The Daughters Break the Rules

by Joanna Philbin

  But it didn’t surprise her. After all, Alex was nothing like the other guys she knew. He was thoughtful and kind, and he listened to Beethoven, and he got into any club he wanted, and he did social service on his vacations. Maybe she wasn’t deep enough for him. Maybe, she thought with a tiny gasp, he felt sorry for her.

  Another bus was coming down the street and Carina ran down the block to the bus stop, waving her arms frantically so it would see her. If this had been just a few months ago, she would have had to push Alex away, hail a cab, and get in the backseat with a flirtatious blown kiss in his direction. Now she was running like a banshee toward a city bus, after getting royally blown off. What had happened to her?

  The bus wheezed to a stop and Carina ran on, just as her phone went Ka-CHUNG! It was a text from the Jurg.

  Where r u? Leaving in 30

  She sat down and dropped the phone back into her bag. She was in for a long four days.

  chapter 22

  “Carina? Carina?”

  Her dad was calling her, but Carina didn’t move from her spot on the couch except to pick up the remote and turn up the volume. So far she’d spent Thanksgiving weekend mostly immobile, lying under a mohair blanket and watching TV. The Jurg had invited her to join his annual Thanksgiving dinner party the night before, but their fight in Barb’s office still hung in the air, making things even tenser than usual. Plus she wasn’t in the mood to watch the Jurg’s female guests contort themselves to show off their cleavage. So she’d eaten her turkey and sweet potatoes in front of the flat screen, watching The Sound of Music and feeling sorry for herself. Until she started thinking about Alex.

  Actually, she’d been doing a lot of thinking about Alex. Ever since their near kiss at the balloon blowup, she’d been imagining a whole slew of actual kiss scenarios. Like in the park in front of the Planetarium, where they’d said good-bye; or in the frozen food aisle of Trader Joe’s; or at Club Neshka in front of all those dancing hipsters. She wanted to see him, talk to him, be with him, walk the streets of New York with him. And she really wanted to text him. But every time she typed out something, such as “Happy Turkey Day!,” it felt like code for I’M TOTALLY INTO YOU, and she’d turn off her phone.

  It was only four o’clock on Friday, which meant that she had at least four more days before she could get in touch with him without it looking ridiculously obvious. She sighed into the throw pillow. She was completely into him, and it was making her miserable. Outside, past the swimming pool, the Atlantic lapped at the shore, frustratingly calm. She would have killed for some waves, just to take her mind off him.

  “Carina?” Her dad walked into the den. “You’re still in front of the TV. What a surprise.” In his Montauk uniform of beige cashmere sweater and jeans, the Jurg looked a little dorky and bereft of his usual power, like a modern-day Clark Kent. “Don’t you want to go into Amagansett? Or East Hampton?”

  “And what am I supposed to do in town?” she asked.

  Her dad sat down on one of the sleek black leather settees. “I don’t know. Get some fresh air. Leave the house.”

  “It’s freezing out. Is it bothering you that I’m in here?”

  “No, it’s not bothering me. Look, about the fight we had the other day—”

  Carina heard the muffled ring of his BlackBerry.

  “Hold on,” he said, taking it out of his back pocket. “Yeah?” he said into it. “I thought Ed was taking care—” He let out a long, annoyed sigh. “Fine, I guess I’ll just get ready then.”

  He clicked off. “I just found out that I have to go to London again for a few days,” he said. “Are you going to be all right here by yourself? Or do you want to go back into the city?”

  She sat bolt upright. Going back to the city meant seeing Alex again. “I’ll go back in,” she said brightly.

  “I’m sorry I have to go,” her father said.

  She eyed her panda phone, sitting on the coffee table. Now she knew the perfect text to write Alex…

  “Carina? Did you just hear what I said?” her father asked.

  “Yeah, you’re going to London,” she said, reaching for her phone. “Got it loud and clear.”

  She flipped open her phone as she heard her dad get to his feet. “Carina…” he started.

