by Lotus Oakes
Simon turned away from the house and began to walk himself. He walked slowly, barely lifting his feet as he went, kicking loose gravel until his feet settled themselves naturally into his shoes. The sun beat hot and unrelenting across the back of his neck; he could feel the telltale beginnings of a burn, but other than occasionally stretching his shoulders against the growing vague discomfort, he didn’t do anything until the neatly-cropped trees and manicured lawns around him gave way to the taller buildings of the downtown shopping area. He began to drift towards the theater they’d gone to the other day, then stopped himself and chose to take refuge in a diner instead.
It was nearly empty: other than Simon there were a few weathered men sitting at the counter, with chipped cups of coffee and newspapers, as well as the bored-looking waitress. She caught his eye as he entered and plastered on a bright smile, sashaying forward. Her uniform skirt cut off just under her knees and the neckline dipped in a coy shallow V. She had tanned skin with just the faintest orange edge to it and pale blonde hair that was a familiar shade.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” she said. “Just one?”
He nodded a little, relaxing his shoulders and lifting his chin a little. Even if he didn’t feel up to the act, he was still an Oakley; once he settled into the role, it was surprisingly effortless. “Please. A seat by the window would be good.”
“Sure thing.” She winked, taking up a laminated menu and gesturing. “This way.”
She walked off with a deliberate sashay to her hips, almost rolling them; it was a gesture calculated to draw attention, and Simon did look as she walked, considering. It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty — she had a soft sweet face and a body that appeared to match — but she wasn’t the right sort of pretty. It was soft, yes, but it was also thin and weak, like it didn’t really have any strength behind it, shored up by the weight of makeup and fine fancy clothes. She was the sort of pretty that was easy to forget and easy to ignore, especially when one was used to finer things. It was a blunt and unrefined sort of grace, the sort that always trembled on the cusp of growing into something great, then overshot it.
She wasn’t beautiful. Her hair was the right color but her eyes were a dull shade of blue and her mouth was too red from lipstick; up close he could tell she had liberally applied perfume, to the point where it made the back of his throat tickle just to breathe. She was garish and gawky and her flirtation just made him feel awkward all over again.
“Here you go,” she said, turning to him, throwing another wink his way. It was a booth seat by the window, as requested — the nicest one in the diner from the looks of it, whose leather seats were mostly intact beyond a thin gash in the side. Simon obediently slid in, all the way close to the window. The waitress leaned down as she placed the menu before him, enough that her shirt gaped, and he could see the round soft curve of her breasts. They were nice, but again like the rest of the package — just not really the sort of thing that could stir him. When she straightened, she tucked loose hair behind her ear and flashed him a dimpled smile.
“What can I get for you to drink, darlin’? Water? Coffee? Juice.”
He glanced at the menu. It didn’t offer tea at all. “Just some orange juice for now, please.”
She licked her pen, showing off the pink flash of her tongue, and wrote something with a flourish. “Right away, sweetie.” She sashayed off again, leaving Simon to sink low in his seat again with a low disgruntled huff. If she was going to spend the entire time awkwardly flirting with him, he thought, he would much rather just eat quickly and get out before it went on for too long.
As promised, she returned after a few minutes, bearing a tall glass of orange juice, which she set down before him, again bowing gratuitously low. She turned her head before straightening, which left her face uncomfortably close to his. “So, thought about what you might want off the menu?”
There was enough innuendo in her voice to make him flush. He shook his head and looked away. “Not yet, no. I’d like a few more minutes.”
She straightened with a huff; he could feel the irritation radiating from her in waves, where before she’d been so interested. “All right, darlin’, just take your time. I’ll come back and check on you in a bit.” With that, she flounced over to the men at the counter, the sway and bump gone from her hips. Simon almost felt bad about shooting her down, but at least it meant he could probably stay here longer than however much time it took for him to eat and pay and escape. It wasn’t really her fault that she had competition too strong to live up to; even if Haley wasn’t perfect — and Simon had known her too long and too well to believe that — her looks certainly were. It was the Oakley blessing, his father liked to say, and one that Simon believed wholeheartedly in.
