by Henry, Mia
“No, I think the more appropriate expression is: the family that plays together… ruins our perfectly good afternoon.”
Luke laughs, a deep belly laugh that sparks something warm in me. Then he rolls onto his side. “So I guess the next best thing would be lunch. You hungry?”
“Starving.” I hop up and towel-dry my hair while Luke unpacks a picnic lunch: green glass bottles of sparkling water, cuban sandwiches wrapped in thin white paper, and fat green grapes. The water is so cold it’s almost frozen. I chug most of the bottle.
“Careful,” Luke warns.
“What?” I feel a rumbling in my belly, and before I can stop it, emit a burp so loud, one of the kids turns to stare in admiration. “’Scuze me.”
“God, you’re sexy,” Luke deadpans.
“Oh, stop, you.” Playfully, I flick my layers over my shoulder.
“So...” Luke takes a huge bite of sandwich. It takes him a full thirty seconds to chew and swallow. “How’s Miami different from New York? I’ve never been up there.”
“Um, where do I start?” My laugh is short, nervous. Now more than ever, I don’t want to lie to Luke. Not when I’m feeling this close to him. “Some things feel the same, actually. Like in my high school, there were a lot of kids with really powerful parents. Kids whose families had a lot of money.” Like mine.
“Kids like Hayden Santiago,” Luke nods. “Heard he’s been giving you a hard time.”
“I can handle him.” I slip a grape into my mouth, feeling the skin pop. “But yeah. Kids like that.”
“What was it like for you, growing up… like that?” I can hear in his voice that he wants to know if I come from money.
“It was normal, you know? Normal for me. I guess everybody has their own version of normal.”
He nods. “And what about your family?”
“What about them?” I draw my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them.
“You said you lost your parents, right? Was that when you were really little, or, like, recently?” He pauses and catches my eye. “You don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to. I’m not trying to be nosy. I just… I want to know you.”
“No. It’s okay. I… lost them pretty recently. My dad sixth months ago, and my mom… after that.”
“Think you’ll ever go back?”
My laugh comes out in a sharp, bitter explosion, and I can see the surprise in his eyes. “No. I don’t think so. No.”
He reaches for my hand and squeezes three times. His I’m sorry. “It can be rough, thinking about going back to the place where something tragic happened. My grandparents keep asking me if I’ll ever go back to Greece. And I just don’t think I can.”
I squeeze back. “Plus, it’s like, after I lost them, the way people acted—it made me feel so weak.”
“People suck,” Luke announces. “Whenever anything bad happens, they just, like, shrink away from it. It’s escapist. It’s like, I’m uncomfortable, I can’t handle your shit, so I’m just gonna run away.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, even though his words don’t exactly ring true. People didn’t run away from me when my family fell apart. They lurked, swooped like vultures feeding on my family’s misery. For days, weeks, months, leading up to the trial, they splashed my image on the covers of magazines. Waited outside my house, followed me to document my misery. People did suck. But I wish they had run away. I wish they’d left me to grieve in peace.
“Listen, I…” Luke’s gaze travels my face. “…we don’t have to talk about this anymore. I didn’t mean to push.”
“It’s okay,” I exhale. My hands find my face, and I’m embarrassed that my cheeks are wet with tears. “Really. It’s not your fault.” As much as I fear slipping up and exposing something ugly, it’s freeing to talk to Luke this way. Releases just the tiniest bit of pressure. I haven’t spoken about my family since I got to Miami. I realize how much I needed to acknowledge that I had a family, and that they’re gone now.
“Come on.” Luke stands and pulls me to my feet. “Let’s take another dip.”
“Sounds good,” I sniff. “Race you?”
But before I can make a break for the water, he pulls me in close for a short, tight squeeze. “I don’t think you’re weak,” he whispers fiercely. “I think you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever wanted to know. Got it?”
“Got it,” I whisper back. And I let him hold my strong, broken self.
chapter thirteen
Elle,
Still loving the Hamptons, despite the super awkward dinner last night where David’s mother had four too many glasses of scotch and asked me (and this is a direct quote) whether I “approved of my father’s actions.” David cut her off, but seriously? Does she think that just because I’m his kid, I’ll let a little death and destruction slide? (Sorry.)
