I went upstairs, crossed the master bedroom, and knocked on the bathroom door.
“Go away,” my aunt called out.
“It’s me. Kate,” I said.
“Kate!”
The door swung open a moment later, and then my aunt was there, folding me into her arms. Tears blurred in my eyes, surprising me.
“I’m so glad you came,” my aunt said. She pulled back and grinned at me. The girls had taken after her—she had the same blonde hair and athletic build. A faint cobweb of lines was fanning out from her blue eyes, but other than that she looked younger than her forty-seven years. “Is Graham with you?”
I nodded. “He’s downstairs.”
“Did you hear about Jenna’s tattoo?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “Christy said something about a ‘tramp stamp,’ but I didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“A tramp stamp? Is that what it’s called? Oh, dear God.” Caroline shut her eyes and shook her head slowly. “Give me strength.”
“I take it you’re not pleased?”
Just then we heard a stampede of footsteps thundering up the stairs. My aunt frowned, pulled me into the bathroom, and locked the door behind us.
“Mom!” Christy’s voice was muffled through the door. “Let us in!”
“We want to see Kate too!” Jenna yelled.
“Go away!” Caroline bellowed. She collapsed back on a Lucite vanity stool in a dramatic swoon and took a swig of wine. “Here’s some advice, Kate: Never have a teenage girl.”
“I heard that,” Jenna called out.
“And what exactly is a ‘tramp stamp,’ young lady?” Caroline called back.
There was a pause, which Christy filled by giggling. “A tattoo on your lower back,” she said.
“Shut up!” Jenna said.
“Ow, don’t push me,” Christy complained. “Mom, Jenna just pushed me.”
“They’re seventeen and nineteen years old,” Caroline said, widening her eyes with dismay.
But the familiarity of their bickering warmed me. Some things never changed.
“Go downstairs and keep Graham company,” Caroline yelled through the door at her daughters. The girls protested but eventually could be heard padding away and thumping down the stairs. Caroline had a half-empty bottle of wine on the edge of the sink. She poured some into a glass tumbler and handed it to me. She held her glass up in a toast. “Here’s to being home for the holidays.”
“Cheers,” I replied.
We clinked glasses together.
“So, what’s the deal with the tattoo?” I asked.
Caroline’s lips twitched as she tried to suppress a smile. “She didn’t show it to you?”
“Not yet,” I said.
“It’s a butterfly. Or it’s supposed to be a butterfly. But it hurt so much that she stopped the tattoo guy halfway through,” Caroline said. “So there’s the outline of a butterfly, but only part of one wing is colored in. It looks awful.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Why’d she do it?”
“I have no idea. Why do teenagers do anything? I just can’t believe my daughter has something called a ‘tramp stamp’ permanently affixed to her body,” Caroline groaned. She tipped her head back and downed the last of her wine. Then she fixed her gaze on me. Uh-oh. I knew that look. It was the same one my mother had perfected during my teen years. I was about to be interrogated.
“How’s school?” Caroline asked.
“Fine. You know…hard. But it’s supposed to get better after the first year.”
“You look thin,” she said.
“I do?” I asked, pleased.
“Too thin,” she said. “You’re not eating enough.”
“I’m eating just fine.” I nudged her with my foot. “You don’t have to worry about me, you know. I’m a big girl.”
“Yes, I do. If it had been the other way around…If it had been me who…” Caroline pinched her lips together and swallowed. “Your mother would have worried about Jenna and Christy.”
I nodded, and looked down at my tumbler of wine, and tried to ignore the lump in my throat.
“I know she would have,” I said softly.
After Thanksgiving dinner, Jenna and Christy wanted to go see a local Christmas light display.
“Christmas lights?” Graham asked dubiously.
