Girls in Love

by Hailey Abbott

  Michael smiled at her, and Greer had to admit that he was cute, all suntanned and windblown. But still—he was half her mother’s age, and he spent his days killing fish.

  “Hi,” she said coolly.

  “He says that a yellowfin tuna can weigh up to four hundred fifty pounds! Isn’t that incredible?” Cassandra gushed. She tossed her coppery hair over her shoulder.

  Greer turned to her mother and realized, belatedly, that Cassandra was wearing Greer’s own Tommy Hilfiger miniskirt. The nerve! Greer thought. Even if it did look pretty good on her—Cassandra had great legs, almost as good as Greer’s—it was totally ridiculous. When did her mother turn into such a cougar?

  Greer knew one thing for certain: She was not going to be competing for male attention with her mother. That was simply unacceptable.

  Michael cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was telling this pretty lady here—”

  “My mother,” Greer interrupted.

  “Um, yeah. I was telling her that yellowfins like to swim with dolphins, because dolphins are better at finding the little fish that yellowfins like to eat…” He trailed off uncertainly.

  “Fascinating,” Greer deadpanned. She reached out and grasped her mother’s arm. “Don’t you have a manicure appointment to schedule?”

  Cassandra pulled away playfully, her green eyes sparkling. “First I have to pay this man for his delightful services.”

  Ugh, Greer thought. The way her mother said it made it sound like Michael had done a lot more than drop off the fish for the big Tuttle reunion dinner. Gigolo much? Greer almost asked him. But she knew he was innocent—whatever was happening between the two of them was all her mother’s doing.

  Michael handed Cassandra the bill, and Cassandra took it from him gratefully, like it was a bouquet of roses. She leaned against the railing to sign it, making sure she gave the fisherman a good eyeful of her tanned, full bosom.

  Michael stared—how could he not? Only a priest would be able to ignore those things.

  When Cassandra returned the bill along with a stack of twenties, Greer half expected her mother to give him a kiss. But instead she gave a playful wave and a big, still-beautiful smile. “Don’t be a stranger,” Cassandra called as Michael headed down the steps to the beach.

  Greer waited until he was out of earshot. She took a sip of her Evian and said coolly, “You’re wearing my skirt.”

  Cassandra turned to her, her face a mask of innocence. “Well, it fits me so perfectly. How many mothers do you know who can fit into a size 2?”

  Greer sighed. “That’s beside the point. It’s my skirt, and you shouldn’t have taken it.” And you really shouldn’t be wearing it at your age, Greer thought. But she kept her mouth shut. Because in truth, she felt a little sorry for Cassandra. Ever since her marriage ended (which had come after years of separations and threats of divorce), Greer’s mother had been at loose ends. Meanwhile her dad was off in Ibiza with a girl barely older than Greer. She shuddered at the thought.

  Greer steeled herself to tell her mother the hard truth. She couldn’t tell her dad not to wear a Speedo and chase girls half his age because he was on the other side of the world. But her mother was right here, on the big, cedar deck, and Greer was going to give her a piece of her mind. “You really shouldn’t throw yourself at men like that,” Greer asserted. Her mother only smiled, so Greer went on. “Act your age, Mom. And I mean the age you really are, not the age you tell everyone you are.” There. She’d said it. It was mean, maybe, but it had to be done.

  Cassandra reached for a bottle of champagne that was chilling in a silver ice bucket and popped the cork on it loudly. As she poured herself a glass of the golden liquid, she looked right into her daughter’s hazel eyes. “Look,” she said. “I’ve been miserable for the last six months. I’ve come to the beach to have some fun. And I’m going to have it, whether you like it or not.”

  Greer sighed. “So you’re going to start drinking in the afternoon?”

  Cassandra shook her head. “Only today, darling. It’s our first day—a special occasion!” Cassandra smiled mis-chievously. “Summer is for fun, darling. And doesn’t fun mean boys?”

  Greer gazed out through the waving beach grass to the golden sand and the blue ocean beyond them. As much as she hated to admit it, Cassandra had a point. Greer just hoped she could get to the boys before her mother did.