He looked down at the menu, chewing on his lip. It had a fairly basic list of dishes — pancakes, various preparations of eggs, toast, hash. They all looked like things that would be far too heavy for his stomach, especially now, but he’d already ordered his drink; leaving with just that would feel awkward and impolite of him. After a few minutes of deliberating, he glanced up and waved to the waitress, who rolled her eyes before coming back.
“Decided what you wanted?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, and internally winced at the way her eyes flashed at that. “Just the pancakes and eggs, please. Um. With the bacon if possible.”
“We’ll see what we can do, darlin’,” she said, scribbling on her notepad again and walking off. Simon waited until she disappeared through the swinging doors of the kitchen before he let out a sigh, leaning his shoulder against the wall.
As he stared out the window, he could see the crowds of tourists wandering past — men of various heights and builds, some with pretty girls on their arms (but still, again, none as pretty as Haley, especially when she’d arched her back and cried out at Dirk’s touch) and some in groups of two and three, easygoing and confident in their ability to conquer the day. Seeing them especially left a sour taste in Simon’s mouth, remembering the way Dirk had been, the first couple of days he’d been in the Oakley’s vacation home.
Some of them, darker-skinned than their companions on the sidewalk, he studied more closely. Most of them were rather generically attractive, the same way the women were — there was at least one or two things about them that could be complicated, and some more than others. But even among the ones who were, there was nothing about them that really compelled him to keep watching; he studied one and found his eyes sliding away to the next before he really felt he could comfortably describe any of them. It wasn’t like looking at Dirk’s face sidelong, curious and annoyed about that easy toothy smile, or the fascination of his long graceful fingers at work, in the kitchen or on Haley’s body …
A dish half-clattered before him, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up at the waitress, whose expression was bored again.
“There you go, pancake breakfast,” she said. She eyed his cup. “I’ll get you more juice.”
Simon nodded, looking down at his plate. The pancakes looked rather mournful, pale yellow at their edges and barely brown in the center, already drowned in a puddle of pale syrup and crowned by a generous scoop of butter. The bacon was thick but light-brown in color, half-submerged under the flood of syrup as well. The eggs were a meager little pile, nearly the same pale yellow color as the pancakes. “Um. Thank you.”
He looked up and found the waitress already gone. With a sigh he picked up his fork, prodding at the pancakes; they almost certainly weren’t going to be as good as the ones Dirk had made. He cut himself a small triangle with the edge of his fork, watching as the waitress reappeared, carrying a fresh glass of juice to be switched out with his half-empty one. She didn’t bother to try with small talk again, sweeping away to the front of the restaurant.
Simon ate his meal slowly. The pancakes tasted doughy and thick, sticking to his mouth and throat even as he chewed and swallowed. The bacon was salty and eggs had no flavor; he gave up before the plate was ev
en half empty, pushing it away and bringing his cup closer to nurse its dregs. Really, he wasn’t even surprised; he wasn’t hungry enough to be eager for a second breakfast, and it was enough like the one Dirk had made to fall embarrassingly short. He leaned against the wall again, so that his head rested lightly against the glass, again watching people go past.
They all looked so happy, he thought. Even the ones who weren’t smiling walked with apparent purpose, and even those going at a slower pace didn’t seem to be dragging their feet so much as casually taking their time. He envied them about that ease; he was fairly certain that even if he did leave the diner and go for a walk, his own black mood would bring down the collective attitude of the area by at least ten degrees.
