Flat-Out Celeste (5 page)

Celeste looked around. “Me?” It was too soon for interaction such as this. She did not even have her beverage yet.

“Yes,” the young woman said. “You look like you know what you’re doing. Tell my friend that waxing is essential, or she’s never going to hold onto, much less keep, a man.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, indeed.” Celeste did not recognize her own voice. “Waxing is absolutely essential.” Despite not knowing what waxing was, she felt it important to agree. “Totally.”

“See? This chick knows what she’s talking about. Legs, eyebrows, chin, the whole thing. Gone.”

“The whole thing,” Celeste agreed. “Very important. Wax. Everywhere.”

“Brazilian, right? Tell her she’s got to get a Brazilian if she’s got any kind of self-esteem.”

The girls at the table looked to Celeste for confirmation, so she nodded vigorously and ran a hand through her big curls. This was quite confusing. The girls did not seem like the earth-mother yoga types Celeste had been expecting to find at this place, but she would just roll with the crowd and take lessons in how one should act. “Oh, completely, yes. A Brazilian is a must.”

Celeste was not sure what a Brazilian was, but she would have to get whatever this was. Where did one purchase a Brazilian? A South American specialty store? “I get them all the time. The more expensive, the better.”

“Exactly!” the girl nearly shouted.

“If you insist,” one of her friends said. “I suppose it’ll make me less worried when I’m in Greece next month wearing that thong bikini.”

“Yes,” Celeste added. Her drink arrived, and she took a sip. Okay, it wasn’t good. At all. But it was loaded with nutrition, and yoginis required nutrition. And, based on the taste, they probably also required diarrhea, vomiting, or a combination of the two. She valiantly took a giant swig. Rapid consumption might be the key to getting this down. “Brazilian is the only choice.”

“Sure, it hurts when they do it, but you can’t have any hair peeking out of a bathing suit. Or at naked yoga class. I can’t think of anything more god-awful, can you?” The girl turned to Celeste, “Have you done the naked class in Medford yet? It’s so freaking awesome. Freeing and fabulous.”

“I… I have not. But I am… excited to hear about this,” Celeste said with strained cheer. “I do so relish being naked… in group situations…”

Then the girl made a dramatic ripping sound. “So with waxing, they pull the hair out fast as a whip. and then it’s over. Just yank it all out. It’s the whole reason wax was invented.”

The glass in Celeste’s hand started to shake. “Wait, what?” She was getting an inkling about what waxing meant in this context.

The waxing enthusiast looked to Celeste. “I mean, if she thinks her boyfriend is going to stick around with an out of control situation going on down there, then she’s got to get her head screwed on straight.”

“Down… there?” This sounded more and more alarming.

“It’s our job as women to keep up with feminine maintenance, and this is just part of it. You hear me, girl? And a little decorative bejeweling never hurt either. Something special, yeah?”

That was it. Celeste set down her glass and climbed out of her sunken spot. She stood and chaotically threw her tote bag into the crook of her arm as her yoga mat waved awkwardly in front of her. “No, I do not hear you.” She threw money onto the table and stormed a few feet past their table before whipping around. “I cannot believe I suggested that painfully extricating the entirety of one’s pubic hair in any manner—not to mention such a barbaric one—is a requirement for garnering the commitment of a man. No, no, I refuse to advocate that a woman do anything uncomfortable to her body simply because men have the perverse cultural expectation that all women come to them hairless. Or worse, with assorted gems adorning their genitalia!”

The last thing Celeste heard before she flew out the door was, “Oh. My. God. Did she just say ‘genitalia’ in public?”

Celeste was now officially over this day. She would not be returning to hot yoga, nor would she continue on her path to becoming a yogini. Nor would she be wearing jingling bracelets and drinking repulsive beverages.

And a Brazilian wax was out of the question.

IN WHICH WE ARE INTRODUCED TO A BOY

INSTEAD OF TAKING her usual turn, Celeste parked the car on Mt. Auburn Street, hid behind sunglasses, and walked the brick sidewalks aimlessly. Bordered by the college campus and the Charles River, Harvard Square was her comfort zone. She accepted a flyer from someone offering discounts on hair coloring and another from a guy with tight bright blue pants, which announced auditions for a lead singer for his band. She crumpled the papers into her pocket.

