quite yet, but McKenzie did make him erase all the voicemails he still had saved on his answering machine. Tom didn't tell him about the two he still had on his cell phone. Baby steps, he figures.
His sister stops by after soccer practice with a copy of the personal ads and a few sign-up forms for online dating services that she printed off at the school library. He hugs her tightly and tells her that she's sweet, but he's not quite ready to move on just yet. Rachel smiles at him patronizingly and pats his shoulder as they pull away. "You'll find someone else, Tom, someone better," she tells him, not for the first time, and then hands him the abandoned Wii controller buried beneath the stacks of architecture books, throw pillows and take-out cartons littered on his tattered sofa. She might be decade younger than him, but his baby sister is already light years ahead of him in wisdom.
Day Sixty-Six.
There are some days where Summer just wants to be sad. Tom is no stranger to sadness, mind you. He listens to The Smiths, read Sylvia Plath in college and went through a year-long French cinema phase after he broke up with that literary agent from Long Beach. However, he hasn't ever seen anything like her dark periods, where the shades are drawn and she doesn't want to do anything but watching depressing war-period German films that are completely devoid of subtitles and plot.
"Come on, it's beautiful outside," he pleads, drawing back the gauzy curtains so that a few afternoon rays could infiltrate his dim bedroom. Summer groans and throws her hand over her eyes before rolling over and mumbling something about him being cruel. "Summer, please, let's just go get some lunch or something. You've been in bed all day."
"I told you that I'm not getting up," she growls before yanking the covers over her head. He sees only the top of her chestnut crown peaking up from the edge of the comforter when he sinks down onto the mattress beside her. "I mean it, Tom, just let it go."
When she gets like this, he knows that there is only way to get her out of bed. "We can go get pancakes," he teases her gently, slowly peeling away the blanket to reveal a soft smile on her pretty face. "And I'll even spring for cocoa."
Day Two Hundred and Twelve.
"What are we looking for this time? Trivets?"
Summer pauses beside a display of vases and fingers a delicate crystal votive set. "Not trivets," she answers without looking up before moving on to a bin of chenille blankets. "I was thinking maybe a nice picture frame. Something inexpensive but classic, timeless."
Tom isn't sure how classic and timeless you could get in IKEA, but it was her friend's birthday they were shopping for. IKEA had been a memorable date for them many weeks ago when their relationship was still new and exciting. Nearly seven months into it, it wasn't quite as bright and shiny as it once was, but Tom didn't mind. He appreciated the comfort that went along with knowing someone's quirks, and he had never known anyone quite as quirky as Summer. Just being with her made even the mundane seem brand new, and losing that part would be the only thing he could think of right now that he would actually mind.
"What about this?" he offered, holding up a stainless steel cocktail set. He remembered Summer mentioning that her friend had a flair for throwing all-night dinner parties. "We could get a nice bottle of vodka to go with it and some martini mixers. It'd be nice, classic even."
Her face lit up as she clapped happily. "Tom, it's perfect!" she gushed as she abandoned the ebony throw blanket to throw her arms around him. "Thank you, I love it." What Tom hears instead, what Summer doesn't say, is I love you.
Day Four Hundred Ninety Seven.
Tom has his first big interview since quitting the card company in just three days, and he hasn't left his apartment in nearly forty-eight hours. He's been hunkered down with his sketchbooks and drawing pencils, old college text books and stacks of photographs. His wall-length chalkboard is covered in rough drawings and scrawled notes. There are tear sheets from magazines taped all over the wall. He is in the zone.
It's only when Paul calls for the zillionth time, bugging him about getting pizza and his stomach involuntarily growls in return, that Tom ventures into the brisk early evening. He's wrapped up in his own thoughts, noticing the skyline and taking in the features of the historic buildings on his route to the pizza place, when he sees her. Or at least he thinks he sees her.
