“Do you think you’ll need to do that?”
“Maybe,” Isabel said, annoyed. “I thought you wanted me to get a job.”
Rory lay back on Isabel’s pink duvet and covered her face with her hands. “Actually, I’ll switch with you. Right now.”
“What happened?” Isabel asked.
“My boss asked me to do one thing, and I messed it up.”
“What was that?”
“Register her for a spin class at Revolution. And I completely forgot.”
Isabel sat down next to Rory and pried her hands away from her face. “It was a spin class.”
“I know,” Rory said. She sat up on her elbows. “But she went to Stanford. I was hoping that she might be able to put in a good word for me with the film department. You know, help me get into some of the advanced classes.”
“Is that why you took the job?” Isabel asked, trying to keep a straight face. Rory could be too much of a goody-goody sometimes.
“No, of course not,” Rory said, blowing a stray dark curl out of her face. “But I thought it might help. Until I messed up the spin class.”
“Well, try to let it go,” Isabel said, patting her shoulder. “Pretty soon she’ll see what an awesome assistant she has for the summer.”
“Thanks,” Rory said.
“Wanna grab dinner tonight?” Isabel asked. “Just you and me?” She smiled. “I could tell you about my coffee date with Evan.”
“Yeah, sure—” Rory began, and then Connor appeared in the doorway.
“Hey,” he said, stepping into the room. “Can I come in, or are you guys talking about top secret girl stuff?”
“How ’bout knocking first and then asking?” Isabel said.
“Hey,” Rory said as she got up from the bed and went to give Connor a hug.
Isabel watched them kiss each other on the lips. It was still strange to see them together, and not just because Connor was her brother. Last summer Rory had been the one without a boyfriend, and she’d been the one having a passionate summer fling. Now it seemed as if their roles had reversed. Never in a million years would she have seen that coming.
“Hey, how was your first day?” he asked Rory in an intimate murmur.
“Not bad. I’ll tell you about it later. How was yours?” she murmured back.
“Pretty good. Just an orientation for the teachers.”
“I can’t believe you’re teaching sailing again,” Isabel broke in. “Don’t you ever get tired of it?”
“At least I have a job, unlike some people,” Connor said.
“Au contraire, mon frère. I have a job. I got one today. At the Baybreeze Café.”
“Doing what?” Connor asked skeptically. “Eating?”
“Waiting tables.”
“But you don’t know anything about waitressing.”
“So? I’ll learn.”
“Mom is going to freak out when she hears about that.”
“What makes you think I’m going to tell her?”
Connor wiggled his eyebrows, as if to say Okay, fine, you win, and turned his attention back to Rory. “You wanna get some dinner tonight?”
“Oh, um…” Rory cast a glance over at Isabel. “What if Isabel comes?”
Connor hesitated.
“No, that’s okay,” Isabel was quick to say. “You guys go. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Rory asked. “I thought you wanted to go out.”
“No, it’s cool,” she said, walking into her closet. “I have to figure out my work wardrobe.” Yeah, I wanted to go out, but not with my brother, she wanted to say. She dug through her hangers, listening to them talk to each other in an annoying lovey-dovey tone. She was disappointed in Rory. Someone with a little more guy experience would have known that it was okay to say no to your boyfriend every once in a while.
When she was sure they’d left the room, she left the safety of her closet and sat down at her desk. She flipped open her laptop and began an e-mail to Mr. Knox.
So my parents want us to pretend to all their friends that they’re still together. Even though my dad has his own place and he’s never even here. And my friend Rory would rather spend every waking minute with my brother… just as I’d thought.
She paused with her hand above the keys. It sounded like she was writing in her journal, for God’s sakes. Mr. Knox wasn’t going to care about any of this. But he asked her to keep in touch. And he was, after all, her dad. Better start treating him like it, she thought. Before he drifted out of her life, too.
