Late to the Party

by Kelly Quindlen

  “My parents own a gym. That’s, like, what they do. My whole family’s really into fitness.”

  “They’re masochists,” Natalie said, deadpan. “It’s revolting.”

  “Do you actually want me to paint you like this?” I asked, gesturing to his sweaty man-tank.

  “No,” Cliff and Natalie said at the same time.

  “If you can give me five minutes,” Cliff panted, “I’ll take a super-fast shower and put some real clothes on. Babe—you saw the chicken salad in the fridge, right?”

  Natalie made us sandwiches while Cliff got ready. We laughed about how silly we’d gotten at Samuel’s party, then hovered around the exercise equipment, setting up an area in the corner where I’d be able to paint Cliff’s portrait.

  “Sorry about this shit everywhere,” Natalie said, flinging a pair of weight-lifting gloves out of the way, “but he’ll be most himself if you paint him here.”

  I grinned. “You know all my tricks now.”

  “Hire me as your assistant,” she said, flicking her hair back theatrically. “I’d have to fight Terrica for it, though; she’s dying to get in on this. Don’t be shocked when she asks for her portrait next.”

  Cliff bounded down the stairs in a black button-up shirt, beads of water still clinging around his scalp. “I told you it’d only be five minutes,” he panted, fastening his top button.

  “Cliff,” Natalie said, staring at the garish red Nike shorts he was wearing. “What’s with the shorts?”

  “What? It’s not like Codi’s gonna paint my legs,” he said, charming her with a big smile. “And if I’m gonna be sitting for hours and hours, I gotta keep the boys comfortable.”

  “Oh god, shut up and get your butt on the chair,” Natalie said as I tried to block out any image of Cliff’s boys.

  We played music this time, keeping it low in the background while Natalie sat a few feet from Cliff and talked to him about the drama from her shift that morning. Cliff grinned through all of it, but he kept glancing at me self-consciously, his shoulders pulled tight.

  “Sorry, Codi,” he said. “Just feels a little weird to be paying someone to draw my face.”

  “It’s gonna be awesome,” Natalie said, rubbing his knee. “And if you don’t want it, I’ll buy it. Just stay loose and show Codi that adorable smile of yours.”

  Cliff’s smile became softer, in what I assumed was his version of a blush. His shoulders relaxed, and for several minutes I was able to see the real him.

  “So, Codi,” he said after a quarter of an hour, “I heard Ricky freaked out on Friday night.”

  I paused with my brush in midair. Cliff’s voice was light, casual, but he and Natalie were both watching me intently.

  “Um. What do you mean?” I asked.

  Cliff shrugged. “Nat said he was acting all moody when y’all left Sam’s house.”

  We looked at each other. He was still smiling, but there was strain behind it: He was fishing for information. I remembered what he had said that first night at Taco Mac: Typical Ricky. Won’t trust us with his hookups.

  “Oh,” I said, wondering how to play it off. “Yeah, I think he was just tired.”

  “Hm,” Cliff said, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, sometimes he gets like that.” He made eye contact with Natalie, and I could tell this was a conversation they’d had many times before.

  Natalie turned to me. “Cliff worries about him.”

  “Babe—” Cliff began.

  “No, Cliff, it’s okay,” Natalie insisted. “You should be allowed to say how you feel. He’s your best friend.”

  Cliff sighed. His shoulders were tight again, and he glanced at me almost like he was embarrassed. “I just didn’t know if you had any insight,” he mumbled.

  I lowered my eyes, trying to keep my expression neutral. I wished there was something I could offer Cliff—some hint of what was going on with Ricky, of what Ricky might need from him—but I knew it wasn’t my place.

  “I don’t,” I said, wincing apologetically. “Sorry.”

  Cliff shook his head too fast. “Nah, don’t worry about it.”

  Natalie gave me a sad, knowing smile, and I returned it—two girls wishing these boys could say how they felt.

  * * *

  “What the fuck,” Cliff said in an awestruck voice, gazing at his portrait.

