Bloom

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  Ginny blinks at me in confusion as I throw on my clothes. “What time is it?” she whispers. She sounds a little rough.

  “9:30. Did you have fun?”

  She nods slightly, and then grabs at her head. “Shit. It hurts to nod.”

  “It was that fun, huh?” I laugh quietly.

  Then something triggers her to open her eyes fully, and a look of horror crosses her face.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She looks at me and swallows, still thinking. “I hooked up with someone.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I can’t believe I did that,” she says quietly, pushing her face into her pillow. “I mean, not once in three years have I cheated on Alex.”

  “How was it?”

  “Kinda good,” she sighs, but this fact only seems to trouble her more.

  “Who was it?” I ask, wondering for a moment, if it’s Ryan. Wondering if it would bother me.

  “Paul,” she says. “The drummer.”

  Of anyone she could have chosen, Paul is the most unlike Alex of any of them. He gets a new tattoo every week, smokes a ton of weed and appears to have no intention of ever graduating. I guarantee he’s never been to a “Young Democrats” meeting on campus. And he’s certainly not their president.

  “Ginny, I think you have some wild oats to sow before you get all settled down.”

  “No,” she says staunchly. “It was just a stupid mistake. You make a plan for a reason, and my plan is to marry Alex. Now let me sleep.”

  **

  Ryan drags himself off the couch when I come downstairs, and wraps his arms around me from behind, kissing my cheek. “Good morning,” he says. It feels so natural, as if we never broke up. As if this is the kitchen in his apartment like any other morning.

  He also has morning wood, just like a regular morning. “I’m not sleeping with you,” I laugh.

  “I’d settle for something else,” he says, only half joking. “Come shower with me.” He bites my earlobe, making me shiver in spite of myself. His mouth moves to my neck, and I find myself relaxing into him. God, it’s been a long time. Okay, it’s been six weeks, but it feels like a long time.

  “Nope,” I whisper, but it’s a little breathy.

  “You’ll change your mind after you see me play,” he says. He’s right. I already know this. His hands are still on my hips, his mouth on my neck, and I know that seeing him play is all it would take to sway me.

  “I’m closing tonight,” I say apologetically. “I just found out.”

  A door shuts down the hall and he releases me. “We’re back in a few weeks. Will you come see us then?” he asks.

  “Definitely,” I reply, casting an angry look at James’s door. “I’ll put in for time off today.”

  **

  James still never comes to the beach with us — or with me, anyway — so it’s a surprise when he emerges from his room in swim trunks, looking so good that for just a moment I stop hating him. Max and Ryan walk ahead, carrying a cooler and laughing as if they’ve been friends since high school. Typical Max, and also typical Ryan. Why are things never awkward for them? I’m guessing neither of them has had a moment like I’m having right now, walking beside James with a hundred accusations in my head demanding to be heard.

  “I got a mysterious text from Brian this morning,” I tell him. “Informing me that I’m closing.”

  “I’m closing too. I’ll give you a ride.”

  “It seems to me that it’s the least you can do,” I say bitterly, “since you’re the one responsible for the schedule change.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says. And then he has the nerve to smile.

  “You don’t want me to watch Ryan play,” I accuse.

  “Musical appreciation enriches us all,” he smirks. “Why would anyone try to stand in your way?”

  “That’s a good question, James. Maybe you should answer it.”

  There is no answer, just that same smug look of quiet triumph on his face that begs for a good slapping. Max looks back and forth between us and then stops, pointing at this bush we pass every day, covered in purple flowers that weren’t there the week before.

  “You see that?” he asks. “That’s the New England aster. It doesn’t normally bloom until September or October.” The depth of Max’s useless knowledge never ceases to amaze me.

  “What’s your point, Max?” sighs James irritably. “Because I feel sure there’s a point here.”

  “My point,” Max smirks, “is that things don’t bloom because they’re told it’s the correct time. They bloom because the conditions are right.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” demands Ginny. “Because the rest of us haven’t been smoking pot all morning so we can’t decipher your cryptic little comments.”

  “James knows what I mean,” Max grins, walking ahead. And based on the way James is glaring at him, it appears Max is right.

  We find a spot on the beach and I spread my towel between Ginny and Ryan.

  “Why aren’t you wearing a bikini?” Ryan asks as I undress. I never wore one again after the day James accused me of wearing dental floss.

  “Elle never wears a bikini,” says Max. “We’ve all assumed it’s because she has some kind of scar or horrible disfigurement. Maybe asymmetry from a bad boob job.”

  Ryan grins. “Speaking as someone who’s experienced the whole package, I can assure you that there is no disfigurement. And those puppies,” he says, looking at my chest, “are 100% real.”

  “Can we not talk about this?” I snap at both of them.

  They stop but Max gives Ryan a thumbs up, laughing silently. I watch as James takes off to run on the beach without a word to any of us.

  “What’s his deal?” asks Ginny. “I’ve never seen him run so much in my life.”

  “Your brother has some demons to exorcise,” says Max.

  “What demons?” she demands.

  Max’s glance flickers over to me before he shrugs. “We all have parts of ourselves we struggle with.”