Graham had been in a difficult mood all day. He wasn’t outright rude to anyone, but he wasn’t going out of his way to be chatty either. He’d spent most of the afternoon sacked out in front of the television with my uncle Jim, not making any effort to help with dinner preparations. It was what he always did on Thanksgiving, and it had always irritated me. And I’d expected more from him. I thought that part of our getting back together would mean that he’d try harder, that we’d both try harder, to change things, to improve our relationship. But instead, we’d slid right back into the same patterns, only instead of living under the same roof and never having sex, we lived several states apart and never had sex.
And we certainly weren’t going to be having any sex this weekend. One of Caroline’s house rules was that Graham slept on the couch, while I bunked in the guest room.
“We always go see the Christmas lights,” Jenna said. “It’s a tradition.”
“You all go ahead. I think I’ll just watch the end of the game,” Graham said.
“Will you excuse us for a moment?” I said. I pulled on Graham’s sleeve, and he got up and followed me out of the dining room and into the front hall.
“What?” he asked.
“You know what,” I snapped.
“Oh, God. I hate this conversation,” Graham said. He rolled his eyes.
“What conversation? Why are you acting like this?”
“Yep, this is the one.”
“You’re acting like a jerk,” I said. “You know, I really should have stayed in New Orleans this weekend and studied, but you said it was important to you that we spend Thanksgiving together.”
“It was. I mean, it is.”
“Then why are you spending the whole weekend sitting in the living room watching television?” I asked.
“One afternoon doesn’t constitute the whole weekend,” Graham said. “And I’ve been working hard too.”
“We all have. But that didn’t stop the rest of us from cooking all day.”
“I thought it was a woman thing. I figured you all wanted to talk about girl stuff,” Graham said.
I cocked an eyebrow at this. “Girl stuff?”
“Yeah, girl stuff. Shopping and shoes and things.”
“Caroline’s a pediatrician. I’m in law school. Jenna’s majoring in business. We are capable of talking about something other than shoes,” I said, nettled at his generalization.
“So what were you talking about?”
I thought back. Actually, we’d spent much of the day discussing what stores were having sales on the day after Thanksgiving and if any of the advertised specials were really worth waiting in line for. And then Christy had showed off the new sequin-covered flats she’d just purchased.
“Politics,” I said loftily. “We were talking politics.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” I stopped to think of something that he’d believe, although I hadn’t even watched the news in months. “I don’t know. Why are you interrogating me?” I asked crankily.
A smile twitched at Graham’s lips. “Politics, huh?” he said.
I sputtered, trying to think of a comeback. But before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed me.
“Okay,” Graham murmured. “Let’s go see the Christmas lights.”
“Hey,” Graham said. He stepped into the guest room and closed the door quietly behind him. “What are you doing?”
It was late on Saturday night, but I was still sitting up in bed, an afghan wrapped around me to ward off the cold, reading my Contracts casebook.
“Studying,” I said. “And you’re not supposed to be in here.”
“Everyone’s in bed. Except for your uncle. He fell asleep in front of the TV,” he said, as he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. Graham reached for my hand, curling his fingers around it. I immediately recognized the glint in his eye.
“Oh, no. No way,” I said, pulling my hand back.
“But you look sexy in your flannel pajamas,” Graham said, plucking at the plaid fabric.
“No, I don’t. And my aunt would kill us both if she knew you were in here.”
“We lived together for three years. I think she’s aware that we’ve had sex.”
“It’s not my virtue she’s worried about. She doesn’t want the girls to think she’s a hypocrite. Telling them to wait, while letting us stay here together,” I explained. Graham un-buttoned the top button of my pajama top. “Stop that!”
Graham popped open the next button. “Make me,” he said, and he leaned forward and nuzzled against my neck. His lips felt warm and dry against my skin, and for some reason the sensation was more annoying than it was sensual.
I hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do. On the one hand, Graham and I hadn’t seen each other in months. Even during our driest of dry spells, we’d never gone this long without sleeping together. But I didn’t want to purposely break my aunt’s rules while I was staying in her house. And even if she didn’t find out, I really just wasn’t in the mood. I don’t know if it was stress or lingering irritation at Graham, but all I wanted to do was finish my reading assignment and then go to sleep.
