Bloom

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  “I think I’ve got it, thanks,” I say, with clear sarcasm.

  “Are you sure?” she asks. “Because it smells like something’s burning.”

  “Boys,” I call out. “Do you smell anything burning?”

  They all say no. I try not to gloat.

  “Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll set the table.”

  I raise a brow at Ginny, cutting strawberries, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, acting as if she hasn’t heard a word of our conversation. And if she did, I’m sure, she’d fall squarely on Team Allison.

  Allison then proceeds to complain about the state of the flatware, the number of plates. She then demands a butter dish, of all things.

  “There is no butter dish,” I say flatly. She acts as if I haven’t spoken. Or like maybe I’m so backward that I don’t know what a butter dish is.

  “Ginny,” she says sweetly. “Do you know where I can find a butter dish?”

  “I’ll look,” says Ginny eagerly, dropping her strawberries entirely and going on a wild goose chase in pursuit of something she knows the house doesn’t have. “I’m so sorry,” she finally says. “I guess we don’t have one.”

  I’ll just use a saucer,” sighs Allison. She opens the refrigerator and turns to me sourly. “Where’s the juice?”

  “I don’t know if we have any,” I reply.

  “You don’t have juice?” she asks, her tone rife with accusation. “What exactly do you have?”

  Before I can say anything, James speaks up. “Allison,” he warns. “Cut it out.”

  She freezes, and the color leaches from her skin. “I’m going for a walk,” she says suddenly. She turns to Ginny. “Do you want to come with me?”

  Ginny is giving me a dirty look. What. The. Hell?

  “Yes,” she says. “I’m not feeling all that hungry anymore.”

  “I assume it’s safe to leave you with my boyfriend this time?” asks Allison, with a bitter smile.

  “Allison,” says James, and there is no longer flexibility in his voice. “That’s enough.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” she says. “It’s only married men she seduces.”

  James lays his head back against his seat after she walks out, as if he’s exhausted.

  “Dude,” says Max. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “My sister is a pain in the ass,” says Dan. “That’s what’s going on.”

  “No,” says James. “She got the wrong idea last night about something and now she’s losing her shit over it.”

  “Got the wrong idea about what?” asks Max.

  James glances at me swiftly before his eyes drift shut again. “She’s threatened by Elle.”

  “As well she should be,” quips Max. “No woman wants to walk in and find her boyfriend sharing a house with a freaking model, especially one with a rack like Elle’s.”

  “Shut up, Max,” says James.

  “Tell me where I’m wrong,” he argues.

  I scrape the waffle I haven’t even touched into the trash. “I’m out of here.”

  “Where are you going?” asks James.

  “Elsewhere,” I say. “I’ll be back when she’s gone.”

  The truth is that the whole situation is making me sick. Allison’s dislike. The way she views me, through that same lens the people in my office did: as some kind of man-stealing slut. Max agreeing. And perhaps worst of all, Ginny, my supposed best friend, and her complete defection to the other side. She didn’t try to defend me in the least.

  **

  I get upstairs, planning to call Kristy, but I haven’t even found my phone before there’s a knock on the door.

  “Come in?” I say, a question in my voice. My first thought is that it’s Allison, because none of the guys ever come to our room — one of many dire warnings laid out by James — and Ginny wouldn’t knock.

  James steps in, filling the entire frame of the door. “Can I talk to you?” he asks.

  I nod, sitting on the edge of my bed while he goes to Ginny’s. “Don’t leave,” he says. “Don’t lend credence to what Allison says by running off like you’ve done something wrong, because you haven’t.”

  “I’m not running off,” I say quietly. “But for whatever reason I seem to create tension for Allison, and this is your weekend with her and neither of you should have to deal with that. It’s just two days.”

  “You’re not creating the tension. It was already there, and she wants to blame it on you.”

  “How can you be with someone like that?” I ask.

  “You’ve seen her at her absolute worst. She can be great. But I haven’t been into it, I think, all year. I wanted to be, because everyone loved her and because it was all so easy, but I just wasn’t.”

  “I get the whole thing about trying to make something work, but — all year?” I ask. “How could you have gone with it that long?”

  “The problem is that everything at school sucked – going to class, studying, being with her. I couldn’t separate it all out. I don’t think I had any idea how bad it was until I got here.”

  “You just needed time apart?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “It’s more like I’d forgotten how it was possible to feel about someone, what it was like to really … crave something, instead of just accept the things you have.” He glances up at me suddenly as if he’s said too much. “I called her last week and said it was over. And that’s why she’s here.”

  I manage not to squeal or start jumping gleefully around the room.

  “Is that why you’re not showering?” I smile.

  He grins. “Maybe? I hadn’t really thought it through, but yeah, I guess this is the first time in my life I’ve gone more than two days in the same clothes.”

  “She may be a keeper if she’s willing to put up with you looking like that,” I smile.

  “So you’d have kicked me to the curb?” he asks.

  I look over at him, tan and shirtless and unshaven and before I can pull it back I just tell him the truth. “No,” I say softly. That catches his attention, and for just a moment something passes between us. “I mean, it is your house after all,” I add lightly.