  Natalie was beaming, her arm around Cliff’s back. She kept shaking her head like she couldn’t believe how well the painting had turned out.

  “Damn, Codi,” Cliff muttered. “You really are something else.”

  I laughed lightly. “Do you want anything changed?”

  “Hellllll no. You made me look awesome.”

  “Look at this,” Natalie told him, pointing at the cheeks of portrait-Cliff. “She got your dimples and everything.” She turned to me, still shaking her head. “Two for two, Codi. You’re incredible.”

  “Damn,” Cliff said again, still staring at his likeness. He took it in for another thirty seconds, then looked around at us. “Well, shit, I’m starving. Who wants tacos?”

  We went for Mexican at Los Bravos, just the three of us, and I was surprised to find how comfortable it was even with me playing third wheel. Cliff made us laugh with old stories from the football team—“I’ve heard this one before,” Natalie muttered to me, “so be prepared to hear about Samuel’s naked ass”—and eventually, to my delight, the conversation turned to Lydia.

  “That asshole could’ve been here right now,” Natalie said, shaking her hair back. “I texted her to come, but she’s stressing about her math class. She’s got a midterm tomorrow.”

  “Oh, damn,” I said, trying not to sound too disappointed. “Is she okay? She told me how she hates math.”

  “She puts too much pressure on herself,” Natalie said sympathetically. “She’s so smart, but she gets in her head about it. She’s always been able to see the good in other people, but she doesn’t see it in herself.”

  My heart felt tender, like I was holding Lydia inside it and trying to wrap her up with all the softness I could muster.

  “She thinks you’re awesome, by the way,” Natalie told me, munching through another chip. “She won’t stop talking about what a genius you are with painting, and how we all should’ve hung out with you sooner.”

  I felt sunbeams shoot through me from my scalp to my heels. It was all I could do not to flush red on the spot.

  “So anyway,” Natalie said, like she hadn’t just given me the world, “what are you up to this weekend?”

  I stammered out something about working and taking it easy, and after that Cliff changed the subject to the renovations at his parents’ gym. We hung out until the restaurant swelled with the dinner shift, and then I hugged them and took in more of their profuse compliments before we parted to our separate cars.

  * * *

  Ricky and I met up at the neighborhood clubhouse on Thursday night. We sat in his car with the windows rolled down, right next to a gardenia bush whose sweet scent wafted toward us on the breeze. It was the first time I’d seen him since Samuel’s party, and he seemed like himself again, or at least he was doing a really good job of acting like it. I told him about my experience painting Cliff’s portrait, and how Natalie had offhandedly mentioned that Lydia thought I was awesome.

  “You are awesome,” Ricky said, smiling at my delight.

  I rolled my head back. “Ugh, I’ve got such a bad crush on her.”

  He laughed through his nose. “I already know that.”

  “Yeah, but … it’s bad. I’m worried I’m reading too far into things with her, that I’m getting excited for nothing. How can I tell if she’s interested in me?”

  “Do you get any vibes?”

  “Vibes?”

  “Yeah, vibes.”

  “I mean, she acts like she enjoys being around me, but she’s like that with all your friends. I mean, what if—what if she’s not—”

  “What if she’s not like you?” Ricky suggested.

&
nbsp; I stared at him. “I was going to say ‘like us.’”

  He shifted in his seat but didn’t acknowledge what I’d said. “You’ll never know unless you try. And after you’ve tried for a little while, you’ll feel it in your gut if she likes you. Have you followed up on her suggestion to paint her portrait?”

  “No…” I began, and he frowned at me. “Well, what if I don’t get it right?”

  “You got Natalie’s and Cliff’s right.”

  “Yeah, but I can see them, you know? Natalie and Cliff put their whole selves out there. I feel like I have a read on them, like I can stand back enough to see who they really are. It’s harder to do that with someone who means something to you—or could mean something to you.”

  Ricky’s eyes flitted between mine. “Like … it would be harder for you to paint my portrait than theirs?”

