Other Words for Love (16 page)

“Is that something new?” I asked, lurking awkwardly in the doorway.

She looked away from a cookie sheet covered with pigs in blankets and down at her ankle. “Yeah … Patrick got it for me.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said, noticing the care she’d taken with her eyeliner and her mascara, the polish on her nails. It was as if the old Evelyn had returned, and I was so happy to see her that I was willing to put everything behind us. “He really loves you,” I added, and it didn’t bother me to say it because now I had someone who might love me, too.

She wasn’t angry anymore, I could tell. I wasn’t either. She smiled, putting her arms around me. Her hair was blow-dried smooth and felt soft against my cheek. It almost made me cry, and I thought that Evelyn was also on the verge. We both sniffed and laughed when we stepped away from each other, and I knew that everything was better now.

“So,” she said. “Where’s this boyfriend of yours? I’m dying to see him.”

She saw him later, when the sun cast an orangey gold hue over the house. Blake ate three hamburgers as if he hadn’t had a morsel in the Hamptons. He fed Shane his bottle, played catch with Kieran, and settled into a chair beside mine.

“I saw your friend today,” he told me.

“Summer?” I said.

He nodded. “Her mother catered the party. She handled a few meetings at the firm and now she’ll be doing all my father’s parties. Personally, I thought the food was way too salty.”

I knew he hadn’t eaten much at that party. And I felt nervous, panicky, the way I had the first time Blake and Summer met. I imagined her flirting and laughing and talking about Don Mattingly, literally charming the pants off my boyfriend. But I remembered what he’d said in his car that day—that I was prettier—and I convinced myself that worrying was stupid.

“Do you want a beer?” I asked. It was a good subject-changer.

He shook his head. “I already had one. I don’t drink much … I’d rather not turn into a lush like my brother.”

“Del’s a lush?” I asked. A pig, a lush, what was next?

“I guess it’s a matter of opinion.” He shrugged and threw one arm over the back of his chair. “This is exactly what I want,” he said, taking in Evelyn and Patrick’s modest house like it was the Taj Mahal. “Don’t you?”

I loved that Blake knew what I wanted and didn’t act as if it wasn’t enough. “Yeah,” I said. “But a nicer house. In Park Slope. With a hammock in the yard and a teaching job at a good college in the city.”

He nodded. “My father has connections at schools in the city.”

I sat there and tried to figure out why Mom was so anti-connections. I was starting to believe that connections were a good thing, because they could get you what you wanted without toil and drudgery and practice SAT exams. Then Blake stood up to get a soda and I watched him and Patrick on the patio.

They were getting along and I was thrilled. He and Patrick discussed football and baseball and the FDNY entrance exam, but I didn’t get to hear everything because Evelyn snatched me from my chair and coaxed me into the nursery, where she closed the door and clenched my hands.

“Holy shit,” she said. “He’s simply fetching.”

I had never in my entire life heard Evelyn say the word
fetching
. I couldn’t imagine where she’d found it other than in a half-read romance novel. But it was an accurate description, so I agreed and answered her questions about how Blake and I met, and then she asked his age.

“Twenty-one in November,” I told her.

“Twenty-one,” she said musingly. “So are you two doing it?”

She was worse than Mom. I shook my head as if I’d never even considered
doing it
.

“You’re a liar, Ari. I know what’s going on. Look at you, all glowing and crap.”

I was glowing? I didn’t know. And I hadn’t expected that I’d want to talk to Evelyn about this, but I did. I couldn’t talk to Mom and I didn’t talk to Summer, and I wouldn’t confide in Leigh—she was Blake’s cousin, after all. And suddenly, standing in the middle of blue walls decorated with Red Sox pennants, I was grateful to have a big sister.

“I’m not lying,” I said after telling Evelyn about my Wednesday afternoons. “We’re really not doing anything.”

“But you will,” she said. “I’ll give you my doctor’s number. She works at a clinic in Brooklyn on Fridays.… They don’t ask for insurance there, so you won’t have to tell Mom … and you can get a prescription for the Pill. We don’t want you getting knocked up, do we?” She laughed and then she scribbled on a piece of paper that she pressed into my palm.