Love you for infinity,
A
Late afternoon winds its way into evening as I kick off my soaked, sandy sneakers by the front door. When my cell pings I start to scan Aria’s latest Email, then decide against reading it in its entirety. I feel too good right now; don’t want to spoil it.
“Anybody home?” I call as I enter the kitchen. My body is stiff with saltwater and more relaxed than it’s been in months. The muscles in my legs and stomach hum. I’ll be sore tomorrow. But right now, I feel incredible. Cleansed. Opening up to Luke, even just the tiniest bit, felt natural. It felt like he understood me, like he saw the real me. And somehow, the universe didn’t implode.
“Well, well, well. Where’ve you been?” Waverly chirps from the kitchen table, where she and Gwen are both apron-clad, bent over a giant ball of what looks like wet newspaper. Paintbrushes, glue, stacks of newspaper, and a ceramic bowl crowd the table. “We were starting to worry.” She glances up and blows her bangs away from her eyes, looking intrigued. “How come you’re wet?”
“What is this stuff?” I pluck my damp halter away from my stomach, waving it dry.
Gwen snorts. “What is it? Or what is it supposed to be? It’s supposed to be a papier-mâché bust of Shakespeare for my classroom.”
“But it is…” Waverly wrinkles her nose at the soggy ball between them. “…a complete failure.”
“Effing Pinterest,” Gwen mutters, slapping a wet strip of newspaper over the top of the ball. She looks genuinely pissed, so I pinch my lips together to contain the laugh rolling around in my stomach.
“It’s… creative?” I poke gently at the back of the bust’s head.
“Hey! Watch the nose!” Gwen swats me away.
“Wait. I thought that was the mouth,” Waverly frowns.
“Screw it.” Gwen ditches her paintbrush and tugs furiously at the strings on her apron. After a few seconds, she gives up, ducks out of the halter, and shimmies out of the apron like she’s pulling off a pair of jeans. “Please tell us you’ve done something cooler with your Saturday than this.”
“Well, I was actually with—”
“LUKE!” Waverly squeals. “I called it.”
“Yeah.” I pull out a chair and drop into it. “He wanted to show me this place where he snorkels. Half Moon Preserve.” I can feel a wide smile spreading over my face, and I don’t try to hide it. It feels good to be excited.
“So it was a date, right? You guys are dating?” Gwen grabs the Shakespeare head and pitches it across the kitchen. It arcs over the steel island in the center of the kitchen and lands in the sink. “Three pointer.”
“No, we’re not—I don’t know. We’re just getting to know each other for now.”
“For now.” Gwen’s eyes sparkle as she takes the seat next to me. “Until you can’t take the tension anymore and decide to bang.” She wipes her hands on a piece of dry newspaper.
“Guinevere. Elizabeth. Markley,” Waverly takes the chair on my other side. “Don’t say bang.”
“My name is Gwendolyn. And my middle name is Rain. You know this.”
“Guinevere is better,” Waverly insists. “And Rain is a
weather forecast. Not a middle name.”
Gwen sighs. “Tell us everything.”
“Well, we went snorkeling, which was awesome, ‘cause I hadn’t done that in a long time. And the wreck was just really beautiful. And after that, we ate a little something on the beach, and then we swam some more, and then—”
“And then you banged!” Gwen says gleefully.
“GUINEVERE!” Waverly whips Gwen’s forearm with her apron string.
“And then he brought me home,” I laugh. “That’s it.” I leave out the part about our make-out session in the surf, or how we rolled around in the sand after the wholesome family of four had left for the day. Or how Luke had cupped my face with his hands and kissed me slowly before I’d walked in the door. I wanted to hold these things close. Keep them just for me.
“I doubt that’s it,” Gwen says slyly. “But whatever you say.”
“We’ll get it out of her eventually,” Waverly smiles.
“Good luck.” I tuck a few damp strands behind my ear, suddenly freezing. “It was a really good day, though.” I lean back in my chair, happy and drained. “I’m taking a hot shower and going to bed early tonight.”