He brought his glass up, resting his lip on the rim. If Haley could see him right now, he thought, she would probably laugh — or she would be annoyed; maybe she would yell at him to stop being so wrapped up in himself and pay attention to the rest of the world. What was she doing right now? She’d gone back to the house, and she’d promised that they would be there all day. Maybe they wouldn’t have done anything when he was around out of deference (though that certainly hadn’t stopped them before), but now that he was out of the house, who knew …
Simon closed his eyes and thought about the pale arch of Haley’s back, and the dark splay of Dirk’s fingers on her hips. He thought about Haley’s sweet sleepy smile when he’d gone to wake her, and the confident grin on Dirk’s face as he’d put together breakfast. He turned different scenarios in his head over and over, but still couldn’t find a place for himself to slot in. There was just no room for it, not without seriously disturbing one or the other or both of them.
“You want more juice?”
He opened his eyes. The waitress was standing by his table, her arms crossed. She was looking at his half-full plate, but when he moved, she glanced at him again. Her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were drawn together; she was definitely judging him, though she slipped again into an easy plastic smile when her eyes met his.
“No thank you,” he said.
“You done with your food?”
“I think so.”
“Ready for the check?”
“Yes.” He crossed his arms and lifted his chin a little, trying to appear as intimidating — or at least as casually in control — as possible. He didn’t think he succeeded, from the way she just raised an eyebrow at him and gave a little shrug before pulling out the pad she’d taken his order on and tearing off the top sheet. The total price wasn’t bad, and he put his credit card down after barely glancing at the number. She swept that up and away, and he leaned back in the booth seat with a sigh. He’d lost any sort of momentum with her before he’d even ordered, he thought wryly to himself; he was lucky that as a rule, the Oakleys didn’t frequent places like this, so his mistake wouldn’t necessarily be brought back to haunt him later.
When she returned with his receipt and after Simon had signed, he slunk out of the diner without a backwards glance. His stomach felt mostly leaden and uncomfortable, the extra food weighing heavily inside of him. He kept his shoulders loose and his pace casual, doing his best to act like he was the same as any other person in the crowd of unaware, blithely distracted summer tourists. He walked all the way down to the waterfront, out onto the rocky outcrop that stretched further out onto the ocean than the beach itself, and stood at the edge, squinting out into the wide blue expanse of water. He could hear people shrilling behind him, girls and boys both, but out here it was just him and a fisherman in jeans that had been torn off at the knees, the fishing rod’s butt wedged between his crossed knees, apparently fast asleep.
Simon liked the ocean, even if he didn’t like being outside: it was beautiful as it was vast, and always-changing; people could attempt to contain it and control it, but in the end, all of their small beliefs were swept away. When he had been much younger, his father had told him it was a metaphor for a family like theirs, born rich and wielding the power it gave them judiciously, knowing when to pretend to yield and when to crush others mercilessly. Part of him still appreciated that, though more of him now wavered in the face of having dealt with Dirk for the past couple of days. And if it were that easy to sway him, he reasoned to himself, then perhaps he had not believed as strongly in his father’s words as he’d thought.
But he still liked looking out upon the waves; just watching the slow ripple of the water and the occasional white flash of seagulls swooping down, he could feel knots inside of him slowly relaxing, bit by bit. Even the waves caused by people splashing around in the shallows faded by the time they reached where he stood, smoothing into the natural ebb and flow of the water.
If he were honest, he liked it simply for the fact that it was beautiful, and the fact that it seemed wide enough to embrace the entire endless horizon. It didn’t remind him of the Oakleys and their power, it reminded him of Haley, pretty and perfect and so apparently untouchable, even to him when he’d held her hand in his or she’d leaned against him in maternal fussing.
He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs until they began to ache, then let it out in a sharp huff. He rubbed his eyes as if to clear them, then turned and began the walk back, first to the beach, then to the city, and then back to his vacation home.
The front door was unlocked when he arrived, and when he opened it, he could hear the sounds of the TV going; from the sound of it, it was on some sort of commercial. He closed the door quietly behind himself, this time being sure to lock it, and stepped out of his shoes. Barefoot he tiptoed down the hallway towards the den where the TV was, and found that door open as well. Inside, he could see Dirk’s head over the back of the couch, and draped over the arm of the couch he could see Haley’s legs dangling from the knees down. On the TV a smiling woman posed with a bottle of fluorescent colored soap, her smile bright and sunny.
