She had ignored the way Seth Cohen stared at her lovingly, encouragingly even, as she read it aloud, though her hand was shaking and her heart was pounding. She could tell he was the only one in the room that even gave a damn if she finished, if she wrote a poem at all. Everyone knew he was the biggest dork, like, ever, and he mumbled a lot, so Summer flounced by him haughtily on the way back to her desk, giggling with Marissa Cooper for the rest of the period. Even though she'd gotten a C, her mother hung it on the refrigerator as if it had won the Nobel Prize.
Now she would be the one to assign her students poems to write, and she would get to watch the little petty fights and snubbing, and her heart would fill with love for Seth Cohen every time the class princess carefully ignored the shy little boy who couldn't help that he mumbled. That little boy would get all of her compassion, all of her vindication. The little boy who received no valentines during the class party, the little boy who had no friends to play kickball with at recess, the little boy who didn't bother to have birthday or sleepover parties because no one would come. That little boy would get her extra attention, because it wasn't so long ago that her dearest friend, her dearest love, had been that little boy.
She wrote her name on the board with the dry erase markers and added a little flourish at the end. Miss Roberts. She smiled, thinking that in less than a year, she would be Mrs. Cohen, and she would get to go home to Seth every night for the rest of her life. It felt good to belong to someone, to know that no matter what happened, you belonged to one another. She would never be alone again.
Summer wasn't sure what had even happened to that poem. It disappeared off of the refrigerator after her mother died.
Seth trooped up the worn carpeted stairs of the rundown apartment building where he and Ryan shared a shoebox-sized two-bedroom. They'd been living there almost a year and a half; the water pressure sucked, the walls were paper thin, the heating worked about half of the time, and they absolutely loved it. Ryan had spent years in Chino with a lot less, and whenever Seth felt tempted to complain, he remembered the twenty-seven days he'd spent on a catamaran in the Pacific. Seth finally had some idea of how his mom had felt living in the back of that mail truck; nothing special or even adequate...but they were free.
Ryan was working by day as a suit for some construction firm, and taking night classes towards a Master's degree in Structural Design. Seth was working as a copy editor at the Post, a grunt job to be sure, but his free time was spent pounding out his great American novel. Which to date, had a whopping seventeen pages written.
As he loped up the final remaining steps, Seth could see Ryan sitting out in the corridor, his back against the cheap wood veneer of their door.
"Admiring the hallway chic?"
"Forgot my key," Ryan grunted as he stood.
"Ah, the gentle midget has a voice," Seth ribbed playfully.
Ryan gave him The Look as Seth unlocked the door and let them both in.
"So...I know you don't have class tonight..." Seth rubbed his hands together with fiendish delight, "...and I was just thinking, we could make some queso, pop open some beers, and then invite the guys over so we can kick their asses at Texas Hold 'Em."
"They never seem to learn, do they?" Ryan's lips quirked. "But. I have a test tomorrow. I have to study."
"Ryan, buddy. Two words for you: cheat sheet."
"It's an essay," Ryan retorted dryly.
"Allow me to teach you some of the stealth learned at ol' Camp Tuckahoe. Anything can be accomplished with a little subterfuge," Seth made a finger-gun and shot Ryan with it.
Ryan grabbed his chest as if fatally wounded. "No."
"Awww, come on," Seth wheedled. "We have everything we need: Velveeta, rotel, Heineken, cards..."
Ryan glared.
Seth sighed dramatically. "Okay, tomorrow, then, but don't think you're going to get out of it."
Ryan grabbed his bookbag off the couch and slung it onto the kitchen table.
"I'm going to run to the store and get some stuff. I was thinking about trying my hand at Chicken Parmesan," Seth rolled an imaginary set of dice.
Ryan didn't say anything, but he nodded, and smiled, and that was more than Seth got most of the time, so he considered it a victory. He grabbed his keys and his wallet from his own messenger bag and whistled as he headed for the door. He jogged down to the corner market, making his selections quickly and unceremoniously dropping all of them on the counter in front of the harried clerk.
He hastily wrote his check at the bodega, absently asking the date as he filled out the remaining information. There was a small niggling feeling that he ignored as he began to walk home, swinging the bag beside him in a juvenile manner. He was halfway back to the apartment when he realized what was bothering him. It was August 23rd. August 23rd was Summer's birthday, and had been for the last twenty-seven years of his life. It was Summer's birthday.
Seth stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk, ignored the glares and the middle fingers that he received from surly passersby. He couldn't believe he'd almost forgotten Summer's birthday. He wasn't sure if that made him a total dick, or a prudent one. After all, it had been Summer who had left him, it was about time he got over it; any normal person would have. But Seth had never been normal...
A wave of longing and regret came crashing down on him forcefully, nearly overwhelming him. He had tried so hard to forget about her; he'd tried so hard to scour her from his soul. He'd long-ago put away all of her pictures, all of the pictures of them together. He'd pressed her love letters between pages of a book that he'd buried at the bottom of packing box that he'd hidden in his closet. He wished he could forget about them, move on...and then one day, maybe ten years down the line, once he was happily married to someone else, maybe with some kids...he'd drag out that old box and find those old letters merely by chance. He and his new bride would have a good laugh over why he'd saved silly love letters from an old sweetheart. And when it didn't burn anymore, he'd throw them away, and never think about her again. He'd forbidden his parents or even Ryan from mentioning her name—every once in a while, someone would slip, and he would pretend he hadn't heard them. Every time he thought about her he prayed it would be the last time.