“So remember that other sailing teacher I told you about last summer? The one who’d talk about himself in the third person sometimes? Like he was a hip-hop star?” Flickering light from the votive candle between them made Connor’s eyes a deep indigo.
“Yeah,” Rory said, reaching for the bread basket. “Don’t tell me he’s there again.”
“Yup. The guy couldn’t tack if his life depended on it. His parents must have donated more money to the club.” He grabbed a piece of bread and dipped it in the dish of greenish olive oil on the table. “So now I gotta listen to him all day long.”
“Maybe you should start talking about yourself in the third person,” Rory joked. “Just to get him back.”
“Who says I don’t? Have you met C-Dog yet?”
Rory laughed. “C-Dog? Are you serious?”
“Totally. You should have known me in high school.”
“I’m starting to be glad I didn’t,” she teased him. She opened her menu. So far the tension that she’d felt between them last night seemed to be over, thank god.
“Man, I feel like a burger,” Connor said, reading his menu.
“I’m gonna have one. And I’m gonna have fries.”
“Good. Then I can steal some,” Connor said.
“Order some. You don’t always have to eat so healthy. It’s okay to have some fun once in a while.”
“Hey, I can have fun,” he said, reaching for her hand. “I can have a lot of fun.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, squeezing his hand right back. “So… I had my first day of work.”
“How’d it go?”
“Great. My boss is pretty awesome. She’s this really cool mix of stylish and artistic. And she wants to give me all kinds of responsibility, too. But I kind of messed up.”
“How so?” Connor asked, looking back down at his menu.
“She asked me to register her in a spin class. At some place where it’s so popular you have to do it, like, six days early. But I got so caught up in watching these short films that it slipped my mind. And then by the time I remembered, the class was full. I was so annoyed with myself.”
“Yeah, I can see why,” Connor mused, reading his menu.
“What?” she asked, wondering if she’d heard him wrong.
Connor looked up at her. “I just said, I can see why you felt bad.”
“So you think that was a stupid thing to do, then?”
“If she seemed upset,” Connor said, turning the menu over and scanning the desserts, “then I can see why you felt bad.”
“She didn’t seem that upset, weirdly.”
“That’s good,” Connor said. “I guess you got lucky.”
“But you think she should have been upset?”
“I’m not saying that,” he said. “But I can see why you felt bad. It’s kind of a dumb thing to do. Right?”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said.
“I’m not judging you,” Connor said. “I’m just saying that I can understand why you felt bad. I would feel bad.”
“Maybe that’s not what I want to hear right now,” she said. “Maybe it would be nice for you to say that I shouldn’t feel bad, and that it’s not such a big deal.”
Connor sighed and put down his menu. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just saying—hey, when did you get so sensitive?”
“And when did you get so… so…” She tried to think of the right word to describe it. “Forget it.
”
Connor peered closer at her. “Ror. What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Rory said, focusing on her menu. “Let’s talk about something else.” She remembered the time they’d been eating with his friends at USC and she’d mispronounced the name of the French critic Michel Foucault. She’d called him “Fu-KALT.” There’d been a pall over the table as Connor’s friends looked at one another, silently reacting to her naïveté. She’d known instantly that she’d made a mistake. But Connor didn’t rush to her defense or hold her hand. His manners seemed to go on pause as he looked at her from his spot across the table, slightly uncomfortable, and stayed quiet. It had been mortifying, infuriating. How could he do that? she’d thought. She felt the same way right now.
“I think I will have the burger,” Connor said, closing his menu.
“Great,” Rory said, too annoyed to look at him.
“What are you going to have?”
“What’s going on with you?” Rory asked, looking him straight in the eye.
“What’s going on with me?” Connor asked. “What’s going on with you?”
“Connor?” A female voice made them look up. A petite dark-haired girl with a fringe of bangs and doe-like brown eyes stood next to their table.
“Augusta?” Connor said.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed. “I thought it was you!”
She threw her arms around Connor, sending his face straight into her chest.