  “Yeah?” she asked, looking up from her phone.

  Her dad looked past her, and suddenly he seemed lost. She wondered if he’d said something she hadn’t caught. “Nothing,” he finally said, shaking his head. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

  He drifted out of the room as Carina started typing her text.

  Hey. Coming back into the city. Wot u up to?

  Alex wrote back two minutes later:

  Leftovers. Come over. 45 Forsyth Street. #5W. 7 p.m.

  Dinner at his house? she thought in shock. So maybe he’d been thinking about her, too.

  Cool, bring anything?

  Just u, he wrote back.

  She dropped the phone. She didn’t want to read too much into two words, but that had to be a sign. Just u. Her heart started to pound. She couldn’t wait to see him. If she could only figure out where Forsyth Street was.

  *

  “Hey, Carina!” Marisol said when she opened their front door. “Come on in!”

  Marisol wore a denim button-down dress with a ripped hem, rainbow tights, and scuffed-up Keds, but the effect was so cool she looked like a stylist had dressed her.

  “So psyched you’re here! And you didn’t have to bring those!” She pointed to the plastic-wrapped daisies that Carina was carrying and grabbed Carina’s arm as she pulled her inside. “You look great,” Marisol said admiringly.

  “Really?” asked Carina. She’d been too excited to stop at the apartment to change out of her J. Crew sweater and jeans, and had gone straight from Penn Station to Alex’s apartment on the Lower East Side. “Thanks so much for having me—”

  “Oh, come see my flower sculptures!” Marisol cried, tugging her by the arm down the hall and into a room. “I got them all out for you. Here!” she said, flipping on the light. “Whaddya think?”

  Carina hesitated for a moment in the doorway. Marisol’s room was the size of Carina’s closet, and the walls were plastered with pictures. Pictures of modern art paintings. Pictures of sculpture. And most of all, pictures from fashion magazines. There were hundreds of them, going back almost two years. It was like an altar to high fashion. Carina was so distracted by them that she almost didn’t see the row of brilliantly painted papier-mâché flower arrangements standing on her dresser. Each one was at least three colors, all swirled together and spinning outward all over the petals in a kind of kaleidoscopic explosion. Alex had been right. They were definitely unique.

  “Oh my God, Marisol,” Carina said, walking over to them. “These are beautiful. You made these?”

  “Uh-huh. You still want to use them?”

  Carina reached over and picked up one of the sculptures. “Of course I do. Did you paint all these yourself?”

  “It didn’t take too long.”

  “I can only do paint-by-numbers. You’re really talented, you know that?”

  “Well, thanks,” Marisol said, touching the petals lightly with her fingers. “I was thinking, if it’s not too much trouble, maybe at the dance you can put up a sign and say that they’re mine?”

  “Done.” Carina wasn’t sure how Ava was going to feel about an eighth-grader doing the flowers, but she’d worry about it later.

  “Great!” Marisol said, reaching for a binder near her bed. “Because I’m already trying to figure out my dress. I can’t decide between something with bat sleeves or a strapless corset-style thing.” She opened the binder and inside were plastic-covered pages from fashion magazines.

  “What are these?” Carina asked.

  “Inspiration,” Marisol said, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “Stuff I like to keep in mind when I’m creating my final look.”

  “You make your own clothes?” Carina asked, dumbfounded
.

  “It’s easy,” Marisol said cheerfully. “I usually find something at one of the vintage shops and then add to it a little. Have you ever tried that?”

  “Tried what?” Alex said.

  Carina turned to see Alex standing in the doorway, watching Carina with a shy smile that made her hands start to sweat. He was back to his usual Artsy Boy self, wearing a brown thermal under a black T-shirt with a silk-screened illustration of Blondie. It was ridiculously cute. “Marisol, can we let Carina eat?” he asked.

  “We were just talking about the dance,” Carina said. “I’m totally using these sculptures, by the way.”

  “And I’m definitely going,” Marisol said proudly. “I just need to figure out what I’m wearing.”

