Bloom (7 page)

Chapter 16

The next morning
Ginny helps me make waffles.

“Isn’t Allison great?” she squeals, as I pour the batter onto the iron.

“Mmmm,” I reply. A noise that means nothing at all, but one I know she will take to mean agreement. “Did you have fun last night?”

She raises one shoulder, ambivalently. “Things were a little tense here, so we all cleared out. Figured maybe they just needed to work off a little steam, if you know what I mean,” she says, with a quick raise of her brows. Yeah, I know what she means, and the idea makes me a little sick. Did they make up after I went upstairs? She certainly came outside
dressed
for reconciliation.

The smell of waffles draws the boys forward. First Dan, and then Max, and finally James. The latter yawns and collapses in his chair. “Grayson,” he says. “I love your waffles. I’m sorry we ever said we didn’t want you here.”

“You never said that.”

“Well, we never said that to
you
,” he laughs.

Max smacks the side of his head. “Shut the fuck up. We’d kick you out before we’d kick her out. In fact, it’s only that you’re related to the two of them that we’re letting you stay.”

“I’m not related to the blonde troublemaker,” says James, still smiling. “Just the redhead with the big mouth.”

“A redhead who’s gonna spit in your waffle batter if you keep talking,” says Ginny.

Allison emerges then, dressed like she’s heading to the ladies’ tea at the country club — white capris, a cashmere tank, a scarf around her neck. Meanwhile, James is now shirtless, but still wearing Thursday’s shorts, which he may or may not have gone running in. I’m heartened by the fact that he sure doesn’t
look
like a guy who’s trying to get laid.

She fixes her icy smile on me and comes to the opposite side of the island. “I’ll take over now,” she says, pulling the waffle iron away from me and reaching out her hand, fully expecting me to hand over the batter. I’m kind of stunned. Who the fuck does she think she is, walking into
my
fucking kitchen and trying to take over
my
fucking waffles? I grab the waffle iron by its cord and yank it back to me.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks,” I say, with clear sarcasm.

“Are you sure?” she asks. “Because it smells like something’s burning.”

“Boys,” I call out. “Do you smell anything burning?”

They all say no. I try not to gloat.

“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll set the table.”

I raise a brow at Ginny, cutting strawberries, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, acting as if she hasn’t heard a word of our conversation. And if she did, I’m sure, she’d fall squarely on Team Allison.

Allison then proceeds to complain about the state of the flatware, the number of plates. She then demands a butter dish, of all things.

“There is no butter dish,” I say flatly. She acts as if I haven’t spoken. Or like maybe I’m so backward that I don’t know what a butter dish is.

“Ginny,” she says sweetly. “Do you know where I can find a butter dish?”

“I’ll look,” says Ginny eagerly, dropping her strawberries entirely and going on a wild goose chase in pursuit of something she knows the house doesn’t have. “I’m so sorry,” she finally says. “I guess we don’t have one.”

I’ll just use a saucer,” sighs Allison. She opens the refrigerator and turns to me sourly. “Where’s the juice?”

“I don’t know if we have any,” I reply.

“You don’t have
juice
?” she asks, her tone rife with accusation. “What exactly
do
you have?”

Before I can say anything, James speaks up. “Allison,” he warns. “Cut it out.”

She freezes, and the color leaches from her skin. “I’m going for a walk,” she says suddenly. She turns to Ginny. “Do you want to come with me?”

Ginny is giving
me
a dirty look. What. The. Hell?

“Yes,” she says. “I’m not feeling all that hungry anymore.”

“I assume it’s safe to leave you with my boyfriend this time?” asks Allison, with a bitter smile.

“Allison,” says James, and there is no longer flexibility in his voice. “That’s
enough
.”

“Oh, that’s right,” she says. “It’s only
married
men she seduces.”

James lays his head back against his seat after she walks out, as if he’s exhausted.

“Dude,” says Max. “What the fuck is going on?”

“My sister is a pain in the ass,” says Dan. “That’s what’s going on.”

“No,” says James. “She got the wrong idea last night about something and now she’s losing her shit over it.”

“Got the wrong idea about what?” asks Max.