  3

  Lara squinted into the mirror in the big bathroom she was sharing with Greer and Jessica for the summer. On the white, marble surface that surrounded the two deep sinks, Lara had spread out all the makeup she’d brought with her from Chicago. She held two blushes up, one to each cheek, and tried to decide which one looked more appropriate for that sun-kissed, beachy look. Not that she was sun-kissed at all yet; she was still pale from spending her days in the library, studying for finals. After staring confusedly at her cheeks for about five minutes, she put down the blushes and picked up a mineral bronzer, hoping that it would bring some color to her smooth, ivory skin.

  She felt a little silly, honestly. Normally she was a lip-gloss-and-a-swipe-of-mascara kind of girl. She spent her time shopping for funky vintage dresses and jewelry from the sixties like Bakelite bracelets and beaded necklaces, not applying layers of makeup in front of a bathroom vanity. But she wanted to make sure she looked her best at dinner tonight, because it would be the first time she’d seen Drew in a month—and the first time she’d talked to him in three weeks, ever since their phone fight.

  Drew and Lara had met last summer when they both got jobs waiting tables at Ahoy Grill. Their attraction had been immediate—after their job interview, they’d had the best spontaneous date ever—but then later that night, much to their mutual horror, they’d learned that they were step-cousins. That had been a very awkward moment, Lara remembered. And many more awkward moments had followed as they’d tried to ignore their feelings for each other.

  When they couldn’t ignore them any longer, there’d been the problem of keeping their relationship a secret. Because as nice and understanding as the Tuttle family was, Lara didn’t think they were ready to embrace the whole cousins-as-lovers kind of thing. And she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize her mother’s happiness with her new husband, Mike Tuttle. After half a dozen failed marriages, Lonnie Pressman-Tuttle was finally in a relationship that seemed to be working. And for that, Lara was extremely grateful. She’d spent enough nights sitting on the couch with her mother, watching bad Chevy Chase movies and eating Häagen Dazs out of the container, as Lonnie moaned about her latest romantic failure.

  Lara picked up the Wet n Wild lipstick she told Greer and Jessica she didn’t own anymore and put some on her lips. She made a kissy face, decided it looked too pink, and wiped if off again. She considered calling Greer into the bathroom for assistance, but then sighed and went back to work, shuffling through the metal tubes and plastic cases marked Stila, M·A·C, and L’Oréal.

  She’d seen Drew often during the school year by flying to Ithaca over holidays and vacations. She’d told her mother that she wanted to visit Jessica, and Lonnie was more than happy to encourage a good relationship between her daughter and her daughter’s new cousin. Of course, Lara thought with a smile, just which cousin and what sort of relationship was blossoming—well, what Lonnie didn’t know wouldn’t kill her. Anyway, Jessica knew about Drew and Lara, and, after a brief period of disgust and annoyance (“My own brother?” Jessica had wailed. “How could you not have told me?”), she had given the relationship her blessing. And she was always happy to meet Lara at the air-port, right beside Drew, who stood there tall and slender, with appealingly shaggy hair, clutching a bouquet of peonies, her favorite.

  Drew’s parents didn’t suspect anything because Lara slept on the air mattress in Jessica’s room. Lara and Drew carefully planned their alone time around when his parents would be at work or out for dinner, and they managed to sneak in some pretty magical moments.

  The last time Lara had visited, s
he and Drew had walked along the shore as the sun set over one of the Finger Lakes, turning the water pink and orange. Drew brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, which made Lara giggle. “It’s like we’re in some cheesy romance movie or something,” she said. “I mean, look at this sunset; it’s so bright it looks totally fake. Like Brad Pitt should be riding off into it with Angelina Jolie or something.”

  Drew smiled. “Go ahead and laugh,” he said. “I’m not afraid of romance.”

  “You are, too,” she said, poking him in the ribs. “You’re, like, allergic to it.”

  As if to prove her wrong, he kissed her then, gently at first, and then more insistently, and suddenly she’d felt breathless. Her mood became more serious.

  “I think we should tell everyone,” she whispered when he pulled away, “about us.”

  Immediately Drew frowned, and his emerald eyes seemed to go dark. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Disappointment welled up in her—disappointment and confusion. What was the big deal? They weren’t related by blood! And if Jessica could handle the truth, Lara was pretty sure everyone else would be able to, too. She’d only met the rest of the Tuttles last summer, but they seemed like reasonable people.