“Ohhh, no you don’t.” Gwen grabs my wrist and yanks me to standing. “Don’t conk out on us yet. You’ve got plans tonight. We’ve got plans.”
“Guys, I’m seriously exhausted.” If I can’t be alone with Luke, I want to be alone with my thoughts about Luke. In a hot bath.
“Too bad,” Waverly sings. “We’re taking you out tonight. And you can’t say no, because it’s Saturday night in Miami and you can’t officially say you live here until you’ve been to the clubs in South Beach.”
“Clubs?” My worst nightmare. I’ve never been a club person. Not even in New York, where there was always some hot new club with a ridiculously misspelled name opening in the Village or the Meatpacking District. Aria loves clubbing, but I’ve never understood why a person would stand in line for hours just to buy overpriced drinks and listen to music so loud you can’t even hear yourself think.
“Believe me, I get it,” Gwen says. “But it’s a cultural experience. Kind of like a right of passage. You know, popping your club cherry.”
Waverly’s cheeks go pink, but this time, she ignores Gwen. “You probably have time for a nap if you want. Dinner’s at nine, and we’ll head out by ten.”
“You should ask your new boyfriend if he wants to come.” Gwen wrinkles her nose at me.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protest. Although the idea of having Luke there does make the idea more appealing. “But maybe. You guys wouldn’t mind?”
“Just as long as he makes it clear I’m not with him,” Waverly sniffs. “I don’t want him cramping my style.”
“I’ll tell him to control himself.” I roll my eyes at Gwen.
“I saw that,” Waverly says.
“Dress code?” I ask.
Waverly nibbles her lip thoughtfully. “Short dress, high heels.”
“Let me translate,” Gwen offers. “South Beach Slutty.”
A few hours and two much needed shots of espresso later, the three of us are huddled together just inside the doors of a club situated a few blocks from the beach. According to Waverly, the club is hot enough to be relevant but not so hot we can’t get in. I’ve already forgotten the name of the place—Aqua, or Salt, or Wave, or something water-related. Which is appropriate, considering the décor. The floor is almost all glass, and beneath it, tropical fish swim in neon aqua water.
“Isn’t this place great?” Waverly’s perfect scarlet lips part in amazement as she surveys the clusters of white leather banquettes and clear Lucite side tables, where bottles of overpriced vodka chill in ice buckets. Groups of tall, tanned, mannequins sip cocktails from champagne glasses, looking bored. Low house music pumps from the sound system. The ceiling above us is also glass; the bottom of the pool on the roof above. I watch the silhouettes of girls swim overhead.
“Yeah, sure. Cool theme.” I tug at the hem of my cream silk one-shoulder dress. It must be Aria’s dress, actually, since she’s always been a few inches taller than me and the dress falls just above my knee. On her, it would have hit mid-thigh. My sky-high platinum snakeskin pumps, diamond-encrusted skull ring, and patent leather clutch complete the ensemble, and my hair falls in a shiny, auburn curtain over my shoulders. “I’m just glad there aren’t so many people here that we can’t hear each other talk.”
“It’s early still,” Waverly offers apologetically. Her dress is shorter than mine—a deep plum number with cap sleeves, a non-existent back, and a feathered hem. “It’ll fill up.”
“Is Luke coming?” Gwen asks.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I texted him the address.” I’d checked my phone for the seventeenth time before we got out of the cab. Nothing. “He doesn’t really strike me as the club type, anyway.”
“We’ll have fun either way. Drinks?” Gwen leads us across the aquarium floor, impressively steady on tall black platform heels. Somehow, she manages to make high-waisted black silk trousers look sexy. I blame the skintight leather bustier. Vegan, she’d specified when she’d emerged from her closet.
The bar is patrolled by two guys and a girl, all of whom could be models and none of whom are wearing much clothing. Gwen bends over the bar, calls to one of the male bartenders, and passes us each a chilled martini glass filled with turquoise liquid to the midpoint, then with a light green liquid to the top. The drink reminds me of the bay. Which reminds me of Luke. Which makes me check my phone again. Still nothing.
