Nantucket Blue (16 page)

“I’D KILL FOR YOUR FLAXEN TRESSES,”
Liz said over the noise of the hair dryer. I was sitting in front of the vanity in her room in my bathrobe. She had put hot curlers in my hair a half hour ago, and now she was taking them out, revealing wavy perfection. My hair had never looked so good. I’d thought curlers were for grandmas, but now I was thinking I needed to ask for a set of these for Christmas.

“You’re giving me magazine hair!” I clapped.

“Tonight is the night,” Liz said.

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

“Oh, who are you kidding?” Liz said, laughing.

“Seriously, I can’t do it with this guy, but I still want to look hot.”

“You’re going to torture this poor bloke,” Liz said.

Zack was taking me out on a real date for my birthday, which was technically at 12:31 a.m. He wanted to be with me the moment I turned eighteen, so we were celebrating Monday night. We were going out to dinner at Gigi’s, the place where he worked as a busboy and one of the nicest, most expensive restaurants on Nantucket. It was not a place for children. It was a place for women in high heels and expensive dresses and men in ties and loafers. I’d peeked in the windows once and seen a grown couple making out.

“Are you sure you want to take me there?” I’d asked Zack when he told me the plan. The cheapest thing on the menu was the bleu cheese hamburger, and it was thirty-three dollars. But he’d said yes. He and the chef, Anne-Marie, had become friends this summer.

“Anne-Marie promised me an unforgettable meal, on the house. And Jeff, the manager, said he’d turn a blind eye if I happened to bring in a bottle of champagne, which you know I have.”

“Are you sure your dad won’t miss that champagne?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zack said. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock.”

I was a little worried about people seeing us together. Every day felt like an extension on a paper, one more day of putting off something we had to do—break it off. But every day also tasted like ice cream. And I always wanted another bite.

I’d been thinking about this date all day while I cleaned. After Liz and I finished the rooms, I checked in with George, who was now communicating only with hand signals. The particular one he was giving me meant go away.

So I took a long shower, using the Bumble and bumble shampoo a guest had left behind. I’d waited a week for the guest to call and reclaim it, but there hadn’t been a word. The shampoo was mine. I sat down in the shower to shave my legs. I toweled off, put on some nice lotion, and once I was completely dry, I slipped the green dress over my head. I looked in the mirror. Perfection. Liz insisted I put a robe over my dress as she did my hair and makeup.

“Ouch,” I said, when one of her curlers snagged, pulling my hair.

“Well, do you want to be beautiful or do you want to be comfortable?” Liz asked as she untangled it.

“Can’t I be both?” I asked.

“No,” she said, slapping some product on her hands and twisting the ends of my hair. “You must choose. Beauty or comfort.”

“Fine,” I said. “Beauty.”

“Good girl.”

WHEN I HEARD THE WHISTLE
across the street, I knew it was meant for me. Since I’d stepped out of the inn, I’d felt eyes on me. Liz had worked wonders with my hair, making it appear thicker and bouncier than ever before, and she’d applied little fake eyelashes one by one with a pair of tweezers to “open up” my eyes. At first I told her there was no way I was going to let her put fake eyelashes on me, but she assured me they’d look great. She was right.

But it was the dress that was turning heads. This dress was a beautiful-girl costume. Another whistle. I thought maybe it was Zack, but when I turned my head, it was Jay. He was across the street, flanked by Fitzy and Oliver. They had fishing poles over their shoulders. Jay was holding a tackle box, and Fitzy was barefoot, smoking a cigar.

“C.T.,” Jay said.

“Hi,” I said, and waved.

They watched me cross the street. Fitzy narrowed his eyes and puffed on his cigar. Before I’d arrived, I had this idea that Nantucket was so small that it would be impossible not to run into the people you knew. But it wasn’t like that. I hadn’t seen these guys since that night at the party in ’Sconset. A few times, I’d actually tried to will Jay to appear so I could explain to him, in my own words, how sorry I was about what I said about his brother. Maybe there’d been a delayed reaction to my prayers, because there he was, looking happy to see me. I wondered for a second if I should be nervous, if this was a trick, if Jay was going to make me think everything was cool and then tell me off, but I didn’t think so. He was drinking me in like a cold glass of lemonade.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Fitzy said.

