by Ann Herrick
"The best dancer at Sandy Cove High is responsible."
"Whoa!" Josh grinned. "A compliment from one of the cutest sophomores in school."
I shook my head and sighed. Josh was always teasing me. With his good looks and friendly personality he attracted almost every girl at school. So I knew better than to take him seriously when he showered me with exaggerated compliments.
The music stopped. "What now?" Josh asked.
"Well, the dancing will start again in a minute." I spotted Celeste and Pres at the punch bowl "But I’m dying of thirst. Let’s get some punch."
We worked our way through the crowd.
"Look who’s here." Celeste raised her cup of punch as if she was giving a toast. "Don’t our brothers look handsome in their wedding-day gear?"
I flashed a frozen smile at Celeste and whispered through gritted teeth, "I wish you’d stop promoting the one-big-happy-family image." Then I looked at Pres and said, "They look terrific."
"Thank you, fans." Josh bowed repeatedly. "Thank you."
Pres blushed.
"Attention, everyone. Attention," Mrs. Gluck shouted. "The bride and groom are about to depart on their honeymoon."
Pres and I rushed to say our goodbye to our parents.
"You were a beautiful bride," I said as I hugged Mom.
"Almost as gorgeous as my maid of honor," Mom said.
"Have fun on Cape Cod."
"I’ll certainly try."
We laughed, and hugged again.
"Congratulations, Dad." Pres shook hands with Bill.
"Thanks, Pres. Take care of things at home."
The next thing I knew, we were all standing on the steps of the Town Hall waving goodbye as Mom and Bill climbed into Bill’s SUV. Pres and Josh had decorated it with balloons, streamers, and a hand-painted "Just Married" sign.
"Drive carefully!" Josh yelled.
As the car pulled out of the circular driveway I called out, "Have a good trip."
It felt kind of strange to see my mother going off on her honeymoon.
"Well, you two," Gramma said to me and Pres. "It’s time we all went home and changed our clothes, so Rebecca can load her things into the rental truck and start taking them over to the to the other house."
"I’m going to help." Josh loosened his tie.
"Me too," Celeste said.
"Great," said Gramma. "We should get her all settled in before dark."
I lifted the hem of my skirt so I wouldn’t trip going down the stairs. My heart fluttered. I was on my way to a new home, a new father ... and a new relationship with Pres.
Chapter Three
Shortly after I traded my bridesmaid's dress for jeans and a T-shirt, Josh and Celeste arrived at my house.
"Perfect timing," I said. "I just finished changing."
"Changing?" Josh clutched his chest and stumbled back. "But I liked you just the way you were."
"You’re impossible."
"You must be referring to Josh," said Pres, who’d just stepped up on the front porch.
"Who else?" Celeste and I chimed.
When everything was loaded into the truck, I went back upstairs for one final look. I stood in the middle of my empty bedroom—I’d really miss this place. But I was sure living with Pres and having a new father would make my new home as happy—if not happier—than the old one.
When we pulled into the driveway of Pres’s house, I hesitated a moment before getting out. The yellow 175-year-old house, with a pot of ivy hanging by the front door and daffodils flanking the stone steps, welcomed me.
It didn’t take long for us to unload the truck, reassemble my bed, and unroll the braided rugs, which Gramma had made, onto the smooth wide-plank floor.
Josh sat down in my cane rocker, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Whew. I’m beat." He patted his stomach. "Starving, too."
"Ah, you must have smelled my grandmother’s spaghetti," I said.
"Spaghetti?" Josh asked innocently. "Someone had better check to see if she needs any help. Come on, Pres. Let’s go."
"Anything to get out of unpacking," Pres said. He and Josh hurried downstairs.
"Your room is as nice as you said it was." Celeste spun around, her head tilted up to see the high ceiling, the peach blossoms on the freshly papered walls, the fancy woodwork around the windows. "And over there." She pointed to the corner alcove with three large windows that looked out on a magnolia tree. "That is the perfect spot to write the great American novel."
"Plays. I want to write plays."
"Whatever," said Celeste. "It’s still a great spot to write."
"Okay, okay." I laughed.
