The Two Summers

The lake house had belonged to June's grandparents for as long as she could remember. So had the summer she spent there at thirteen. That was the one where she and Milo had built an entire private language out of inside jokes and a shared inability to admit either of them liked the other. Nothing had happened that summer, not really — a near-miss at the end of a dock, a held glance that neither of them acted on. Then her family had stopped renting the place, and five years had passed without a single message between them. Had they kept renting it even one more year, she sometimes thought, that near-miss on the dock might have become something neither of them would have waited half a decade to say.

Rumah danau itu milik kakek-nenek June sejak ia bisa mengingat. Begitu pula musim panas yang ia habiskan di sana pada usia tiga belas tahun. Itulah musim panas ketika ia dan Milo membangun seluruh bahasa pribadi dari lelucon internal dan ketidakmampuan bersama untuk mengakui bahwa mereka saling menyukai. Tak ada yang terjadi musim panas itu, sungguh: nyaris-sesuatu di ujung dermaga, tatapan yang tertahan yang tak ditindaklanjuti keduanya. Lalu keluarganya berhenti menyewa tempat itu, dan lima tahun berlalu tanpa satu pesan pun di antara mereka. Seandainya mereka menyewanya satu tahun lagi saja, pikir June kadang-kadang, momen nyaris itu di dermaga mungkin sudah menjadi sesuatu yang tak akan mereka tunda setengah dasawarsa untuk diucapkan.

Rarely had a summer returned to her so completely uninvited. She hadn't expected to see him again, let alone here, let alone three weeks before she moved across the country for good. But the lake house was back in the family's rotation for one final August. There he was on the same dock, taller and quieter than the boy she remembered, holding two coffees as though he'd somehow known she'd arrive at exactly that hour.

Jarang sebuah musim panas kembali kepadanya sepenuhnya tanpa diundang. Ia tak menyangka akan bertemu Milo lagi, apalagi di sini, apalagi tiga minggu sebelum ia pindah ke seberang negeri untuk selamanya. Namun, rumah danau itu kembali masuk giliran keluarga untuk satu Agustus terakhir. Dan di sanalah Milo, di dermaga yang sama, lebih tinggi dan lebih pendiam daripada anak laki-laki yang diingatnya, memegang dua cangkir kopi seakan entah bagaimana tahu June akan tiba tepat pada jam itu.

"I got you one on the chance you still take it black," he said. "I wasn't sure. It's been a while."

"Aku bawakan satu, siapa tahu kamu masih minum yang hitam," katanya. "Aku tidak yakin. Sudah lama."

"Five years," June said. "You remembered how I take my coffee from five years ago?"

"Lima tahun," kata June. "Kamu ingat caraku minum kopi dari lima tahun lalu?"

"I remember a lot from five years ago," he said, and didn't elaborate, which struck her as exactly the kind of thing thirteen-year-old Milo would have said and then panicked about immediately afterward.

"Aku ingat banyak hal dari lima tahun lalu," katanya, dan tidak menjelaskan lebih jauh, yang menurut June persis hal yang akan dikatakan Milo yang berusia tiga belas tahun lalu langsung panik sesudahnya.

What followed was not, either of them silently agreed without ever discussing it, a summer meant to repeat the first one. It couldn't be. She was leaving in three weeks, a fact that sat under every conversation they had like a stone under still water — visible if you looked but easy enough to ignore if you didn't. They spent most evenings on that same dock anyway, talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did, both of them aware that whatever this was had an ending built into it from the start.

Yang terjadi sesudahnya bukanlah, keduanya diam-diam sepakat tanpa pernah membicarakannya, musim panas yang dimaksudkan untuk mengulang yang pertama. Itu tak mungkin. June akan pergi dalam tiga minggu, fakta yang mengendap di bawah setiap percakapan mereka seperti batu di bawah air yang tenang, terlihat kalau kita melihatnya, tetapi cukup mudah diabaikan kalau tidak. Mereka tetap menghabiskan sebagian besar malam di dermaga yang sama itu, membicarakan hal-hal yang tak penting dan semua yang penting, keduanya sadar bahwa apa pun ini punya akhir yang terpasang sejak awal.

On her last night, he finally said the thing neither of them had managed at thirteen. "I liked you," he said, plainly, the way he seemed to say everything now. "Then, and apparently now too, which is inconvenient, given the whole other-side-of-the-country situation."

Pada malam terakhirnya, Milo akhirnya mengatakan hal yang tak sanggup mereka ucapkan di usia tiga belas. "Aku suka kamu," katanya, lugas, seperti caranya mengucapkan segalanya sekarang. "Waktu itu, dan rupanya sekarang juga, yang merepotkan, mengingat urusan ujung negeri yang berseberangan itu."

"You waited five years and three weeks to tell me that."

"Kamu menunggu lima tahun dan tiga minggu untuk mengatakannya."

"Would it have helped, five years ago?"

"Memangnya akan membantu, lima tahun lalu?"

She thought about it honestly, which he seemed to want more than a quick answer. "Probably not. We were thirteen."

June memikirkannya dengan jujur, yang tampaknya lebih Milo inginkan daripada jawaban cepat. "Mungkin tidak. Kita baru tiga belas."

"Right. So this is actually good timing, comparatively."

"Betul. Jadi sebenarnya ini waktu yang bagus, kalau dibandingkan."

She laughed, and didn't say it back exactly, though she didn't need to. She reached over and took his hand instead, and they sat there until the dock lights came on automatically, neither of them making any promises about what a coast and a calendar couldn't keep.

June tertawa, dan tidak membalasnya persis dengan kata-kata, meski ia tak perlu. Ia justru mengulurkan tangan dan menggenggam tangan Milo, dan mereka duduk di sana sampai lampu dermaga menyala otomatis, tak satu pun membuat janji tentang apa yang tak sanggup dijaga oleh sebuah pantai dan sebuah kalender.