“Evelyn,” I said. “The Pill doesn’t always work, does it? I mean—you—”

She interrupted me with a different sort of laugh. It was cunning and coarse and she lowered her voice. “They work if you take them every day. But I wanted to get out of Mom’s house, so I skipped a pill here and there. I mean … Patrick always loved me, but he loved me more when I was carrying his baby. Guys are funny that way.” She winked and put her hands on my shoulders. “Listen, Ari. There are all kinds of diseases out there, and I don’t just mean AIDS. Make sure Blake doesn’t have anything before you sleep with him. You should find out how many girls he’s been with if you don’t already know.”

I only knew about the Georgia girl. But all I could think about now was how desperate Evelyn must have been to get out of Mom’s house … and how Kieran was no accident.

sixteen

I
loved June. It was nothing but bright sunshine, fresh air, Wednesday afternoons on embroidered roses. I loved the music-box song that came from the Good Humor man’s truck as he cruised my block after dinner each night, the smell of marshmallows roasting on our neighbors’ barbecues, and the letter A written in encouraging red ink on my final exams.

“You’re the most promising student I’ve seen in years,” my art teacher said.

It was the last day of school. The classroom was empty. The windows were open and everybody milled around outside, talking and signing each other’s yearbooks, and I listened to their voices until my teacher said something about a summer job. Then he handed me an index card printed with a Brooklyn address and the words
CREATIVE COLORS
.

“What kind of job is this?” I asked.

“It’s a program for adults with mental disabilities,” he said. “Down syndrome … brain injuries … that sort of thing. They do art therapy. A friend of mine owns the place and he needs some help, so I thought of you. Somebody with your talent should spread it around. You could do a lot of good there.”

My talent. Did he really say that? The words repeated in my mind and I practically skipped to the subway station. Then I decided to stop by Creative Colors on my way home.

It was a few blocks from my house, on the first floor of a three-story Victorian with Doric columns and a wide porch. My teacher’s friend’s name was Julian; he was thirty-something, and he sported a brown goatee and wire-rimmed glasses. He said that I came highly recommended and he hired me right on the spot.

Mom wouldn’t stop blabbing about my new job during dinner that night. “These people recognize talent when they see it,” she said. “And you want to waste yourself on teaching.” She held her hand out for my plate, overloaded it with macaroni salad, and turned to Dad. “This one just goes off and gets a job on her own. Remember when Evelyn was Ariadne’s age? I begged her to find a summer job, but she wouldn’t even fill out a Burger King application.”

Mom was proud of me and that was great, but I didn’t want compliments at my sister’s expense. Evelyn had been so sweet lately—she always asked about Blake when we talked on the phone. And it had been considerate of her to hook me up with her doctor, even though it turned out I couldn’t take birth control pills.

I’d found out a week ago. I had scheduled a secret appointment at the clinic, and I endured the humiliating exam with the flimsy gown and the latex gloves and the frigid instrument that could double as a shoehorn or a medieval torture device, and when it was over I felt like I’d crossed a finish line. I sat up from the examining table in that paper-thin gown, remembering a PBS program about these African boys who went through a ceremony and got their faces sliced with a razor and scarred for life because that was their rite of passage. So while the doctor sat on her stool and reviewed my medical history, I thought: This is my rite of passage. Now I’m no different from Summer or those other girls who see gynecologists regularly and swallow birth control pills faithfully, and I’m a member of the I’ve Got a Boyfriend Club.

Then I saw the doctor flipping through forms and scratching her head. She was a fleshy middle-aged woman who said she hadn’t realized that I was a migraine sufferer and
The Pill isn’t a good idea for you, Miss Mitchell. It’ll only make your headaches worse
. Next she gave me a few pamphlets about pregnancy and STDs and birth control—as if I hadn’t read the exact same things in Sex Ed at school—and said,
It’s better if your boyfriend uses protection, anyway. You can never be sure of a man’s sexual history, no matter what he tells you
.

So I’d worn that stupid gown for nothing. And Blake hadn’t told me anything because I hadn’t asked.

