Thankfully, I’m right. I show it to them then hurry off because Jared has this look about him that makes me think he wants to say something else, and I don’t want to hear whatever it is. My sanity feels incredibly fragile. Shatterable. I always had the worry that one day I might run into Jared back home, but I was supposed to be leaving that worry behind in Connecticut. I wasn’t prepared for this.
Down the next aisle I collide with Ben. He has an application for me to complete and some tax form. I take my time, not wanting to be at the register when the guys pay.
How must it feel to be Jared now, I wonder as I write the address of my uncle’s beach rental on the application. To go from rags to riches while the ex you hate go from riches to rags? Part of me wants to hit him over the head with one of those stupid Grammys. Or maybe run him over with my red fucking Miata.
That, in particular, might save me some awkwardness later. I mean, what if he’s vacationing at Eliot Beach, too? What if he keeps coming to this store? How can I avoid him?
Running him over might be a solid plan.
The only thing that gives me some comfort is the belief that there must be a song in all my angst. Unfortunately, I have no time to think about it. I need to concentrate on my training.
By the time I get home, I’m too exhausted to write. Six hours of unexpectedly standing around on my feet takes its toll. I’m also starving because two peaches wasn’t much of a lunch.
Yawning, I trudge up to the attic. If I can’t channel my emotions into an I-hate-Jared song, then an I-hate-Jared conversation will have to do. And Kristen will only be too happy to help. That’s what best friends are for—pointing out all the flaws in your exes and vindicating you of any responsibility for the disaster that was your breakup. Obviously.
Kristen answers on the third ring. “Greening’s Morgue. You kill ’em; we chill ’em. What’s up?”
Ordinarily, Kristen’s sense of humor works wonders on my mood. But not today.
“How about what’s down, like the temperature in Hell. Kris, you’re never going to believe this. Jared’s here.”
“What? Who?”
“Jared. You know. Him.” In the silence that follows, I hear Delirium playing through the phone. Great. There’s only one time when Kristen listens to trance music. “Are you stoned?”
“Just a little. Wait.” The music volume decreases. “The Jared? Are you serious?”
“Yes! I ran into him today. It was horrible. I need comfort.”
“Good God. What happened? Tell me everything.”
That’s why Kristen is my best friend. She doesn’t care that I’m ruining her buzz.
So I fill her in on exactly what went down, ignoring the rumbling in my stomach and the scent of cooking meat that wafts through the window.
“That’s like...wow.” Kristen falls silent.
“I’m in crisis here. Can you try to be articulate?”
“Sorry. Okay, first thing first. You are not in crisis. You are having a crisis. They’re totally different. Now let’s review the coping strategies you developed to handle this situation.”
I bang my head against a pillow. “My coping strategy was to pray this day wouldn’t come.”
“Claire, that’s not proactive behavior. You were supposed to come up with strategies so you’d be prepared and it wouldn’t be this traumatic.”
“You know, I’m pretty sure blaming the victim here is not helping.”
“You’re right. That was really bad of me, I’m sorry. Okay, calm down. Let’s breathe. Deep yoga breaths.”
I inhale. Exhale slowly. “Tell me something helpful.”
“Fine. You’re unlikely to meet Jared again.”
“How do you know?” Inhale.
“It’s a big state. Not New York big or anything, but what are the odds?”
“The state is big. The town is not.”
It sounds like she blows me a raspberry. “Do you know for sure he’s staying in the town? Come on, you got hit by lightning today. How many people get hit by lightning twice?”
Exhale. “None, because they’re all dead?”
Logically, I know Kristen’s probably right. Why would Jared be staying in Eliot Beach? Unlike me he has no family here, and it’s not exactly a happening music scene. I just need Kristen to say it a few more times. Or maybe pass a little of whatever she’s smoking through the phone because this deep-breathing thing is not helping.
April screams my name, and I groan. “I’m being paged,” I tell Kristen. “Better go.”