And so she walked and walked. She let her mind go numb because once in a while, it was okay to shut off. Instincts guided her until she found herself sitting on a bench facing the river. This was
her
bench. It was where sh
e came for solace.

The location was a source of both never-ending pain and deep healing. It was where Finn died in a car accident in the dead of winter. She thought about it every day. Erin had been struggling with severe, blinding depression and had taken off in the car, probably totally unaware of what she was doing. Celeste had the devastating experience of walking home from a piano lesson and coming upon the accident. She saw the shattered glass strewn about the street and sidewalk, the crumpled hood, and most of all, her brother’s body, lifeless on the icy snow. He’d been in the backseat without a seatbelt, having jumped into the car at the last minute to stop their mother from driving.

Being here in the spot where he died was always a safe place for her. She could connect with a time in her life when things felt easier. When she had been happy. She sighed. There was no way that she could do this, get through this year and then survive college.

Finn had never succumbed to a challenge. Quite the opposite. The desire to face challenges and go at something full force had defined him, He would be very displeased with her hopelessness. If she pretended that he was next to her, guiding her, encouraging her, pushing her hard, maybe she could navigate the rest of high school and then take on college.

She stopped herself. Celeste knew that she was now in dangerous territory. If she was at a point where she was reverting to imagining that her dead brother was standing next to her, then things were bad. Almost three years of carting around a life-size cardboard cutout of him had taught her a thing or two about dysfunctional coping. Flat Finn remained, thankfully, folded on his hinges, safely in the attic.

Clouds were beginning to infiltrate the blue sky, and the October wind off of the Charles made her shiver. Still, she watched crew rowers glide across the water and did not budge from her spot.

“Celeste?”

She startled. “Matthew! What are you doing here?”

He sat next to her. “Just came down here to walk on water. Perform a few other miraculous antics. You know, the usual.”

“Of course. The wind is picking up, so I do hope the upcoming rough waters will not thwart your plans.” Even Celeste could hear the lack of affect in her voice. She was tired.

“You don’t sound right.” Matt examined her. She tried to turn away, but he reached for her sunglasses and lifted them up. Matt waited until she met his look. This is what Celeste hated, the worried expression on his face and the clear concern that she was a disaster. Matt awkwardly rubbed his fingers under her eyes and over her cheeks.

“Matthew, stop that. I am perfectly fine.” She hoped that her voice was convincing. “I’m probably just still sweating from yoga.”

“I had no idea you were into yoga.”

“Well, I am. Or I was. It may not pan out into a full-fledged lifestyle after all. And you cannot possibly keep up with all of my activities,” she said hurriedly. “This is a busy time for me, both socially and academically. In fact, I should probably get going because I still have a busy day. It’s got to be after four o’clock already.” She stood. “Would you like a ride back to your apartment?”

Matt tipped his head to the side. His dirty blond hair blew into his eyes. She could see that being by this bench was emotional for him too. Both of them were quiet for a moment.

Finally Matt answered her. “Sure. But let me buy you a cup of hot chocolate first. Okay?”

“Were I five years old, a cup of hot chocolate might sound lovely.”

“A different hot beverage then.” Matt got up and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s hang out for a while.”

She paused. It was hard to say no to her brother, and his presence was already helping her a bit. “I gladly accept your invitation.”

They walked silently down JFK Street and into the weekend hubbub of the center of Harvard Square. She stopped them by the window of The Curious George Store. “I used to love those books…” she said.

“Pfft. I always thought the Man with the Yellow Hat was a condescending ass.”

“Matty!” Celeste scolded him. “He was not! He was in charge of a mischievous monkey. He had a right to show the occasional spark of irritation. And more so, he was forever coming to George’s rescue.”

“If by ‘in charge’ you mean that he kidnapped a perfectly happy monkey from his doting parents and illegally took him from the jungle, and then tried to confine him to a zoo, sure he was a shining example of being in ‘charge.’ And what exactly does the Man do for work, huh? Something nefarious if you ask me. All that money? Fancy yellow cars? And what’s up with coordinating his hat to his car? Or… his car to his hat? Which came first?” Matt shook his head. “So many questions.”