"When I become an architect I’ll design special theaters for your plays." Celeste flopped down on my bed.
"Don’t relax yet." I grabbed her foot and shook it. "I’ve got all these boxes to unpack."
"Oh, all right. Rebecca, this is marked, ‘Important.’ What do you want me to do with it?" Celeste showed me a manila folder.
"Oh, that. Thanks, I’ll take it. This is a printout of a play I’ve written for a magazine for elementary school kids. When they bought my one-act play for second graders they asked if I had something longer for fourth graders. I just have to proofread it again and it’ll be ready to send."
"Wow. That’s great. You didn’t tell me you were working on another play."
"I know. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just superstitious. I don’t like to talk about a project until it’s done."
By the time Celeste and I had put most of my stuff away, Josh appeared in the doorway. "Dinner is served," he announced.
"Great. I’m starving," I said.
In the kitchen Pres and Gramma scurried around setting the table.
I sniffed. "Smells delicious, Gramma. But something’s different."
"That’s Pres’s doing," Gramma said. "He added a few spices of his own, wouldn’t tell me what, and fixed garlic bread. You know, I was wondering if I wouldn’t get bored cooking for a whole week while your folks are honeymooning, but Pres here is good in the kitchen. He said he’d be glad to take over. So all I have to do is make sure you two don’t burn the house done or something."
"Really, Gramma?" I whispered so Pres couldn’t hear. "Pres likes to cook? You know I feel the same way about cooking as you do."
Except for her spaghetti and an occasional cookie-baking spree, we both considered cooking a necessary evil. Enjoying cooking would give Pres something in common with Mom. She loved to cook. It wouldn’t hurt for me to find my way around the kitchen either, not with Pres there to lead the way. I guess I could even learn to like garlic bread if Pres was the chef.
After dinner, Josh yawned and stretched. "Well, guys, I know it’s not polite to eat and run, but I need my beauty sleep."
"The way you look in the morning, you can’t call it beauty sleep," Celeste said.
"I’m calling it a night too," Gramma said. She blew a kiss as she went upstairs.
By the time everyone left I was too tired to do any more unpacking, but I didn’t want to go to bed if I could spend some time alone with Pres.
"Well, I’m beat," Pres said. "I’m going to bed. See you in the morning."
I’d hoped that Pres would kiss me goodnight. But it would be kind of awkward if I went running up the stairs at this point to kiss him. So I went to my room and changed into my new pink robe. I decided that the first night under the same roof was probably too soon to expect any great advancement in our relationship. Maybe, as Celeste so often had pointed out, I was a bit overly optimistic. It would probably take a few weeks for Pres to see me as a girlfriend instead of just as his new stepsister, or as best friend of his best friend’s sister.
I tightened the belt on my robe and stepped out into the hallway. The door to Pres’s room, which was directly across from mine, was closed. I wondered what his room looked like, but right now I was more interested in the fact that the bathroom door was open and the room was dark. I figured it was safe to go in.
; For some reason, using the bathroom hadn’t crossed my mind when I’d pictured my new life with Pres. I tiptoed in and, delaying the inevitable, washed my face and brushed my teeth. Finally, I couldn’t wait any longer.
It wasn’t as though I’d never done it with other people nearby, just not when Pres was in easy hearing distance. I turned on the faucet to cover up the noise, but it didn’t seem loud enough. Well, I couldn’t hold it forever. Talk about embarrassing.
Afterward, as I was washing my hands, I tried to figure out how to flush the toilet without making too much noise. I closed the lid and sat on it, cringing, hoping my body would absorb at least some of the sound.
I tiptoed back down the hall and crawled into bed, my heart pounding and my cheeks burning. I tried to be logical. I reminded myself that going to the bathroom was natural. Everybody did it. Still, I shuddered.
It had been a long day. I’d woken up in my old house and participated in a wedding that doubled my immediate family. Now I was lying in bed in my new home, trying to recuperate from what should have been an ordinary task.
Pres was in the room just across the hall from me. It was the start of a new life. My mind twirled at the thought of it all. It was quite a while before I could relax and fall asleep.
