For the first time in ages, I fell asleep without any trouble at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I woke to a text from Olivia, my best friend on the island.I’m here!!she wrote.Are you free today? Meet for hot chocolate??
Yes!I answered.Have a thing at 1—how’s 10?
Olivia:Perf yes can’t wait
I snagged a towel and headed for the bathroom. The smell of last night’s fried potatoes clung to my body and my hair, saturating my curls like I’d wiped the latke pan with them. Latkes: great for smelling, not for smelling like.
I returned to my room in a cloud of rose and herbal scents, my body soothed by lotion, my curls lovingly tended with mousse and hair spray. Careful not to wake Miriam, who lay sprawled across half the bed, or Abby, who lay comatose on her air mattress as though she’d never left, I pulled on leggings and a sweatshirt and slipped out again.
Downstairs, Mom sat on one of the couches by the fireplace, nursing her coffee and reading on her phone. “Morning, sweetie. You did a wonderful job with the decorating.”
I smiled, pleased, looking at the centerpiece on the coffee table before us, a glittery blue plate with a white pillar candle surrounded by ornaments. “Thanks.” I sniffed the air, inhaling hints of butter and vanilla. “Are there pancakes?”
“Rumor has it,” Mom said, smiling.
I drifted past lentils soaking in bowls of water for tonight’s dinner, past a half-empty pot of coffee, to where Uncle Gerald flipped pancakes with the concentration of an ice-skater determined to stick their landing. Bubbles formed and popped on top of the batter, which sizzled when he slapped them down in the pan. I sidled up to him. “Those smell delicious.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” He nodded at a plate on the other side of the stove top. “You’re in luck, there’s a fresh batch.”
“You’re the best.” I forked four golden-brown ovals onto a plate. They were thick, fluffy, and still steaming. I drizzled maple syrup on the side and carried my plate back to the low coffee table by Mom, sitting on the floor so I’d have proper leverage.
She eyed the pancakes hopefully. “Is one for me?”
One, in fact, was. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“Yum.” She snagged a pancake and ate it plain. She said syrup or jam “drowned out the flavor,” which, okay, incorrect. “Why are you up so early?”
“It’s only eight thirty. I’m up earlier for school.”
She raised her brows. “Not on weekends.”
“Olivia and I are meeting up.” I cut up my pancakes, salivating as I popped a piece into my mouth. I loved pancakes, especially Uncle Gerald’s recipe, which used sourdough discard and tasted amazing.
I’d practically finished by the time David entered the room and flopped down next to me, rubbing his eyes. I turned away from Mom and Aunt Liz, who’d joined us, and studied David’s wild purple hair. “You need a haircut,” I told him. “It looks alive.”
“Itisalive. It is the source of my strength.”
“That’s Samson, not David.” I pulled at one long strand. “Even if you want to keep growing it out, you need to trim it so it stays healthy.”
“Whatever. Are there more pancakes?”
I nodded at the stove.
He came back and joined me on the floor before the coffee table. “How’re you and Tom?” I asked.
“Tom?” David said, and the instantaneous disdain on his face made me wince. “Tom who?”
“Oh no.”
“Tomdumpedme three weeks ago.” David slashed viciously at his pancakes.
“What happened?”
“Tom said he simply didn’t ‘feel strongly’ enough for me, and so it wouldn’t ‘make sense’ to keep dating, because he didn’t think he could ‘get to the same place’ I’m at.”
