by Scott, S. L.
“I’m glad you’re back, too. All I did was work this summer. It’s good to hear that one of us had fun.”
“You could have fun if you wanted, Clo.”
“Fun is for when you’re dead, according to The Great Dr. Fox.”
“So it sucked working for your pops?”
“The clinic was good experience and exposure to operations, but nothing between my dad and I has changed. He sees me in one way, and if I try to have fun, I’m told my mom is to blame.”
“I’m sorry. I was hoping it would get better.”
I hate admitting it out loud, but my boring life back home makes me feel unwanted. It’s Ruby, though, and she already knows most of my secrets. “I went to the beach once and ran into Trevor.”
“Trevor League?” If there was a family that held more prestige than the Foxes in Newport, the Leagues were it. Trevor has continued the playboy reputation he built back home and developed it in Connecticut. “How’d that go?”
What my father has built as a surgeon, Trevor’s father has built a bigger fortune in finance. It was only natural, considering our families’ ties, that one day, Trevor and I would have a relationship. We went to homecoming together freshman and sophomore year. I didn’t put out, so he dropped me for a senior who was happy to sacrifice her virginity at the altar of the arrogant sophomore for a shot at League family money.
I never felt an obligation to give two damns about him or their standing in the community. My goals were bigger than the Leagues because my goals don’t rely on money. They rely on healing and making a difference in people’s lives.
“He sat next to me like we’re old friends and told me I was ‘looking good these days.’ Those were his exact words, Ruby, as he lowered his sunglasses to get a better look at my cleavage. He’ll never change. He’s still cocky as ever.”
“Considering how hot he is, he has a right to be. The real question is, how cocky is he?” she infers all the dirty with just those few words. Her hands spreading wide wasn’t necessary.
But since they’re hanging in the air, I push them together and break out in laughter. “I wouldn’t know, but rumor has it, not cocky enough down there to back that ego.”
“Damnnn. Girl’s got some bite.” Pushing my arm, she adds, “I always did like your feisty side.” After drinking her wine, she then spins the stem between her fingers. She suddenly sits up and pours more wine into her cup. “You need more play to balance all the work. Work. Work.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“Your mom is awesome. Listen to the woman and enjoy life before you get stuck working seventy-two-hour shifts and falling for a dermatologist because medical people are the only ones you interact with.”
The word “stuck” has become one of my least favorites as it climbs under my skin from the other day—stuck in place. I shake my head, but when I see Ruby watching me, I say, “For the record, dermatologists are highly regarded professionals.”
She fake yawns. “Boring.”
I know what will sell her. “They make a ton of money, and I bet the wife of a dermatologist has amazing skin. And they can give you free Botox.”
“Sold. Where can I get one?” I thought that might pique her interest. “Medical school.”
A light laugh is followed by her mindlessly scrolling on her phone. “I think I’m going to change my major from premed to visual arts tomorrow.”
“Really?”
“I spent the summer working on my photography portfolio and just decided I love it enough to pursue it professionally.”
“I can imagine that didn’t go over well with the Darlings.”
“They don’t know. The original agreement was that I get a degree. I guess they figured I couldn’t get creative at Yale. Silly parents. I proved them wrong.” Before I can ask more questions, she pivots to food in one quick change of topic. “Are you hungry? I’m starved.”
“I’m good, but you should eat.”
While she grabs a salad from the fridge, I lie back, looking around her place. Tiny bells are strung across the top of her window, a purple paisley blanket is draped over the couch, and a rug that has every color running through its fibers anchors the living room. The coffee table is scratched by years of use, and she hasn’t bothered to unpack any dishes to fill the cabinets. Hence the throwaway cups we’re using for wine and boxes filling half of the kitchen floor. I imagine the lack of burden to bear conforming to society’s expectations must be freeing.
I’ve worried a few times about a fire starting because of the yellow scarf draped over the top of a lampshade, but this all fits her free spirit ways. It makes me wonder what my place says about me.
My path has been set since the day I was born, and my boring apartment is proof of the lack of life I’ve explored. The decisions I’ve made have never been about what my heart wants. It’s all about my head and what looks good on a college application or a résumé.
Plans give security. There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want to do with your future. Though, it does beg the question if it’s worth sacrificing today for tomorrow?
“You sure are quiet. What’s on your mind?” She tucks her toes under my legs. “Need more wine?” Staring at me long after she stopped talking, I know what’s going to happen. Sex talk. This is her foreplay when she wants to get personal. If I had to boil Ruby Darrow down to one philosophy, sex is the answer to everything.
Got a broken heart?
Heal it with a one-night stand.
B on a biology test?
Sex with the TA.
Car needs a new radiator?
Get down and dirty with a mechanic.
It’s her M.O. and works for her more than not. And although I love her dearly and cherish this friendship, I’m not Ruby. Sex isn’t something I treat lightly, or at all, since it hasn’t happened yet. Those arrogant little dimples populate my head, causing me to shiver. Just no to him. Although . . . he has been helpful when it comes to Frankie when he didn’t have to be. “I’m good on wine,” I reply, sipping slowly so it doesn’t go to my head.