  “You guys can talk fashion later. I’m hungry,” Alex said. His hand on her arm was warm and comforting as he led her into the hall. “Thanks for coming down. My mom almost had a coronary when I told her you were coming, she was so excited.”

  “Oh, these are for you,” she said, giving him the daisies that she still held in her hands. “I mean, your mom.”

  Thankfully Alex didn’t catch her slip. “Huh,” he said, taking the flowers. “Now she’s really going to be obsessed with you. Daisies are her favorite. Welcome to the family.”

  They turned into the narrow, cramped kitchen, where several adults stood drinking wine. Odors of cinnamon and pumpkin and sweet potatoes made Carina’s stomach wake up. Mrs. Suarez, looking even younger and prettier in a burgundy turtleneck and jeans, removed a bubbling casserole from the oven.

  “Hi, Mrs. Suarez,” Carina said.

  “Carina! I’m so glad you could make it,” she cried. “Here, take a plate and help yourself. You better be hungry.”

  Mrs. Suarez gestured to the kitchen table, which was laden with dishes of baked sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, wild rice, cheese enchiladas, and the remains of a roast turkey.

  “Everything looks amazing,” Carina said, grabbing a plate.

  Mrs. Suarez put the still bubbling dish on the table. “Green bean casserole,” she said. “Even better the next day.”

  “This all looks better than anything I had last night,” Carina said, dishing a healthy scoop of sweet potatoes onto her plate. “Thanks for having me.”

  “Didn’t you spend yesterday with your family?” Mrs. Suarez asked, pulling Saran Wrap off a dish of warmed-up gravy.

  “Just my dad,” Carina said. “He had some people over but it was more of a work thing. Not really family.”

  “And what does he do?” Mrs. Suarez asked.

  Carina stared at her. Normally people already knew that. It was the headline when people talked about her: She’s Karl Jurgensen’s daughter. But Alex apparently hadn’t mentioned it.

  “Um… he’s a businessman,” she said simply, eyeing Alex from the other side of the table.

  After she’d gone back into the kitchen for seconds and then thirds, and chatted more with Marisol, Alex turned to her across the table. “Okay, time to go,” he announced, putting down his napkin. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  Alex shook his head. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Oh God, is this more music education?” Carina said.

  “Trust me,” Alex said, grabbing his military coat.

  Next to her, Marisol beamed, and then quickly went back to her green bean casserole. “Have a good time, you guys,” she said in a secretive way.

  They threw on their coats and said their good-byes to Mrs. Suarez and Marisol. When they had walked out of the building into the cold and gone almost a block in silence, Alex said, “Thanks for getting my sister that ticket to the dance. This is going to be the high point of her year.”

  “No problem. Thanks for letting me know about her artwork. She’s brilliant. And seriously, anything I can do.”

  “It’ll be good for her to go,” he said. “She’s been having a tough time at school. Her friends turning on her, stuff like that. It’ll be good for people to know she’s going to that. As much as I think it’s a total waste of time.” He winked, pulling a green wool hat over his head.

  “So you didn’t tell your mom who I was,” Carina prompted.

  Alex looked at her closely. “Did you want me to tell her?”

  “No, but that’s just what I’m used to. Everyone does that.”

  “And is that why you think people like you?” he asked.

  Carina knew that he wasn’t trying to offend her, but his question still stung. “No, of course not,” she said carefully. “It’s just that it’s always part of me. Wherever I go. Whatever I do. It’s like my hair color or my eye color or my first name. Just part of me. I’m just surprised you didn’t mention it.”

  “It wasn’t important,” he shrugged. “You’re just Carina to me. Always have been.”

  Her heart was beating so rapidly that she thought it was going to rise up into her throat and get stuck there. For the first time, she wondered who else could say that, outside of Lizzie and Hudson. She doubted that anyone could. “Your mom’s really wonderful, by the way,” she said, changing the subject.