  Ginny snorts. “I don’t see you struggling with much.”

  “The fact that I’m a less principled man than James,” he sighs, “is hardly a mystery.”

  Chapter 25

  I spend the night ignoring James as best I can. I put in my drink orders without a hint of a smile or even common courtesy. The words ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ don’t cross my lips once when I’m forced to speak to him.

  “Are you really going to spend the whole summer not speaking to me?” he asks as we drive home. “Over this?”

  “Are you admitting you did it?”

  “No.”

  I groan in exasperation. “Well, I still think you did, but no, going for the whole summer without speaking to you seems a little unrealistic.”

  He smiles a little. “So exactly what portion of the summer will you refuse to speak to me before forgiving me for doing something I’ve never said I did?”

  “What do you care? You still avoid me unless you’ve been drinking.”

  “That’s not true,” he says, staring ahead of him, but there’s something uncertain in his voice. “I think I’ve tried really hard to fix that.”

  I look at him flatly. “That’s kind of the point, James. You’re not supposed to have to ‘try’. Being in the same room with me shouldn’t be so onerous for you that it’s this massive struggle.”

  His jaw grinds. “You’re twisting what I said.”

  I’m sick of even discussing it. He’s clearly not going to admit he changed the schedule. He’s not going to admit he doesn’t want to be around me. He’s just going to keep doing what he’s been doing. Torturing me in small ways without offering a single good reason for doing so.

  I rest my face against the window and think about Max’s lecture on being in the moment. Because as bad as this moment is, in September when I’m back at school and James is only a memory, I’d give anything to have these seconds bac
k. To watch his profile, troubled and a little pissed off at the moment, to watch his hands at the wheel. To lean forward just close enough that I could breathe in his smell of beach and pine and soap. It’s not a happy feeling, wanting him endlessly and getting nothing in return. But the truth is that I’d take this over happiness without him any day.

  **

  The next morning James emerges from his room just as I’m leaving for my spin class. “I’ll walk with you,” he says. “I need better coffee than the shit we drink here.”

  “Okay,” I say cautiously. He’s trying to prove he doesn’t avoid me. All it really proves is that he doesn’t want it to appear he avoids me, but I’ll take it.

  We take the boardwalk, though it’s not the most direct route. Early in the day like this, when the tourists still sleep and Funland is closed, Rehoboth feels peaceful, whole. Even the water seems calmer. I enjoy my solitary walks, but this is better. His presence makes almost anything better for me, while mine appears to do the opposite for him.

  We part at the studio’s door. “Well, enjoy your class,” he says.

  “Enjoy your coffee,” I reply. Rest assured that you’ve checked off ‘prove I don’t hate Elle’ from today’s to-do list.

  But later he comes to the beach with me, as if he’s trying to squeeze a whole summer of civility into one day. Probably so he won’t ever have to do it again.

  “What are you reading?” he asks, when we’ve laid our towels down.

  “Madame Bovary,” I reply, sliding it toward him.

  “Are you reading it because you think you’ll enjoy it, or are you reading it because you think you’re supposed to?” he asks.

  I shrug. “You know, it’s just one of those books you always hear about.”

  He grins. “So it’s a ‘supposed to’ book.”

  “I guess,” I reply. “But hopefully I’ll enjoy it too.”

  “Do you ever do anything just because, and not to further yourself in some way?” he asks.

  “You sound like Max,” I reply. “What are you reading, then, Max Jr?”

  He looks surprised for a moment and then grins sheepishly. “Two Treatises by John Locke.”

  “Seriously?” I laugh. “You’re reading John Locke and giving me shit?”

  He smiles wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’ve got a good point. I’d suggest we go to the bookstore and get crappy beach reads, but I’m too scared of turning into Max.”

  “I think a little Max could benefit us both,” I tell him.

  “Did you know he’s got an IQ of like 150 or something?” James asks.

  “I’m not surprised,” I reply. “Every once in a while he says something almost profound.”

  “He ought to go back to school. I’m worried he’s never going to find his ‘path’ or whatever it is he claims he’s doing.”

  “And now you sound like Ginny.”

  “Shit,” James groans. “I think I’d rather sound like Max.”

  Our time together is surprisingly comfortable. We both read, and take turns making fun of each other’s books. He falls asleep on top of his and I watch him, the way his long lashes sweep his cheeks and his lower lip falls open, begging me to run my thumb across it.

  It’s one of the best days of my life. I’m not sure why it surprises me to discover it.

  He enjoys it too. Not in a polite way, not in a way that essentially means “this is bearable.” He really enjoys it. I watch the weight lift off him as the afternoon progresses, his smile spreading as easily as spilled liquid.

  I make him happy. I just wish I wasn’t the only one of us who realizes it.

  Chapter 26

  Hot tea is my nemesis. Who the hell orders hot tea when it’s 100 degrees outside, in a bar with no a/c? Hot tea requires a cup, saucer, tea bag, spoon, lemon slice. The odds of me successfully remembering all of these items are slim. The odds of me wanting to go to this much trouble for an item that costs $1.99 are non-existent.

