Emily Franklin - Principles Of Love 06 - Labor Of Love (16 page)

Chills ripple over my bare arms, legs, up from the wil lowy bottom of my pink dress all the way to my hands, which start to shake."You are?"

"You're going to make me say it again?" he asks, smiling just a little, but still nervous. I shake my head."I just wanted to make sure you--you don't have to parrot me, okay? You don't have to feel everything that I am; I just want to know that you're prepared."

"For . . ." I raise my eyebrows, waiting.

"For the work--it's awesome, of course it is. But being at different places, having summer end--that easy hanging out spontaneous stuff? After Labor Day, it's done, you know?" Then he coughs. "Not done--it's not like we lose all the magic and turn back into pumpkins, but . . ."

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"I know," I say. Relief spreads over me, pushing me into him until we're kissing. I only stop to tell him I'm ready for fall--or ready for the part of it that includes him. That we can visit on weekends--or even afternoons. I don't men tion the boarding school parietal system and how he'll have to get permission to visit me each time and how by the handbook's rules we have to have three feet on the floor at all times and the door open at least three inches, because he knows this already and because it only further indicates the chasm between college life and mine.

"We should go to Chili's," I say and start in that direction.

"Together," Charlie says, making the whole word so full, so real that I know exactly what he means.

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C ight air, ocean thick but breezy, sets the tone for Illumi nation Night.With my hand wrapped in Charlie's, I breathe it all in: the multicolored lanterns swinging from every cot tage porch, the hush of everyone taking in all the beauty.

"I feel like I'm in Peter Pan," I say. "That scene, when they go out to the pirate ships?"

"Pretty amazing." Charlie nods. He does seem to like it, to appreciate how distinct the night is from all others.

Music plays in the central green, families relax with pic nics, and before stopping by the Pomroys' place, Charlie and I take our turn at being one of those enviable couples--the ones splayed out on the lawn, her head in his lap as familiar music wafts over us. I can't help but hum along, fighting the words from escaping my mouth.

"You're allowed to sing, you know," Charlie says, looking

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down at me. His hands play with the long strands of my hair. "I love this." He grabs a handful of it."Red, gold . . ."

I blush. He loves my hair.This is not, I repeat to myself, the same thing as loving me. He's in love with me. But is that love? Maybe my hair has one-up on the rest of me. "I've grown to appreciate it," I say and twist it up off my neck when I sit up. "After enduring brutal names as a kid and dreading the required uniforms from sports and camps." Charlie raises his eyebrows to ask why. "Color clash. But now . . ." I snuggle into him."Now it's good."

An hour and a tray of finger food later, Charlie is debating theories of order with Haverford, Chili's scurrying around helping her parents, and Chris and I are giving one another the not-entirely-silent treatment on the porch.

"Nice party," he says.

"Yes. Lovely."

"We sound like we're in a play," he says.

"Yes," I say, keeping the tone clipped, "Look Back in Anger?"

"I was thinking more She Stoops to Conquer."

"Oh, give me a small break," I say and put my hands on my hips. He faces me and rubs his eyes. "Allergies bugging you?" I know him too well--a single gesture and I know what's up.

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"Yeah, it's been bad," he says and rubs more.

"Use your drops," I say.

"Maybe."

"Just do it," I say. "You always wait and put it off when you know what's best for you is to treat the problem right away." I stare at him, hoping he'll pull the bottle out from his pocket and squirt it in the offending eyes.

"Are you talking about allergy medicine or something else?" Chris stares at me with his mouth squeezed tight. He knows I know.

"I thought he was still with Ben," I say with no segue.

"He is." Chris looks over his shoulder, then back at me.

"And you're . . ." I raise one eyebrow, a trick I found is genetic--one I'm assuming comes from Gala. I guess I'll know soon enough.

"And I'm . . . taking what I can get."

"Isn't that a bit crude?" We start to talk fast, quiet but heated.

"It's a bit honest.Which is more than I can say for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I narrow my eyes and push my hair back from my face. It won't stay put in its twist and seems to defy me on purpose.

"Nothing . . ."

