by Janna King
“I’d actually like to get to know someone instead of guessing.” Mia went back to folding.
“Guessing is part of the fun, sugar.” Presley smoothed a tee.
“Games suck,” said Mia. “I don’t get it. On the yacht, it seemed like he was interested. Then last night . . .”
Cole returned from the stockroom with Jill. Mia straightened a tee stack.
“No worries. Her hair’s too neat,” whispered Presley.
At closing time, each seasonaire received a bag of Lyndon Wyld merch from Jill. As they exited, the door’s alarm went off. Jill approached them.
“Sorry, guys, I’m going to have to look in your bags. There were some sticky fingers last year.”
“Why would we take shit when you’re already giving it to us?” asked Grant.
“Some people are never satisfied.” Jill looked in the bags.
Vincent shook his head and left the store. Jill riffled through Mia’s bag. After a beat, she pulled out a floral top with part of the sensor still attached. “Really?”
“I didn’t take that,” said Mia, her body prickling with humiliated heat.
“It’s in your bag,” countered Jill.
Mia avoided Cole’s eyes. At that moment, she felt like everyone in Nantucket knew she was from Southie, that she didn’t go to college, and that she needed the $20,000 more than anyone else.
“That’s mine.” Presley grabbed the bag. “Our bags got switched. We work our tails off, Jill. Jill, that’s your name, right?”
Jill’s glare was her answer.
“I think we deserve a little more than we’re getting.” Presley handed the other bag to Mia.
“Then you should talk to Lyndon about that,” replied Jill.
“I will.” Presley fingered the floral top Jill held and sniffed with disdain. “Have your shirt. It’s not one of my faves anyway.”
The seasonaires left the store, Mia without a word to Jill.
Mia stopped Presley on the way to the G. “I didn’t take that shirt,” she said.
“It’s okay if you did.” Presley put a hand on her arm, leaning into Mia’s ear. “But next time, you have to do a better job with the sensor. I use a rubber band.”
“Someone put that shirt in my bag,” said Mia.
“Who would do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe it was a mistake,” said Presley. “Everyone gets so insane in that store.”
“Why did you say you did it?” asked Mia.
“Because like you said, we’ve gotta have each other’s backs.” Presley released Mia’s arm and walked to the G. Mia was the last to get in, squished next to Cole. As they rode back to the estate in silence, Mia scrolled through Instagram. She saw Presley’s post with the tween girls, captioned:
Future seasonaires. #BeWyld #mentor
At a closer look, Mia noticed they were standing by the display of floral tops.
FOURTEEN
Mia stared across the table at the harbor.
“How do you like it cooked, Mia?” asked Nadege, the housekeeper.
“Hm?” Mia shifted her attention to Nadege, who was grilling steaks on the barbecue. “I’m sorry.”
“Your meat—how do you like your meat?” Grant chortled as he inhaled his steak. The long table was set for the seasonaires. Vintage Edison string lights twinkled above. They were drinking an expensive Cabernet from the wine cellar.
“I was starving.” Grant leaned back, his plate clean. “Man, I’m beat.”
“Work is hard,” chuckled Vincent, taking photos. “Especially when you’ve never done it before, arsehole.” He brushed the top of Grant’s head.
Grant lightly slapped Vincent’s hand away. “Dude, I took this job because it’s not work. Growing up, I went to the gym at four every fucking morning with my dad and meathead brothers, then ran five miles before bed so I would make varsity in high school. I had to score the winning touchdowns, because”—he used a deep, gruff voice—“‘that’s what men do.’”
“Not all men,” remarked Vincent with a small compassionate smile.
Mia watched Grant drain his wine and stare into the empty red-stained glass.
Collective buzzes and dings rose from the smartphones sitting on the table. It was a group text from Lyndon:
Wicked job today! Winner: Mia. 42k total IG Likes.
“Hard work pays off.” Cole patted Mia’s leg. Mia smiled at him, though the platonic gesture made her tense up.
Presley applauded and everyone joined, including Jade. Their sincere kudos told Mia to let go of the floral top incident. The world is not against you, Mia, she reminded herself.