  Once my customer stops bitching to Brian about the fact that I brought her Earl Grey when she specified chamomile, and once I’m done wishing I’d laced her hot water with arsenic, I go back to cocktail, where I have two guys drinking steadily and trying to “accidentally” elbow my breasts every time I come to their table.

  Ashleigh stands nearby, smirking. She loves watching me get into trouble. She sidles up beside me after I finish serving the breast-elbowers. “You know, you might want to see if Edward Ferris will give you another chance. I’m guessing you’re better on your back than you are on your feet.”

  It’s only 1 p.m. and I’m already exhausted. Too exhausted to put up with her shit, anyway.

  “Maybe if you were better on your back, James would give you the time of day,” I retort. Again not heeding my mother’s advice to be smart as opposed to defiant, because now James is single and I’ve just given Ashleigh something to prove.

  I’m still stewing over what she said when I get home, so irritated that I don’t even notice the massive bouquet of flowers sitting on the counter at first.

  “Someone likes you an awful lot,” says Ginny. I notice her tone, the flatness of it, before I see what she’s referring to.

  They can’t be for me. Ryan has given me flowers before, but he’s more the type to steal them from someone’s yard — or grave — than this. And this bouquet is hardly a “come back to me, college girlfriend” one anyway. It says something more along the lines of “Marry me, Kim Kardashian.” It’s that big. Like a bouquet that ate all the others around it right before it left the shop.

  I approach the card cautiously. Maybe my father, apologizing? File that under ‘things least likely to happen in this lifetime’.

  The card is written in curling, feminine script — clearly a flower store employee did the work — but its contents make my skin crawl.

  “Ugh,” I groan. I grab the whole vase and march to the trash can, where I am body-blocked by Ginny.

  “Stop!” she screams. “That’s like $500 worth of flowers! Are you crazy?”

  I shove the vase at her. “Fine,” I say. “Now they’re yours. But I don’t want to look at them.”

  She sets them down and grabs the card off the counter, reading it aloud. “‘Elle, You are the springtime I dreamed of so desperate during the cold winter chills. Edward’ Did he write that? What the hell does that even mean?”

  “It’s Wagner,” says Max easily. “Act One of The Valkyries.”

  “Damn, Max,” replies Ginny. “The drugs haven’t killed all your brain cells after all.”

  James’s voice comes next, a low growl that sends a chill up my spine. “Why the fuck is he sending you flowers?”

  I round on him. “And why are you acting like I’ve done something wrong?”

  His jaw sets. “I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did,” he says. “That guy just makes me sick. You’re a child and he’s a predator.”

  “I’m not a child,” I huff.

  “So you like the way he’s trying to buy you with flowers and Wagner quotes?” he demands.

  “No,” I reply. “Obviously I don’t since I was about to throw them in the garbage. But the whole situation is disgusting enough without you dramatizing it. I’m not a child.”

  “Then show it,” he replies. “Call him and tell him to cut this shit out.”

  “I don’t need you to tell me that,” I snap. But there are really no words to express the dread I feel at the prospect.

  I wait until they’ve all left for work to make the call. I also time it, conveniently, during Edward’s show. I leave him a voicemail thanking him for the flowers but telling him it needs to stop. “I’m really not interested in that kind of a relationship,” I say, flinching even though I know he can’t respond. I exhale in relief once I hang up. I hate that James was right, but it does feel good to be clear about this at last. Edward returns my call within an hour. I let it go to voicemail, and then I delete it without listening.

  **

&nbs
p; “He means well, you know,” Max says that night.

  We are alone on the deck. Ginny and James are still at work, and Max is waiting for a text from a girl he claims is “open in all the best ways”. I don’t even want to know what that means.

  “Who means well?” I ask stiffly. If he’s defending Edward I’m going to clock him.

  “James,” he says. “He lays into you. But it’s not about you. It’s about him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wants to protect you, but it comes out wrong. And he thinks he’s feeling anger, when in truth it’s just flat-out jealousy.”

  “Jealous?” I scoff. “He’s not jealous of me.”

  “No, he’s jealous of anyone who gets near you,” he replies. “You can’t have missed the way he acts around you. The last time I saw him like this he was 15. He can barely function when you’re in the room.”

  I shake my head. “You’re confusing him being angry and judgmental about every freaking thing I do with him liking me.”

  “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you that he’s like that because he can’t stand even the slightest hint that you might be with someone else?”

  “He told me point blank he doesn’t like me that way.”

  “Or maybe he told you that because that’s what he’s telling himself. But that doesn’t make it true. If he came home right now and found me sitting with Ginny, he’d be happy. He’d probably thank me for hanging out with her. He finds out I was here with you, he’d slit my throat in my sleep.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “That would be extreme, even for James.”

  “Fine,” says Max. “Then he’d do what he’s done every time you make him mad or get him worked up. He’d go running.”

  My brow furrows. “He just likes to run.”

  “Right,” scoffs Max. “At 2 in the morning? When he’s already gone running that day? Trust me. James doesn’t like to run that much.”

  He leaves for his ‘date’, and I remain on the deck, feeling more buoyant than I’ve ever felt in my life.