Tom hasn't seen her since that day in the park, when she found him on his bench and held his hand and made him feel like a bitter guy for not being happy enough to congratulate her just yet. He steps into a doorway just out of view and watches her cross the street. She throws her head back like she's laughing but he still can't see her face. He realizes that his hands are clutched in fists when his fingertips start tingling from lack of circulation, and his chest starts to burn because he hasn't taken a breath in two minutes. It's only when the girl turns around and he sees that she doesn't look anything like Summer that he can breathe again.
He drinks six beers with his pizza that night.
Day One Hundred and Fifty Five.
"My mother is coming from Michigan."
She says it over dinner one night and he waits for her to say that she would like to meet him, but instead, Summer changes the subject as if she never even mentioned her mother. It's only when he is about to drop her off at her apartment that she mentions it again, and then it's only to say that she'd probably be unavailable most of the next week while her mom was in town. Then she kisses his cheek chastely and waves happily before starting to let herself into her apartment.
"What? That's it?"
His voice comes out whinier that he wanted, but he's tired of fighting for every little inch of her heart that she will allow him. She had taken up permanent residence in his that day on the elevator when she sang that song, and he pretty much gave her the keys to the kingdom the night of the horrific karaoke incident.
"What do you mean?" He hates her feigned innocence. "What are you talking about?"
"You're not going to invite me to meet your mother, are you?"
"I hadn't planned on it, no," she replies angrily, her hands on her hips.
"Of course not," he shakes his head bitterly before looking up at her. "I don't think you're ever going to let me all the way in."
Day Twenty-One.
"I got you daffodils."
Summer takes the bouquet and presses her face into the yellow blossoms. They were a unique flower to bring for a first anniversay – a week of dating – but they were perfect for her. He had went all over the city trying to find a florist that had daffodils at this time of year.
"Thank you, Tom."
Her voice is formal and reminiscent of the polite but off-putting way she deals with the paper salesmen when they stop by the office. He knows that she is still keeping him at a distance, but he believes that time will convince her that he's going to stick around.
"I was going to get roses, but you know, they're cliché. I figure a girl who loves Ringo so much deserves flowers with a little flair."
Summer smiles impishly before dropping the stems carefully into a glass tumbler she usually keeps on her desk. They're at work, and their anniversary lunch is being shared over a vending machine sandwich in the least secluded corner of the office breakroom.
"They're perfect," she announces decidedly before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek. Her lips are warm.
Day Two Hundred and Thirty-Nine.
Tom watches Summer shopping at the record shop. She starts in the soul section before heading over to classic country until she finally ends up in the back row with all the folk albums. He smiles affectionately when she holds up an English import of a Shins album that was mistakenly filed away with some random female singer-songwriter from the sixties.
"Good album," she tells him, tapping the cover for emphasis. "We have to get it."
So Tom forks over ten dollars and she buys the album and clutches it to her chest the entire walk back to his apartment. Tom puts the record on for her and they spend the rest of the night just sitting on his bed, talking about how great the band is and analyzing lyrics to songs that helped get him through college.
"This is my favorite," she announces, closing her wide eyes as "Weird Divide" fills the intimate confines of his bedroom. "Our purposes crossed"
Her melodic voice is pleasing to his ear and he realizes this is only the third time he has heard her sing, after the singularly sung line in the elevator and then the night of karaoke. She has a pretty voice and he tells her this and she blushes prettily before losing herself in the final verse.
"Even time can do good things to you..."
Day One Hundred.
These are Tom's favorite kind of days. They are the days unseen, those moments that aren't public but completely theirs. There will be no work, no trips to the bar, no afternoon shopping, no going out into the world at all. There is only him and her and this bed. The shades are drawn, candles burn around the room and rain provides the perfect soundtrack to their mattress-top picnic of leftover Chinese food and cold fried chicken. She looks good in his half-buttoned dress shirt and knee-high argyle socks and he thinks that it could last forever. It's only four hundred days later when he meets a brunette named Autumn and finds out he landed the job of his dreams that he realizes his own naivety. Nothing lasts forever but some things are more permanent for him than Summer and really, that gets to be okay.