Summer Somethings

Two: The Girl That Left Me Behind

"Wrenlee?"

The surprise at hearing my full first name pulls me out of the shock at how multi-colored, party-hat-wearing llamas sabotaged my chance at a normal summer. I'd fallen awkwardly into her semi-outstretched arms covered in gold bangles. I brace myself for a shove, or the scrunched face Navi can make when she bites into something sour.

I had not prepared myself for her smile. Or the way it would make me feel.

"Wren, it's so good to see you!" A squeal very similar to the one Mrs. Patel had greeted me with stabs the air, and Navi pulls me into a full and immediate hug.

Her chest is full—something I should've known but didn't necessarily think about—and I feel my ears heat. Navi's bright orange crop top—pressing close to my face, mind you—complements her caramelized skin and hugs every curve of hers that developed after the decade I haven't seen her.

A strand from her cascade of thick black hair brushes my cheek as I stay frozen between pulling away and leaning closer. She smells like comfort and hugs from a pile of fresh laundry. However, an acidic hint of over-applied lavender perfume finally allows me to nudge out of her grasp.

"Navi," I breathe and clear my throat, "Hi,"

Her eyes flash in realization and she folds her hands together. "Hi,"

Mrs. Patel chimes, "Wrenlee goes by Amelia, now, Nav,"

"No, it's okay," I jump in before Navi's face and fully contort from surprise to remorse. "I'm really fine with you calling me Wren. It was just that... back in school, it was easier,"

Navi nods, lips pressed into a smile.

"Well, then," Dad says, stepping next to me. "Shall we go?"

I swivel towards him. "Go where?"

"The Patels are going to take us to dinner!"

The drive to Fish Lips—the poorly named yet impressively delicious dive bar—wasn't short enough. I glared daggers at Dad (for the lack of a social interaction warning) as he sat in the front passenger seat talking to Mrs. Patel, but he only returned oblivious grins.

Five of the Patels—Navi, her younger set of twin siblings, and her parents—overwhelmed Dad and me in the seven-seater van. Well, it was really all Prisha and Shiva in the very last row, fighting over an iPad over their dad who was subjected to being crammed in the middle.

Navi and I occupied the middle row, separated by a vacant space—something I was both grateful for and a little resentful of. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through photos, showing me everything I'd missed.

She told me about getting her wisdom teeth out, her high-school glow-up, and her volleyball team captaincy.

"I didn't know you were into volleyball," I blurted.

"I like it now, I guess," she replied, eyes fixed to the screen, and continued as she pulled up pictures of her and her team. Again, uniformed with their arms intertwined while I could only pretend I was one of the unremarkable people in the stands behind them.

Outside the car windows, Cape May drifted by in the form of bait shops, tacky stores, fast-food joints, and bright graffiti plastered on the sides of buildings. Mrs. Patel and my dad were engaged in their conversations in the front seats while Mr. Patel remained occupied.

It was just Navi and I in the middle seats. I listened to her talk about a life I missed out on with contemplative attention.

She folded a piece of her hair behind her ear and I got a look at all the new piercings that were stacked on her lobes. A gold hoop rested on one side of her nose, and I told her it made her look older.