This was my first time at Delmonico’s. I was sitting next to Blake on the Saturday after school ended, and I knew he wasn’t comfortable. He was dressed in a suit—so was Mr. Ellis—and he kept tugging at his collar as if he couldn’t breathe.

“Get used to it,” Del said. “You’ll be wearing a tie for the whole summer.”

Rachel and Leigh and Idalis were there too. We all sat at a round table on leather chairs in a room that was dark even though the early-evening sun was blazing outside. There was a crimson carpet and a glitzy chandelier, and the waiter handed me a menu with prices that blew my mind.

I leafed through the menu as a basket of bread was being passed around the table. When it reached Leigh, she kept it beside her.

“Can I please have the bread, Leigh?” I asked, and even though she was sitting next to me, she didn’t seem to hear. She was buttering a roll when I repeated my question.

“It’s right
there,
” she said without looking at me. “Get it yourself.”

“Leigh,” Blake said sharply. He was on my other side and he seemed as surprised by her nastiness as I was. “Don’t talk to Ari like that.”

“Blake,” Rachel said from across the table, in the same chastising tone he’d used on Leigh. “Don’t interfere. It’s between the girls.”

What was between the girls? I wondered as Blake reached over Leigh’s plate and snatched the bread away. He and I glanced at each other in confusion and shrugged it off. Then the waiter came back with a pad and pencil. Blake ordered a steak called the Classic and I ordered the same because I didn’t know what else to do. Everybody was asking the waiter for things like
foie gras
and
au poivre
, which was baffling because Delmonico’s wasn’t even a French restaurant.

Mr. Ellis had a steak that cost more than fifty dollars. It was so rare that I had to look away after he cut into it. The meat was almost raw, and the sight of it turned my stomach.

“So will you miss us, Stan?” Rachel asked. “California is awfully far away, you know.”

That was why we were here. Rachel and Leigh were leaving tonight on a flight to LAX out of JFK, and this was their farewell dinner.

“I won’t miss paying your rent,” Mr. Ellis said, and then he thanked me for recommending Catering by Tina. “Tina’s food is excellent. And her daughter’s a beautiful girl. She’s your friend, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking that Mr. Ellis must like too-salty food, and that he’d called me a pretty girl the first time I met him but had never once said I was a beautiful girl. He never really spoke to me at all, other than hello and goodbye. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t know my last name.

“And what does her father do?” he asked.

“He’s a psychiatrist,” I said, which seemed to impress Mr. Ellis.

“I see. And what does your father do, Ari?”

“He’s a cop. A homicide detective.”

“How honorable,” he said.

I wasn’t sure he was still impressed. But I chose to take
honorable
as a compliment. I also tried to forget that beautiful is better than pretty and I focused on Blake, who was so handsome in his suit. But I could tell that he just wanted to tear it off.

After dinner we rode to the airport, in a limousine that Mr. Ellis arranged for us as if this was prom night. Del and Idalis had finished a bottle of wine by themselves during dinner and now they were loud and obnoxious. Blake was quiet, so I asked him what was wrong.

He whispered in my ear, “My mother died today.”

He said it as if she had died this very day, this morning or this afternoon, instead of a long time ago. “You mean today is the anniversary?”

He nodded. “Thirteen years. We went to the cemetery this morning.”

His voice was sad. I held his hand. Soon we were at JFK, where the chauffeur unloaded luggage from the trunk and everyone got out of the car. I wanted to give Leigh a goodbye hug even though she’d been so quiet in the limo and so touchy at the restaurant, but she was ignoring me.

“Leigh,” I said, dashing ahead and catching her arm as she headed toward the airport’s automatic doors. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye? You have to give me your new phone number and your address so we can stay in touch.”

She turned around. Her mouth was open. She looked like I’d just said something highly offensive. “Are you kidding?” she asked, and started walking.

“Leigh,” I said again, following her. “What’s wrong with you?”

She faced me. Then she grabbed my wrist and led me to an empty square of sidewalk, out of her family’s earshot. I looked at the gold flecks in her eyes, the brown freckles on her skin. She was right—there were a gazillion of them.

