Nantucket Blue (15 page)

“WHAT’S THIS?”
I asked, the next afternoon. Liz and I were in the kitchen. I was staring at a neat little package wrapped up sweetly in pink tissue paper. It was tied with a strand of lace. Liz and I were relaxing after a long morning. All the beds were made, all the toilets had been wiped clean, and all the wicker wastebaskets emptied.

“Early birthday present,” Liz said. “Go on, now. Open it.”

“Liz, you didn’t have to,” I said. “My birthday isn’t until Tuesday.”

“Open the damn present,” she said, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. Gavin wandered into the kitchen with a stack of mail.

“Something came for you, Cricket,” he said, handing me a fat manila envelope with my name and the inn’s address written in my father’s familiar chicken scrawl.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Gavin, did you know that it’s Cricket’s birthday next week?” Liz said. “She’s going to be eighteen years old.”

“Is that so?” Gavin said. “I’ll have to make a cake. Chocolate with a raspberry filling okay?”

“Yum. Thanks, Gavin,” I said as I worked at the knot of lace that was binding my gift. Gavin turned on the teakettle and sorted through his bills, not knowing how relieved I was that I was going to have a birthday cake—a chocolate one, with raspberry filling! I needed something to replace the tradition Jules and I had started five years ago.

Ever since Jules came to Rosewood, we did pajama birthdays. On our birthdays, Jules and I always brought each other waffles with strawberries and whipped cream in bed. And the breakfast tray was always adorned with Lulu, a stuffed pig we’d bought when Nina took us to FAO Schwarz in New York.

We were way past the age of stuffed animals, and neither of us was a stuffed animal kind of girl, but we both loved this pig. There was only one left in the store, and we’d fought over who would get to buy her, or “adopt” her, as Jules insisted. Nina suggested we split the cost and have joint custody. So every birthday we traded her back and forth. Whoever had Lulu in her possession had to take care of her and give the other “mother” monthly reports on her well-being.
Lulu has thrived this spring,
Jules had written in one note.
She continues to be fuzzy and friendly and has
developed a passion for Bruce Springsteen.

Lulu has experienced her first crush,
I wrote to Jules the next year.
On a stuffed giraffe in our attic. He’s a little old for
her, I think, but these sorts of urges are natural in a young pig.

The teakettle whistled. Gavin poured the water and dunked the teabag.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Liz said, using kitchen sheers to cut the ribbon.

“I love watching people receive gifts,” Gavin said as he blew on his tea. It was some weird medicinal tea, and its bitter aroma filled the room. “Go on, open it.”

Very slowly, I unwrapped the tissue paper, which smelled faintly like perfume, and lifted up a delicate, minuscule black lace thong.

I crumpled it in my hand, hiding it from Gavin. Liz squealed with glee.

“You set me up, Liz,” Gavin said, shielding his eyes and walking back into the living room. “That’s not nice.”

“Didn’t want to rob an old man of a thrill,” she said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“Liz!” My face was burning up. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Do I have to explain?” she asked, cackling. “Don’t act like such an innocent. We share a wall. A very thin wall. I know what you’re up to at night, and I can’t stand the thought of you shagging in your cotton knickers.”

“How do you know I wear cotton underwear?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, what do you wear, then?” Liz asked. I stared at the table. The only underwear I owned were cotton. Mrs. Levander told us other materials led to yeast infections. “Just as I thought. Well, not anymore. Cotton knickers are for little girls, and you, my dear, are about to become a woman.”

ZACK AND I WERE AT THE BEACH
when I finally opened the manila envelope from Dad. I couldn’t wait until next week, but there was something about opening a birthday present alone that was just sad. Half the fun is someone watching.

“Let’s see what you got,” Zack said. Inside was a birthday card with a sparkly fairy on it, something more appropriate for an eight-year-old. But I didn’t mind that. Dad still thought I loved girlie-girl stuff, and I smiled thinking of him searching the card aisle in CVS for something he thought was glittery enough for me. It was signed Dad and Polly, each in their own handwriting. There was also a note that said Alexi was having a sixth birthday party at their house, and if I wanted to come home for the party, they’d pay my way.

