The Summer of Merrick

Shauna sighed, a soft, wistful sound, like a memory fluttering loose from a long-sealed box. Forty years. Forty long, sometimes awkward, sometimes wonderful years since she’d been Shauna Peterson, age thirteen, and completely certain the world turned because Merrick Jones smiled at her.

It was the summer of 1984—New Edition on the radio singing "Cool It Now" from every boombox, neon scrunchies in every girl's ponytail, and the fizzy, heart-thumping sense that anything could happen. That summer, Shauna believed in first kisses, in magic coincidences, in boys with eyes like honey, hair cut in a high-top fade and the secret language of teenage crushes.

Now she was fifty-three, freshly divorced, and scrolling through Facebook because there was no one to talk to after dinner. Her grown kids, thriving in their own bustling lives, called sporadically. The evenings were quiet in a way that didn’t feel peaceful. Mostly, it felt empty, a vast expanse waiting to be filled. She missed the comfortable chaos of family life, even the arguments about who left the dishes in the sink.

Vacation photos of smiling families. Political arguments erupting in the comments section. Babies in ridiculously cute pumpkin costumes. Then suddenly, impossibly:

Merrick Jones.

Her stomach dropped, a dizzying lurch that made her grip her phone tighter. She stared at the screen, heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. There he was, in the "People You May Know" box, like a glitch in the universe had decided to play a cruel trick. His profile picture showed a man with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, a bald head, his face softer with the years, but that dimple—that dimple—was still right there, a familiar indentation that had once made her insides feel like fizzing soda.

It took her two whole minutes to breathe again, really breathe, filling her lungs with the cool, air-conditioned apartment air. Then, with a trembling finger, she clicked on his profile. It was neat and tidy, a few photos, some posts about golf and a local charity. No obvious wife in the pictures. No "married to" status proudly displayed in his bio. It was oddly absent, she thought, a detail she'd subconsciously hoped for and found herself clinging to. Her heart, traitorous as ever, fluttered with a dangerous, forbidden hope.

Still, she hit "Add Friend." The little icon for her pending request sat there, a tiny, glowing beacon of possibility. She set her phone down, then immediately picked it up again, checking every thirty seconds.

A minute later, a notification popped up: "Merrick Jones accepted your friend request." And then, even faster, a message appeared:

"Shauna! Is that really you?!"

She laughed out loud, a genuine, delighted sound that felt foreign in the quiet apartment. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, a nervous energy thrumming through her.

"Yes!! Merrick, oh my gosh—it’s been forever!"

And just like that, they were thirteen again, transported back to that pivotal summer trip to Point Mallard. The bus ride from Birmingham, Alabama, to Decatur—it had started it all. She remembered it with vivid clarity: the sweltering heat that radiated off the asphalt, making the air shimmer outside the bus windows. Kids were playing the "That's My Car" game, pointing out every beat-up Firebird or shiny convertible they passed, yelling over each other with breathless enthusiasm. Shauna was crammed in a seat halfway back, squished uncomfortably between Amy, her perpetually gossipy best friend, and a large cooler full of hot dogs, squashed potato chips, and sticky Faygo drinks.

Then, he had walked down the aisle. Merrick. He was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt and acid-wash jeans that were probably a little too big for him. He scanned the rows for an empty spot, and then, impossibly, he slid into the seat directly across from her. But everything changed.

Amy had nudged her, a sly grin on her face. "Girl, you know you want to sit by him." Shauna had felt a blush creep up her neck, praying Merrick hadn't heard. She tried to act cool, like she wasn’t even aware of his presence, but every nerve ending in her body was screaming.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of stolen glances and nervous fidgeting, he leaned over, his voice a little husky. "You going to brave the Tornado slide?"

Shauna’s heart jumped. "Only if you go first," she’d shot back, a playful challenge in her voice.

They started talking then, a torrent of words that had been bottled up in her thirteen-year-old brain, oblivious to the other kids. Amy, ever the observant and slightly dramatic friend, had finally rolled her eyes and said, "Okay, you two are ridiculous. I’m switching seats." She’d grabbed her bag and plopped herself down three rows back, leaving an empty spot beside Shauna. Merrick didn’t even hesitate—he slid in beside Shauna like it was meant to be, a silent agreement passing between them.

That day at Point Mallard became everything. Sharing a giant, sticky funnel cake, their fingers brushing as they tore off dusty, sugar-coated pieces. Water slides that made them scream and laugh until their throats were hoarse, side by side all afternoon, the cold water splashing against their flushed faces. Shauna had been giddy with a self-conscious excitement, desperately wanting him to see her in her brand new hot pink and turquoise swimsuit—the one she'd spun around in three times in the mirror at JCPenney. At the wave pool, they even shared an inner tube, drifting lazily in the sun. Every time a swell rocked them, he’d reach out like instinct, catching her hand, her waist, anything to steady her—and her whole body lit up like a firecracker.

That fluttery, weightless feeling in her stomach had nothing to do with the waves.