“Why would you want my phone number?” she asked, perching her hands on her hips. “You won’t use it. You didn’t even call me when we lived across the bridge from each other. You said we’d hang out until I moved to California. Remember? In the Hamptons you said we’d hang out for the rest of the spring, but I ended up alone in my apartment as usual. I only see you at school or when you’re with Blake and I just happen to be there. And he went to that Memorial Day party at your sister’s house. But
I
didn’t get an invitation. How come
I
didn’t get an invitation?”

I was stunned. She was speaking quickly and raising her voice, and people walking by with suitcases and garment bags were staring. “W-well,” I stammered. “I know we haven’t seen each other much lately, but I thought you were busy getting ready to move.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “That’s a weak excuse. As soon as you met Blake, you didn’t care about me anymore. You used me to get to him … and it’s not the first time this has happened. Lots of girls are interested in my cousins, and they don’t care who they step on to get what they want. I didn’t think you were like that … I thought you were different. I thought it would be okay to have you around them, that we could all be friends—but I was wrong. You dropped me and you didn’t even notice.”

I had a flashback to a four-course dinner and crème brûlée. I remembered standing in the penthouse, weaseling my way into an invitation to Rockefeller Center so I could see Blake again. I remembered Leigh telling Rachel not to give me dating advice when Rachel said Blake would be perfect for me. “I never meant to—” I started, but she raised her hand like she didn’t want to hear any excuses. And maybe I was lying—maybe part of me really had meant to. I felt horrible, thinking about how friendly she’d been on my first day at Hollister, how I had let her ice skate alone, and I was shocked to realize that I was just like Summer. I’d put my boyfriend above everyone else and let Leigh sit at home on Friday nights. It was my fault that she’d spent the last few months alone in her apartment with nothing but colored pencils. It was even worse to think that this had happened to Leigh before, and that she considered me a girl who didn’t care who she stepped on. I had never thought of myself as that sort of girl. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

“Those are just words,” Leigh said. “Do they make you feel better?”

Not at all. I wanted to make Leigh feel better, but I supposed it was too late now. “I guess you’ll be back to visit soon?” I said meekly, hoping for another chance. “I mean … we can get together and maybe …”

“Yeah,” she said, folding her arms. “I’ll be back soon … to visit my
family.
”

I got the message. I nodded, listening to car doors slamming and people saying “Have a safe trip.” “Well … are you going to give me your new phone number? I promise I’ll call you.”

“Don’t do me any favors.” She spun around and stomped toward the terminal.

I knew I didn’t deserve her phone number or her friendship. But I decided I would make it up to her somehow. I would ask Blake for Leigh’s new address and send her a letter apologizing for everything. Maybe that would mean more than just saying I’m sorry.

I watched her walk toward Rachel, who was checking her suitcases curbside with a guy who had a Russian accent. I climbed into the limo with Blake, Del, and Idalis and just sat there thinking about Leigh.

“Can you give me Leigh’s new address?” I asked Blake.

“Sure,” he said. He reached into his pocket, took out his wallet, and started digging inside. The address was written on the back of an Ellis & Hummel business card that he pressed into my hand. “She didn’t give it to you already?”

“I guess she forgot,” I said, sticking the card in my purse, thinking it was nice of Leigh not to tell Blake that I was a person of questionable character. The fact that she hadn’t made me feel even worse.

Blake nodded. “She was so snotty tonight. That’s not like her. Maybe she’s nervous about moving.”

He hadn’t noticed that I’d ditched her either. We’d been too busy with each other to give Leigh a second thought, even though we both knew how much she needed a friend. I just nodded at Blake and leaned my head against the window, watching Mr. Ellis as he tipped the guy who was taking Rachel’s and Leigh’s suitcases away.

The car door opened and Mr. Ellis slid onto the seat next to Blake. “You have to give these people a good tip,” Mr. Ellis said to nobody in particular. “Otherwise they’ll put your bags on a plane to Moscow just to get even.”

“Yeah,” Del said. “Fucking commies.”

He was drunk. But it was supposed to be a joke and I felt bad when Mr. Ellis didn’t laugh. He turned his back on Del and spoke to Blake about starting at Ellis & Hummel on Monday, and I looked out the window because I got the feeling it was a private conversation.