James glances at me swiftly before his eyes drift shut again. “She’s threatened by Elle.”

“As well she should be,” quips Max. “No woman wants to walk in and find her boyfriend sharing a house with a freaking model, especially one with a rack like Elle’s.”

“Shut up, Max,” says James.

“Tell me where I’m wrong,” he argues.

I scrape the waffle I haven’t even touched into the trash. “I’m out of here.”

“Where are you going?” asks James.

“Elsewhere,” I say. “I’ll be back when she’s gone.”

The truth is that the whole situation is making me sick. Allison’s dislike. The way she views me, through that same lens the people in my office did: as some kind of man-stealing slut. Max agreeing. And perhaps worst of all, Ginny, my supposed best friend, and her complete defection to the other side. She didn’t try to defend me in the least.

**

I get upstairs, planning to call Kristy, but I haven’t even found my phone before there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in?” I say, a question in my voice. My first thought is that it’s Allison, because none of the guys ever come to our room — one of many dire warnings laid out by James — and Ginny wouldn’t knock.

James steps in, filling the entire frame of the door. “Can I talk to you?” he asks.

I nod, sitting on the edge of my bed while he goes to Ginny’s. “Don’t leave,” he says. “Don’t lend credence to what Allison says by running off like you’ve done something wrong, because you haven’t.”

“I’m not running off,” I say quietly. “But for whatever reason I seem to create tension for Allison, and this is your weekend with her and neither of you should have to deal with that. It’s just two days.”

“You’re not creating the tension. It was already there, and she wants to blame it on you.”

“How can you be with someone like that?” I ask.

“You’ve seen her at her absolute worst. She can be great. But I haven’t been into it, I think, all year. I wanted to be, because everyone loved her and because it was all so easy, but I just wasn’t.”

“I get the whole thing about trying to make something work, but — all year?” I ask. “How could you have gone with it that long?”

“The problem is that
everything
at school sucked – going to class, studying, being with her. I couldn’t separate it all out. I don’t think I had any idea how bad it was until I got here.”

“You just needed time apart?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It’s more like I’d forgotten how it was possible to feel about someone, what it was like to really … crave something, instead of just accept the things you have.” He glances up at me suddenly as if he’s said too much. “I called her last week and said it was over. And that’s why she’s here.”

I manage not to squeal or start jumping gleefully around the room.

“Is that why you’re not showering?” I smile.

He grins. “Maybe? I hadn’t really thought it through, but yeah, I guess this is the first time in my life I’ve gone more than two days in the same clothes.”

“She may be a keeper if she’s willing to put up with you looking like that,” I smile.

“So you’d have kicked me to the curb?” he asks.

I look over at him, tan and shirtless and unshaven and before I can pull it back I just tell him the truth. “No,” I say softly. That catches his attention, and for just a moment something passes between us. “I mean, it is
your
house after all,” I add lightly.

He stands. “So anyway, don’t run off, okay?”

I nod, all the while wondering why it matters. It’s daytime. He usually seems to wish I was a million miles away.

**

I go shopping for a while, back to the store where Ginny convinced me to buy that dress. I’m finding, more and more, that I really don’t have the right things here. I laughed at Allison this morning, but my own wardrobe isn’t much less uptight.

And I find myself sick of the subtle but constant pressure to appear a certain way. Possibly because it hasn’t done me a bit of good. People are going to believe what they want to believe no matter what I wear, and I want to look like myself. I’m going to dress like a teenager for the first time in my life, which is ironic given that James is so convinced that I’m still a little girl.

I drop the bags in my room and put on one of the two bikinis I bought. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I look in the mirror I’m not so sure. It feels impossibly skimpy, as if I’m about to walk through Times Square in a bra and panties. But I can look out the window right now and count ten girls wearing this little. There will be a thousand more when I hit the beach. I take a deep breath and head outside.

The world does not explode. It’s scary, and amazingly freeing. Is it really possible to live like this? To be outside and not worry about who will see you and what they will think? I walk a little farther down the beach than we normally sit. Running from Allison? Absolutely. It’s already a day of firsts … I don’t need to add my first fist fight to the list too.

