Roomies (22 page)

Floozily yours,

EB

Yes: The engraved “love” necklace that Mark gave me.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 4

SAN FRANCISCO

I’m at a
restaurant
. Eating
brunch
. On a
Sunday morning
.

Apparently, this is what people do. Or, this is what certain kinds of people do and have been doing on Sunday mornings all this time while I’ve been cleaning pancake batter off the kitchen floor and walls, and out of P.J.’s hair.

My parents are deadly serious about “freeing” me, and my dad practically snatched Francis out of my arms to push me out the door to meet Zoe. But not before remarking, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Zoe. That’s nice.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, and pocketed the Saturn keys. “Since our talk about friends and stuff, yeah.” Half the time he thinks I’ve been spending with Zoe, I’ve actually been with Keyon. For some reason I haven’t told my parents about him.

Dad held Francis out airplane-style and made him “kiss” me, aka put his open fish-lips on my cheek. “Kiss sissy! Sissy takes Daddy’s advice! Kiss kiss kiss!”

“O
kay
, Dad. You’re getting his drool on my shirt.” But of course I couldn’t resist taking a fake bite out of Francis’s little cheek before leaving.

Now I’m with both Zoe
and
Keyon, so they can get to know each other a little bit better. Which may be pointless as we’re all going our separate ways in a few weeks, but it doesn’t feel pointless. They already knew each other, slightly, because of Zoe being generally more social than me at school. She seems intimidated by his cuteness and undeniable charm, though, and swerves between chattering away and staring into her crepes as if they are asking the Riddle of the Sphinx.

In one of her staring moments, I ask what we should do after brunch.

Zoe shrugs and moves to withdraw her phone from her pocket. I hold her arm. “Let’s see if we can think of something without asking the Internet.”

“We could scout for some Bakelite,” Keyon suggests.

“Some what?” Zoe asks.

I ignore her question. The little antiques business Keyon and I are plotting is more fun as a secret. “What do normal people do on the weekend? Like, after brunch? Walk in the park? Go to a movie?”

“Usually I meet some guys at the gym for ball,” Keyon says.

“Oh. Do you… want to do that?” I shouldn’t have assumed we’d be spending the whole day together.

But he shakes his head, reaching over to my plate to help himself to my last piece of bacon. I grab it, too, and it tears in half. We crack up and each cram half a bacon slice into our mouths. Zoe’s eyes flick from me to him and back to me. “You guys don’t have to hang out with me all day.”
If you want to be
alone, her face says.

I hold her arm. “Yes, we do.”

Spending all that time with her at her house hasn’t made me sick of Zoe. On the contrary, I feel more attached than ever, hyperaware of what we’re soon about to lose. Even if the loss is temporary, it’s still loss.

“I was thinking about shooting some footage for my next vlog. It’s sort of a diary of my last few weeks in San Francisco,” she explains to Keyon. “Before college. Do you like art?”

I bite my lip. Is Zoe calling her vlogs art?

But she continues, to me: “Because I was thinking that gallery we went to last weekend would give me some cool background shots and stuff.”

“I like art,” Keyon says, nodding gamely.

“There are lots of places to see art,” I say. “Museums, for example.” It’s one thing to go spy on Ebb’s dad’s gallery out of curiosity when it seemed like no big deal. Another thing to go back and do it again before I even confess to her about the first time, if I do.

“Galleries are free,” Keyon points out.

“And I want to check out that local artist dude,” Zoe adds. “The guy said we should come back. We can pretend we’re going to buy something and make it part of my video.”

The guy
, meaning Ebb’s dad.

“It’s probably not open on Sundays. Anyway, the owner isn’t—” I’m about to say the owner isn’t there, he’s in Italy, but explaining how I know that is way too complicated. “The owner isn’t about to believe
we’re
going to buy a painting.”

“We could call, to see if they’re open. I still have the card.” She produces it after a second of digging around in her bag, and punches the number into her cell.

Something bumps my foot under the table. Keyon’s foot. I bump it back. Do friends with benefits play footsie? That seems distinctly romantic to me. Playful. Boyfriendy. And when I pull some cash out of my pocket and lay it on the table for the bill, he pushes it back.

“I got it.”

“I can pay for mine,” I say.

“I’m good.”

“But—”

Zoe, now off the phone, interrupts. “Let him pay! Gallery is open. We’re going.”

Keyon settles the bill and we head out.

Ebb’s dad was right about the new stuff he has up. They’re paintings by this guy named Edward Sherman—a lot of cityscapes that are recognizable parts of San Francisco but not the same stuff you always see, like the Golden Gate Bridge or the Victorian houses on Steiner Street. There’s one of the Financial District at twilight. A line of traffic at sunset. There’s also a series of portraits of jazz musicians. Well, not really portraits, because it’s like the music is a part of the paintings of these musicians playing their instruments.

“My dad would like this,” Keyon says, standing in front of one called
Jammin’
.

I stand next to him and he snakes his arm around my waist. It’s a total boyfriend move, the arm around the waist. There is no question. Zoe takes a few seconds of footage with her digital video cam; I make a face.

“I want this!” Zoe exclaims, putting her finger on the wall next to one of the cityscapes. I untangle from Keyon, walking over to check it out; the sign reads
Marina, After Rain
.