"Look, Chris, I've been nothing but forthright with Charlie. He knows about Jacob.That he's my friend. Unlike

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you--I'm not cheating. I'm not breaking up a couple.Aren't you at all concerned for Ben Weiss?"

"That's just like you--to worry about him and not me." Chris shakes his head, pissed off.

"That's not fair, Chris. Of course I'm concerned about you--it's just . . . I've been cheated on.And it sucks.Why be that person? Plus, you're worth more."

"You don't get it, Love. I like him. It's not a crush. I like him. You think it's all set--bam, I come out of the closet, hook up with Alistair as my first boyfriend thing, and then all is fine in Gayworld. Hell, I'm kind of mayor of that village, what with the GSA. But it's not easy.To find someone . . ."

"I get that. Or, I get it enough . . . but it doesn't mean you have to settle."

"Who says I'm settling?" Chris snags a turkey-and-brie roll up from Chili's tray as she walks by. She gives me a grimace and I make my eyes wide to tell her yeah, this is serious.

"So he's going to end his two-year thing with Ben and go right to you?"

Chris looks away, anger still causing a ruddy flush on his cheeks. "I don't know. But I'd just like a little excitement. You haven't exactly been supportive."

I think back on the past days, weeks, month. I don't feel

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as though I've been remiss, but maybe. "Support I can give you. And excitement, too. If that's what you want. But not free of warnings. I think you're running a huge risk of get ting caught. Not just by Ben. But getting caught with a guy who cheats--not good. And hurting an innocent person-- Ben. Mostly . . . just killing the purity of your crush."When I say this, it occurs to me that I could be displacing my own relationship insecurities onto Chris.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean . . . liking someone--whether they return the feelings or not--is pure. It's real."

Suddenly his voice gets angry. "Oh god, Love, shut up, will you? You sound like freshman poetry class."

"Don't be mean." My voice cracks. Chris and I have never fought like this. I push my hair behind my ears and take a breath. "We both need change, to let go--I already have--"

"Not really." Chris is smug, his face full of disbelief."You don't let go of anything. Think of those stacks of journals in your room at home, of all those memories. Jeez--you haven't even read the letter Gala left you--and that was over a month ago."

"So?"

"So, she's coming in a week. . . ."

"Ten days."

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He touches my shoulder and I flinch, so he pulls back. "I don't know. . . ." He looks through the narrow turquoise doorway where Haverford is laughing with Charlie. Both guys wave to us."Probably I will get hurt. But I might not." He looks at me. "And isn't that what we're all doing it for? The might not?"

I reach into his pocket and hand Chris his eyedrops, which he puts in without pause."I don't know what's good for you, Chris. I just have visions of you this fall, watch ing Haverford from afar with Ben--or worse, being a third wheel. Or even worse--"

"Just how many worse scenarios are you listing here?"

"There's the one where you're the other man . . . the one who breaks up a couple and then gets scorned by all parties. . . ."

Chris nods, wiping excess drops from his eyes. It's a flash- forward, maybe, to him being upset about his love life. Or maybe he'll get lucky and it won't end in ruins. "And you? You've dropped the Coleman crush?"

"Is that what you meant by leaving things in the past?" I tell him about Charlie, that we're officially a couple that will last from summer into the next season."And he likes me--I mean, the kind of like that means more."

"That's great," Chris says. He means it, but with a tinge of sadness, the kind you get when you realize your best friend's

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romantic life is full and yours is fractional. "And Jacob? Just a page in your journal?"

I nod as Charlie comes toward me."Something like that. I'm sure we'll be friends. But there's nothing else there." Chris and I lock eyes at this last statement of mine and then, like the lantern light around us, let the words--and our ar gument--swing and fade.

Over the counter a day or two later, Chris and Chili hint but don't ask about the status of my prior night with Charlie.

"Did you . . ." Chili stops herself.

Chris nudges her. "Have pasta?" Chris asks, covering up for their sexual snoopage.

"You guys . . ." I wipe the counter and hand them a bro ken cookie. Sometimes, Arabella and I would break one in tentionally so we could eat it. Eight days and she'll be here. "I'm in total countdown mode. . . ."

They both fight grins and elbow one another again. "Countdown to . . ."