  “Yeah,” I said emphatically. “I mean, if you wanted me to I could, obviously, but it would take me—”

  “No,” he said abruptly. He paused. “I mean, no thank you. Maybe later.”

  I stared at him, trying to figure out what that meant. Was Ricky worried about how I perceived him?

  He seemed to read the question on my face. “Ignore that,” he said, sweeping his hand over the steering wheel.

  I chewed my lip, thinking. I knew he could tell I had follow-up questions, but he didn’t help me get there.

  “I wasn’t gonna mention this,” I said, watching him carefully, “but Cliff asked me if everything was okay with you at Samuel’s.”

  The whites of his eyes shone in the dim light. “What did you tell him?”

  “That I thought you were tired.”

  He searched my eyes. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. I promise.”

  He nodded, his eyes flitting away from me. “Thanks.”

  “Of course.” I hesitated. “But are you sure you don’t want to talk about Tucker and that girl?”

  He huffed in frustration, dropping his head back against the headrest. “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to be your project, or Cliff’s, or anyone else’s. You said you wanted to be my friend just to be my friend, remember?”

  Now I shifted in my seat, angling away from him. “Sorry,” I said, without meaning it. “I just want to be there for you with the Tucker thing the same way you’re there for me with the Lydia thing.”

  “I don’t need you to be. They’re not the same situation.”

  “Yeah, okay, got it.”

  I wasn’t sure why I was getting so worked up about it, but it rankled me every time Ricky shut down this conversation. I wanted him to trust me—just like Cliff did—and selfishly I wanted to know how it felt to have someone like Tucker, even if Ricky claimed it wasn’t real.

  We were sitting in a loaded silence when his phone rang. He cleared his throat and answered it, affecting a more upbeat voice. From what I could tell, it was one of his friends, calling to make plans with him. All I heard was a series of Ricky saying “Uh-huh” and “Yeah.” The only real question he asked was, “Who else is invited?”

  “What’s up?” I asked after he hung up. I thought I might be pushing my luck, but he’d taken the call in front of me, after all.

  Ricky seemed torn about something. He had his thinking face on.

  “What?” I pressed.

  “That was Cliff. He wanted to see if I was free for a party at Lydia’s Saturday night.”

  “Lydia’s?” I repeated.

  “Yeah, did she mention it to you?”

  My heart sank. “No.”

  “It might not mean anything,” Ricky said quickly. “Cliff said Natalie and Lydia were organizing it, trying to find out if people were free. Maybe they just haven’t asked you yet.”

  “You asked Cliff who else was invited, though. Did he say?”

  “He said he didn’t know,” Ricky said evenly.

  The hopeful feeling I’d had since talking with Natalie evaporated. I tried to keep my expression passive, but I knew Ricky could read the disappointment in my face.

  “Don’t react yet,” Ricky said bracingly. “Wait and see if she texts you.”

  * * *

  Ricky dropped me off around ten thirty P.M., staring down my dark driveway with a faraway look in his eyes. I moved to get out of the car, but he called me back.

  “Yeah?”

  He looked at me for a second. “Did Cliff seem, like…” He bit his lip, struggling with the question. “Did he seem suspicious? About me?”

  I clutched the car door handle. Ricky’s expression was very serious, and I remembered the first night I met him, when he’d asked if I was going to tell anyone about him and Tucker kissing in the trees.

  “No,” I said, speaking as clearly and meaningfully as I could. “He seemed like he cares about his best friend.”

  Ricky blinked a few times. “All right,” he said, swallowing. “I’ll think it over.”

  I figured that was the best I was going to get. We waved good night, and I’d turned to go when he called me back a second time.

  “Yeah?” I asked, perplexed by the smile inching up his face.

  He looked up from his phone. “Just got more details about Saturday night. You should check your phone.”

  * * *

  It turned out I’d been worrying for nothing. There was a missed call from Lydia on my phone, and when I called her back, she answered breathlessly.

  “Codi,” she said, her voice ringing brightly through the line. “What are you doing Saturday night?”