“Keep me informed. I’m here for you.”
I hang up as April reaches the doorway. She’s still wearing her bikini top, and she’s a lot tanner than she was this morning.
“Dad wants to talk to you,” she says. “You look horrible. What did they make you do today? Hard labor?”
I had to call the house to let people know why I’d be gone all day. Word must have spread. “I was learning how to work the register.”
“That doesn’t sound hard.”
I kick off my sneakers. “It’s not difficult, but that doesn’t mean it’s not tiring.”
“If you say so. Doesn’t sound tiring to me.”
I can think of a million retorts, but I opt for the one most likely to annoy her. “Your nose is burnt.”
She glares at me so I leave to find Dad.
Aunt Anita is making salad in the kitchen. Nikki leans against the counter next to her, molesting the tomatoes and droning on about how much she loved working in New York City and how it’s the greatest place ever. Judging from my aunt’s expression, she cares more about the well-being of the tomatoes.
Her face perks up when she sees me. “He’s outside. You have a good first day?”
“Yeah.” Did I? I have nothing to compare it to.
Just like Nikki’s standing around watching my aunt make salad, my dad’s standing around watching my uncle grill dinner. I’m astounded by the helpfulness of my family.
My stomach rumbles as I step out onto the patio and eye the plate of burgers and chicken. “You wanted me?”
Dad’s not the type to hem and haw. You don’t climb the corporate ladder, he claims, by being wishy-washy. “I don’t like that you got a job without asking me today.”
I gape at him. “Sorry. I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d care.”
“You’re on vacation. You don’t need to work some menial job. It’s beneath you.”
So that’s the issue. My dad’s pride is on the line. “It’s not vacation. I graduated high school last month. I don’t get vacation anymore.”
“Claire—”
“Look, I want this. It’s good life experience.” He can’t argue with that, seeing as that’s part of his BS story about why I’m taking a year off school.
Still, I’m biting my tongue to hold in what I’m actually thinking, which is that he’s no model of fiscal responsibility. Despite our supposed financial crisis, he’s paying to keep Nikki around because—let’s face it—while she might once have flirted with him for free when we were rich, he’s not so great a catch anymore. He’s also paying to have the new condo’s kitchen renovated before we move in, which is why it was deemed a good idea to go to New Hampshire during the construction.
Dad claims he has a plan, that within a year he’ll have restored my college fund. I’m not holding my breath. Sure he used to work for an investment firm, but his recent actions don’t convince me that he has a clue how to manage his personal finances. As far as I’m concerned, once you have to sell off the house and the boat, you don’t drop money unnecessarily on things like kitchen remodels.
Oh, and you definitely don’t criticize someone for being responsible and getting a job.
As if sensing my imminent explosion, Uncle George interje
cts. “I think Claire’s doing a good thing. It’s very responsible.”
Yup, that’s me. Responsible to the core. I’ll get a job when no one else in my family can be bothered. I’ll even dump my boyfriend to make my parents happy.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t being responsible. Maybe that was being delusional. Me, wishfully thinking that if I could remove all my mom’s stress, she’d get better. But the thought counts, doesn’t it?
My dad’s lips are pressed thin. He swishes the Scotch around in his cocktail glass as my uncle cheerily changes the topic of conversation to baseball. Meanwhile, I haul my responsible butt inside and sneak a beer from the fridge. Responsibility ought to have its perks because delusional thinking sure didn’t.
Chapter Five
I have muscles in my legs and back that I never knew about until I started standing on my feet for hours at a time. It would be fascinating if it weren’t so painful.
Technically, Milk and Honey closed five minutes ago. Beth is already in back, emptying her till. I’m waiting on the last customer so I can run home, shower, cram food in my face and pretend I’m awake enough to go to some party at the University of New Hampshire with my cousins. I’m not sure why I agreed to go when I knew I’d be tired, but hanging around the house in the evening isn’t fun, either.
