Two hours, a McDonald's stop, and a gas station later, we reach Ali's beach house. The house sits right against the sand, close enough to have easy access to the beach, but far enough away to avoid rising tides. The wooden outside of the house is a faded baby blue that has been through so many storms that you can see the weathered wood peeking out from behind the peeling paint. The roof is a light brown, the color of dried dirt. The front porch sits four steps off the ground and the porch swing hangs gently from the awning above. The neighbors houses stand a good 50 feet from the beach house. Close enough that you know your neighbors, but far enough away to have a little privacy. Even though the beach is right outside the back door, there's still a pool and fire pit to the side. God, Ali is so lucky to have this place year round. I consider this house mine for one short week a year. A beautiful, untouchable, fantasy week of an everlasting summer dream.
We pull into the smooth, freshly paved driveway and step out of the car. Sometimes it's little things that remind you a neighborhood is well off. For example, the lack of tire killing potholes. You can see the heat radiating off the dark ground in blurry waves. We all exit the car and head towards the house with our bags in tow. Ali and Emi are discussing which bathing suits to wear first while Annika and Tess chat about the boys who will be joining us. I watch with a peaceful smile from behind, my pink, cloth duffle bag slung over my shoulder.
For as long as I can remember, our little friend group has spent at least one week here per summer. When we were little, we were all packed into our parents' cars and supervised by Ali's mom and dad. Eventually we were simply dropped off and picked up. Now that we're all at least eighteen, we drive ourselves. It was a loose evolution of our growing up. The girls take one car, and Ali's brother, Luke, and the boys take another. Driving up separately is one of my favorite parts. It gives us girls time to catch up on boys (well, obviously not me and now not Ali either. I've always had Noah and now she has Robin), town gossip, and what everyone is wearing for each occasion. I love the boys, but sometimes some unfiltered girl time is good for the soul.
I follow my friends up the porch steps and wait as Ali takes out a key and unlocks the front door. Once inside, we all get down to business like soldiers carryinh out their duties. We drop our bags in a pile and open every door and window in sight, putting movement into the stuffy air. The entire downstairs is almost all one room. It's the kind of house where you can see the living room from the kitchen and the dining room from the front door. We pull dust covers off sofas, switch on the AC, and stash the few snacks we brought with us away without the need for receiving instructions. It's habit.
Once as much sea breeze as possible floods the house, we all go upstairs and claim our rooms. There's no arguing over rooms because we all know where to go. We stay in the same rooms every summer. Me and Ali in a spacious guest bedroom with twin sized beds. Tess, Emi, and Annika in the master bedroom with one huge bed and a cot. I don't mind being in the smaller room because it gets to be just me and Ali. I consider myself a social person, but at the end of long beach days and lengthy social nights, I don't think I could handle sharing a room with two other people. The filter in my brain starts to fail and i can get a bit snippy sometimes. Ali feels the same way. That's why we work. Neither of us feel uncomfortable in each other's company, even if that company needs silence. The boys always bring sleeping bags and sleep downstairs on the floor in piles or on the living room furniture. The more I think of it, the more it doesn't seem particularly fair that they don't get beds, but they've never really complained. That's how we've done it since we were kids, I guess. I can't even remember how it started. I wonder what the boys talk about when us girls are gone. I probably don't want to know.
After lugging our stuff into our rooms, we all meet downstairs on the couch with popcorn, milk duds, and vodka-grapefruit drinks. It's tradition to watch Aquamarine with snacks as soon as we're settled and waiting for the boys. The vodka-grapefruits, however, are a recent addition.
YOU ARE READING
The Beach House
Romance--completed- Mariella looks forward to going to the beach house every single year. She's gone with her friends for as long as she can remember. The same people, the same house, the same summer feeling. But this year something's different: her boyfri...
