Summer Somethings

Three: The Invitation

On the drive to Cape May—something I almost convinced myself was a dream when I woke up—I had assumed Dad would stick by my side as a comforting familiar face. The next morning, however, I found myself alone in the house. Well, apart from Navi curled up in the living room's love seat, her knees pulled up to her chest.

Admittedly, I was startled into staring at her from the top of the stairs, watching her chest rise and fall with soft breaths.

Instead of the bright orange crop top, ripped jean shorts, and strappy sandals that made up yesterday's outfit, Navi looks like she slept in an oversized FRIENDS t-shirt and athletic shorts.

"You're awake,"

I blink the rest of my sleep away and pathetically respond, "Yeah,"

Navi smiles. "Your dad was right. You do sleep in late,"

I shrug, "It's my summer break,"

She stands, stretches, and pads to the kitchen. "Anything to eat before we go?"

"Go?" I turn and echo, "Go where?"

Navi peeks her head from around the fridge door, a thick bun of chocolate brown hair twisted haphazardly at the base of her neck. "Just... out," she shrugs, returning to the illuminated confines of the fridge. "You don't honestly plan on staying inside for your entire summer vacation, do you?"

I ignore the rhetorical question and step around Navi to take a look at what the fridge holds. Reaching over, my hand lands on the last mandarin orange sitting on the shelf. I notice that today Navi doesn't wear the overbearing scent of acidic lavender.

If were any closer—or if we hadn't left things the way we did—I would tell her that I like it better when she's not wearing any perfume.

"So, no one else is home?"

Her throat bobs and she leans into the fridge for the half-empty jug of apple juice. "Nope," Navi amends.

I nod. "I'll go get dressed,"

After spending way too long standing in front of the full-length mirror swapping my top from something tulle and flowery to a fabric-scant black tube top, I finally opted for an indie band shirt I planned on using as a sleep shirt.

Downstairs, Navi waits for me in a cropped tee and baggy jeans ripped to show off her honey-toned skin.

My camera bag hangs across my shoulder, a comforting weight whether I plan to take shots of anything or not.

Navi and I crouch on the patio steps and pull our shoes over our heels. I work to tie the laces on my beat-up Converse and Navi stands, planting her hands on her hips.

"I'm thinking we check out the boardwalk, shop around downtown, and see where we go from there?"

Standing, I kick the toe of my shoe into the splintering white wood. "That sounds good," I say, "I'll follow you."

Navi stands about half a foot taller, even in flat sandals. Moles dot her neck and face in stark constellations and I look away after staring a little too long—cheeks warming. I follow a few feet behind, scuffing my heels with each step.

By the time we reach the main roads, paved and blistering with heat, I pull out my digital camera and play with the settings. I lift the lens, twist it into focus, and point it towards the horizon. Fluffy clouds stretch across a striking light blue, the sun warms my skin while a fresh wind consistently cools it. Snap.

With a firm push and a satisfying click, the photo is taken; the expanse of the horizon permanent in the camera's memory.

"I didn't know you were a photographer," Navi acknowledges.