The next morning I took my time washing my face, brushing my hair, and even putting on a touch of lipstick and blusher. I dawdled in my bedroom, readjusting my pink robe and wondering how I was ever going to face Pres without blushing after last night’s mortifying event of using the bathroom. Finally, I took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. Emerging from the bathroom was Pres—wearing nothing but a towel!
I looked away, but not before noticing Pres’s face turn crimson as he pulled the towel tighter. I hurried downstairs and busied myself searching for the cereal. I had to get a grip on myself.
If I hadn’t even noticed the sound of the shower running this morning, he probably hadn’t noticed the sound of the toilet flushing last night. Even if he had, I had to admit that he must have gone to the bathroom at least one or twice in his life too. Though the thought was just the tiniest bit disillusioning, it was also reassuring. Pres, though certainly one of the finer examples of the species, was only human. If I could keep that in mind, maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous around him.
As for catching Pres in just a towel, well, I’d certainly seen Josh walking around like that often enough when I’d stayed overnight with Celeste. If I had paid any attention at all, it was to whistle at him or maybe ask him to hula for me, which of course he would do. Unlike Josh, Pres had obviously been embarrassed. It made him all the more endearing to me.
I finally found the cereal just as a fully dressed Pres slinked into the kitchen. We looked at each other, and then for some reason, maybe nervous tension, I laughed. After a second, Pres laughed too.
We both stopped, and then there was another short burst of snickers.
"I’m sorry," Pres said. "I guess I’m just not used to having a female audience in residence. I forgot you were even here. Give me some time to get used to having a sister. Next time I’ll remember my robe. At least you didn’t catch me going into the bathroom."
"Going into? Oh!" The thought of seeing Pres completely naked made my face hot. I imagined it looked ten shades redder than his had before.
Embarrassment outweighed my chagrin over the fact that, even temporarily, he’d forgotten I was there. Nervous giggles bubbled out of my throat again, which set Pres laughing once more. It wasn’t exactly the instant intimacy I’d imagined, but I think it broke the ice.
As we ate, then cleared away the breakfast dishes, we chatted easily. Nothing too deep, but I felt more relaxed with Pres.
"Well," Pres said, "I promised to mow the lawn."
"And I’ve got several unpacked boxes still nagging at me." The phone rang. I hesitated for a second, forgetting it was now my house, too, then answered it.
It was a girl. She asked for Pres. I handed him the phone.
He walked into the next room, but I could still hear him. "Hello. Oh, hi...Umm, I’m kind of busy ... Mow the lawn ... This afternoon? Baseball practice .... Yes .... No ....Well ... bye." He hung up.
The phone must’ve woken Gramma because she looked sleepy as she scuffed into the kitchen mumbling, "Good morning."
I answered the phone two more times that morning, and both times it was a girl—different girls—for Pres. The conversations were as short and noncommittal as the one after breakfast. Since it was not his cell phone the girls were calling, maybe they weren't all that, um, close to him.
At lunch, grilled cheese sandwiches that Pres fixed to perfection, there was yet another call. Since I was sitting only three feet from the phone, and I stopped any chewing and swallowing that might drown out what was being said, naturally I couldn’t help hearing the same sort of restrained dialogue being repeated once more. How many girls called Pres and how many times a day, anyway?
Later in the afternoon Celeste came over to help me finish unpacking. Once again, the phone rang.
"Hello. No, he’s not here," I told another female voice. "At baseball practice .... Around five .... You’re welcome." I hung up and turned to Celeste. "Honestly. That’s the fourth girl to call Pres today."
"Oh?" Celeste put down a stack of books she’d been sorting. "Really?"
"Yes. Fortunately, when he’s here he hardly talks at all with them." I tossed an empty Valentine candy box back into a carton. "That’s got to mean he’s just waiting until the right time to ask me out."
Celeste let out a disgusted snort. "Did you ever think that he might just be shy with girls?" She didn’t wait for an answer. "Let’s not worry about that. We’ve got a long way to go to finish your room."