“Stop,” I said. I gently pressed the palm of my hand on his shoulder.
“Come on, Kate. We’re flying out tomorrow, and then we won’t see each other until Christmas break,” Graham murmured against the side of my throat. He slid his hand up my pajama top and pinched one of my nipples. Hard.
“Jesus, that hurt!” I said, and this time I pushed him hard, shoving him away from me.
“What the hell?” Graham said. He snatched his hand back and used it to straighten the glasses sitting askew on the end of his nose. “What’s wrong with you?”
“How would you like it if I pinched one of your nipples?”
“Is that an offer?”
“No! I told you,” I said irritably. “My aunt—”
“Won’t know a damned thing. She’s sound asleep by now,” Graham finished. He stood up and glared down at me.
“Fine, then. I just don’t want to!” I was too annoyed to feel guilty.
“I guess I’ll go back to my couch,” Graham said coolly, turning toward the door. And before I could call him back, he was gone.
“Shit,” I said softly. I didn’t want this fight. Except for the Thanksgiving Day flare-up, the long weekend had passed amiably enough, and I wanted for us to be on good terms before we flew back to our new respective towns. Now that we were living apart, we couldn’t let these arguments fester the way we used to.
I should go find him so we can make up, I thought. And he’s right, we should make love. Even if I’m not in the mood now, I’m sure that will change once we get started. It usually does, with a bit of effort.
I looked back down at my Contracts book. I only had about six pages left to read.
I’ll go down when I finish, I decided.
But a half hour later, when I padded downstairs in my bare feet, Graham was already asleep. A book on photography—his latest passion—lay open across his stomach. Graham’s head was turned to one side, and his chest rose and fell rhythmically. I watched him for a minute, and then I lay down next to him on the couch, turning on my side to fit into the few inches of available space, and rested my head on the flat plane below his shoulder. Graham shifted, curling his arm around me and sleepily kissing the top of my head.
“Hi,” he mumbled.
“Shhh. Go back to sleep,” I whispered.
I felt him relax back into sleep, and I sighed, contented. I knew I couldn’t stay here all night, that I’d have to return to my room before my family woke up. But for now, with the length of my body touching Graham’s, and my breath matching his, I felt so calm and at peace, I didn’t want to move.
Chapter Thirteen
Finals were hell.
My diet consisted of vending-machine food, and I ingested so much caffeine my hands shook and my stomach hurt. Personal-grooming habits slid too. I showered when I remembered but went days at a time without washing my hair.
I wasn’t the only one. Nick stopped shaving and walked around looking like a lumberjack. Lexi almost never left her favorite cubicle on the top floor of the library, holing up with every practice test she could find. Jen did most of her studying outside, sitting at one of the courtyard tables, chain-smoking and yelling at anyone who talked near her. Addison disappeared entirely. Only Dana seemed more or less her usual self.
“I feel ready,” she said, when I asked her how she was staying so calm.
“I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else,” I advised her.
On the morning of our first exam, the Contracts final, I was shaking with nerves when I sat down in my usual seat at the back of the classroom—we didn’t have to sit in our assigned seats for the exam, but I thought I’d be more comfortable staying with what was familiar—and began to set up for the test, lining up my various supplies across the table in front of me. My outline (the test was open book). My casebook. Scratch paper. Ten pens (in case nine of them ran out of ink over the course of the three-hour exam). Earplugs. Bottled water. Granola bars. A banana. Aspirin. Kleenex. Tums. I was wearing my favorite faded black sweatpants and a long-sleeve charcoal-gray T-shirt, and I had my hair pulled back in a tight ponytail.
“Hey,” Nick said, sitting down next to me. His face was pale under the stubble of his beard, and his blue eyes were watery and bloodshot.
“Did you sleep last night?” he asked.