Wiggling her toes, she says, “You told me you ran into Trevor, worked too much, and had no social life. I’m assuming that means no dates either?”
Considering the amount of time I spent with a delivery guy is the most time I’ve spent with anyone of the opposite sex in months, I don’t think I have much to offer on the subject. “Dating was nonexistent, per usual.”
She falls back against the cushion dramatically with her forearm attached to her head. “Tell me you at least had a toy to keep you company.”
I won’t be able keep her off the no-sex acts talk for long, so I try to think of a bone I can throw. Nothing comes to mind, though. And here we are, like I knew we would be.
Three.
Two.
One.
Sitting up, she asks, “Please tell me you have something to help release the tension.”
I raise my chin and smile. “I have books. Romance. History. Textbooks. Classics. Dirty books.” I add the last to save some face. It’s embarrassing to be a virgin at my age. “Yes, Ruby. You were the one who got me the magic bunny for my birthday last year.”
With a wink, she asks, “It’s the best, right?”
“It’s the only, so by default, it’s top-notch.”
Sighing contentedly, she exhales. “Good. I always worry about you.”
“No need to worry, Ruby. I know how my vagina works.”
“You’re so technical. I bet you’re hot in bed.” Crossing her hands over her chest, she dips her head back. “Oh yes, touch my vulva, baby.”
I push her playfully. “No one’s complained yet.”
“That’s unchartered territory, woman. No explorer has been there before,” she says, righting herself. “But before you turn even redder, one of my favorite things about you is how sweet and technical you are.”
“Why does that sound like an insult wrapped in sugar?”
She grabs her foo
d container from the table and starts with a large bite of lettuce. “I don’t know how you stay so thin. Still running?”
“A lot.”
“Because you need to work out that sexual tension.” She shoves another dressing-laden bite in her mouth. Although her attention is on the TV, her comment remains.
If I were being honest with myself, she’s right about the tension—stress and sexual. I stand. “I’m going home. We both have a big day tomorrow.”
Kicking her feet up, she lounges across the couch, hogging the cushion I vacated. “I can’t believe summer is already over.”
I open the front door and lean against it, facing her. Not able to stop my smile, I say, “Senior year.”
“We have to make the most of it.”
“Definitely.” I laugh lightly. “Good night.” As soon as I shut the door, I stop when I see a small box on my doorstep. Peeking down the stairs, I don’t see anyone, and I don’t hear footsteps.
I approach the box with caution and stand over it, smiling when I realize what’s inside. Kneeling, I pick it up and carry it into the apartment. I sit at the far end of the couch, close to Frankie, and say, “Seems you got gifts today.”
Picking up the small misting bottle, I hold it up. “Guess whose leaves are getting pampered? A new pot. Look how pretty.” The blue ceramic pot is rectangle-shaped and will be a huge improvement over the current little plastic one.
I leave the Ziploc bag of soil in the box and pull out the note before setting the rest aside. I unfold it and read: Hope Frankie enjoys the new home.
He doesn’t sign it, but I know who it’s from, and I grin while reading it aloud for my tiny roommate. Then I realize I’ve been talking to a plant, making me roll my eyes at myself.
I’m not sure if this is what my mom meant to happen when she put me in charge of Frankie’s well-being, but taking care of her has started to become fun.
Replanting the tree in the pot doesn’t take long but taking his advice I don’t get to bring her into the bedroom since she’ll be soaking overnight. I click out the lights after I’m done and say, “Good night.”
5
Chloe
I’ve never felt in between. The first day of classes can be overwhelming or a breeze. Fortunately, being prepared made me feel confident starting this year. That’s why when I see Patty’s Diner sign two blocks down, I make a detour.
My confidence remains out on the sidewalk when I enter the diner. I can turn around and walk back out. No harm. No foul. Saving face before this gets out of hand. Yes, that’s what I should do.
But that bell ringing overhead draws attention again when I open the door to leave. “Chloe?”
I close my eyes, reprimanding myself for getting into this sticky situation in the first place. It could be worse. It could have been Joshua who caught me trying to sneak out.
Turning around, ready to greet Patty, I still on the spot when I see her son standing next to her. He’s grinning . . . smirking really, giving me the cocky one that seems to be his specialty. With a slight lift of his hand, he says, “Hi.”
I tuck the hair that’s fallen from my ponytail behind my ears and then straighten the straps of my backpack. “Hi. I was just in the area and thought I’d try the special.” With an extended hand, I add, “It comes highly recommended.”
Patty looks pleased and comes around to greet me. “I’m glad you came by. Joshua was just about to take a dinner break. Maybe the two of you can eat together . . . in that booth . . . in the back corner.”
“Oh, um.” I glance back at the brown eyes tracking my every move. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. He might have other plans—”
“I’ll get the food,” he says while Patty waves her hand at me like a tattooed fairy.
Following Patty to the booth, I mumble, “Right.”
She stands, waiting for me to slide in, so I take my backpack off and dump it on the bench. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you came by again. We were just talking about you.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Leaning against the other side of the booth, she looks around conspiratorially, and then says, “Josh mentioned your passion for plants.”