I scan my customer’s remaining items: tofu, low fat cottage cheese, organic granola and a pack of light cigarettes. Seriously?
“Eighteen thirty-three,” I say to her, suppressing a yawn.
She’s too busy yapping on her cell phone to hear me. I push the bag toward her and repeat myself. She doesn’t even look at me; she’s checking out the breath-mint display.
“Eighteen thirty-three,” I say louder.
She turns finally and seems shocked. “Oh, are we done? How much?”
Is it wrong to hope I crushed her cigarettes?
I don’t get home until after seven-thirty, and then I don’t crawl out of the shower until April and my cousin Hannah pound on the bathroom door.
“I need to do my hair!”
“Makeup!”
“Claire!” That’s April, who excels at turning my name into a three-syllable word.
I clomp downstairs, my hair dripping down my back, and stick the plate of leftovers my aunt saved me in the microwave. My uncle’s washing dishes and my cousin Lisa’s drying them. She’s the only one not freaking out about the party, probably because she’s the only one truly invited.
“Whose party are we going to anyway?” I ask, digging in. Lisa’s going into her sophomore year at UNH, so it must be one of her friends.
“My best friend—Mike.”
“Only her best friend.” Uncle George smirks and shuts off the tap.
Lisa shakes her head, like she’s heard this a million times. “That’s right, Dad.”
“We’ll see about that.” He winks at me and walks out onto the deck.
“He doesn’t have breasts, Dad. We check out girls together.”
I’m not sure whether Uncle George hears her and ignores her, or if he’s too far away. I snort into my lasagna. You learn something new about your family every day.
“Doesn’t get it, or doesn’t want to get it?” I ask.
Lisa shrugs. “Not sure actually. He’s been saying that about me and Mike since before I came out.” She seems more amused than hurt as she puts the towel away.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I ask how the beach was.
“Wonderful. I got to listen to April run her mouth off about fat people in bathing suits.”
I don’t know what to say to that, either, so I continue eating in silence and Lisa soon leaves to change her clothes.
Half an hour later, we’re ready to go. April and Hannah are decked out to show the maximum skin and the shiniest lips. They could be clones in their tight tank tops and extra short shorts. Lisa wears a baggy T-shirt and jeans, no makeup. I’m stuck somewhere in the middle.
“Are Mike’s friends cute?” Hannah asks.
Lisa’s driving, and she turns onto the highway. “Some of them, I guess. Calm yourself, grasshopper. You’re lucky I’m taking you. Don’t go embarrassing me by drooling all over my friends.”
“Come on, Lis.” Hannah bangs her head against the headrest in exaggerated frustration. “These are college guys. Just because you don’t like them, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have fun.”
I lean forward. “You know, you will be meeting a lot of college guys when you start at BU next month.”
“Yeah, but they’ll be freshman. Lisa’s friends are sophomores.” She squeezes my hand. “You’re single, right? We need to get you a guy for the summer. You need some fun.”
I smile and sink back into the seat. Hannah’s and my definitions of fun don’t have much in common. Actually, Hannah and I don’t have much in common period, besides our age, which is why we’ve drifted apart since her parents moved. We just don’t really “get” each other. She has that whole perky cheerleader thing going on, and if I spend too much time with her, I fear I’ll discover a repressed love for all things pink and sparkly. Given our differences, we’ve talked more in these last few days than we have in years. She doesn’t even know that my ex-boyfriend wrote a chart-topping hit about me.
Then again, not many people do. It helped that Jared and I broke up over the summer, and that we went to different schools so our crowds didn’t mix much. Kristen was the only person I talked to about it, and thus the only one on my end who knew what an epic mess it was. Around everyone else, I pretended it was mutual thing so they wouldn’t ask questions. And with Jared running away like he did, I can only guess he didn’t talk about it at all. That wouldn’t have been his style.