Simon took a deep breath and knocked on the opened door.
“Hi,” he said.
Haley immediately shot up, grabbing at the head of the couch to catch herself, staring at him wide-eyed. Her eyes looked a little red, he noted. Dirk also turned, and there was no mistaking the relief in both of their faces. It made him feel a little embarrassed. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring a bit off to the side.
“… Can I watch TV with you guys?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth he cringed slightly; to his own ears it sounded too much like his childhood, hanging nervously at the edge of the crowd on the first day of school, before he had learned to utilize the money his parents had. There were echoes of previous vacations, too, because even Haley, as tolerant as she could be of him, didn’t always think to invite him whenever she did things.
“Sure,” Dirk said, then glanced at Haley. “Right?”
She nodded slowly, still staring at Simon. “Sure. It’s fine.”
Relieved, Simon came forward, sliding onto the couch between them. It wasn’t a narrow one by any means — the cushions were wide and plush — but Haley still had her feet up on it, and Dirk was sprawled in a sort of sideways slant, which left relatively little room for him. It felt less like a rejection, though, and somehow, in its own way, more intimate. Haley prodded his hip with one of her feet as he settled, flashing him another smile when he looked her way.
“We’re just watching bad B-movies,” she said. “But if you wanna change the channel, just let Dirk know.”
He turned his head and Dirk grinned, brandishing the remote lazily. “You’re just in time for the end, anyway. They’ve discovered the bad guys’ hideout, so they’re making their plans to get in.”
“Mmm.” He settled back against the couch in a low slouch. Haley’s foot remained pressed against the side of his leg, and he found himself glancing at it more than once, even as the commercials ended and the movie started up again. She was barefoot, her long thin toes loosely curled and pale against the material of his jeans. The toenails had been painted a pale lavender at some point.
As he studied
it, though, he felt something nudge up against him from the other side. When he looked, Dirk’s leg was pressed against his, so that his foot was dangling in the space just in front of Simon’s knee. The surprise of it made him freeze, sucking in a sharp breath and holding it — but when he glanced at Dirk’s face, Dirk seemed to be absolutely absorbed in watching the movie. Simon looked back at the screen: there was some large and awkward-looking animatronic monster flailing around as a woman screamed and a man opened fire on it. Dirk’s leg shifted slightly, as if with the weight of the rest of his body, but remained pressed close to Simon’s.
He chewed on his lip and let out his held breath slowly. It was probably nothing more than his imagination, he told himself sternly. There was no way that Dirk didn’t know about how Simon felt about Haley — Haley wasn’t the sort of person who lied, and even if she said it wasn’t all his business, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Especially since after their summer vacation ended, it wasn’t as if Simon would simply disappear out of Haley’s life. He was a rival, even if Haley wasn’t interested. In the light of all that, there was no way that Dirk would be doing this sort of thing deliberately — maybe he’d been playing footsie with Haley before Simon had arrived, and he’d already proven himself to be a great deal more openly touchy than anyone else in the extended Oakley family. He wouldn’t shy away from touch if it happened, but there was no reason for him to deliberately push for it, either.
Simon fixed his gaze on the screen, though he barely registered most of it. He remained acutely aware of Haley on one side and Dirk on the other, but instead of being resentful, this time, he felt more relieved that he could be this close and not be rejected. Telling her had been the right thing, he told himself, and not kissing her had been even better. If he had, he was sure that none of this easy casual atmosphere would exist.
The movie ended as expected, with the hero and the heroine driving off together into the sunset. As the camera faded, the scattered plasticky pieces of the monster began to twitch, and an ominous musical sting accompanied the abrupt cut-out. As the credits began to roll, Dirk stretched flipped the channels lazily until he landed on the beginning of some sort of cooking show.