“What’s this?” I ask Gwen, inspecting the martini glass.
“Dunno. I just told the guy to surprise us.”
“Only one way to find out.” Waverly raises her glass, and Gwen and I lift ours, too. “Cheers.”
The drink is sweet and sour all at once. It’s even better than the martini I had at the Allford reception at Dr. Goodwin’s house. That night was a week ago today, and already I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime in Miami. I can’t believe that seven days ago, I was about to meet Luke. Seven days ago, I wasn’t sure I could start a whole new life. But now, I feel more confident than ever that Miami is where I’m meant to be. And with Luke. You’re supposed to be with Luke, says a tiny voice in my head. I ignore it. I can’t allow myself to think that way.
“Here we go.” Gwen finds an open banquette and we settle in with our drinks, trying not to spill. I take a long sip, until the top layer has vanished and I’m tasting the cool blue. It tastes like raspberries.
“Luke Poulos needs to get his ass over here.” Gwen finishes her drink in three sips.
“Maybe he’s out already.” Waverly’s busy flagging down one of the servers and doesn’t catch Gwen’s evil eye, but I do.
“For real, Waverly?” Gwen’s voice is shrill. “It’s not like he’s out with anybody else.”
“It’s okay!” The idea of Luke with anyone else makes my heart sink. “We’re not even really together now. We just had one date, sort of. I don’t know.” Suddenly, it’s too crowded in here. “He can do what he wants.” I resist the urge to check my phone again.
“Another round?” The girl bartender swipes our empty martini glasses and replaces them with three more glasses that are almost overflowing.
“Thanks.” I sip my new drink too quickly. I can feel the effects of the alcohol start to spread through me, start to cast a pleasant, blurry veil over my thoughts and my body.
“Oh! I forgot to tell you guys. I got an early acceptance letter for this summer program in New York,” Gwen pipes up. “It’s like an intensive nonfiction workshop type thing at NYU. Investigative journalism.”
“Gwen, that’s amazing! Congratulations!” I give her a side squeeze. “So you’ll spend the summer in Manhattan?”
“Part of it.” A shadow falls over her face for an instant, and then it’s gone. “I’ll come back toward the end of the summer. See if I can dig up a story that might be worth pitching to a real paper.�
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“I didn’t know you wanted to be a reporter.” The back of my neck feels hot. Be careful around her. She could be dangerous.
“Please. Haven’t you read the Allford Gazette?” Waverly grins. “Allford kids don’t write half the good stuff. That’s all my Guinevere.”
Gwen blushes. “Should be an interesting summer,” she says, twirling her nose ring.
“Just don’t run into that ex of yours,” Waverly says dryly.
Gwen’s jaw hardens. “Why would you bring that up?” she snaps.
Waverly’s eyes widen. “Gwennie, I didn’t mean to—”
“Never mind.” Gwen cuts her off. “You should come with me, Elle. You could hang out with family—”
“And leave me in Miami all by myself?” Waverly pouts.
“Guys.” The thought of going back to New York makes my head spin. Or maybe it’s the booze. “I have no idea what I’m doing next summer. I don’t even know what I’m doing in class next week. So can I figure it out when we get a little closer, please?”
“You’d just rather enroll in summer session with Mr. Poulos,” Gwen teases.
I don’t argue. The thought of spending an entire summer with Luke, Miami at our fingertips, does sound amazing. The thought of doing anything and everything with Luke sounds amazing. I shudder, thinking about the way his lips felt on my skin. I want more of him. Now.
The house music shifts suddenly to a heavy, thumping bass. I can feel the vibrations of Jay-Z’s newest single, buzzing through the soles of my feet.
“Ohmygosh, I love this song!” Waverly tosses back her drink like it’s a single shot. “Let’s dance. No. Let’s go up to the roof!”
“You guys go ahead,” I say. “I’ll order another round and meet you up there.”
As Gwen and Waverly teeter off, I find my way to the bar. The club is starting to get busier, and the bartenders bob and weave expertly around each other, whipping bottles from the wall behind the bar and pouring perfect shots in a dance that seems almost choreographed.