Hoverfly Girl

by Parker Wren

  I contorted my face into a fake cringe. “I think you’re going to put them off their dinner instead, Dom.” The group laughed.

  “You guys make such a lovely couple. Ariel, we’re so happy to have you! How did you two meet again?” Henry asked.

  Dom and I exchanged looks, and he nodded to me. I proceeded to tell them our made-up story, but I also highlighted how whirlwind and new our romance was. I tried to emphasize how early we were in the relationship, and not overplay how serious we were.

  “So, I decided to do something spontaneous,” I said, explaining to the group why I had come out to Martha’s Vineyard with a guy I barely knew. “Why not take a risk, you know?” At least these words were true.

  “Hear, hear,” Henry said, raising his glass for a toast.

  “What about you, Grayson?” Brit asked. “I know we haven’t seen you in a few months—dating anyone special?”

  Grayson just shook his head. “No, not really.”

  “Why not?” Brit asked. “Surely, there must be plenty of girls out there who want to date you!”

  Grayson smiled. “You’re very kind. Just haven’t met that right person yet.” I felt a knot tighten in my stomach when he said that.

  “Well, I hope you find your Brit someday,” Henry said, kissing Brit again.

  “Okay, every time you two kiss in front of us, you’re going to need to buy us a round of drinks,” Dom said.

  Henry smiled and shook his head. “Okay, okay,” I said. “We’ll hold back on the PDA!”

  “So, Grayson and Henry,” I said, “how do you two know each other?”

  Henry replied. “Grayson and I grew up together in New York City. He’s like a brother to me—perhaps even more than my two actual brothers.”

  Grayson nodded. I liked the way he had rolled up his dress sleeves, his arms crossed confidently across his body, leaning on the table. “It’s true. Whenever I needed something, Henry was there. We went to school together, and we were pretty much inseparable. We helped each other with homework. My strength was math and science, and his was English and social studies. I swear that if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have made it through.”

  “Did you both go to school in the city?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Grayson replied.

  “They went to one of those really fancy private schools,” Brit chimed in. “You know, hard to get into, with the kind of students who grow up to be politicians and hedge fund managers.”

  “They weren’t my favorite years,” Henry conceded.

  I wondered if Grayson was rich too. He didn’t project the kind of vibe like the others did—the kind of self-assured confidence that came with always getting what you want. He seemed confident, but it in a quiet, closed-off sort of way.

  As if reading my mind, Grayson said, “even though it was tough, I’m very thankful for the opportunity to go there. My parents were teachers and while we did okay, we never could have afforded a school like that. My parents worked really hard to send me there.”

  “He got a full scholarship. Smarty pants,” Henry bragged.

  As we ate over a delicious meal of seafood, I got to know the group a bit better. Dom and Henry had a playful dynamic, trying to one-up each other on jokes. Brit was very talkative—sharing her experiences this past year in working for a philanthropic organization.

  “I love it,” she said. “Even though I mostly just do office work, it’s so great to see money goes to kids in need.”

  “What kind of causes is the organization involved in?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know,” she said. “Things and Africa and stuff. I usually can talk about these things better, but I’m afraid I’ve had too much wine!” she giggled.

  I smiled. “No problem, I’ve probably had one too many myself.”

  As we were finishing our desserts—well, more like Dom and I were gobbling up a piece of chocolate cake—I spoke up during a moment of quiet.

  “Before dinner is over, I do just want to thank you, Henry, and Brit, and Grayson—of course—for allowing me to stay this summer. If I can do anything to help out with the house, cooking dinner or whatever—“

  “Hey, I thought you didn’t cook!” Dom interjected.

  I laughed, trying to fake a sense of intimacy with Dom, though it wasn’t as difficult as I initially anticipated. “Oy, you always calling me out! Okay, okay, I’m not the best, but I do make mean scrambled eggs.”

  “Ariel, that’s very kind of you,” Henry said. “But really, think nothing of it. You’re here with Dom, so you’re family. We are lucky to have you here.”

