Piper
Bright and early, I stagger into the kitchen in desperate need of a Red Bull and a few more hours of sleep, to find a strangeman standing at the coffee maker. He’s not a bad-looking man—attractive in aThe Hangover–era Bradley Cooper way—but still.
A strange man.
He gives me a lazy shrug and a sheepish grin, then musses his already-mussed hair. I watch, stone-faced, as he pours coffee into my sister’s favorite mug—not that this interloper would know the distinction. It’s black with little white planets sketched over its surface, and it says I NEED MY SPACE! Which, yes, Tati almost always does.
The shower in her bathroom cranks on. I linger near the stove, wondering if she knows that the dude she apparently spent the night with is moving around our kitchen with the ease of someone who’s been here a dozen times, filching a splash of creamer from the fridge, snagging a spoon from the flatware drawer, swirling it languidly through his coffee.
Well.
I go about my business because I’ll be late for work if I idle any longer. Hopefully Tati’s enjoying her shower while I awkwardly maneuver around this person who I have to assume is a one-night stand.
He leans against the counter, sipping from her mug while I pour Cheerios into a plastic baggie. He says, “You must be her sister.”
I take a pear from the fruit bowl, trying to determine whether he’s somehow so familiar with Tati that a mere pronoun will do, or he’s forgotten her name.
“I am. And you’re…?”
He gives my question a few seconds of thought before landing on, “A friend.”
He doesn’t offer his name, and I don’t inquire. He won’t be back. Tati likes sharp, well-groomed suitors who stand up straight, enunciate, and have jobs that serve the community: child welfare lawyers and ER doctors and firefighters. The last man she dated was a police officer, well respected in our little town. That relationship ended a week ago, and it ended badly.
This dude looks like a weathered fraternity brother with his disheveled hair, yesterday’s wrinkled button-down (popped collar and rolled sleeves, naturally), and mirrored aviators hooked to his breast pocket. His face is tan, his teeth are bright white, his smile so carefree that I wonder again where Tati met him, what she saw in him, and why she let him stay all night—definitelynother usual protocol.
“I’m Piper,” I say to fill the quiet, pulling my sun-bleached curls into a topknot.
Blithely, like a stoned surfer, he says, “Cool.”
Down the hall, the water shuts off. That’s my cue to go. Hard pass on sticking around to watch my sister interact with her random bedmate.
I nod once. “I need to get to work. So…”
“So, I’ll see you around.”
Highly unlikely.
I grab a Red Bull from the fridge, then take my breakfast to go, making sure to let the door to our apartment slam on my way out.
***
My sister doesn’t approve of my summer job. But she doesn’t approve of the majority of my choices, so at least there’s consistency.
Since school let out last week, I’ve been working at the Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park, which—no offense to Disney World—is absolutely the most magical place on Earth. We have dolphins and seals and sea turtles and rays, and these are not animals who were kidnapped from their natural habitats. They’re animals who’ve been injured, usually due to shitty human behavior, and are being rehabilitated for release back into the wild or cared for permanently because release isn’t safe for them.
I work in Guest Experience, which means I do a bunch ofgrunt work deemed undesirable by the employees with college degrees. I earn pennies, practically, but it doesn’t matter. I love being at the park, even when it’s ninety-seven degrees and sticky-sweaty-humid, even when I’m emptying trash bins and hosing out stinky fish buckets, even when I’m stuck in the admin building stuffing envelopes for some huge PR mailing.
My parents helped open the Sugar Bay Marine Conservation Park almost thirty-five years ago, shortly before Tati was born. They were marine biologists and ardent ocean conservationists. The director of the park, a meek, altruistic man nicknamed Turtle (because he’s passionate about them and kind of looks like one), mentored them both and still speaks warmly of them. When I applied for a summer job, he disregarded themust be enrolled in a college programrequirement and brought me on as an intern to the interns.
I’ve been coming to the park all my life, first with my parents, then on my own, and now as a staff member. It’s a safe haven. The place where I feel most like myself.
I spend the better part of the morning scrubbing and sweating and directing guests to restrooms and water fountains, encouraging them toHave a sunny day!, the catchphrase Turtle urges employees to use on the regular. My smiles come more easily here than anywhere else, and before long, I’ve forgotten about my encounter with the kitchen intruder. I’ve forgotten about Tati, who more often than not feels like a tyrannical roommate instead of my sister and guardian. And I’vealmostforgotten about Gabi, my estranged best friend.
It guts me, thinking of her that way.
I shake off the bitterness I’ve felt every time Gabi has wandered into my mind since our friendship fell apart nine days ago, and take the Cobb salad I bought at one of the park’s snack huts to the dolphin enclosure for lunch, since now there’s a break between shows.
I haven’t met any new friend prospects since I started my job—not that Gabi’s friendship is replaceable. It’s been her and me since fourth grade, an inseparable, impenetrable pair. I’ve never needed anyone else—never even wanted anyone else. But now I’m truly on my own. My sister is more my keeper than my confidant, and my fellow park employees are all in college or older. Forging bonds is hard for me, especially now that I’ve seen how swiftly a friendship can crumble.