“‘Alexi wants to spend more time with his new big sister,’” I read aloud to Zack. “Yeah right. That kid doesn’t like me.” It was true. Whenever I sat at the kitchen table for dinner, he turned his chair to face the other way.

“What’s the gift?” Zack asked.

I unwrapped the present: a pair of jeans. Not just any pair. Clover, the new brand I’d seen in
InStyle
magazine that all the celebrities were wearing. I squealed with happiness. “Check it out,” I said, and held them up. “Oh my god, they’re awesome. I actually like them.”

“You sound so surprised,” Zack said as I slipped them over my bathing suit and spun around. They fit perfectly.

“This is a first,” I said. “My Dad met the Great Birthday Challenge.”

“What’s that?” Zack asked.

“Every year since I was twelve, Dad has bought me an outfit that he picked out himself,” I explained as I pulled the jeans off and folded them back up into the envelope. It was way too hot for jeans. “He said it was one of the great challenges of a father’s life to buy his teenage daughter clothes that she actually liked and wore. The true test would be if I didn’t exchange it.”

“What was the worst gift?” Zack asked.

“My fourteenth,” I said, and lay back in the sand. “It was a sparkly pink jean jacket.” I looked up at the clouds, remembering some of the other “fashions.” “And another time, he bought me one of those knitted dresses, but it looked like it’d been made by someone’s drunk grandma.” Zack laughed and started pouring sand over my legs in loose fistfuls. Zack was definitely a guy who thought girls were funny.

“But last year he actually came really close with this T-shirt dress thing.” I shut my eyes and pictured it. It was the absolute best version of the scoop neck, cap-sleeve, empire waist style that everyone was wearing last summer. It looked so good but also had that “I’m not even trying” look.

“So what was wrong with that one?” Zack asked, patting sand around my legs.

“It was the color of mustard.”

“Dijon or French’s?”

“Grey Poupon.” I ran the warm sand through my fingers. “I told him I loved it when I unwrapped it.”

“Why?” Zack asked. He was covering my knees now.

“It was my first birthday since the divorce, and we were eating lobster at a nice restaurant and he was looking happy again. I didn’t want to ruin it.” I realized now that Dad had probably just started dating Polly around that time. I remembered noticing how cheerful Dad had been, that the color had returned to his face. Zack scooped sand around my thighs. I continued the story. “Dad was like, ‘You really love it? You’re not going to take it back?’ and I was like, ‘Yup, I love it.’ But he didn’t believe me.” I could picture him narrowing his eyes and studying my face. The more I tried to convince him, the more obvious it was I didn’t actually love it. “I finally fessed up after the chocolate mousse.”

“Was he sad?” Zack asked, patting the sand over my legs.

“No,” I said. I remembered Dad laughing and slapping the table with his hand. “God, I came so close!” he’d said. “So close and yet so far. I’ve failed the Great Birthday Challenge again, and I don’t have that many more years left. I have to get it right while you’re a teenager.”

“It just made him more determined,” I told Zack. “He said, ‘Next year, on your eighteenth, I’m going to nail it. Mark my words. Next year I’ll have a victory, even if I have to get a subscription to
Vogue
.’”

“He did it,” Zack said. He was now carving a design into the sand that covered my legs. “He met the Great Birthday Challenge.”

“Yup,” I said.

“Why do you sound disappointed?” Zack asked.

“I don’t know.” Even though I loved the jeans and I wouldn’t have traded them for anything, I kind of missed the sparkly jean jacket, the floral overalls, the purple jumper. I was too old for them now. For the first time on a birthday, I actually did feel older. Zack pulled my arms so that I was sitting upright. He’d transformed my legs into a fishtail, with scales and fins.

“I’m a mermaid,” I said.

“A mer-chamber-maid,” Zack said. “A very rare species. One hasn’t washed up on these shores in a hundred years, and you need to get back in the water before the evil scientists spot you and take you to their lab for experiments.”