  A knot of guilt tightened in my chest.

  “I’m just so happy to have another girl in the house,” Brit said. “Can you imagine, the whole summer with these three dudes? I would have to escape to the spa at every opportunity!”

  “Brit, I told you I would dress up as a girl and go shopping with you,” Grayson joked.

  Brit giggled. “Grayson, now that would be a sight to see! Imagine if someone took pictures and they got back to your students!”

  “Nothing wrong with that. Could lead to some interesting discussions in class,” he said.

  “You’re a teacher then?” I asked, intrigued.

  Grayson nodded. “Yeah. I teach math at a high school. Toughest job I’ve ever had, but the best one.”

  “That’s great,” I said. I wanted to learn more, to ask him many more questions, but didn’t want to appear overeager. I was trying to take a backseat at this dinner, be a part of the conversation, but not bombard the group with all of my questions about their lives.

  “Grayson, you are so smart,” Brit said, leaning on the table. I wasn’t sure if she realized, but her arms were pushing up her boobs, revealing a healthy dose of cleavage. It was a good move, I thought. I filed it away under Flirting Techniques for future reference.

  “Seriously, you could do any job,” she continued.

  “Thanks,” said Grayson.

  I had a feeling Brit was going somewhere, but it was hard to figure out what it was.

  “So why do you stick with teaching?” she asked. “I mean, it pays sooo poorly, and you work your ass off at this teaching job nine months a year, dealing with crazy hours and troubled kids.”

  Grayson paused. His brown eyes flickered up to the ceiling, and then ever so briefly at my face. I immediately thought I must have imagined it.

  “Well, I guess the short answer is that I love it.” Grayson replied.

  I could tell that Brit was drunker than I had initially realized as her questioning became more aggressive.

  “Yeah, but come on, don’t you want to make some money? I’m mean, you’re living in this tiny one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn, and you already have—“

  “Money doesn’t matter to me,” Grayson said, his tone colder.

  “Brit, baby,” Henry said to her gently. “I think you’ve had too much to drink. Why don’t we go home?”

  Brit’s face had begun to turn red. “Okay, first, don’t tell me when I’ve had too much to drink,” she snapped. But she then paused and changed her tone. “Okay. We should go.” Brit leaned back and crossed her arms on her chest. After an awkward moment among the group, we all stood up, she turned to Grayson. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

  “Thanks, Brit,” he said, his voice sincere but somewhat cold. Then we all piled in the SUV to head back to the house.

  CHAPTER 12

  I felt luxuriously exhausted after our dinner. It seemed as though everyone was feeling the same way, with Brit exclaiming “I’m so old!” as she dramatically fell on the master bed.

  “Oh shut up. You’re 24!” Dom shouted back to her as he and I went up to our bedroom.

  I quickly grabbed a tank top and shorts and went to go shower. After returning to the bedroom, Dom was sitting on his twin bed. For the first time since we had met, I felt truly awkward. The weight of this arranged situation was staring at me, half naked in boxer shorts.
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  “Err, hi,” I said as I took things out of my bag and put them on the dresser.

  “Hey,” he said. “I don’t normally go to bed this early in the summer, but—man—something about being by the beach just takes it right out of you!”

  “Totally,” I said. Dom was really good at putting me to ease; I was liking him more and more.

  Fortunately, he didn’t bring up anything related to our unique situation or the task that would be facing us over the summer. Instead, we chatted briefly about dinner and talked about going to the beach the next day.

  “Alright, I’m going to hit the hay,” he said.

  “Goodnight,” I replied. He turned off his light and slid under the sheets. Within minutes, he was softly snoring.

  --------

  Not surprisingly, during my first night at the house, I couldn’t sleep. In my bed, I tried listening to relaxing music, made an attempt at meditation (which lasted about two minutes), and took deep breaths. After tossing and turning for hours, I decided I needed to get up and do something else.