“Yes, we have,” I said.

“I think I’d remember,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Cricket,” I said. I watched him listen. This was the power of looking good. It made boys pay attention. It popped their little independence bubble.

“I’m Andrew Fitzpatrick,” he said, and planted a cool kiss on my hand.

“Cricket Thompson”—Jay glared at him—“is a friend of mine from Providence.” A friend? I met his gaze. Jay’s bright blue eyes shone against his tanned caramel skin. There was no doubt about it: Jay was probably one of the best-looking guys in the world, and summer had given him a glowing confidence. He’s going to be important someday, I thought.

“Where are you off to looking so beautiful?” he asked.

“Dinner,” I said, feeling myself flush.

“What I wouldn’t do to be dinner,” Fitzy said, shaking his head and biting his cigar.

“You sound like someone’s gross uncle,” Oliver said, laughing.

“How about you guys go ahead,” Jay said, nodding his head at Fitzy and Oliver. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“How come you get a private audience with this gorgeous woman?” Fitzy asked him.

“Because she’s my friend,” Jay said. There was that word again.
Friend.

“We’ll just pop into the pharmacy for a hot dog,” Oliver said, slapping Fitzy on the back. “Would you like a dog, Jay?”

“I could eat a dog,” said Jay. Fitzy snuffed his cigar, and the two of them went inside the pharmacy.

“Listen,” I said, “I need to apologize. I’m so sorry for what I said. It was horrible and judgmental and I’m just so sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” he said.

“Really?” This seemed too easy.

“Jules told me she’d taken the comment out of context.”

“She did? Really?” He nodded. “Oh my god, that’s great.” I breathed in deeply. Air filled a spot in my lungs that had been puckering since the fight. Jules had made things right. She had forgiven me.

“She also showed me this.” Jay pulled out of his pocket the list I’d made the morning after the party at Nora’s, my top five reasons for liking Jay Logan.

There was tape along the edges, and I could tell that Jules had saved it in our notebook and removed it to give to Jay. “I especially liked number five,” he said, and I reread it.
Jay always sticks up for his brother so I know he’s a good guy
with a real heart.
“I guess I also like number one.”
He has big,
dreamy eyes and the best boy butt I’ve ever seen.

“I’m so embarrassed,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I’m just so glad this is cleared up.…” I trailed off. He was gazing at me the way I’d wanted him to since the eighth grade. His smile was so bright and winning, I was in a spotlight. The people passing by all seemed to notice us. They were looking at us the way I’d looked at the glossy, dressed-up Nantucketers when I’d stepped off the ferry. My throat was dry.

“Me too. ’Cause I was hoping you’d be my girl next year.” His girl? So old-fashioned. And yet…like something Jay-Z might say to Beyoncé. It was the invitation I’d been waiting for for three years. Was he asking me out? He was, right? Being Jay Logan’s girlfriend would be like winning a prize. I’d be untouchable. Golden. Chosen for a better life. It would be like getting into Princeton, early admission, with a full ride for specialness. I smiled.

“Is that a yes?” Jay asked, and stepped closer to me.

He was standing so close, glimmering like some kind of American hero in his faded Whale’s Tale beer T-shirt. We would be the couple of the year. I drank in the possibility. There had been times when I’d imagined this moment at lacrosse practice, and it always made me run faster.

“I’ve thought about that night at Nora’s,” he said. “I really wanted to kiss you.”

“Me too,” I said. It was true. I’d obsessed about that moment at the beginning of the summer. But not recently. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t fantasized about kissing him, or played the Jay playlist for weeks. It struck me that I didn’t want to go any further with him than this. Right here. This was enough. This was the fantasy. Maybe this whole time, the possibility of Jay was all I’d wanted. But before I could tease this thought apart from all the others that were going through my mind, he placed a gentle hand on my back, leaned in, and pressed his lips to mine. Jay Logan was actually kissing me!

I pressed back. I did. I kissed him back because I had to know if it was the idea of Jay or Jay himself that I liked so much. I tingled with a feeling that I was doing something wrong, which was confusing because tingling is tingling.