“Your prize . . .” Presley gestured to Mia. “The first shower.”
“I’m slightly offended by that prize,” joked Mia. “But okay.” She headed inside, passing Nadege, who carried dirty plates.
“A package came for you today, Mia,” said Nadege. “I brought it up to your room.”
“Thank you, Nadege. Dinner was delicious.”
“The only one who knows the words ‘thank you’ around here,” Nadege whispered to Mia as they both entered the house. “You from Boston?”
“Is my accent that bad?” Mia put her fingers to her lips.
“No,” Nadege spoke with a Creole inflection. “It’s familiar. I live in Mattapan.”
“Southie.”
“City girls, the two of us,” said Nadege as she turned toward the kitchen.
“Good night, Nadege.” Mia walked upstairs and entered her room, seeing a large box on the floor. She opened it to find a sewing machine and a monogrammed Lyndon Wyld card with perfect script that read:
Create something Wyld. xo, Lyndon & Grace
Presley entered the room. “Well, look what you got!”
Mia had been too exhausted to sew. After her shower, she flopped into her bed with her sketchpad and fell asleep before she drew one design. She woke in the morning to find Presley sleeping. Even though Mia didn’t fully trust Presley, she felt comforted by her roommate’s presence. Yesterday had been weird—alternately fun and stressful—like every day since she had landed on Nantucket. Mia still couldn’t get her bearings and surprisingly, the sewing machine, which remained in the box, didn’t make her feel more comfortable. She quietly got dressed.
She dropped her purse, contents clinking, and winced. Presley stirred, lifting off her pink satin sleep mask.
“Hey.” Presley yawned and stretched. Her makeup was still perfect because she liked to be Insta-ready first thing. She snapped a pic and captioned:
Morning, lovelies. #riseandshine #BeWyld
She looked at Mia. “Did you post?”
“No. I need coffee,” responded Mia, picking up her purse off the floor.
“Post. You’re on a roll.”
Mia sat on her bed and took an Instagram selfie. She captioned it:
Got coffee? #elixiroflife #BeWyld
She posted. “I’m going to shop for an outfit to wear to the Summer Solstice Soiree.” Mia looked at Presley. “Come with?”
“Aren’t you going to put your gift to good use?” Presley nodded toward the sewing machine box.
“The Solstice Soiree is in two days. I don’t have time to make something.”
“I’m assuming you’re a design wunderkind.” Presley winked.
“I don’t think even a wunderkind could whip up something party and paparazzi appropriate that quickly. That’s a lot of pressure.” Mia rose. “I can’t believe you’re going to pass up shopping.”
“I have a blowout appointment. You could use a little . . .” Presley motioned around her head.
Mia chuckled. “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than have someone brush my hair for an hour. Spa days sound like torture.”
“Oh, honey, I’ll pretend you never said that,” replied Presley.
Mia flashed on giving her mom a pedicure the week before she left for Nantucket. She’d added tiny roses to Kathryn’s big toes. Her mom loved ros
es, especially red ones. Then her mind landed on the floral shirt in her swag bag at the store.
“Thanks again for yesterday,” said Mia.
“You can thank me by coming with me.” Presley pouted. “C’mon. We’ll do a girls’ day Snapchat story. You and me—The Roomies.”
“Honestly, I would ruin it for you.” Mia strapped on her mini satchel. “I’d just bitch about it the whole time. And then you’d put devil horns on me—hashtag: hellspawn.”
“Wow, you’re really sellin’ it,” said Presley.
Mia left the room while Presley took more selfies.
She entered the kitchen to find Cole sitting at the island, eating cereal and reading the back of the box. “Morning,” he said.
“Morning.” Mia poured herself coffee.
“You sleep okay?” asked Cole.
“Why wouldn’t I?” answered Mia. Her tone sounded bitchier than she would’ve liked. J.P. and Jade walked in. J.P. moved to the espresso machine.