“Yeah,” I say. “I love the wet pavement and the way those clouds are breaking up.”

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

It’s Ebb’s dad, behind us. I stare at him, blinking. Because as far as I know, we’re still in San Francisco, not Italy.

“Unfortunately it’s already in someone’s private collection,” he adds.

“Not that I could afford it, anyway,” Zoe says.

“So I was right?” Mr. Ebb asks. “You do like this artist better than what you saw last time?”

“You remember us!”

Sure I do
, he might say.
I have a daughter your age.

No, Mr. Ebb tells us more stuff about the artist. He went to high school in the suburbs around here, and then the Academy of Art right in the city. I nod, watching his face. Maybe it’s not her dad. Maybe he hasn’t left for Italy yet. Maybe I misunderstood Ebb’s e-mail. “Um,” I ask, “will you have this stuff up next weekend, too?”

“All this week and next weekend. Then I’m curating something different. Video art, actually,” he says to Zoe, giving her video camera a little tap. “You should come. We’re getting a new Bill Viola piece. Do you know his work?”

“No…”

“Is that going to be
here
?” I ask, sounding incredulous. I point my finger to the floor on which I now stand, so that he knows I mean
here
here. Not Italy here.

“Yes.” He gives me an odd look. And so do Keyon and Zoe.

“Just double-checking,” I explain to them both. “Is there a bathroom I could use?” I ask Ebb’s dad.

He points me to it, and once inside I lean against the door. I feel queasy. Like I know too many things I shouldn’t know. I know this guy’s daughter lost her virginity and I know he has no idea. I know he’s lying to her and I can’t imagine why. Or she’s lying to me. And now I’m lying to her, or that’s how it feels, knowing something that’s none of my business like this.

Why
did I feel it necessary to come here last weekend? Everything was fine.
And it still is
, I tell myself. Forget this whole thing and carry on. It’s summer. The last summer. Nothing needs to be serious—not my friendship with Ebb, not things with Keyon, not even the weeks I have left with Zoe.

I pee and wash my hands and attempt, alternately, to smooth and fluff my hair, and reapply my tinted lip balm. “No responsibilities,” I say to my reflection, repeating my mother’s words. “No ties. Be. Free.”

When I open the door, Keyon is standing there. “You all right?”

I nod. Then shrug. Then nod.

One corner of his smile twitches and he leans close, saying low in his sexy voice, “Who were you talking to in there?”

“Myself,” I whisper back.

He kisses me. It feels different. I mean, every kiss has been amazing, but this has something behind it. A feeling. This kiss communicates. It communicates
I hope you’re all right, and you being all right is my business, and yes, we can talk about it later and I’ll be listening, I’ll be whatever you need me to be.

I back away, dizzied from hearing all that through his unspeaking lips.

We return to the main gallery, where Zoe is now interviewing Ebb’s dad on video, asking, “Do you have to be totally rich to own a place like this?”

“Zoe!” I exclaim. “Rude.”

Mr. Ebb laughs, the tan skin around his eyes crinkling. “You have to have some cash flow, I will admit.”

“I have to go,” I say to Zoe.

“Why?” she asks, still shooting.

“I just do.”

“There’s a reception for the artist next weekend if you’d like to come,” Mr. Ebb says, giving me a postcard. “I can introduce you both.”

Keyon rests his hand behind my neck.

What’s
happening
? Why is everything so serious, so suddenly?

I make his hand go away by walking toward the door.

Outside, the air cools my face and I try to sort through the last twenty minutes. When Keyon comes out, he asks, quietly, “Why say you’re okay when you’re not okay?”

I shake my head. We’ll only be alone for a second more.

Zoe plunges through the door, staring at her camera. “That was awesome. I can’t wait to edit this vlog.”

EB—

“It was sweet and intense”? That’s all I get? Zoe hasn’t done it yet so she’s no help. YOU ARE THE ONLY PERSON I PERSONALLY KNOW WHO HAS DONE IT AND WOULD TALK TO ME ABOUT IT. Do you feel like Mark owns a piece of your heart now, that you’ll never get back? Do you think it’s possible to have sex and then be able to let it go and be your old self or is it a forever thing that changes you? What does it feel like to be in love? ALSO PS I DON’T THINK YOUR DAD IS IN ITALY.

I backspace over all that and start again.

EB—

Do I want him to be my boyfriend? Good question. We went out to brunch with Zoe and then the three of us hung out (this is my new “free” life), and everything about it felt like he was my boyfriend and some things happened that felt serious (not physical things. emotional things. interpersonal things that are hard to explain) and after we dropped Zoe off, Keyon was kinda like “did I do something wrong?” because I guess my body language was… argh I don’t know.

He didn’t do anything wrong. He paid for my food and put his arm around me and stuff and there was this kiss unlike all his other kisses and I should have been ready for things to change, should have thought about this A LITTLE BIT before now—but I didn’t and my head was elsewhere to be honest. Blah blah blah anyway BORING I don’t know. Benefits will continue to be limited.

And maybe I’ve been kidding myself about the “friends” part. Maybe he already is my boyfriend. Why is it so confusing? I guess things are a little more clear when the guy gives you a necklace that says “love”!!!

Yes I guess my family will survive without me. And your mom will without you.