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Authors: Elizabeth O'Roark
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coming home to pass time in a less intellect-heavy way.
“You should be watching carefully, Maura,” teases Mrs. McDonald. “From what I hear, you’re next.” All the moms titter, my mom and Mrs. Mayhew especially, looking at each other meaningfully. Jesus. We’ve dated for less than two months and they all know.
“Hardly,” I mutter sourly, refusing to play along.
Before the shower ends, Elise pulls me aside. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks tentatively.
“Of course,” I reply. She seems anxious, which makes me anxious in turn.
“I’m sorry,” she says, gesturing back at the room strewn with silver bows and white wrapping paper. “I know you hate this stuff.”
“God, Elise, don’t apologize! I don’t hate it. I’m excited for you,” I say, and I sound sincere, because I’m so horrified that she’s apologizing. “This was great.”
“I have to tell you something,” she breathes.
“Okay.”
“Brian asked Nate to be one of his groomsmen,” she says, watching me with her big worried eyes, holding her breath as if I’m going to explode in response. It’s been our rule, all this time: don’t mention Nate, under any circumstance. It’s the first time she’s broken it.
I feel my stomach plummeting, my chest tightening. Just the sound of his name would have had this effect. But God, it’s not just that. It’s the prospect of seeing him, after five years of silence. It’s finally happening, and I really have no choice in the matter.
“Okay,” I say, my voice whistling high through a constricted throat.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleads. “I hope it’s not going to be weird.”
Oh, it’s going to be so weird that weird isn’t even the word for it. “No,” I murmur. “It’s fine.” I feel like I’m replying to her from far away, an international call in another time zone.
She looks relieved. She’s the only one of us who is.
I haven’t seen Nate in five years. I have to be over it by now , I tell myself. I have to be.
CHAPTER 13
I came home from school during the winter of my junior year of high school and found both my parents sitting in the living room, their faces drawn. I couldn’t imagine why they’d even be there. At this time of day my father should be at work, my mother at the club. She claimed to divide her day up between tennis and golf, but on the rare times I saw her, my impression was she was dividing her time up between martinis and vodka tonics. There was no other noise, another unnerving development. Even without them home, there was always noise, the sound of a distant vacuum, the clang of a cookie sheet slapping against a counter.
My mother’s eyes were swollen, and she’d cried her makeup off. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her without it. She tried to tell me something, but began crying before the words were out.
“Your grandfather died this morning,” my father said.
“What?” I cried, my voice equal parts grief and anger. It had to be a mistake. My grandfather played tennis every Saturday at the club, and golf every Sunday. He hadn’t even retired yet. “He’s healthy!” I argued, as if I might somehow make them recognize their error. My mother cried harder.
“He had a heart attack, Maura,” my father said quietly. “It happens.”
We left for the beach, stopping by USC to pick up Jordan on the way. For once even he didn’t try to lighten the silence.
The town was so different in the winter. Not cold, really, by anyone’s standards, but grayer and wetter. Without the sun to burn off the moisture, the air hung like netting around us, settling on our shoulders and refusing to push away. And it was quiet. The stores were closed, the beaches were empty, the tourists had disappeared. It felt like the island had died too. As if it had been my grandfather who brought all the people and the weather and the life, and without him nothing could flourish.
Nate wasn’t there. I’d known he wouldn’t be. UVA was too far away
“You should be watching carefully, Maura,” teases Mrs. McDonald. “From what I hear, you’re next.” All the moms titter, my mom and Mrs. Mayhew especially, looking at each other meaningfully. Jesus. We’ve dated for less than two months and they all know.
“Hardly,” I mutter sourly, refusing to play along.
Before the shower ends, Elise pulls me aside. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks tentatively.
“Of course,” I reply. She seems anxious, which makes me anxious in turn.
“I’m sorry,” she says, gesturing back at the room strewn with silver bows and white wrapping paper. “I know you hate this stuff.”
“God, Elise, don’t apologize! I don’t hate it. I’m excited for you,” I say, and I sound sincere, because I’m so horrified that she’s apologizing. “This was great.”
“I have to tell you something,” she breathes.
“Okay.”
“Brian asked Nate to be one of his groomsmen,” she says, watching me with her big worried eyes, holding her breath as if I’m going to explode in response. It’s been our rule, all this time: don’t mention Nate, under any circumstance. It’s the first time she’s broken it.
I feel my stomach plummeting, my chest tightening. Just the sound of his name would have had this effect. But God, it’s not just that. It’s the prospect of seeing him, after five years of silence. It’s finally happening, and I really have no choice in the matter.
“Okay,” I say, my voice whistling high through a constricted throat.
“I’m so sorry,” she pleads. “I hope it’s not going to be weird.”
Oh, it’s going to be so weird that weird isn’t even the word for it. “No,” I murmur. “It’s fine.” I feel like I’m replying to her from far away, an international call in another time zone.
She looks relieved. She’s the only one of us who is.
I haven’t seen Nate in five years. I have to be over it by now , I tell myself. I have to be.
CHAPTER 13
I came home from school during the winter of my junior year of high school and found both my parents sitting in the living room, their faces drawn. I couldn’t imagine why they’d even be there. At this time of day my father should be at work, my mother at the club. She claimed to divide her day up between tennis and golf, but on the rare times I saw her, my impression was she was dividing her time up between martinis and vodka tonics. There was no other noise, another unnerving development. Even without them home, there was always noise, the sound of a distant vacuum, the clang of a cookie sheet slapping against a counter.
My mother’s eyes were swollen, and she’d cried her makeup off. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her without it. She tried to tell me something, but began crying before the words were out.
“Your grandfather died this morning,” my father said.
“What?” I cried, my voice equal parts grief and anger. It had to be a mistake. My grandfather played tennis every Saturday at the club, and golf every Sunday. He hadn’t even retired yet. “He’s healthy!” I argued, as if I might somehow make them recognize their error. My mother cried harder.
“He had a heart attack, Maura,” my father said quietly. “It happens.”
We left for the beach, stopping by USC to pick up Jordan on the way. For once even he didn’t try to lighten the silence.
The town was so different in the winter. Not cold, really, by anyone’s standards, but grayer and wetter. Without the sun to burn off the moisture, the air hung like netting around us, settling on our shoulders and refusing to push away. And it was quiet. The stores were closed, the beaches were empty, the tourists had disappeared. It felt like the island had died too. As if it had been my grandfather who brought all the people and the weather and the life, and without him nothing could flourish.
Nate wasn’t there. I’d known he wouldn’t be. UVA was too far away
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