But somehow he knew there would never be a 'last time' when it came to Summer Roberts. Men like Seth didn't forget women like Summer. He knew deep in his soul that some part of him would love her for the rest of his life. She was undeniable. Undeniably infuriating, undeniably mysterious, undeniably beautiful.
Seth would have signed his soul over to the devil long ago if it meant the pain of losing Summer would never again be laid at his door. So what if she had found another man? He'd known years ago that it was bound to happen. So what that she'd left him with only a note saying that she was sorry? He'd done the same thing to her when he sailed off into the sunset towards Catalina. So what that he would never love another woman? It didn't mean that he wouldn't build a life with someone else and be reasonably happy with them...
Seth trudged up the stairs once again to his dilapidated apartment, sighing, resigning himself to another night of drinking until comatose.
"Happy Birthday!" Kurt burst through the door to the living room, coming into the kitchen in search of his girlfriend's best friend. He picked Summer up into an effusive hug, spinning her around the small kitchen, making her squeal with laughter.
Anna rolled her eyes playfully, "Kurt, you're going to make her throw up, you tool."
"It's fine," Summer's cheeks were flushed, her sightless eyes sparkling. "Now give me my present!" she demanded, turning towards Anna.
"Who says we got you a present?" Anna chuffed.
"You get me a present every year, just giveit," Summer stamped her foot playfully.
"Yes, but maybe you just don't deserve it this year..."
"Gimme, gimme, gimme!"
Kurt laughed heartily, "just give it to her, babe."
Anna went to her purse and dug around until her hands emerged with two items. She handed over the thin envelope first, watched as Summer's brow furrowed as she felt the perforated stubs.
"Are these...movie tickets?" she frowned in concentration.
"Close," Anna teased.
Summer gasped, "concert tickets?"
"Maybe..."
"Tickets to see Dios Malos?"
Anna laughed gleefully and Summer tackled her, giggling also. "You got us tickets to go see Dios Malos?" She squeezed Anna breathless, both of them continuing to laugh goofily.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Kurt hauled Summer to her feet, then also helped Anna up. "A guy can only take so much."
Anna stuck her tongue out at him, and grabbed Summer's hand. "Where do you want to go for dinner, Birthday Girl?"
"Mr. Wong's!" Summer exclaimed happily.
Anna and Kurt shared a secret smile over the top of Summer's head, both glad to see her so enthused about going out. Anna remembered a time when it was like pulling teeth to get Summer to even leave the apartment. She was ashamed of her condition, she didn't want to carry a cane and she certainly didn't want a service animal. Anna would have to force Summer out to run errands with her, to the grocery store and to the post office.
Some of their worst fights had been over that. Anna didn't want Summer laying around the house, wasting away; Summer didn't want the entire world to know she was disabled and treat her like a slow child because of it. They would go days without speaking to each other, and then Anna would rearrange the furniture and force Summer to make up with her.
Anna shook her thoughts away and tucked Summer's second gift behind the mail file.
Summer collapsed into her bed, exhausted by her busy birthday evening. After a laughter-filled meal at Mr. Wong's, they'd gone to see Dios Malos play in the Park, and then Kurt had taken her and Anna for a carriage ride back towards their neighborhood. She knew she didn't deserve such good friends, but she was certainly glad she had them. She'd already made plans to go with Anna to Bloomingdales and Saks the next day to spend her birthday money from her father.
A tepid bath and small glass of iced lemonade had cooled her excited, overly-warm body. She'd be so glad when the summer was finally over. She had always loved the fall season best; she used to love when he mother would take her East for Thanksgiving break, to visit her grandparents. Her mother's parents had died while she was still very young, she couldn't even remember what they looked like, or what their names were. Her father refused to talk about any of it, but she could still recall vacations spent in Vermont, a halo of golden brown leaves and the crisp smell of autumn.
Late one summer night when she was a senior in high school, she and Seth were lying out on the beach behind his house, staring at the stars. She mentioned idly how much she used to love her mother's trips, the smell of burning leaves, and explosion of flame; red, orange and gold.
He hadn't said anything in response, not then, but that Thanksgiving he took her on vacation to New England, ostensibly to check out the local colleges. And though they had intended to fulfill that stated purpose, instead they'd spent the weekend lounging around in bed at the charming little B & B Seth had found, and taking leisurely drives through the country.
A sad, tight knot rose in her chest. Why was there always regret, like the darkest shadows of the night, sneaking in to turn laughter into tears? Summer was so tired of crying.
Those days had been some of the best of her entire life. There were many things she missed about Seth Cohen: the spicy scent of his aftershave, the little curl that always hung over his forehead, his quick wit and their steady banter. His sense of adventure, however, his spontaneity, was second to none. He orchestrated surprises and pranks with the precision of a brain surgeon. His painstaking attention to detail, his eidetic memory, his endless capacity for trivia; he was possibly the smartest person she'd ever known. And she'd never have him again. She put her fist to her mouth to muffle her sobs. It wasn't long before she had cried herself to sleep once again.
To be Continued...
A/N: I know this story is depressing as hell, so far, but I'm almost positive it will get better. Thanks for reading.