“Nice move, Logan,” said Fitzy. “Way to break your buddy’s heart.” We pulled apart. There were Fitzy and Oliver, hands full of hot dogs. The church bells chimed eight o’clock.

“I’m having a party on Friday,” Fitzy said. “Eighty-two Cliff Road. Bring your sister.”

“I don’t have a sister,” I said.

“Damn,” he said.

“I have to go,” I said.

I spotted Zack as soon as I pushed open the bright red door of Gigi’s. He was sitting at a table by a window with a bouquet of wildflowers and a bottle of champagne, looking at his watch. He was wearing a button-down shirt and his Nantucket Reds.

“Hi,” I said. He looked at me and stood up. He was only six feet away, but I couldn’t get to him fast enough. Any confusion I’d experienced on the walk over vanished like a drop of water in direct sunlight. He put his arms around me and I kissed him. And when I did: phosphorescence.

“I’m in love with you, Zack Clayton,” I said.

“I’m in love with you, too,” he said, and kissed me again. “I’m in love with my secret lover.”

IT HAPPENED IN MY LITTLE ROOM
with the slanted ceiling right before the sun came up and all the champagne was gone. It wasn’t what I thought it would be at all. It wasn’t as easy as they make it look in the movies. It took kind of a while to get everything all lined up and protected and ready to go. The actual sex part was pretty short, and I was relieved it was short. I know I’m supposed to want it to last, but I didn’t. I’ve heard that’s kind of normal for a first time. I kept my eyes open, when I always thought I’d be the type to keep them shut. Oh, and the kissing was still my favorite part, which isn’t what I thought, that the first thing you do with a boy could be the best. And I did feel different afterward; I felt all shaky and energized. Maybe that’s because it’s good exercise. I think that’s what they say, anyway. And my face was really hot, and that made me feel pretty. I didn’t think I would feel pretty. Or if I did, I thought it would be in a flowing-white-nightgown kind of way, not a cheeks-full-of-embers way.

I wanted to call someone. And not because I wanted to spill every little detail, but because I wanted it to be known that something had happened to me. I wanted to stay awake, even as Zack seemed to be drifting off. I touched his muscular back. He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I picked his button-down shirt off the floor and put it on to sleep in. It smelled like him. I promised myself I would always remember the moment of putting on his shirt.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t be embarrassed to go out with me?” he asked, his arm around me as we spooned.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m sure.” This time, I meant it.

He kissed my hair and I heard his breath deepen as he fell asleep.

I thought I was awake all night, because I remember the sky whitening and the birdsong and smiling at the ceiling. But I must’ve drifted off, because when I heard the knock at the door, I was dreaming I was back in Providence, sitting in front of a roaring fire on the big sofa in the living room. In my dream it was winter. Outside, a snowstorm howled. The sky was purple-gray, snow was flying sideways, and the wind was knocking against the windows, but I was under the cream-colored blanket. I was warm, warm, warm.

But the knocking was too persistent for a dream. It was real.

“Cricket?” a voice said. I knew that voice. I missed that voice. I loved that voice. The sound of it lured me out of the warm bath of sleep. My eyes fluttered open. There was Jules with Lulu the pig in one hand and a waffle topped with whipped cream in the other. For a second, I smiled. She’d brought Lulu to Nantucket! She’d found my room! She’d remembered my birthday! She’d made a waffle and carried it all the way from Darling Street! And oh, there was something I needed to tell her. As I held my breath trying to remember what it was that was so important, so wonderfully important, I watched her face register disgust.

“Zack?” she asked.

I SAT ON THE PATIO
, wearing the construction paper birthday crown Liz had made me, taking deep breaths, trying to focus on the bouquet of yellow and white flowers in a vase in front of me, which had arrived just an hour ago. I’d read somewhere that flowers absorb negative energy, making the space around them more positive; this was why flowers made sick or angry people feel better. I was hoping it worked for worried people, too. It was almost four o’clock and I hadn’t heard from Jules or Zack since they’d left this morning at seven, even though I’d been calling both of them obsessively. As soon as Jules saw Zack sleeping shirtless beside me, she’d put Lulu and the waffle on the floor and left without another word. She slammed the door on her way out, which woke up Zack. When I told him what had just happened, he kissed me once and left to find her.