  Even though Dom was sleeping soundly, I didn’t want to turn on a light and wake him. I grabbed a book by the side table and quietly crept out of the room, shutting the door softly behind me. Grayson’s door across the hall was shut. The stairs made no noise as I cautiously descended them. I was hoping things would be easier to see, but everything was nearly pitch black, and I made my way using my hands as a guide.

  As I turned at the base of the stairs, I thought I saw a figure in front of me. Adrenaline rushed through my fingertips. Before I had time to react, the person ran into me, and my book fell on the floor.

  My heart caught in my throat. My mind went through the possibilities in a matter of milliseconds: Housemate, burglar, or rapist? Two of the three? Instinctively, I prepared my arm to hit the man’s throat and geared up to land a knee in his groin. If he was an intruder, he wouldn’t last a second with me.

  Suddenly, his scent hit me; it was a mix of soap and sun. “Sorry,” I heard the voice whisper. It was Grayson. I lowered my arm.

  My nervousness continued but for an entirely different reason.

  “Sorry,” I echoed in return, reaching down for my book. As I leaned over, the side of my head hit the bannister.

  “Ow” was all I could manage to say, reaching up to hold my eye with my hand.

  Grayson turned on the light, and there I was: my hand on my eye and wearing men’s boxer shorts and a faded gray tank top—cleavage advertised like a neon sign.

  “Here. Come over to the kitchen,” Grayson instructed, where he quickly grabbed some ice cubes and wrapped them in a towel. I sat down at the kitchen table. In the moment he turned away, I used my other hand to quickly adjust my tank top.

  Grayson came over, and I was almost glad I was in pain so that I didn’t stare. His hair was perfectly messy, and he was wearing a Yankees t-shirt with gray pajama bottoms. I never imagined a man could wear pajama pants so well, but—somehow—they hung off his hips perfectly.

  “Move your hand,” he said quietly, and I obeyed. He placed the towel with ice on my eye. His body was inches from my head. I swallowed.

  “Okay, now hold it,” he said, and my hand briefly touched his as he removed it from the ice pack.

  He sat across the table across from me. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize anyone else was awake, and I was just heading back up to bed. I feel awful.”

  “Please don’t apologize. It was an accident. Trouble sleeping?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Me too,” I said. “I have to get out of the room and read if I have any hope of falling asleep. Otherwise it’s just a nightmare staying in bed.”

  “Yeah, tell me about it,” he said with a small laugh.

  “Can we go sit in the living room?” I asked. I immediately regretted my statement. I shouldn’t have implied that he would want to stay downstairs with me. “I mean, sorry, you probably want to go back to bed,” I said.

  “Nah, I’m good. I need to make sure my patient makes a full recovery,” he winked as we got up from our kitchen seats and went to sink into the deliciously comfortable sofas. Grayson, to my disappointment, sat on the other couch, opposite of me.

  I sighed and leaned back. “I think you’re just determined to injure me at every turn,” I said.

  “How so?” he asked.

  “Wearing that shirt around me.”

  Grayson looked down at his faded Yankees shirt and laughed.

  “I’m glad I wore it then, Beantowner.”

  “No one says that,” I said, rolling my eyes. Realizing I probably looked foolish with one eye still covered in the ice pack, I removed it from my face and blinked.

  I liked the way his smile spread to his eyes, the small crinkles adding another level of attractiveness to his face. Tonight, seeing him casual with this thin layer of stubble, tousled hair, and sleepy eyes, I was even more attracted to him than I had been earlier that day.

  “You a big baseball fan?” Grayson asked, looking at me in a way that almost felt intense.

  “Not really,” I said, looking away from him, worried I was staring too much. “I mean, you can’t grow up in Boston and not be a Red Sox fan, and I’ve been to a few games. Are you?”

  “Yeah, though after moving to Brooklyn, I sometimes get sucked into Mets games. Don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I watch a lot of soccer as well.”

  “That’s one of the few sports I can get into,” I said.

  “What else do you like to watch?”

  I crossed my arms. “Hmm,” I said. “Well, which would you rather know…my answer I should tell you, like I watch documentaries on PBS, or what I really watch?”