Which isn’t to say no one ever made the connection. When that’s happened, Kristen and I agreed that it would be better for her to do the denying. She’s—truthfully—pointed out that Jared and I broke up before I got the car, and she’s dropped hints that I helped Jared with the song and maybe came up with the line myself. That rumor even spread to a fan forum, but if Jared heard it, he never contradicted the tale. Given the time he’s spent denying his songs were about anyone in particular, he was probably happy to keep my name buried.
As for finding a guy this summer? Well, it’s not that I’d object to finding Mr. Hot-Summer-Fling tonight, but we have better odds of an asteroid hitting the party. The sad truth is, since I broke up with Jared, there hasn’t been much hot at all in my love life. It’s not that I no longer believe in love or anything so emo. It’s just that with Jared, everything worked between us so easily. I don’t expect to have to put effort into a relationship, and those kind of high expectations have been killing me. My longest post-Jared boyfriend lasted three weeks. Most lasted the length of a party hookup. That way they didn’t have time to disappoint.
Lisa drives us down winding roads, past cows at pasture, a river and giant mills. We turn off into the woods, and the evening suddenly becomes a lot darker. Six or seven cars are parked along the side of a road swathed in evergreens. Lisa squeezes as close to the nonexistent curb as she can and needles scrape the car.
“I hope I don’t get towed,” she mutters as we pile out.
“I hope we don’t get murdered.” Sure, there are cars, but I don’t hear music or see any people. “This looks like something from Deliverance.”
I can swat plenty of mosquitoes though, so there’s some life. Yay?
Lisa grins. “Welcome to New Hampshire.”
“Hold up, guys.” Hannah’s pulled a cigarette out of her purse and struggles to light it and walk at the same time. Since when does she smoke?
I’m definitely learning a lot about my family on this so-called vacation.
We follow Lisa, and a break in the trees turns out to be a driveway. Now the rest of the cars come into vie
w, although I’m guessing most of them belong to the residents. The apartments themselves are an unimpressive row of two-story, conjoined buildings. The one on the far end has the door propped open, and Lady Gaga slips into the night.
“Lisa!” A guy in a grungy white baseball cap drapes an arm around her as soon as we step inside, and gives her a hug. “Beer’s in the cooler. So which of these is your sister?”
Lisa breaks free of his arm and takes a swig of his beer as she points. “Sister and cousins. Guys, this is Mike.”
I get a good look at Mike, and he looks at me, and for some reason I swear we recognize each other. But from where? Mike has one of those generic faces, and the Red Sox cap and UNH T-shirt are practically the male uniform around here. Yet my gut’s flashing me these “Danger, Will Robinson” signs and I don’t know why.
Mike snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah, Claire from the grocery store. I remember that orange hair.”
He knows my name? My confusion lasts a split second, then the reason for Mike’s knowledge dawns on me, and every muscle tenses. This is Jared’s friend. No wonder I barely recognize his face. I was horribly distracted when we met. But does that mean...? I frantically scan the room, afraid I’ll find Jared lurking.
But the coast is clear. I don’t recognize anyone else. My shoulders relax. “Yeah, I work there.”
“Cool.” He nods to himself. “Hey, you guys should come outside. We’ve got beer pong set up.”
I wander outside with the others and pass out beers. I don’t know if April’s ever drunk one before, and I probably shouldn’t be giving beer to my fifteen-year-old sister, but then I’m not her parent.
April takes the beer like a champ, only letting her thoughts on how vile it tastes pass over her face for a second. I snicker.
Lots of people crowd around outside; the party is larger than I assumed. I stand with my back against the building, scanning the area and feeling tired and unsociable. The sun sets, and soon Lisa’s disappeared, April’s gotten herself into the beer pong game, and Hannah’s dancing with a guy who bummed a smoke from her.
One beer down and I can tell I’m giving off a distinct “stay away” vibe, so I head inside. I remember seeing vodka and gin sitting out.
Another Little Piece of My Heart Page 5