  He stands. “So anyway, don’t run off, okay?”

  I nod, all the while wondering why it matters. It’s daytime. He usually seems to wish I was a million miles away.

  **

  I go shopping for a while, back to the store where Ginny convinced me to buy that dress. I’m finding, more and more, that I really don’t have the right things here. I laughed at Allison this morning, but my own wardrobe isn’t much less uptight.

  And I find myself sick of the subtle but constant pressure to appear a certain way. Possibly because it hasn’t done me a bit of good. People are going to believe what they want to believe no matter what I wear, and I want to look like myself. I’m going to dress like a teenager for the first time in my life, which is ironic given that James is so convinced that I’m still a little girl.

  I drop the bags in my room and put on one of the two bikinis I bought. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when I look in the mirror I’m not so sure. It feels impossibly skimpy, as if I’m about to walk through Times Square in a bra and panties. But I can look out the window right now and count ten girls wearing this little. There will be a thousand more when I hit the beach. I take a deep breath and head outside.

  The world does not explode. It’s scary, and amazingly freeing. Is it really possible to live like this? To be outside and not worry about who will see you and what they will think? I walk a little farther down the beach than we normally sit. Running from Allison? Absolutely. It’s already a day of firsts … I don’t need to add my first fist fight to the list too.

  A lifeguard approaches just as I open my book. He’s the kind of guy I’d find attractive if James hadn’t destroyed my ability to be attracted to other men. He also looks familiar, but between the bar and Max’s parties, pretty much everyone in Rehoboth does.

  “I’m Nick The Lifeguard,” he says
. “I thought I’d let you know in case you need saving.”

  “So is ‘lifeguard’ your last name or is just one long first name?” I smile.

  He plops down beside me in the sand. “That is a fantastic idea. I’m totally going to change my name. First name Nick. Last name The Lifeguard.”

  “I’m full of good ideas,” I say. “I’m Elle by the way.”

  “I knew that already,” he replies. “I’ve seen you at the bar. You live with Max and James, right?”

  “Yes,” I say. I look toward the empty lifeguard stand. “Um, aren’t you supposed to be saving lives?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “They pretty much save themselves,” he jokes. “Actually, I’m on break.”

  “I guess I’d better not swim until you’re back on duty,” I say.

  He looks me up and down. “I make it my personal goal to never save a life while I’m on break, but I’d save yours.”

  And then, like a sudden storm cloud, a shadow falls over us.

  I look toward the sun and make out James approaching, his face grim. “Why are you all the way down here?” he asks, his tone rife with accusation.

  “You know why,” I sigh.

  “Allison went inside,” he says. “She doesn’t really like the beach.”

  “Shocker,” I mutter.

  “Hi James,” says my new friend.

  “Nick,” says James. It sounds like a warning, not a greeting. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives?” Unlike mine, his tone is less teasing and more overtly hostile.

  “What is it with your household’s concerns with safety?” Nick asks me.

  “I guess it’s our thing,” I laugh.

  James picks up my bag. “Come sit with us,” he says.

  “I’m fine here.”

  His jaw grinds. “I think Ginny wants to talk to you,” he says.

  “Fine,” I sigh, waving goodbye to Nick.

  “Hey! Are you working tonight?” he calls after me, and when I nod he gives me a thumbs up.

  James is silent for a moment, and tense, as we pick our way around the towels and umbrellas that line the beach.

  “Are you going to go out with him?” he finally asks.

  “He hasn’t even asked me out.”

  “Yet.”

  I shrug. “He seems nice enough.”

  “Is that where the bar is set, Elle?” he asks through clenched teeth. “‘Nice enough’ is all you require?”

  “‘Nice enough’ is a much higher bar than you’ve set, as far as I can tell,” I retort. “Because I guarantee no one says that about Allison.”

  “Here’s what you don’t seem to get: any guy is going to come across as ‘nice enough’ when given incentive.”

  I come to a dead stop. “So are you trying to imply that I’m too naive to know the difference between a nice guy and one who’s pretending to be, or that I’ve provided him some kind of ‘incentive’ to do so?”

  “You have!” he explodes. “Look at the way you’re fucking dressed!”

  “I’m wearing a bathing suit. As is every other person as far as the eye can see.”

  “That’s not a bathing suit,” he sneers. “That’s wider-than-average dental floss.”

  I know there is nothing wrong with this suit, but I feel ashamed anyway, and I hate him a little for it. “You know what, James? This is the first time in my entire life that I’ve ever worn a bikini, that I decided I didn’t give a shit about whether someone compared me to my mom. And until just now, when you came up and ruined it, it felt amazing. Liberating.” My voice borders on the cusp of tears. I turn toward the house before I lose it completely, but he blocks my path.

  “Wait,” he says.

  “Get out of my way.”

  I pull my sunglasses over my eyes but not before he sees the first tear come trickling down the side of my face. “Shit. Did I make you cry?”

  “No,” I rasp.