“We’ve got a free day.” Cole touched the schedule on the fridge door before pulling out a bowl of berries. “After Grant wakes up—”
“Whenever that is,” scoffed J.P., making an espresso.
“We’re going kayaking,” finished Cole.
“You’re kayaking. I’m going to sit and watch you row.” Jade took the demitasse cup from J.P.
“I have some stuff to do in town.” Mia sipped her coffee.
“Ooh, stuff.” Jade sipped her espresso.
“Yup.” Mia poured the last few black drops into the sink and put her mug in the dishwasher. “I’ll see you guys later.” She left.
She peddled into town. The rule was you had to wear at least one Lyndon Wyld piece at all times. She had on a light blue skort, which was good for bike riding, although Grant begged the girls to wear dresses or skirts. “A beaver shot is like a surprise birthday present when it’s not even your b!”
Mia knew it was okay to shop at stores other than Lyndon Wyld, but she felt like a traitor on her way to the Modern Vintage boutique on Easy Street. Presley would’ve made her feel worse—she went all brand, all the time. Mia didn’t want any of the other seasonaires’ opinions on her choices. When she reached the store, she caught herself glancing around like one of those sneaky cartoon burglars before stepping inside.
She was looking for a classic A-line skirt that would go with her ruched Lyndon Wyld top. It was nice to shop alone. It was nice to just be alone, since she wasn’t used to having a roommate . . . or housemates, for that matter. She felt at home among the preloved clothing and found some good skirt options, though the prices were double what they’d be at the thrift shop in Boston. She had barely spent any money since she’d arrived and wanted to keep it that way.
The teen girl behind the counter sat next to two registers: a vintage model with the “cha-ching handle” for show and a new one for actual sales. She barely glanced up from her smartphone. “The purple raw linen knee-length would look amazeballs with your eyes.” Mia found the purple skirt on the rack. She wondered if the girl had looked up long enough to notice her eyes. But Mia did like the skirt. She would at least try it on.
When she reached the dressing rooms, she looked below the doors for feet, finding an empty one. She entered, surprised to find Ruby.
“Sorry!” exclaimed Mia, lifting her hand.
Ruby had both feet up on the bench. She was dabbing a new white Ralph Lauren sock on the cross-hatch of cuts inside her right forearm. Vintage items were in a heap on the floor.
“I ran out of Hello Kitty Band-Aids,” explained Ruby.
Mia took her makeup bag out of her purse. She put Band-Aids in it because Grant was prone to wiping out on the beach cruiser. “They’re not Hello Kitty.” She handed a few to Ruby.
“Thank you.” Ruby took them, peeled them open, and placed them over the cuts. She shoved the trash in the nylon Wear National fanny pack open next to her.
Mia hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes. I did this to myself,” Ruby revealed. “Mindless distraction, you know?”
“That’s . . . not what I was going to ask.”
Ruby giggled. “Well, now we know each other better. At least you know me better.”
“I used to pull out my eyebrow hairs,” said Mia, feeling like there should be relative parity.
“Really?” replied Ruby. “Saved yourself waxing time and money! Did you make your way down and give yourself a Brazilian?”
“I was a little young for a Brazilian.” Mia tapped nervously on the wall. “So . . . I have to ask . . . What’s the deal with your boss?”
“Otto?” Ruby waved. The stack of silver bangles and beaded bracelets on her wrists jangled. “Everyone thinks he’s this deviant devil. He’s harmless.”
“He puts you in ads and doesn’t pay you?”
“It’s my choice to pose for him. I’m a big girl.” Ruby zipped her fanny pack.
“I saw you in that window display photo,” said Mia. “Did he think of giving you pants?”
Ruby laughed. “The human body is beautiful. And wages aren’t the most important thing. I couldn’t afford rent and he’s made sure I always have a place a live. And that I eat, because I forget to do that sometimes.”
Ruby cocked her head, admiring Mia as if she were a museum painting. “You’re so pretty.”
“Thank you.” Mia tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’re pretty, too.”
Ruby beamed. “I just realized, I don’t think I’ve eaten since yesterday. Time flies when you’re having fun.”
