“Hey,” the boy said. He was treading water, too. Like Ari, he was tanned, with a sunburned nose, and his long, thick eyelashes were clumped together with water, and his red hair stuck out in all directions.
“Hey,” Ari replied. Her own long dark hair clung to her skull and her forehead, dribbling drops of water down her face.
“I’m Peter,” he said.
Peter, she thought, not Pete. Interesting. Like her father was Phillip, not Phil. “I’m Ari.”
“Let’s swim to the island,” Peter said.
The island was only a clump of rocks with a few hardy evergreens sticking out, but it was a favorite place to rest and watch the other races.
They sat side by side in the shade of the evergreen clumps, looking out over the other campers participating in water sports. Peter was from New Jersey and went to a boarding school in Connecticut. Ari was from Boston and attended Dana Hall in Wellesley, Massachusetts. His family skied in Aspen. Ari’s family went to the Bahamas in the winter. Peter thought his camp was fun, but it was starting to get boring. Ari felt the same way about her camp. Peter pitched small stones into the water as they talked, and Ari was hyperaware of his maleness, his hairy arms and legs, his muscular chest, his deep voice. She was wearing her old navy blue Speedo, approved camp-wear, and she wished her nipples would stop sticking out against the fabric, it was embarrassing, right up until the moment Peter said, “I’d like to kiss you.”
“Okay,” she replied calmly, as if this happened to her all the time.
Peter put his arms around her, brought his mouth to hers, and kissed her for a long time. Ari found herself analyzing the kiss—she’d never been so thoroughly kissed before—while at the same time she censured herself for not giving over to the experience completely. She did put her arms around him. She did allow him to ease her back onto the ground, but when he attempted to move on top of her, she put her knees up to prevent him.
When she did that, Peter stopped kissing her. He smiled at her. “I like you,” he said.
“I like you,” she said back.
“Let’s meet at the cookout tonight,” Peter said.
“Okay.” She kissed him quickly, briefly, on his mouth, feeling sassy and daring as she did. Then, to be extra cool, she stood up and dove back into the lake.
Before they left camp, they put their phone numbers on each other’s phones. During the winter, they kept up a texted conversation. The next year they met again on the co-camp day, and again the year after that. She decided to go to Bucknell University without talking it over with Peter, so she was amazed that Bucknell was his choice, too. Were they destined to be together?
Ari joined a sorority at Bucknell. The delight and friendship and rituals kept her from spending all her time and thoughts on Peter. They argued about this and finally decided to allow themselves to date other people. It was actually, Peter argued, part of the college experience. Ari went out with other guys and enjoyed being with them, but she knew Peter was having much more of the college experience than she was. Ari’s life was too busy with coursework and deep, meaningful discussions about life with girlfriends and washing cars for a charity with her sorority to feel sad or threatened by Peter’s other girls. Maybe that should have told her something about her feelings for him.
Ari majored in early childhood education. Peter took pre-law. In their junior year, Peter told Ari he wanted them to be a couple, now and in the future. He wanted them to be exclusive.
“We’re on such different paths,” Ari reminded him.
“Ari,” Peter said, “you and I have been on the same path since we kissed on the island in Lake Winnipesaukee.”
Ari gave him points for that. Peter wasn’t often romantic, but that night at the end of their junior year, he was very romantic. Very persuasive. That was the first night they made love. The first time Ari had ever had sex. Not, obviously, Peter’s first time. She didn’t ask him about it.
Once they became exclusive, they spent all their time together, and much of it they spent studying. They were both ambitious. Peter wanted to become a judge. Ari wanted to run a daycare for single mothers, paid for by the donations of people like her parents. They talked endlessly about their plans over the summer when they didn’t go to camp. Instead, Peter came to stay with Ari for two weeks on Nantucket in her grandmother’s house. In separate bedrooms, of course.
The fall of their senior year, Peter asked her to marry him. Caught up in the moment, she said yes. Peter was admitted to Harvard Law, an impressive accomplishment that made Ari’s mother rapturous. Ari was admitted to the graduate program in early childhood education at Boston University. He took her to his home for Christmas. Ari took Peter to her house for New Year’s Eve.
If, sometimes, Ari wondered if she really loved Peter, her friends made fun of her doubts.
“You’ve been together for so long, you’re like an old married couple already,” Katie Warren said.
“You are so obvs meant to be together,” insisted Sophia Brannagan.
“I’ll tell you the exact truth,” Laura Hunter said. “You want gooey love to come all at once, at first sight, in some blinding fiery revelation that makes your little red heart pound. But that’s only infatuation, and you know that leads to disappointment. What you have with Peter is true love, the daily kind that allows you to be mad at each other and still make love at night.”
“You’re right,” Ari agreed. She conjured up an image of the lodge on the shores of Lake Winnipesaukee that she and Peter had reserved for the last Saturday in August. They would be married there, on the shore, even if it rained. The lodge had rooms for their families and several friends, and the owners catered. Ari would wear a ring of fresh flowers in her hair.
Now all that had to be canceled.
Before going out, Ari checked herself in the mirror. Long brown hair, blue eyes, five foot ten and slender, she’d been compared to Kate Middleton often. She and Peter were exactly the same height, as long as she didn’t wear high heels. Today was one of those freak spring days that acted like summer, hot and humid, and as Ari walked toward the bench by the Malesardi Quadrangle, she went slowly, telling herself she didn’t want to get all sweaty. But really, she was dreading this meeting, even though she was determined to get it done. Fortunately, the campus was empty. The students had left, except for a few stragglers like Ari.
As she neared the half circle of benches, she saw that Peter was already there. Of course he was. Punctuality was important to him. With him, over the past four years, she’d been rushing through every moment, not being late for classes, studying for tests, partying with friends. Even making love with Peter had always happened in a rush. As much as he wanted her, Peter was terrified of being caught in the act. Ari had joked with her best friend Meloni that having sex with Peter Anderson was like wrestling with a nervous puppy. Ari was certain that when Peter felt safe in his life, he would settle down and take things more slowly. She had learned during their time together that while Peter presented a cool, unflustered façade, in his heart and mind he was harried by insecurities.