  “Yes I did,” he says helplessly. “Elle, shit. I’m sorry.” He begins to pull me toward him and then comes to an awkward halt, his hand warm on my bare shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with what you’re wearing, I just … ”

  He stops, and I pull back to look at him, waiting. “I’ve never seen you like that,” he amends. “And it took me by surprise. That’s all.”

  “But why are you acting like it’s somehow worse than what any other girl is doing?” I ask. “Ginny wears bikinis. I bet Allison does too. It’s totally normal and you’re trying to make it sound slutty. It’s the same thing you did with the uniform, and you don’t do it to anyone else.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re not other girls, Elle. You’re stunning, and your body is … you know,” he stammers awkwardly, not completing the thought, “and I don’t want someone to be attracted to you for just that because you’re so much more. You’re smart and funny and thoughtful and when you’re … on display like this … it draws in guys who don’t care about all the rest.”

  Which begs the question: If I’m so many good things, why does he always keep his distance?

  Chapter 17

  Nick The Lifeguard never shows up at the bar, which surprises me. I go home at the end of my shift with extreme reluctance. Nothing bothers me as much as Allison’s presence here, but Ginny taking her side is a distant second. I’ll get over it, but it’s going to be a while before I’m ready to hear Ginny’s elaborate rationalizations for the way she acted this morning.

  Naturally, Max has invited an assload of people over. I have no intention of sitting out on the deck listening to Allison take potshots, but I get upstairs and Ginny has the door locked. I go back down and find Max in the hallway. “Do you mind if I crash in your room for a while? Ginny’s got our door locked and if I have to sit with Allison one of us is going to be losing some hair. You can kick me out when you find your next victim.”

  “If I’ve already got you in there, why do I need to look for a victim?” he grins.

  I go to his room and curl up on top of the bedspread – no way am I coming in contact with those sheets. I wake with a start when the door opens, momentarily disoriented. The giggling of a girl with below-average IQ helps remind me that I am in Max’s room.

  “You can stay,” Max suggests. It’s dark but I can hear the smirk in his voice. His friend giggles at that too, of course.

  “Pass,” I groan, walking to the door. “Have fun.”

  I open the door and swing into Allison. Her face is smugly triumphant, as if she’s caught me at something.

  “You can drop the face,” I tell her. “You know Max was just outside with you 20 seconds ago. Even he’s not that fast. I was just sleeping.”

  “No one is safe around you, are they?” she asks with a bitter laugh.

  “If James doesn’t want you that has nothing to do with me,” I reply, relishing the way her face grows cold before I turn and walk upstairs.

  I go to an early spin class in the morning. When I get home, I find Ginny in bed with her books around her, her jaw set with tension, just like her brother’s is so often. They really look absolutely nothing alike, but in this moment I see the resemblance.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  She shrugs, but the gesture isn’t indecisive so much as it is loaded with rage, as if she has so many accusations to hurl she can’t decide where to start first. “Allison left,” she says. “They broke up.”

  “Ah.”

  “You don’t seem all that sorry,” she snipes.

  “I know you think she’s all yummy things wrapped up in a delicious package, Gin, but I thought she was kind of a bitch.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You don’t even know her.”

  “And whose fault was that?” I ask. “She began the weekend talking shit about me in my uniform, and the next time I see her she’s throwing the thing with Edward in my face. Not to mention the bullshit with the waffles, and you, of course, taking her side like an eager puppy.”

  “I didn’t take her side,” Ginny says. “But you weren’t tr
ying to make her feel welcome, were you?”

  “Why should I?” I ask. “She was nothing but nasty and condescending to me every time we were in the same room.”

  Ginny huffs. “Guess I’d be the same way if I came outside and found my boyfriend holding hands with someone else.”

  “We weren’t holding hands,” I reply. “We were talking about what happened in New York and he just had his hand on my arm, like a comforting thing, and she happened to see it. And besides, he’d already broken up with her, so he wasn’t her boyfriend anymore.”

  “He didn’t break up with her,” says Ginny. “He was just confused about everything and throwing out the good with the bad.”

  “Whose interpretation is that — yours or Allison’s? Because it sounds not one iota like what I heard from James.”

  “Since when are you and James so close?” she asks suspiciously. “But then, I guess you’re close to everyone, aren’t you?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand. “And you know, maybe you should be a little more worried about what makes James happy and a little less about what fits into your plans.”

  “Yeah,” she snorts. “Like your life’s turning out so well? I don’t think anyone needs advice from you.”

  Chapter 18

  “You look a little stressed,” says Max.

  Let’s see: one housemate apparently hates me, one appears to be scared of me, and the other has some kind of multiple personality disorder that has him ignoring me one minute and slavishly protecting me the next. What’s stressful about that?

  “I think it’s time you meditated,” he suggests.

  “You may be right,” I sigh. “Ginny isn’t speaking to me. She blames me for the whole Allison thing.”

  “You know what Ginny needs?” Max asks.

  “Meditation?”

  “To get laid.”

  “Those two things don’t solve everything, Max,” I tell him.