I nodded. “Sort of. I kept dreaming that I was oversleeping, and then I’d wake up in a panic. Finally I just got up at six and came down here early.”
“I knocked on your door but you’d already left,” Nick said. He yawned widely. “I barely slept. I took a practice test yesterday and totally froze. It freaked me out, so I stayed up most of the night cramming.”
Lexi came in, followed by Jen and Addison. They all looked nervous, although Jen had thrown her head back and was laughing at something Addison had said. I noticed Addison was wearing his clip-on nose ring, like a good-luck charm. They waved at Nick and me but sat down in the front row. I glanced around to see if Dana was there, and she was, sitting to the right of the room, looking unnaturally calm as she chatted with a small, dark-haired woman whom I knew only as Ms. Bianchi.
Some of our classmates buzzed nervously, discussing in loud voices what they expected would be on the test, while others sat quietly, their hands clenched in fists. A few looked like they might actually be sick, something that was not an uncommon occurrence during first-year finals. Rumor had it that at least one student every semester ended up racing for the toilet, undone by the sickening anxiety that simmered in us all.
One of the heavy double doors opened, and we all fell instantly silent as Professor Legrande entered the room, carrying blue books and a stack of legal-size papers.
“How’s everyone feeling this morning?” Professor Legrande asked in a strong Cajun accent, smiling kindly around. He was my favorite professor, not because his lectures were particularly scintillating—this was Contracts, after all—but because he seemed to be a genuinely nice man. He was younger than most of the professors, probably in his early forties, but was already mostly bald and carried about fifty extra pounds on his broad frame. During lectures, when he was probing one of the students on the drawbacks of a particular policy, if the student answered, “Increased litigation” (a popular One-L answer), Legrande would clap his hands together and bellow, “No! You’re a future lawyer; increased litigation is a good thing!”
“I always wear my lucky tie to finals,” Legrande said, holding up the tie for us to see. It had a picture of Bu
gs Bunny silk-screened on it. There was a rumble of nervous laughter from the class. “All right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to pass out the blue books and the exams. When you get your exam, please lay it facedown on the table. Once everyone has an exam, I’ll start the clock and give you the go-ahead, so that y’all will start at the same time.”
A swell of nausea rose inside me. This was it.
Nick glanced over and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “Good luck,” he said, holding out his fist.
“You too,” I said, bumping my fist against his.
“Before you hand in your test, don’t forget to sign the Honor Code statement printed on the back of each blue book,” Legrande said. “Are you ready? You may begin. Good luck, ladies and gentlemen.”
My heart lurched and then began to race. I flipped the test over, and I started to read the directions, even though I already knew them by heart from having gone over Legrande’s back exams that were kept on file in the library.
So far so good, I thought, as I finished reading the instructions and moved on to the first question. And, just like that, my ability to read suddenly left me. My eyes wouldn’t focus, and the typed words swam around the page. My neck and back seemed to stiffen, and a sharp pain throbbed in between my shoulder blades. My lungs felt like they were shrinking to the size of grapes.
Relax! I screamed at myself, as though silently berating myself could possibly have that effect. You have to calm down! Relax! Focus! Concentrate! You can do this!
And somehow—miraculously—it worked. The words came back into focus, and suddenly I was reading a hypothetical question about a wholesaler of tiles and a subcontractor who installed them. The question went on for eight long paragraphs, but as I was reading it, I began to make sense of the issues. I wiped my moist palms on my T-shirt, popped the earplugs into my ears, picked up my pen, and began to take notes on a sheet of scratch paper.
I was so absorbed in the exam that—even though I was just finishing my answer to the last question when Professor Legrande gave us the fifteen-minute warning, his voice muffled by my earplugs—I was startled and dropped my pen. Most of the people sitting around me were bent over their desks, scribbling furiously in their blue books. I took a deep breath and flipped back through the test, luxuriating in the extra time I had to recheck my work.
Testing Kate Page 11