It was her first real crush. Her first kiss, right there on that trip, behind the snack stand when no one was looking—sweet and clumsy and perfect, tasting faintly of sugar and chlorine.

Shauna would drag the hall phone into her bedroom, the coiled cord stretched to its limit, whispering secrets and giggling with him for hours until someone in the house snapped, "Enough already!" They rode their bikes until the street lights blinked on, their legs aching but spirits soaring. They made bold, sincere promises of forever—about attending the same high school, being together, and never letting go.

High school brought distance. Despite attending the same middle school, they were zoned to different high schools. New schedules, new friend groups, and the overwhelming nature of adolescence led them to drift apart. Shauna wasn't surprised Merrick became a star athlete in both baseball and football; he always moved easily through the world. Phone calls and letters grew scarce, then ceased. Their promises of forever faded, replaced by teenage realities.

Now, in 2024, here he was again. Merrick. On her Facebook feed. With his same easy charm, his stories about his kids and his job. And—this was the crazy part—he lived in Atlanta now. Just like her. It felt like destiny, a cosmic joke, or perhaps, a second chance.

Their online conversations stretched for days, sometimes late into the night. They covered four decades of life. Merrick recounted his college years at Southern University in Louisiana on a baseball scholarship, his successful career in engineering, his two sons—one a Howard University graduate and the other finishing up at Georgia Tech—who were now in their twenties. He talked about his move to Atlanta five years ago for a new job opportunity, and to be closer to his mom who still lived in Birmingham. But through all their winding conversations, stretching for hours over days, a crucial detail was conspicuously absent: any mention of a wife. Shauna shared her journey: college in Alabama, a career in marketing that had taken her through various companies, and her twenty-year marriage that had ended two years ago. Her two children, also grown, were pursuing their own passions. She painted a picture of a woman who was finally, truly, free, ready for a new chapter. She deliberately left out the lonely evenings, the quiet apartment, the lingering ache of a life that hadn’t turned out quite as she’d imagined.

The more they talked, the more Shauna felt that old, familiar spark reigniting. He still made her laugh. He remembered obscure details about their middle school days that she had long forgotten. He was witty, intelligent, and still possessed that comforting aura of kindness. It wasn't just nostalgia; it felt like a genuine connection, deepened by shared history.

"We should meet," Merrick typed one night. "Just catch up in person. How about lunch next week? There's a great little bistro in Midtown I know."

Shauna’s heart pounded a hopeful rhythm against her ribs. The words felt urgent, necessary. “Yes. Absolutely,” she typed back, her fingers practically shaking with excitement.

Shauna spent the next few days in a delightful, almost giddy, flurry of anticipation. She bought a new dress, a soft azure blue that she hoped made her eyes sparkle. She agonized over her hairstyle, trying out different curls and waves until her arms ached. She recounted the entire saga to Amy, her best friend since middle school, who, despite her usual cynicism, seemed genuinely happy for her. "This is so romantic, Shauna! After all this time, your first love! It's like a movie!"

Shauna grinned, a wide, genuine smile. "He's seasoned and fine! You should see him!"

Amy rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay?”

But how could she not? This felt too right, too perfect to be anything but fate.

The day of their lunch arrived, bright and sunny, just like her mood. Shauna arrived a few minutes early, her palms damp, a familiar flutter in her stomach that felt just like that bus ride all those years ago. She scanned the restaurant, and then she spotted him immediately, sitting at a table by the window, already there, just as punctual as he’d been for their bike rides back then. He looked even better than his profile picture, his eyes still that warm honey color, crinkling at the corners when he smiled, that dimple still prominent. He had a mature, distinguished look that made her breathless. She noticed, with a little internal jolt of confirmation, the absence of a wedding band on his left hand.

He stood as she approached, a wide, genuine smile on his face. “Shauna! You haven’t changed a bit.” He greeted her with a warm hug that lingered just a second longer than expected, and as he pulled back, she took in his smell—clean, citrusy, with a hint of something woodsy and warm, an earthy scent that spoke of stability. He smelled available. “You’re even more beautiful now,” he added, his voice low and sincere.

She laughed, a little breathlessly, her cheeks coloring. “Well, you sure know how to make a girl blush. Thank you.”

It felt good. Easy. Familiar. They ordered, and the conversation flowed effortlessly, like finding an old song on the radio and remembering every word. They talked and laughed and fell back into old rhythms, as if no time had passed. They reminisced about classmates and teachers, about who had done well, who had disappeared, and the ones who had passed away far too young. Some memories made them laugh out loud, a shared, joyful sound that echoed their teenage giggles. Others left them quiet, nodding in mutual understanding of how quickly time had moved, how fragile life could be. They talked for hours, the conversation drifting deeper, leaning into what might’ve happened if they’d kept in touch—or if they’d gone to the same high school. There was a long, quiet moment between them, heavy with what-ifs and almosts, a tangible tension in the air. Shauna felt a pull, an undeniable magnetic force.

Then Merrick looked at her, his honey eyes piercing, his voice low and intimate. “This would’ve been one hell of a story for us to reunite,” he began, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand, sending shivers up her arm.