Celeste swatted Matt on the arm. “You are hopeless.”

“Seems to be the consensus.”

They crossed the Brattle Street intersection as Celeste asked, “Why would you say such a thing? You are not hopeless. You are the opposite.”

“Oh, nothing. Sorry. Ignore me.” Matt slowed to look into the windows of The Coop.

She waited for him, taking in the diverse Harvard Square crowd. She did love how everyone, even she, seemed to fit in here. There were no rules, and there was a spot for the oddest of the odd. Take the homeless man who wore a plastic crown and rode through the mass of people on a unicycle while reciting Bible verses? Hardly anyone gave him a glance. Skaters, professors, hippies, business people… Everyone belonged, no matter what individuality or stereotype they embraced. Cambridge was home for her. How on earth was she going to leave here next year? Perhaps she should go to Harvard and stay right where she was. She could live at home, after all.

But just then a group of chattering, smiling students walked by her, one of them with a Harvard jacket on. And it hit her again: even at college,
even at Harvard,
there were social expectations that could not be avoided. College did not just take place in isolated classrooms.

The yoga thing clearly hadn’t panned out, but something else would need to. Celeste was not about to turn up at an Ivy League school without making dramatic changes to herself.

“Hey,” Matt said. “There’s a tea shop around the corner on Church Street. I feel like we should have tea.”

“I do not like tea.”

“Me neither.” He scooted through the crowd.

She quickened her pace to keep up with her brother. “Then why must we have tea?”

“Because you’re clearly part British.”

“I assume you are referencing my speech patterns.” She sniffed and lifted up her chin. “That is not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny, my Victorian sister.”

“One cannot help one’s tendencies.”

“Then we shall have tea together, shall we not?”

“Fine. But I expect this place to have Shrewsbury cakes and rout drops. Perhaps even cocoa flummery.”

“See? Told ya you’d like having tea!”

“I will not like it. I am guessing that I should prepare for a stale scone and a flavorless hot beverage, so I will instead rely on your companionship for enjoyment.”

“Then you’re definitely in trouble.” They walked a few blocks, and then Matt held open the door to the tea shop. “After you, m’lady. I want to hear about your visit to Yale last weekend.”

With her hands warming up as she cradled the tea cup, Celeste gave a short summary of Yale. It was… Yale. What was not to love? Beautiful campus delivering one of the top educations in the world, intense academic pressure, highly astute and brilliant professors. Things Celeste loved. Or should love.

“You don’t make it sound very exciting.”

“It was,” she said dryly. She was having an inexplicably difficult time mustering enthusiasm. “I… I suppose that I do not want to get my hopes up should I be denied acceptance.”

“Celeste? They
asked
you to come for an interview. You’re getting in.”

“There are other schools to consider. I am keeping a compare-and-contrast chart of different colleges. We shall see which one comes out on top. There’s Dartmouth. Harvard… those. What are the others? I don’t know. Those silly schools…” Her voice trailed off.

“What?” Matt leaned in. “Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?”

“Huh? Oh… oh dear.” Celeste shook her head and smiled. “I am not sure what came over me. Really, all are highly desirable schools. I will be delighted to accept any one of them.”

“Obviously Harvard is Harvard, but you don’t want to stay at home. Trust me. Get out while you can.” He winked. “Really, I don’t know how you could find a better fit than Yale. And it’s not too far, so I can come down and embarrass you in front of your friends.” Matt nudged Celeste in the arm.

“Actually, I would adore having you visit, Matthew.” She didn’t know what else to say. Yale, Princeton, Cornell, U Penn… They were all blending into one collegiate blob. “Perhaps when you come to visit me, you will take the opportunity to extend your travels.”

“And to where else, I dare ask, do you suggest I travel?”

“Why not explore our great country. The west coast, as a random suggestion. California has lovely weather, really, year round.”

“Celeste…” Matt warned

“It is merely a suggestion. Los Angeles, I believe, is beckoning you.”

“I sense that a Julie conversation is upon us, so let me just stop you right there.”