“Oh,” I said as he stood and opened his arms. I looked up at his eyes crinkling at the corners with a smile that was meant just for me. Warmth flooded my chest. I broke out of my sand encasement, put my arms around his neck, and hopped up. He caught my legs. “Hurry,” I said. “Get me to the sea! We don’t have much time!”

As we charged toward the water, a family of shorebirds scattered. I screamed as he dropped me in the cold salty water.

THE NEXT DAY,
I was cleaning off the tables on the patio after the breakfast rush when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. A text. I thought it was going to be Zack, who’d sometimes send me a quick message when he woke up; or maybe Liz, who sent me ridiculous sex tips throughout the day with suggestions for various positions. But it was Jules.

Meet me for lunch at the Even Keel?


I texted back immediately. My hand was shaking.

Yes! When?


Noon.


I work until 3


We usually finished by two thirty, but I’d need some time to get my head together.

3:30?


OK C U then.


“Put that phone down,” Bernadette said as she wiped down the tables, piling dirty cloth napkins in the laundry basket. “This isn’t break time.” I was too stunned to let Bernadette’s tone bother me. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and carried an armload of dirty dishes into the kitchen, where Gavin was mixing something up in a ceramic bowl.

“Try this,” he said, handing the batter-covered rubber spatula for me to sample. He was expanding his afternoon cookie repertoire lately, experimenting with new flavors. I ran my finger along the spatula’s edge and tasted the sweet batter.

“Lime?” I asked.

“New recipe,” Gavin said. “What do you think?”

“It’s sweet and tart. It’s kinda…complicated,” I said.

“Complicated, huh? That’s not exactly what I’m going for with my cookies.”

“I mean complex,” I said. I was mixing up my own recipe inside as I thought about seeing Jules. There was a half a cup of guilt over the fact that I was secretly dating her brother, a tablespoon of ice-cold fear that she’d found out about Zack and me, two pinches of boiling anger when I remembered how she’d acted at that party, a teaspoon of whipped hope that she missed me as much as I missed her, and a sprinkling of giddiness that I might get my best friend back.

Gavin sighed. “Well, I guess ‘complex’ could be good.” He used a tablespoon to drop the batter on a cookie sheet.

“Lime cookies will taste so good with your sweet peach sun tea.”

“Now, that’s a good idea, Cricket.” Gavin’s face brightened, his big smile deepening the lines around his mouth and revealing his slightly tea-stained teeth. “I knew I hired you for a reason.” If I thought sweet peach sun tea would make this conversation with Jules easier, I’d have downed a gallon.

I was shaking when I entered the busy café. It was noisy with fifty conversations. It was 3:28 and the place was still slamming. I scanned the room for Jules, hoping that I’d arrived first. She wasn’t inside, so I walked to the back patio. Jules was sitting at a shady table, a cup of coffee in hand. My ears started to hum. She looked up and waved, a half smile on her face.

“Hey. How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. I was so relieved when the waitress approached almost immediately. I ordered a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea.

“I’m all set with coffee,” Jules said to the waitress.

“Oh,” I said, feeling dumb that I was going to be the only one eating. She had said lunch in her text, right? Shit. I wasn’t even hungry.

“I already ate,” she said with a shrug. “So, what’s going on with you?”

I’m wearing a thong!
I want to tell her.
I went swim
ming with a boy! Buck-ass naked! I think I’m in love. With your
brother!

“Not much,” I said, folding my hands in front of me on the table. We were like those people we would see at The Coffee Exchange in Providence on Internet dates. While we were doing homework we listened to people on coffee dates have the world’s most awkward conversations. We’d pass notes back and forth with our commentary.
He just wants to
squeeze her big boobs,
Jules once wrote on my social studies folder as a girl went on and on about feminist theory and her bearded date made noises of pretend interest.
She’s refus
ing to mention his vampire fangs!
I scribbled to Jules on the corner of her math homework another time when a guy at the next table polished his fake fangs with his index finger while his date talked about her dance class.
And he’s dying to
discuss!