A lifeguard approaches just as I open my book. He’s the kind of guy I’d find attractive if James hadn’t destroyed my ability to be attracted to other men. He also looks familiar, but between the bar and Max’s parties, pretty much everyone in Rehoboth does.

“I’m Nick The Lifeguard,” he says. “I thought I’d let you know in case you need saving.”

“So is ‘lifeguard’ your last name or is just one long first name?” I smile.

He plops down beside me in the sand. “That is a fantastic idea. I’m totally going to change my name. First name Nick. Last name The Lifeguard.”

“I’m full of good ideas,” I say. “I’m Elle by the way.”

“I knew that already,” he replies. “I’ve seen you at the bar. You live with Max and James, right?”

“Yes,” I say. I look toward the empty lifeguard stand. “Um, aren’t you supposed to be saving lives?” I ask.

He shrugs. “They pretty much save themselves,” he jokes. “Actually, I’m on break.”

“I guess I’d better not swim until you’re back on duty,” I say.

He looks me up and down. “I make it my personal goal to never save a life while I’m on break, but I’d save yours.”

And then, like a sudden storm cloud, a shadow falls over us.

I look toward the sun and make out James approaching, his face grim. “Why are you all the way down here?” he asks, his tone rife with accusation.

“You know why,” I sigh.

“Allison went inside,” he says. “She doesn’t really like the beach.”

“Shocker,” I mutter.

“Hi James,” says my new friend.

“Nick,” says James. It sounds like a warning, not a greeting. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives?” Unlike mine, his tone is less teasing and more overtly hostile.

“What is it with your household’s concerns with safety?” Nick asks me.

“I guess it’s our thing,” I laugh.

James picks up my bag. “Come sit with us,” he says.

“I’m fine here.”

His jaw grinds. “I think Ginny wants to talk to you,” he says.

“Fine,” I sigh, waving goodbye to Nick.

“Hey! Are you working tonight?” he calls after me, and when I nod he gives me a thumbs up.

James is silent for a moment, and tense, as we pick our way around the towels and umbrellas that line the beach.

“Are you going to go out with him?” he finally asks.

“He hasn’t even asked me out.”

“Yet.”

I shrug. “He seems nice enough.”

“Is that where the bar is set, Elle?” he asks through clenched teeth. “‘Nice enough’ is all you require?”

“‘Nice enough’ is a much higher bar than you’ve set, as far as I can tell,” I retort. “Because I guarantee no one says that about Allison.”

“Here’s what you don’t seem to get: any guy is going to come across as ‘nice enough’ when given incentive.”

I come to a dead stop. “So are you trying to imply that I’m too naive to know the difference between a nice guy and one who’s pretending to be, or that I’ve provided him some kind of ‘incentive’ to do so?”

“You have!” he explodes. “Look at the way you’re fucking dressed!”

“I’m wearing a bathing suit. As is every other person as far as the eye can see.”

“That’s not a bathing suit,” he sneers. “That’s wider-than-average dental floss.”

I know there is nothing wrong with this suit, but I feel ashamed anyway, and I hate him a little for it. “You know what, James? This is the first time in my entire life that I’ve ever worn a bikini, that I decided I didn’t give a shit about whether someone compared me to my mom. And until just now, when you came up and ruined it, it felt amazing. Liberating.” My voice borders on the cusp of tears. I turn toward the house before I lose it completely, but he blocks my path.

“Wait,” he says.

“Get out of my way.”

I pull my sunglasses over my eyes but not before he sees the first tear come trickling down the side of my face. “Shit. Did I make you cry?”

“No,” I rasp.

“Yes I did,” he says helplessly. “Elle, shit. I’m sorry.” He begins to pull me toward him and then comes to an awkward halt, his hand warm on my bare shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, I just … ”

He stops, and I pull back to look at him, waiting. “I’ve never seen you like that,” he amends. “And it took me by surprise. That’s all.”

“But why are you acting like it’s somehow worse than what any other girl is doing?” I ask. “Ginny wears bikinis. I bet Allison does too. It’s totally normal and you’re trying to make it sound slutty. It’s the same thing you did with the uniform, and you don’t do it to anyone else.”