  Grayson laughed. “The latter, obviously.”

  “Well, I guess my guilty pleasure, and one that’s most similar to sports, is that I do love dating reality shows. And sometimes entertainment news. Like celebrity gossip and stuff.”

  Grayson raised his eyebrows. “Huh. I guess I’m a bit surprised. At dinner you’re telling us all about your PhD, and now you’re telling me you like reality TV…”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know.”

  “Of course not. I’m just teasing,” Grayson said. “But,” he continued. “I do take issue with your comparison of reality TV to sports.”

  I gave him a mischievous smile. “Oh, it’s completely the same thing.”

  Grayson was leaning on his knees now, a look of incredulousness and interest on his face. “You’re going to have to explain this one.”

  I smiled. “Sure. I won’t get into gender differences and how more typical ‘male’ interests are treated with more respect than ‘female’ ones—“

  “Ha! Sounds like you just did,” Grayson said.

  I continued, ignoring him. “They are both forms of entertainment that really mean nothing in the real world. Sure, you could argue that sports teach character. But viewing professional sports is pure entertainment. It’s a game—the players are characters, all coming together to tell a story. It’s no different than reality TV.”

  Grayson shook his head. “I completely disagree.”

  “Eh, that’s fine. I’ll convince you eventually.” I said.

  “Oh really? He teased.

  I smiled. “Just wait.”

  We kept talking and talked for hours—about music and movies we liked, our experiences in college, and his friendship with Henry. I didn’t realize the time until I felt myself struggling to keep my eyes open.

  After a lull in the conversation, I gave a big, unattractive yawn.

  “I’m going to head off to bed,” I said, climbing off the couch and stretching my stiff muscles. I caught Grayson looking at me, and I froze. I had been so comfortable with him, and my exhaustion so complete, that I had forgotten about my tank top.

  He quickly averted his eyes and nodded, yawning.

  “Me too,” he said. He stood up and paused, as if he was thinking of coming over to me. Instead
, he smiled, nodded goodnight, and went up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 13

  The next few days were spent lounging on the beach and grilling out for dinner. Part of me enjoyed the relaxation. I would sunbathe on the beach, chat with Brit, or read. At dinner, we threw loose tops over our sun-stained bodies, and ate big, juicy burgers and corn.

  The other part of me was confused. Ever since our late-night chat, Grayson had been avoiding me. He would talk to Henry and Dom and seemed to constantly go on bike rides. We would chat informally as a group, and he would occasionally tease me about something, but he would never stay in a room if I was the only other person in it. I had even gone downstairs a few times late at night, hoping to catch my fellow insomniac. But he was never there.

  I couldn’t deny the obvious: I liked Grayson. I had felt something with him, and I wanted to be around him—to know him. I tried to reconcile this through my “relationship” with Dom. Dom had been nothing but kind and respectful since we arrived. We played the couple, and our easy banter seemed to have convinced the group.

  Of course, I hated that Grayson saw this. In order to play up our coupledom, Dom would grab my waist, kiss my forehead, or squeeze my hand. Dom was so smooth that I sometimes surprised myself with how I would come up and hug him or playfully run my fingers through his hair without thinking. We still hadn’t really kissed, though Dom would sometimes give my lips a quick peck.

  “Look, we can do whatever you’re comfortable with,” Dom had said one night. “It’s not that hard to pretend you’re my girlfriend. You’re growing on me.”

  “Same here,” I had said.

  Thatevening, as we all finished peach popsicles on the deck and watched the waves crash into the sand, Dom came over to where I was sitting and reached out his hand.

  “Let’s go for a walk, babe,” he said.

  “Don’t take too long!” Brit exclaimed. “We’re going to build a fire.”

  “We’ll be back soon,” I said, stealing a glance at Grayson. He was looking at his phone, and I suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Was it possible that he liked me too, and he didn’t like seeing me with Dom? Oh, don’t be so full of yourself, I thought. You have no idea what’s going through his mind. You barely know him.