  “Yeah, I know. Whenever I think about her being alone the rest of her life, it kills me.”

  “Were you close with your dad?” she asked.

  Alex didn’t say anything for a minute as they walked. “Not as close as I should have been,” he finally said.

  Carina snuck her hand around his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  Alex squeezed her hand. “I’m really glad you came down tonight,” he said quietly. “I didn’t think I could wait until next week to see you.”

  She let herself lean her head slightly on his shoulder as his words sunk in. “Me too,” she whispered.

  They turned onto Houston Street and Alex slowed his steps. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me, she thought. It’s finally gonna happen.

  But instead Alex removed his arm as he came to a stop. “Okay, we’re here,” he said.

  “Here? There’s a surprise here?” she asked, looking up at the deserted warehouse in front of them. “Are you sure?”

  “No judgments,” Alex said, grinning. “Just trust me.” He pressed a button on the grimy front door. At the buzz he pulled it open. Inside were a dirty vestibule and a freight elevator.

  “Okay, I’m scared,” Carina said as they walked into the elevator.

  “Don’t be,” he said as the doors closed. “What would you say if I said this actually was a concert? Another stop on the Carina Music Appreciation Tour?”

  “I would say that you’re probably delusional,” Carina said, looking around the graffiti-scarred elevator.

  “No imagination,” Alex said mournfully as the elevator shuddered to a stop and the door opened onto a large, almost empty loft.

  Inside, several men in black T-shirts were busy setting up what looked like amps, microphone stands, and a drum set in the back of the room. Several large black cases of equipment were stacked right in front of them, and there, right on a guitar case, she saw THE KILLERS stenciled in big white letters.

  “Wait,” she said. “Why does that say that? Are we picking up tickets to a Killers concert?”

  “No, we’re seeing a Killers concert. Here.”

  “But… how?” she stammered as one of the roadies walked past them with a gleaming guitar.

  “My friend rents this space out for rehearsals. A lot of really good bands use it the day before a big show. And he always lets me know when there’s someone I like coming in.”

  “So we’re basically the only outside people coming here to see them?” Carina asked in disbelief. Besides the guys setting up, there only seemed to be a handful of men and women, walking around the loft, talking on their cell phones or texting.

  “Yup. Pretty cool, huh?” Alex turned to a tall, scraggly haired man in his twenties coming toward them. “What’s up, man?”

  The scraggly haired man gave Alex a bro shake. “Alex, man, what is up? Glad yo
u could come by.”

  “Ted, this is my friend Carina,” Alex said.

  “Hey, Carina,” Ted said. “You’re probably gonna need these.” He handed her a pair of foam earplugs.

  As Carina watched Alex and Ted talk, she couldn’t believe where she was. Not even her dad could have gotten her into something like this. Alex had been right that day at Trader Joe’s. The best things about New York—and the best experiences—didn’t cost a dime.

  After Ted had hurried away to take care of some last-minute business, and just before the band was about to come on, Alex took her by the arm and brought her over to the window.

  “There’s the Manhattan Bridge,” he said, pointing to the looming blue bridge dotted with lights. “Isn’t it cool-looking?”

  Carina put her hand on his arm. “This is the most amazing night of my life,” she said to him.

  Alex smiled at her, letting her get lost in his deep cocoa-colored eyes. Then he leaned in toward her, and she closed her eyes.

  Before she knew it, his lips were on hers. She drew her arms up around his neck. There were the sounds of dissonant guitar chords and some drumming as the roadies prepared the band equipment, but she barely noticed. She’d waited for this moment for so long, and now that it was finally here, she wasn’t going to let anything interrupt it.

  Finally their lips pulled apart.

  “So, I’ve been wanting to do that a long, long time,” he said.

  “Me too,” she said, keeping her arms around his neck. “But I thought it was better you go first.”

  Alex smiled and leaned into her again. As his lips found hers, and her arms tightened around his neck, Carina knew that for the first time in her life, she was exactly where she belonged.

  chapter 23