When the delivery boy dropped the flowers at the front desk and Gavin called out, “Flowers for the birthday girl!” I thought they were from Zack, and my heart pushed against my ribs as I stripped off my pink latex gloves and dove for the card. For a second I thought that maybe he hadn’t been able to return my four phone calls and six texts because Jules had been nearby, but somehow he’d found time to send me flowers. Or maybe, I thought, he felt that because we’d had sex for the first time last night, some higher form of communication was necessary—communication by flowers. But I opened the little white envelope and my eyes landed on the word
Mom
with a thud.

“They’re from my mom,” I said to Gavin.

“That was lovely of her!” Gavin admonished me gently. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”

It had been Liz’s day off. (I was surprised when she didn’t switch with me for my birthday, but she and Shane had both orchestrated Tuesdays as their day off and they were sacred to her. They refused to spend a single Tuesday apart. She was bringing him to my little birthday party.) She’d spent the night at Shane’s, so I hadn’t even been able to tell her what happened. I wondered if Bernadette had been able to sense my anxiety, because she’d been nicer to me than usual, meaning that she left me alone and didn’t make me crawl under beds to hunt the dust bunnies.

The first time I’d seen Liz today was fifteen minutes ago when she placed the crown on my head and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Shane and me to make awkward conversation on the patio. Thankfully, he’d gone inside after a minute, leaving me alone with my thoughts. My head was too busy and too tangled to make small talk. On the one hand, I was thrilled. I’d had sex! I was in love! I was different and my cheeks had been blushing for eight hours straight to prove it. I’d catch glimpses of myself in mirrors and place a hand on my new face. I was warm and glowing. At the same time, guilt and shame washed over me in waves, sending acid to my stomach. All I wanted to do was steal Liz away so that I could tell her everything, and she could both celebrate with me and reassure me that I wasn’t a terrible person, that what I’d done was understandable and okay, that Jules would come around and be happy for me.

I could feel the late afternoon sun burning my arms as I listened to Gavin and Liz gather plates, forks, and glasses for the iced tea for my mini birthday party.

“You look like one conflicted birthday girl,” George said as he walked up the porch steps. He was finally off of his crutches and was carrying something in his hand. It was wrapped in newspaper.

“I have a lot on my mind,” I said, forcing a smile.

“I can see that.” He put the newspaper-wrapped item in front of me. “Here. This is for you. Open it.”

“Wow, thanks, George.” I hadn’t expected a gift from him. I smiled when I saw the Apple logo on the box. “Oh my god, George, is this the new iPad?” It was the one that just came out. “Wow! Are you sure?”

“Yes.” George put his elbow on the table and rested his hand in his palm. He smiled. “Do you like it?”

“I love it! This is so nice.”

“You’ve been a great intern. I couldn’t have done it without you. It’s the least I can do.” He tapped out a beat on the table.

“It’s so cool.” I took it out of its box. “Thank you so much.”

“And check this out,” he said, motioning for me to hand it to him. He showed me a voice-recording app. “I don’t know if working with me this summer will have any influence on you, but just in case, I figure you should be prepared. You never know when you might find yourself in the middle of a great story. They’re happening all the time, and now you can record them.” He nodded at someone inside and put an arm on my shoulder. “Now, cover your ears, Thompson, I don’t want to hurt you with my singing voice.”

“Happy birthday to you…” George started as Gavin carried a dark chocolate cake decorated with a wreath of sugary violets and topped with eighteen sparkling candles out to the patio. Liz followed with a pitcher of iced tea topped with lemon slices, and Shane carried a tray of glasses, forks, and the nice, gold-rimmed china plates.

“Happy birthday to Cricket,” they all sang. “Happy birthday to you!”

As I was blowing out the candles, I wished for two things at once.

Liz shrieked. She was looking at the newspaper the iPad was wrapped in that I’d left on the table. It was
The Inquirer
and Mirror
, the local Nantucket paper. “Cricket, it’s you!” she said, pointing at the cover photograph. “It’s you in your green dress with your secret boyfriend.” It was a big picture of Jay and me, kissing on Main Street. The headline read: “Young Love Blooms in the Perfect Summer Weather.” She laughed. “I guess he’s not your secret boyfriend anymore!”