Rory watched as Connor tried to hug her back.
“What are you doing here?” Connor asked when she pulled away.
“My dad rented a place here for the summer—oh, it’s so fantastic to see you!” The girl’s voice held a faint English accent, which made Rory like her even less. “Guess who’s here with me! Caleb, Dylan, and Nico!”
“No way!” Connor exclaimed.
“They all came out for the week! It’s like a reunion!” Finally the girl turned to acknowledge Rory.
“Oh, this is my girlfriend, Rory,” Connor said. “Rory, this is Augusta Rapton. We went to St. Paul’s together.”
“Hello,” the girl said as she offered Rory her small hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you.”
“Hi,” Rory said, feeling as dainty as a lumberjack as she shook this girl’s hand. Augusta was more put together than a model in Lucky. Her bangs, black vintage-looking dress, slouchy ankle boots, and oversize cardigan all screamed urban cool.
“So you guys aren’t living in London anymore?” Connor asked.
“My dad wanted to be in the States this summer,” she explained. “I think because he knows how much I like New York.”
“Augusta goes to Columbia,” Connor explained.
“Oh,” said Rory, pretending that this was fascinating information. Hopefully this chitchat wouldn’t go on much longer.
“Wait,” Augusta said. “Come join us! We have a huge table. What do you think?” Augusta’s heavily lined eyes stayed fixed on Connor.
“Uh… I don’t know… Rory? What do you think? It could be fun.”
Rory hesitated for a moment, and then she realized that Connor was serious. “Sure,” she said quietly.
“Great,” Connor said, standing up. “Lead the way.”
This isn’t happening, Rory thought as they got up. This was supposed to be our time.
“I haven’t seen these guys in almost three years,” he said to her over his shoulder. “Isn’t this funny?”
“Yeah, it’s really funny,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“You’ll love them,” Connor said.
“Right,” Rory said, pretending to smile. She was pretty sure she wouldn’t, if these people were anything like his college friends. At a table in the corner sat a group of two guys and a girl watching them approach. Rory took a deep breath and remembered her mantra from USC: No matter what, don’t look like you’re having a bad time.
“Hey!” Augusta called out to them. “Guess who’s joining us?”
“Hey, man!” said one of the guys. He wore a red-and-black-patterned Baja hoodie and had a well-manicured soul patch. “What is up?”
Connor leaned over to give the guy a bro-shake. “Hey, Caleb!”
“Connie!” said the other guy, who was smaller than Caleb with black hair. He wore a polo shirt.
“CR,” said the girl, who had long blond curls and a laid-back demeanor. “How’s it hangin’?”
The guy with the soul patch slapped Connor on the back. “Good to see you, man. How’s Cali?”
“It’s awesome. How’s Duke?”
“Forget Duke, I transferred to Brown, man,” said the guy, touching his soul patch. “It’s so much more my speed.”
“Rory, this is Caleb,” Connor said. “Caleb, this is Rory. My girlfriend.”
“Peace,” Caleb said, shaking her hand.
“Uh, peace,” Rory replied.
Rory watched Connor turn to the black-haired guy. “Hey, man, this is Rory,” Connor said, introducing her.
“Hi, Nico,” Rory said.
The girl with long blond curls burst into coarse laughter.
“Uh, that’s Nico,” Connor said, pointing to the blond girl. “He’s Dylan.”
“Oh, sorry,” Rory said. “Hi.” She turned to Nico. “Hi.”
“Heyyyy,” Nico drawled, touching Rory’s hand lightly before turning her attention back to Connor. “So what’s up, Connie? Are you still at USC?”
Before long, “Connie” was regaling them with stories about Hollywood hipsters, Santa Monica yoga worshippers, and the occasional celebrity sighting. Rory flipped through the menu and tried to keep her cool. So he ran into some friends, she thought. It’s bound to happen. This is his stomping grounds. Not yours.