I tweak my neck when I restrain the surprise from jerking me back. Rubbing the back of it, I ask, “He did?”
“Said you have a bonsai tree like his.”
I smile. “Yes. My mom gave it to me as a housewarming gift. It’s supposed to help me find balance between school and life.” It’s pretty adorable that’s what he thinks of when he thinks of me. Not that I’m a Newport Fox or about to graduate from Yale with honors. To Joshua, I’m Frankie’s mom.
“I gave Josh his bonsai when he was thirteen. I hoped he could find inner peace and calm through some turbulent times.”
“I’m sorry to hear he had struggles.”
She laughs. “Don’t we all? But some things happen for a reason. We just have to look for the rainbow after the storm.” She glances up when the door opens. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Water is good. Thank you.”
Patting my shoulder when she passes, I can’t help but feel her kindness every time I see her.
My phone rings, and I’m quick to grab it from the front pocket of my bag, and answer, “Hi, Dad.”
“Chloe. I wanted to call to see how the first day went.”
“Fine. It’s going to be a tough semester, but nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Make sure to keep ahead of the syllabus so if questions arise, you have time to get answers.”
“I will.” I lower my head, wondering when he’ll trust me to take care of my own life. “Are you still working?”
“I had dinner brought in, and I’m catching up on some research. Education never ends in our profession.” He still refuses to discuss a different medical path than the one he’s taken, and his expectation for perfection weighs heavy on me.
“Glad to hear you’re taking time to eat.” Making sure Joshua won’t show up with me on the phone, I add, “I’m about to eat and then head home, so I should—”
“That’s good.” He pauses before his tone turns serious, not that he has a carefree tone in his arsenal. “We haven’t always gotten along . . .”
We’ve struggled through the divorce because he felt like I was siding with my mom. I wasn’t. Being there for her isn’t siding with her, but he’s never understood that. There were conflicts over my high school courses and the fast track he wanted me to take. He won. I graduated in three years and went to Yale just as he wanted, much to the dismay of my mom.
“I want you to know how proud I am of you, Chloe.”
Adjusting the phone in my hand, I close my eyes and angle toward the wall for privacy. “I know, Dad, but it means a lot to hear it.”
He clears his throat, the gruffness returning. “Good talk.”
The lump in my throat is swallowed down, and I reply, “Yeah, good talk.”
“Good luck this year. Make me proud.”
“I will. I love—”
The line goes dead.
Him never telling me he loves me used to bother me, but he always said words are worthless. It’s actions that matter.
“Miss me?” Joshua sets a plate and bowl of soup in front of me before sliding in across from me. “Guess our paths aren’t so different, after all.”
Dropping my phone back in my bag, I say, “Especially when they intersect at the same place.” I’m not sure when the glasses of water arrived, but I feel a little embarrassed at the thought of Patty overhearing my dysfunctional call with my dad. I take a sip of water to cool my self-consciousness. But seeing Joshua staring at me with a lopsided grin doesn’t help. “What?”
“You.”
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”
“You couldn’t resist, could you?” He has the biggest, dumbest, hottest smirk on his face right now.
“You’re right. Busted me. I love grilled cheese
sandwiches.” I take a big bite to stuff my mouth enough to justify not talking more.
Chuckling, he picks up one of the diagonally cut halves and takes a huge bite. He’s a big guy with an appetite to match, judging by the two sandwiches on his plate. “You know what I’m talking about, Chloe. So you can hide behind the specials or just fess up and admit you stopped by to see me.”
“Pfft. I didn’t even know you were working. Anyway, I let my growling stomach lead the way.”
“Okay,” he says, dunking a corner of a sandwich in the soup. He holds it up. “It’s best when eaten together. I’m surprised a girl like you would even eat a grilled cheese, so dunking it might be too much for you.”
My shoulders drop, and I give him a pointed glare. “I may be from Newport, but I can get messy like the best of them.”
“Two things,” he starts. I’m figuring he’s going to talk my ear off at this point. “First, you’re from Newport?”
“I am. So say what you want to say, and then let’s get on with the second thing you feel the need to share.”
Shrugging, he acts innocent with wide eyes and his attention planted on the bowl of soup. “I wasn’t going to say anything other than . . .” His eyes lift to mine—brown warming my greens. “I’m not surprised.”
“Well, what does that mean?”
“It means I’m not shocked.”
“I know what surprised means. I want to know why I fit right into some box that apparently doesn’t surprise you?”
“Well, you tell me.”
“Oh, my God. You’re so infuriating.”
His lips scrunch to one side as if he hates being the bearer of bad news. “I’m just saying, you’re uptight.”
“I am not.”
“Okay.” One sandwich has been demolished, and he starts on the next.
“What does okay mean?”
“Do you want me to define okay for you?”
I grip the edge of the table to keep from smacking him. “Do you give all your dates this hard of a time?”
His eyes fix on mine, the wry grin sifted away. Leaning closer, he whispers, “No. Only the ones I like.”