She’s been running early in the morning—before 7 AM—now that every day dawns with an oppressive blanket of humidity and heat. It’s as if the months of the summer were tentative until now, July feeling too timid to really open ‘er up, then August arrived and put its foot down, turning up the wattage and sizzling away the drizzly, cloudy weather, like a burner on high under a pan of liquid.
Even starting early doesn’t help on some days. It’s so hot that she wilts the second she steps outside to lace up her running shoes. She has no energy—and every step is like pulling her legs through something sticky and tar-like. But she does it anyway. She finishes, her shirt drenched in sweat. She slips into the cool water off the dock by the marina, hanging onto the ladder to check for jellyfish. She scans the horizon for the dot of a fin or a flicker of motion—two weeks ago her neighbors saw two dolphins flitting around the boats moored just offshore.
Even the water seems tired and tepid, like it too has given up trying to maintain a semblance of crisp coolness and is fading into something lukewarm.
The days feel longer now—hours spent at the pool, at the beach, in the air conditioning, and back out again. She clips and unclips the car seat so many times it starts to seem like a constant déjà vu. Another sandwich, another ripe nectarine, another graham cracker shared in the shade by the carousel.
The evenings are slow and sticky in that particular sultry summer way. They spend them all together, clustered by someone’s pool or on someone else’s patio, the umbrella up, the citronella candles lit. There’s always a bowl of tortilla chips and a fierce debate over whether it’s a good idea to drink a watermelon White Claw (lowbrow) alongside a just-mixed mai tai (highbrow) that Emmy made with fresh-squeezed lime juice and a bottle of expensive private estate rum she brought back from Barbados.
“Does it matter?” Adam asks. “I mean, I'm going to drink them both, to be clear. My palate is not stunted by the glorious effervescence of White Claw.”
“I’m just pointing out that your wife made a gorgeous hand-crafted cocktail for you—complete with a swirly straw!—and you’re…okay, well, you’re desecrating it by double-fisting,” Elizabeth says. “Like, how many hand-crafted cocktails have you made her?”
“Yeah!” she chimes in. “Like, Adam, if you’d taken the time to make a really perfect sandwich—that steak one you’re always saying is so good it would make us weep with the Sriracha mayo—and she just alternated bites with a Subway sandwich, would you feel respected?”
Everyone is laughing now and Campbell ducks her head through the screen door from the kitchen to jump in. “Good point, and while we’re at it Adam, how many sandwiches have you made Emmy in the past month?”
Adam is laughing too at this point, and holds his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, fine! Maybe zero. I’m sure I’ve made one recently though!”
We look at Emmy and she shakes her head emphatically.
“Guys, I came here to grill burgers and get a tiny bit drunk—the normal, it’s-Saturday-but-I’m-almost-40-so-really-just-tipsy kind—and instead I get the marital third degree?”
“Well, Adam, yes,” Elizabeth points a chip at him. “We’re just doing our jobs as totally unlicensed and completely unsolicited couples counselors! It’s what we do. That and gossip and sometimes karaoke.”
She’s listening to all of the banter but partly tuning it out, letting the voices wash over her. Being around people like this is so deeply comforting after so much silence and so much time alone. She doesn’t want to be anywhere but right here.
Parker walks over and deposits the heavy toddler in her lap, his face sticky with yogurt and salty from the tortilla chips Parker has been sneaking him while they kick a soccer ball in the yard.
He’s getting tired and fussy, wanting to be up and down all at the same time, wanting every beer can in sight and screeching when he can’t hold one. She buckles him back into the car seat and drives the five minutes home, past the fish market and the sleek matte black and silver yachts lined up like James Bond extras at the pier and the lines spilling out from the ice cream shop onto the street.
After a tub and a giggly session of wrestling his soft, damp body into pajamas, she sings a few lines to him as his eyelids grow heavy. She operates under the assumption that she has a really good singing voice. No, actually, a spectacular singing voice. The sort that would be applauded (nay, stampeded with a standing ovation), Susan Boyle-style, if she were to ever appear on a reality music show. (Obviously that’s the only thing keeping her from auditioning: She prefers to keep the dream alive.)
Okay, she knows this isn’t true. Knows, in fact, that the solo she was given as “Farm Girl #1” in her middle school production of Oklahoma! was peak musical success for her, and that if someone turns the car radio off when she’s in the middle of hitting the loudest high F5 in a One Direction song, she wouldn’t even be in the same zip code as the correct note.
She likes to think that what she lacks in technical ability, she makes up for in enthusiasm. She sings at top volume—lustily and with feeling. She sings along to “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys when she makes breakfast and she puts on Sammy Kershaw’s “She Don’t Know She’s Beautiful” as she dances around the living room packing her beach bag with towels and sunscreen.
This is fine, because he doesn’t know the difference. All he senses is the hum of her specific voice and the gentle vibration of her stomach against his as she sings. He sees colors and the curve of her neck and he reaches sleepily for her hair, his small pudgy hand tickling her cheek.
She likes watching him sink into the comfort of it all: his soft pajamas, a dark and quiet room, the sound of seagulls through the bedroom window, the pinking sun streaking across the sky.
It’s her own cue to sink into comfort too: a shower, her own soft pajamas in a striped nautical blue, a big salad with summer corn and homemade ranch dressing, two warm cheese biscuits on the side.
Cheese Biscuits
Makes about 9 medium biscuits
2 1/2 cups (300g) all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups (170g) grated sharp cheddar cheese
7 tablespoons (98g) very cold unsalted butter
3/4 cup (170g) milk, plus more as needed
In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Stir in the grated cheese.
Preheat the oven to 425º F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.
Cut the butter into the dry ingredients using a fork or pastry cutter until it's in mostly pea-sized chunks -- some chunks can be slightly larger and some smaller, but don't overwork it. I sometimes use my fingers to flatten and smoosh some of the chunks into flakes, taking care to keep tossing it all in flour so all the fat is coated entirely in flour.
Add the milk and stir the dough with a fork until it is somewhat evenly moistened. Use your hands to break up any large pieces of dough that start to form because moisture can hide in there, which makes it look like the rest of the dough is too dry, when sometimes you just need to redistribute the milk.
Knead the dough gently a few times in the bowl so it mostly comes together but don't overwork it at all. It should not be cohesive and there should be chunks of drier areas and some wetter areas. You can add the dry bits on top, then fold the dough over onto itself and press down lightly to incorporate them.
Turn the dough out onto the parchment-lined sheet, and fold it over onto itself until there aren't any dry spots remaining. Don't think of this as kneading: You want to handle it gently and as you fold, the wet/dry areas will disappear. Fold about 10 times, then gently press the dough down to a rectangle about 2 inches high.
Using a sharp knife, cut the dough into 2" squares and separate them slightly on the baking sheet. Press the scraps gently together and cut out more squares if you can, or just ball the scraps together roughly and bake a messy biscuit. No one cares!
Brush the tops lightly with milk.
Bake for about 12 to 15 minutes, or until golden brown. Let cool slightly, then eat!