“Want to get something?” Mia asked, abandoning her skirts in the dressing room.
“Are you buying those?” asked Ruby. “The purple raw silk one is—”
“‘Amazeballs,’ I know.” Mia flicked the price tag. “Too rich for my blood, though.”
She and Ruby left the store and walked toward Nantucket Coffee Roasters.
“We’re not supposed to hang out,” said Mia.
“That’s a shame,” replied Ruby, taking photos of flowers in a window box.
“It’s ridiculous.” Mia ran her hand along the wood shingle of a shop. “Ooh,” she exclaimed at the splinter stuck in her forefinger. Ruby plucked it out and kissed her finger. The girls laughed. They ordered drinks and snacks at the coffee café.
“My treat,” said Ruby.
“Thanks!” Mia noticed that Ruby used a credit card bearing her name—Ruby Taylor—with “Wear National, Inc.” underneath.
They sat at a table in the front courtyard. Ruby sprinkled four sugars in her latte and picked at a blueberry muffin while Mia ate a lemon scone. She told Mia she’d been on her own since she was fifteen. She was originally from Stockton, California, and her mom was a junkie. Her dad, a motorcycle gang road captain, was in prison for armed robbery and attempted murder.
“He tried to kill my mom’s drug dealer. Not for giving her drugs but for shorting her. She used our grocery money, of course.”
Mia put down her cup. “That explains the petty theft.”
“What?”
“The other night, when I saw you outside The Rabbit Hole,” added Mia.
“I don’t remember seeing you.” Ruby squinted at Mia. “But I don’t remember much about going to The Rabbit Hole.” She laughed. “There are things in life I forget by accident. And things I forget on purpose.” She sighed, poking at a blueberry. “Or at least try to. My job helps me do that. Otto helps me do that.”
She caught Mia’s incredulous expression.
“He’s an enigma,” she said. “It’s easy to make him a target.”
Mia thought about Otto’s box camera aimed at her on the beach.
“I showed you mine, now you show me yours,” said Ruby. “What are you about, Mia?”
Mia took in Ruby’s welcoming face. There was something familiar about it even though they had never met before Nantucket. She didn’t look anything like Mia’s Southie girlfriends, who were all now away at college, but she felt li
ke one.
A text buzzed from Ruby’s phone. She looked at it. “Gotta jet. We should do this again soon.” The girls rose. Ruby surprised Mia with a hug. “I owe you some Band-Aids.” She walked off.
Across the street, partially hidden by a lamppost, Presley stood, her corn silk hair severely straight, post blowout. She snapped a pic of the Nantucket Coffee Roasters rendezvous, then put her smartphone in her purse and sashayed off.
Mia didn’t see Presley because she was too busy watching Ruby enter the liquor store a few doors down. After a few beats, Mac stepped out, looked around, and walked in the opposite direction of Presley, who had disappeared.
FIFTEEN
The Summer Solstice Soiree is the best party of the season because we’re all getting close, but not close enough to know shit we don’t want to know,” said Presley as she sat at the vanity in her bra and panties, applying her makeup.
Mia, in sweats and a tie-dye T-shirt, was working at the sewing machine. She hadn’t gone back to the vintage store after her snack with Ruby, but Presley surprised her by giving her a cast-off Lyndon Wyld sundress to work with. “I never wear it,” remarked Presley. She shared stories about the previous summer on Nantucket as Mia sewed. One seasonaire had even gotten pregnant because “being in paradise makes people horny and stupid.”
“Lyndon paid for the abortion and Grace took her,” she said. “I’m the only one who knew about it because the girl was my roommate. Everyone else thought she had the stomach flu. But honestly, if she had the flu we’d all have had the flu because, well, everyone is horny and stupid.” She laughed as she stared into the vanity mirror, placing single false eyelashes on the outer corners of her lids.
“I can thread the tiniest needle but I can’t put on fake lashes,” said Mia, sewing a fringe hem along the bottom of the emerald green sundress.
“You already have gorgeous lashes. But let me add a little sultriness,” said Presley.