She frowned. “Why are you always so reluctant to talk about boys?”
“Probably because you raised me in puritanical Massachusetts.”
She sighed. If I ever wrote a memoir, it would be calledSighs from My Motherand would be a catalog of all the times I disappointed her. “I probably didn’t make relationships seem natural enough growing up, and now I’ve given you these impediments.”
“Oh my god, Mom, it’s fine. You did fine. I’m fine. Okay?” Also astonishing: the speed with which I could go from missing Mom to being fully irritated. “He’s very cute, he has dark curly hair, he’s going to Harvard next year. Are you happy?” Sometimes I felt like a scientist feeding a mouse enough breadcrumbs to keep it alive but no more. “I should go.”
“Are you mad? Don’t hang up on me mad.”
“I’m not mad.” Just severely aggravated. “I’m going to a beach party and I need to get dressed.”
“A beach party!” She practically wiggled in excitement before suddenly and expectedly transitioning into concerned-mom mode. “Don’t go swimming. It’ll be dark and there are sharks.”
The amount I’d heard about sharks since deciding to come to Nantucket. “Mom, you’ve warned me about the sharks approximately fifty billion times, I’ll be fine.”
“And don’t drink and drive!”
“No one drives. There are Ubers.”
“Don’t get in an Uber by yourself! Sharon told me—”
“Iknow, you’ve told me Sharon’s story before. Don’t worry. I’ll stay with Jane.”
“Good. I looove you.”
I half sighed, half laughed. “I love you, too.”
The day had been overwhelmingly hot: so hot your face broke into a sweat after thirty seconds in the sun, and breathing in the thick air hadn’t felt substantially different from eating soup. But now, at eleven, the temperature had dropped to the high seventies, and a warm breeze stirred the humidity. The night was lazy and long; a fat moon hung in the dark sky. Occasionally, the low hoot of an owl trailed through the air as Jane and I headed to the beach.
Stella had lent me a faux-leather mini skirt which clung to my butt, and I’d paired it with a green top with a deep keyhole. My body and I were on pretty good terms, but I’d always downplayed my chest: when you developed cleavage at twelve and everyone in seventh gradefelt comfortable commenting on (and occasionally feeling) it, it discouraged display. But the kids who’d made fun of me weren’t here, and no one knew I didn’t dress like this all the time.Be bold.
I’d felt a little self-conscious about the tight skirt and the makeup I’d put on, but it faded when we joined the other people on the beach. For once, I felt like I fit in among the pretty people, and maybe it was a shallow, stupid thought, but sometimes relaxing in the shallow end was way more fun than treading water.
“Beer or something else?” Jane eyed the PBR floating around critically.
I still couldn’t get into beer. “Something else.”
“Same.” We wound toward a firepit surrounded by kids I vaguely recognized, casually saying hi before stopping at a blanket with two-liter sodas and bottles half-filled with liquor. “Here we go!” Jane handed me a red Solo cup and added soda, then topped it off with a splash from a large jug. “Rum and coke. Easy to drink.”
Rum. Drink of pirates. I could be a pirate, right?
I took a sip. It had a spiced kick and reminded me of the Fireball shots we’d done before skinny-dipping. Definitely better than the beer.
We squeezed back out of the center and Jane looped her arm through mine. “Okay, back to this convo. Did Noah say ‘Maybe I’ll see you there’ likemaybeI’ll see you there or maybe I’ll seeyouthere?”
“Um. I don’t know? What if there was no inflection? What does no inflection mean?”
“There must have been some inflection. Is he a robot?”
“Honestly, who even knows.”
“Friends!” Evan appeared out of the crowd, dressed in pink shorts showing off his extremely attractive thighs. He flung his arms around our shoulders. “What isup?”
“Seriously, Chubbies?” Jane looked at his very short shorts.
“Sexy, right?”
“Hm. Is Pranav here?”