  11

  The last streaks of daylight were coloring the sky as Ricky and I drove to Lydia’s house. She lived about fifteen minutes from us, off a winding road close to the Chattahoochee, in the depths of a wooded area with trees that had stood there for centuries. Only a few cars breezed past as we followed the curving, quiet road.

  “What are you doing?” I asked as Ricky pulled off into a secluded parking lot.

  “We’re meeting here,” he said, grabbing a bag from the back seat. “It’s right next to the park.”

  “We’re not going to her house?”

  “Her house is around the corner, but it’s easier to start things here.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I figured it had something to do with the casual clothes we’d been told to wear. Cliff’s and Samuel’s cars were parked next to us, but there was no sign of them or anyone else. I followed Ricky out of the truck and up an earthy hill, my sneakers scraping against the dirt. Voices floated down to us from the other side of the hill.

  “Here we go,” Ricky said as we came upon an open field.

  Lydia, Natalie, Cliff, Samuel, Terrica, and Leo were already there, lounging in the grass. They jumped up as we approached, shouting our names across the field. Terrica did a cartwheel just for the hell of it.

  “Papa was starting to worry,” Leo said in a fake-nervous tone, grabbing Ricky and me for hugs.

  “Don’t start with the ‘Papa’ stuff,” Samuel said, shaking his head.

  The girls hugged me in quick succession: first Terrica, then Natalie—who, for some reason, looked more closely at me than usual—and then, before my heart could beat hard enough, Lydia.

  “Hey,” Lydia said, leaving one arm hanging off my shoulders. “Ready for some Manhunt?”

  “Of course,” I said, grinning even though I had no idea what she was talking about. She looked so cute that I thought I might combust at the sight of her; she wore an old, faded pair of jean shorts and a vintage Atlanta Braves jersey with the top button undone. I tore my eyes away from the glinting skin at her collarbone.

  “Are we really starting with Manhunt?” Ricky asked, digging in his bag.

  “Damn right!” Terrica trilled, at the same time that Samuel muttered, “Terrica’s request.”

  “Did you bring a flashlight?” Cliff asked.

  “Two of ’em,” Ricky said, handing one to me.

  I looked around at everyone’s loose, laid-back clothes. The boys wore dark,
grubby man-tanks, their bare chests showing through the giant armholes; Samuel was sporting a maroon bandana over his curls. Terrica had braved a long-sleeve T-shirt, despite the humidity, and Natalie was rocking an Adidas workout tank. I was glad I’d dressed in a T-shirt and sneakers.

  “How do we play?” I asked.

  As if they’d expected me to ask, the boys parted around Terrica, Leo going so far as to bow to her.

  “I could get used to this,” Terrica said, observing them with her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows and locked eyes with me. “Okay, Codi, here are the rules.”

  * * *

  We split off into teams: Cliff captained one, and Terrica, of course, captained the other. Everyone argued about how to split up evenly, with multiple people pointing out that Leo was a detriment because he was sure to get bored and wander off on his own.

  “Y’all can take me or leave me,” Leo droned, holding up his palms. “This stallion was born to run his own path.”

  “At least we can put the ‘stallion’ on firepit duty,” Samuel said, pointing at the portable firepit that Cliff had carried from his truck. “If you’re gonna clock out, at least help out, huh?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll set it up when I get tired of playing,” Leo said.

  “So in ten minutes,” Natalie clarified.

  In the end, we decided to play boys against girls. Cliff insisted it would be unfair to the girls, but Natalie put him in his place with a sharp reminder.

  “Lyd played tennis, Terrica ran cross-country, I was on the soccer team, and Codi—”

  “I’m not an athlete,” I cut in, grimacing.

  “—Codi’s eyes are highly attuned to shapes and colors!” Natalie finished, pointing wildly at my face, and before Cliff could protest any further, she grabbed our arms and pulled us off across the field. We ran away from the boys, howling with laughter, as they shouted a countdown behind us. Their “hunt” would start the moment they reached zero.

  “Should I be nervous?” I yelled as we ran toward the cover of the trees.

  “Very!” Terrica yelled back. “This shit is serious!”