"Okay. We’ll do it today. But I may put some old stuff up in the attic. I can’t go on living out of boxes forever." Why get into a pointless discussion about Pres with Celeste? She would see soon enough that I was right.
***
The evening Mom and Bill were due back from Cape Cod I helped Pres with a special Chinese dinner he was preparing in honor of their return. It was the first time he’d accepted my offer to help, so I gladly peeled and cut the cucumbers for the Cucumber Soup. Cooking together, I hoped, would be a key to forging a new, close, relationship.
"Ouch!" In the midst of daydreaming I’d nicked myself with the knife.
Pres ran over from the sink and took my hand in his. "Are you okay? Come here. We’ll run water over that cut."
I was afraid the increased pounding of my heart would send the blood gushing and I would pass out before I had a chance to enjoy all the attention.
As cold water ran over my finger, numbing it, I stared at Pres. His long eyelashes accented his blue-green eyes and his gleaming white-blond hair. His lips pulled down in the most adorable frown as he stared at my finger. I could’ve stood there all night savoring the nearness of him as he held my hand under the faucet.
"Maybe I should get you a bandage." His frown deepened.
"Oh. No." I didn’t want him to leave my side. "I think my finger is fine now."
"Well, in that case …" Pres let go of my hand and gave me a towel, "If you’re done slicing the cucumbers, you can cut the asparagus." He turned to another section of the counter. "Now let’s see. What did I do with the sesame seed oil I need for the dressing?"
As I finished drying my hands and checking my finger for any sign of fresh blood, a car pulled into the driveway.
Pres peeked out the window. "It’s our parents. Oh no. The soy sauce, where did I put the soy sauce?"
Our parents! My heart raced. Soon the four of us would sit down to a real family dinner. I finished slicing the last asparagus spear and ran for the back door.
Bill staggered in carrying Mom over the threshold. After he put her down, she gave me a big hug.
"Oh, it’s good to be home. How are you, Rebecca? How was vacation? Mmm. What smells so good?" Mom stepped back and held me at arm’s length. "I swear, you look olde
r since the last time I saw you."
I laughed. Mom always said that. Over her shoulder I watched Bill and Pres.
Pres wiped his hands on his chef’s apron before giving his father a quick hug and Mom a little kiss on the cheek. "Welcome home."
I waited for Bill to hug me or maybe kiss my cheek, but when he pushed his way over to me in the tight hallway, all he did was smile. "How are you, Rebecca?"
"Um, fine." I hesitated, wondering if I should just go ahead and hug him. Instead, I smiled back. "Can I help with the suitcases?"
"I’ll take them," Bill said, heading upstairs. "Be right back."
"Omigosh." Pres’s eyebrows shot up. "I’ve got to check the roast." He ran into the kitchen.
"Come on, Mrs. Nelsen." I took Mom’s arm. "Let’s talk in the kitchen while Pres and I finish making dinner."
"You and Pres?" Mom pretended she was going to faint. "Has someone been brainwashing you while I was out of town?"
"Now, Mom. I’ve helped you in the kitchen. Occasionally."
"Under protest, as I recall."
I hoped Pres was too busy to hear that last remark. I called to him, "Pres, what can I do now?"
"If everyone’s ready, we can eat." Pres pulled the pork roast out of the oven. "Rebecca, why don’t you take the asparagus salad to the table. Martha, would you mind bringing that tureen of cucumber soup?"
During dinner Bill and Mom described their stay on Cape Cod—the sand dunes, the Atlantic Ocean, the weathered cottages.
"Mmm. I’ve got to have some more roast pork," Mom said, helping herself to a big slice. "This is such a nice dinner, Pres." She paused, then said, "I have a great recipe for chicken in hoisin sauce you might want to try."
"Uh, thanks," Pres said coolly.
I got the feeling that he wasn’t too interested in someone else’s recipes.
I loved the dinner. Everything was delicious. But something wasn’t quite right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but somehow I wasn’t getting the feeling of family. Maybe it was because I didn’t think of Pres as a brother and hoped he would soon think of me as more than a sister. It was like four individuals getting together and having a pleasant evening, but something was missing to make those four people a family. Maybe it was just me.