He also paused before answering, navigating his words like travelers carefully crossing a rushing stream, stepping from slippery rock to slippery rock. “I think there’s a lot of expectations. From my grandfather for my dad, and from my dad for me.”
“Like you studying business instead of botany.”
“I’m supposed to do what’s right for the family. That’s always been very clear. And I hate being a disappointment.”
“You’re not a disappointment.”
“Yes, I am.” He sounded flat. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
I had no idea how he could think such a negative thing about himself. “You were valedictorian. You got into Harvard.”
He laughed without humor. “Yeah, and my family donated an obscene amount.”
“Noah.” I clutched my cell, hurt on his behalf. The smallest criticism from my mom made me want to cry, and she thought I was the best thing since sliced bread. How much more upsetting wouldcritique be from a less-supportive parent? “Don’t judge yourself so harshly, okay?”
He was silent a moment. “Sometimes I think I’m going to be just like him. Just like both of them.”
“You don’t have to be. We’re not fated to repeat the mistakes of our family.”
“Aren’t we? Aren’t we raised to be like them?”
“But you’re not your dad or your grandfather. I’m not my mom or my grandmother. We have other parts of our family, and other things shape us. And—and maybe sometimes family traits do trickle down, yeah. But if we notice them, we can course correct.”
He was so silent I asked if he was still there.
“Yeah. Just thinking. Maybe you’re right.”
“I am right. Noah—” I found it easier to say these words when I didn’t have to look at him. “You’re a good person.”
He was silent a long time. “I’m sorry about how tonight went.”
“It’s okay.”
“Okay.” He paused. “Hey, do you want to go sailing on Tuesday?”
Something almost painful bloomed in my chest, I was so happy at the invitation. I had work, but I could trade shifts with one of the summer employees. “Yes!”
“Great. We’re meeting at the yacht club at ten a.m.”
Oh. Quick as my excitement had risen, it deflated. I’d thought he’d meant just us. “Okay. Awesome. See you there.”
I’d never gone sailing before, and spent the morning debating proper attire. Did I wear my scandalous red bikini? It might stun Noah. And I hadn’t worn it yet.
I tried it on and regarded myself in the mirror, only to be confronted by a rather excessive amount of cleavage, which, while sexy in the privacy of my home, seemed overboard for a daytime outing.
Never mind, then.
I pulled a gray tank and jean shorts over my more conservative bikini with the boy shorts. Into my beach bag went a towel, sunscreen, water, and a PB&J, along with a carton of strawberries in case this turned out to be a potluck kind of deal, and I headed out toward the yacht club (theyacht club!) for our ten a.m. meetup.
The day was so hot I found the idea of evernotsweating through my clothes painfully laughable; even in the short walk over, sweat accumulated under my breasts and at the base of my neck. I moved sluggishly, every step torture, every breath slow as my lungs tried to parse the oxygen from the water in the air.
Usually in this kind of heat, I couldn’t understand how anyone could feel anything besides exhausted, or be anything other than a supplicant to the god of air-conditioning. Yet this morning, beneath the sweat and the heat, a terrible nervousness buzzed through me, a low-level anxiety I’d have excised with a knife if possible.
Why was I so worked up about hanging out with Noah’s friends? It wasn’t like Noah and I were dating. It wasn’t like they’d evenhaveopinions about me. I certainly never thought twice when a new kid appeared at one of the hangouts with Jane’s group.
And yet.
I scanned the docks, one group after another, until I spotted a tangle of teenagers at the far end. Noah stood in the middle of the group, laughing and confident, surrounded by half a dozen other tan beachy kids. They all seemed to have received a memo about dressing in whites and stripes and Nantucket red. I clutched my beach bag tightly against my shoulder. What was I doing? I shouldhave told Noah I had work and met up another day. So what if we got along in the closed bubble of the two of us? These were his actual friends.