But their unpleasant exchange about her job still lingered. Maybe she’d just been supersensitive. It was hard to know. Regardless, this was their third tense moment since she’d arrived. In nine months they hadn’t had one argument. Now after three days together, they seemed to be getting on each other’s nerves.
“Hey, Rory, did you hear that?” Connor asked, his face alight with laughter. “Caleb was saying that he has family in New Jersey.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Caleb said. “I think New Jersey’s cool, man. It gets a bad rap. But there are some awesome parts of it.”
Connor reached across the table and took her hand. “New Jersey has to be beautiful,” he said, looking into her eyes.
She smiled for all of his friends to see. For a moment, her doubts about them disappeared.
Then it hit her: Connor and I are just like his parents, she thought.Pretending to be the perfect couple, when inside, we’re really not.
CHAPTER SIX
“I’d like the Bridgehampton Cobb,” the woman said over the din of the lunch crowd, “but can I get that with avocado instead of bacon?”
Isabel scribbled something that she hoped would remind her of this on her small lined pad. “Uh, I’m not sure. I’ll find out.”
“Unless the bacon is nitrate-free,” the woman said, rearranging her bracelets. “In that case I’ll take the bacon. Do you know if it’s nitrate-free?”
“I don’t,” said Isabel, scribbling again. “I’ll check.”
“And I’d like some bread with that,” the woman went on, plucking at her diamond pendant necklace. “But only the pretzel bread. If you don’t have any, then nothing.”
Isabel flipped the page and scribbled the word pretzels. “Pretzels, okay.”
“No, pretzel bread,” the woman corrected, her smile beginning to wear thin. “And some more iced tea. What do you want, Penny?” she asked, turning to her friend.
“How is the pasta special done?” The woman’s friend was younger, in her thirties, and she had the sinewy, half-starved look of a serious Pilates fan. “Do they use chicken broth? Because I’m vegan.”
Isabel scribbled the word vegan on the pad. “Um, I’m not sure. I can find out.”
“I’ll hav
e that but only if the chef can use veggie broth,” the friend said. “Otherwise I’ll have the garbanzo bean pancake. With no raita.”
“Ry-ta?” Isabel asked.
“Raita,” the woman said in a sharp voice. “The yogurt dressing that’s right here?” she said, pointing to the menu.
“Oh, sorry, it’s my first day,” Isabel said. “I’ll take care of it.”
The women traded looks. Isabel turned to leave.
“Excuse me?” the first woman said. “Don’t you want the menus?”
“Oh, right.” Isabel snatched them out of their hands. On her way to the kitchen she almost collided with a customer threading his way between tables. “Sorry,” she muttered. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 12:22. She’d been at work for less than an hour, but it already felt like three days. The other waitress who was supposed to work today had sprained her foot at a club the night before, which had left her, Evan, and the manager, Bill, to handle the crowd. This also meant that aside from the first ten minutes, during which Isabel followed Evan around as he took orders, there’d been no “shadowing.” Rory, it turned out, had been right about waitressing. She wasn’t prepared at all. This job was hell.
In her peripheral vision she spotted an arm frantically waving at her. It was attached to a middle-aged, balding man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Yes?” she asked, approaching his table.
“Where’s my French dip?” he demanded. “I ordered it twenty minutes ago.”
Had she taken an order for a French dip? None of this was ringing a bell. “Let me check,” she said.
“And another Arnold Palmer!” he yelled after her.
She raced toward the computer. On her way she passed Evan, who was bent over a table, taking an order. He glanced at her and raised his eyebrows. You doin’ all right? his look seemed to say. She smiled bravely and gave him a thumbs-up. She scanned the computer for the French dip, saw nothing, and typed it in. Then she flipped through her pad to add the two women’s lunch orders. But they’d had a lot of questions—hadn’t they? Now she couldn’t remember any of them. She flipped through her pad to see if anything jogged her memory. Phrases like tuna gluten-free and vegan avocado jumped out at her.
Since Last Summer Page 7