We sat there for another thirty seconds in awkward silence, each of us taking in the café surroundings as if we were foreigners observing American island culture. Finally, I just came out with it. “Let me just start by saying that I’m really glad you texted me. I’ve been so, so worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Cricket.”

“But, Jules. I care about you. I’m your…friend.” I’d stopped myself from saying best friend.

“My mom died,” she said. “You can’t expect me to act normal.”

“No,” I said. “I know.”

“You have to let me act how I want to,” she said. The tips of her ears reddened.

“But even if you want to act mean? Like telling Jay what I said about his brother. Do you like him?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why did you do that?” The waitress dropped off my iced tea. I looked her in the eye and smiled. “Thank you so much,” I said. If she overheard any of this, I wanted her to be on my side. I pounded the straw out of its paper case and took a long drink.

“I was drunk, and it just came out.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. He’ll never go out with me now. And that night, at the party, you were acting like a different person.”

“I am different,” she said, as if I were proving her point.

“But you’re still you,” I said. “You’re still Jules Clayton.”

“I’m not,” she said.

“But
I
didn’t do anything wrong.”

“My family is mine. You’ve been acting like it’s yours.”

“We were all acting like that,” I said, my voice trembling with hurt. I crossed my arms. “You invited me to spend the night all the time. Nina always set a place for me at the table. Even on school nights. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Jules raised her eyebrows at me. “What? What did I do?”

“The memorial service?” She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I looked at her blankly. The Caesar salad landed in front of me.

“Fresh pepper?” the waitress asked.

“No, thank you.” I turned back to Jules. “What did I do?”

“You weren’t supposed to talk,” Jules said. She sat back and folded her arms.

“But I asked you afterward, remember? And you said it was fine. You said it was great.”

“Mom had just died,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what I was saying.”

I stared at the salad I knew I wasn’t going to be able to eat. “I thought…I mean, when you were up there you looked like you were about to laugh or die. You even said yourself that you were freaking out.”

“It wasn’t your place. She wasn’t your mom. She was mine.”

“I thought I was helping,” I said.

“Well, you were wrong.”

“Your dad didn’t mind. Zack didn’t mind.”

“I did,” Jules said. I sat back, inhaling the coffee-scented café air. I didn’t want to be wrong and I didn’t want her to be right, but as I watched her shoulders rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths, it was so clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really, really sorry.” I wanted to fling myself over the table and hug her. I wanted to reach out and touch her hands. She put her hands in her lap in such a way that made me feel like I might never be able to touch her again. I balled up my hands. My eyes filled.

“Sometimes I think I smell her perfume,” I said, wiping the tears away with a stiff napkin. “It happened once when I got off the ferry, and again when I was walking past The White Elephant. Does that ever happen to you? Do you ever smell her perfume?”

“Marc Jacobs perfume is really popular.” Jules shook her head and stirred her coffee. I sensed I was annoying her. I willed my tears to stop. “Look, I can’t explain how I’m feeling, but that’s the thing. I don’t want to explain how I’m feeling, and I shouldn’t have to. No one else is asking me to.”

“Okay,” I said. “I understand.” I pushed the salad around on my plate. “What made you text me?”

“Zack,” she said. “Freak boy.”

“Oh.” My shoulders caved as guilt flooded my chest.

“He said I owed it to you to at least tell you why I was mad. He believes in discussing feelings.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh,” I said, and slid the pepper toward her, wondering if she’d build a leaning pepper tower like she always did at school.

“So what are you doing for your birthday? It’s on Tuesday, right?” she asked, ignoring the pepper.

“Yeah. I think the people at the inn are going to have a little party maybe.”

“That sounds nice,” she said. I met her eyes. “I better go. I’m working tonight.” She picked up her bag like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Look, I feel bad, okay? I know you didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay.”

“And I know I’ve been a total bitch.” She closed her eyes, defeated, and then swung her bag over her shoulder and sighed.

“It’s okay.”

“Happy birthday, Cricket.” She smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. But it was close.