Then, the knife twist. He let the words hang there, heavy with implication, before delivering the casual blow. “…if I wasn't married.”

Shauna’s hand, which had been basking in his touch, went cold. She was crestfallen. The triumphant song died, replaced by a deafening silence in her ears.

And then, as if to underscore his brazenness, or perhaps his sheer cluelessness, right as the food came and the waiter placed their plates precisely on the table, oblivious to the internal earthquake rocking Shauna’s world—Merrick said casually, as if it were an afterthought, “My wife, Brenda, would absolutely love this place. We’ll have to come here sometime.”

Shauna froze, her gaze locked on the wilting lettuce on her plate. “Your… wife?” she managed, her voice barely a whisper, the word tasting like ash.

He smiled, that same warm, guileless smile, his eyes still warm on hers. He didn’t notice the seismic shift that had just occurred within her. “Yeah,” he said casually, almost like a side note, as he picked up his fork. “Brenda. We've been married twenty-five years. She’s a fantastic woman. We met in college.”

For a moment, Shauna didn’t breathe. The lingering warmth of his hand on hers, the casual softness of his voice—it was all suddenly too much. And in that second, she saw it clearly: where he thought this might go, where he might want it to go. Not just a friendly reunion, not merely nostalgia, but something more, something he had actively fostered to be flirtatious and leading, despite the inconvenient fact of his hidden wife. Quietly, almost imperceptibly, she slid her hand away from his and placed it in her lap, her fingers curling into a tight fist.

The salad on her plate, once vibrant and fresh, now seemed to wilt under the harsh restaurant lights. The carefully chosen azure dress felt suddenly too tight, too bright.

A wife. Of course. How could she have been so foolish? She had looked for signs, yes, but only the ones that confirmed her hope. She hadn't seen any obvious wife in the pictures, nothing in his bio, and she hadn't asked. She had just assumed. Because she wanted to. Because she wanted the romantic story so badly.

She nodded. Smiled. Said all the right things, the practiced platitudes of polite society. “She sounds lovely. That’s wonderful, Merrick. Twenty-five years is quite an accomplishment.” But inside, it was like a snow globe had shattered, a beautiful, delicate glass orb exploding into a million sharp, glittering shards. All the swirling, sparkly hopes she’d built over the last week, the grand narrative of reunited first loves, broken in an instant. He was leading her on, this entire encounter, this touch, was meant to imply more than mere nostalgia. He was perhaps thinking along the same romantic lines as her, that he too harbored some secret, sweet longing – a longing he had no right to pursue. And why would he invite her to lunch? Just for nostalgia? Or for something else entirely?

He hadn’t lied. She hadn’t asked. But she had hoped. And that hope—that old, reckless, thirteen-year-old thing—was the most dangerous part.

The rest of the lunch passed in a blur of forced cheerfulness on her part, and genuine warmth on his. She heard him talking, but the words were muffled, distant, as if she were underwater. She nodded, offered vague agreements, excused herself to the restroom to splash cold water on her burning face. The romantic bistro now felt like a cage, the vibrant sounds of clinking glasses and laughter oppressive.

Outside the restaurant, the bright sunshine felt harsh, stripping away her last vestiges of composure. He hugged her goodbye, another warm, friendly embrace that felt like a mockery. As he pulled back, still holding her arms, his gaze lingered. “Shauna,” he said, his voice dropping, a hint of something deeper in his tone. “This was really… something. Can I see you again soon?”

Shauna managed a tight, brittle smile. “Oh, Merrick,” she said, her voice light, almost playful, masking the sharp pain beneath. “You know, I’d love to. But my calendar is just packed with all sorts of exciting single girl adventures. And I really wouldn’t want to impose on your… family time.” She let the last two words hang in the air, a subtle, cutting reminder. “It was truly great catching up, though.”

She nodded, a tight, brittle smile on her face. “It was, Merrick. It really was.”

And it was. But also, it wasn’t.

She got into her car, the leather seats hot beneath her, and stared out the windshield, the bustling Atlanta street a kaleidoscope of motion she couldn't quite focus on. The air conditioner blew cold, but her cheeks felt hot, a flush of embarrassment and grief. One tear rolled down, slow and deliberate, and she didn’t even bother wiping it away. It tasted salty, like lost dreams.

For forty years, she’d carried a soft spot for Merrick. A secret place in her heart where that summer had never ended, where they were still two kids sharing a funnel cake and looking at each other like no one else existed in the world. A private fantasy she’d nurtured through a long, sometimes unfulfilling, marriage and the quiet solitude of divorce.

Now she knew better. It was just a chapter. A memory. A beautiful, potent, heartbreaking memory. He was a good man, a kind man, but he was not her man. And for him, that summer was just a pleasant recollection, not a signpost for a future that only she had imagined.

The ache in her chest was profound, but beneath it, a tiny flicker of something else. Clarity. It had been real. The first love, the innocence, the pure connection—it had all been real. And sometimes, remembering that something once made your heart skip with such uncomplicated joy—maybe that was enough.

At least for now.