I sigh and flick my wet rag at them."No, no, no. Not like that. I'm not counting down to the night of passion, you lustful losers. I don't even know if that'll happen. Not in the next week, anyway."

"Why's that?" Chili picks up the molasses cookie pieces and licks her fingers free of crumbs.

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I exhale so my breath makes my lips flutter."He has to go to Cambridge--to Harvard--to meet with the dean again. And take some language placement test."

"Ah, college beckons," Chris says like that means it's just the beginning of trouble. Not that I think Chris is against me and Charlie, only that he wants to have the same wariness about something in my life that I have about his behind- the-scenes fling with Haverford. According to him, they've kissed only that once, and it's unclear what--if anything--it meant. He'll have to deal with him soon enough, though, since Haverford is in his dorm. Ben's a day student, which comes with its own set of pros and cons. Thinking of him reminds me of my own change in status.

"I can't believe I'm boarding," I say, the reality of it land ing with a thud on my good mood.

"Welcome to my world," Chris says.

"Our world," Chili corrects. "At least you know what you're doing. I'm just a lowly sophomore."

Chris and I wink at her."Just watch out for the infamous SSHU." I say it phonetically.

"Shoe?" she asks. Chris laughs.

"No--SSHU--senior-sophomore hookup. It's inevi table and never ends well," Chris says.

I take this moment to give him a pointed glare. "Many kinds of hookups don't end well. . . ." I go back to serving

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people before he can comment. But as I whip up a blended blueberry freeze, it occurs to me he could say the same thing about me and Charlie. I guess there are lots of rela tionships that have the odds stacked against them one way or another.

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I he worst part of summer's end is the speed with which it slings by. One day you're shucking corn for a barbeque in sunshine that never seems to fade, and the next that dappled morning light appears--the kind that says Labor Day is a mere four days away and another season has cycled through.

With Charlie off-island, I've been working doubles dur ing the day to put the funds into my sagging bank account and hunkering down at night. Chris and I have been hav ing tangential evenings in which we overlap food, media, and conversation. For example: watching Mystic Pizza (Julia Roberts, pre-need to be Hollywood thin, and way 80s preppy boys) while eating it and making up bizarre topping combi nations.Two nights ago we rented Blue Lagoon, perhaps the cheesiest (nods to pizza) movie ever, while spooning blue

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lagoon ice cream into our mouths.We made the ice cream by mistake, when Chris dropped a few blueberries from the farm stand into a pint of Mad Martha's vanilla and then we blended the whole thing up into a murky blue mess.Then, to top it off we dropped in red fish left over from my post college essay trip to the candy store and gummy worms from our first accidental tangential evening when we listened to music relating to sweetness while eating penny candy from the pier and talking about love.

Now we're sifting through the last of the leftovers and realizing that no matter how carefully you select the con tents of your penny candy bag, there are always pieces left at the end that no one wants.

"Yuck, a mushy chocolate coin," I say."Mable gave me a bag of these once for Chanukah."

"I didn't know you guys celebrated Chanukah," Chris says as he unwraps a piece of ancient bubble gum. "This is so hard it'll break my teeth." He puts it in his mouth. "And yet I'm going for it, anyway."

"That gum's no good," I say and shake my head. "And I didn't know we celebrated it, either. I guess those quasi- religious holidays have always been murky in my family."

Chris wrinkles his brow both in thinking and trying to chew."What are you?"

I raise my eyebrows to him."I believe I'm human.And a

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sucker for sarcastic boys, poetic lyrics, and prone to malted milk balls." I take one of the last on my list and bite off the chocolate exterior. I always eat like that, nibbling around the edges of things--brownies, candy bars, muffins--and then eating the center after.

"No, I mean, Buddhist, Presbyterian, Jewish?"

A look of bafflement crosses my face--I see it in the mirror. "I don't know. I guess Jewish. At least my dad is. I mean, we had a menorah--and I remember lighting it with Mable and making potato pancakes."

"Latkes," Chris says.

"Oh, like you're the expert on ethnic cuisine." I lick my fingers."Maybe I'm . . ." I stop. Maybe it's yet another thing I have to ask Gala. Or never thought to ask my dad.