  Lara had reached out to touch him arm. “But Drew—”

  He shook his head and smiled gently. “Not yet,” he interrupted. “Let’s just be a little patient.” Then he kissed her again, and the sweetness of his lips made her forget about her request for a while.

  That trip had ended on a good note. But the last phone call they’d had—well, that hadn’t gone so great. She’d pressed Drew again to tell his family about their relationship, and he had responded by clamming up. The silence on the other end of the line was deafening.

  After a while she couldn’t stand it. She was annoyed and she let herself sound like it. “What, so you’re just planning on keeping this a secret for the rest of our lives?”

  She could hear Drew inhale and then slowly exhale. “No one said anything about the rest of our lives, Lara,” he said softly.

  Tears sprung immediately to her eyes, and rather than let him hear her cry, she hung up the phone.

  Drew had called her back the next day, apologetic and sweet. He said that long-distance relationships were complicated (“Duh,” she whispered), and then he suggested that they both think hard about what they wanted.

  She knew what she wanted—him!—but she didn’t say it, not then. She wanted Drew to say that he wanted her first. The problem was, he hadn’t; after that conversation, he never called back. And though Lara was normally the type to take the relationship bull by its emotional horns, she was too hurt to call him. So while she waited for her phone to ring, three whole weeks had gone by, and here it was, mid-June, and they still hadn’t talked.

  Lara wasn’t an idiot. She was pretty sure this was Drew’s way of breaking up with her. Either that or they were in the longest fight they’d ever been in. (And practically the only fight they’d ever been in.) She was mad at Drew, without a doubt, but she still missed him terribly. She was anxious for his arrival, even if she’d have to keep her true feelings about him a secret from everyone but Jessica and Greer.

  That was why it was so important for her to look good. She was hoping that Drew would fall for her all over again, and that he’d be so apologetic about his behavior that he’d leap up out of the deck chair overlooking the Maine ocean and dash over and sweep her up in his arms. She figured that she could forgive him pretty quickly if that was how it played out.

  After another half an hour of preening, Lara was ready to go. She gave herself one last look in the mirror. The bronzer had given her a healthy glow, and the peachy blush just about screamed “sun-kissed.” She’d put some black mascara and a dab of gold eye shadow on, which made her blue eyes seem electric. She straightened her shirt—a sweet little vintage peasant number she’d picked up at a boutique in Wicker Park—and then made her way downstairs.

  The big, white kitchen and the giant, modern living room were empty. Everyone must be on the deck enjoying the ocean air, Lara thought. Her heart hammering, she put the tiniest of smiles on her face and walked expectantly out the great glass doors.

  The breeze, cool and salty, blew her short, dark hair back and ruffled the lace on her blouse. She breathed deeply, thrilled to be back in Pebble Beach, as she scanned the porch for the one person she most wanted to see.

  She spotted Greer and Jessica nibbling on crudités in the corner. To their left were Uncle Carr and her new stepdad, Mike, who were standing over the grill and arguing about how long the swordfish ought to be cooked. Her mother was laughing with Aunt Trudy, who was wearing a ridiculous pink sun hat. The whole clan was there, basking in the afternoon sunlight—everyone, that is, but Drew and his older brother, Jordan.

  Lara fought a sinking feeling in her stomach as she walked over to her aunt Clare. “Looks like the gang’s all here. But where’s Drew?” she asked as casually as she could.

  Clare took a sip of her rosé and smiled brightly. “Oh, he and his brother decided that they’re going to be counselors at that camp they used to go to in Vermont. You know boys—you think they’re going to do one thing and the next minute they do another.”

  Lara was so surprised that she couldn’t even respond. Drew—gone for the summer? What about the plans they’d made—before they broke up? They were supposed to work at Ahoy Grill again together, and go sailing, and they were going to walk along the beach holding hands beneath the stars. And they were going to make out in the hot tub overlooking the ocean and go see rock shows in town and…and…

  “What’s the matter, dear?” Clare asked gently.

  Lara looked up at her and tried to smile. She couldn’t believe that she was only finding out about Drew’s plans now. Why hadn’t Jessica said anything? She shook her head confusedly at her aunt. “Oh, n-nothing,” she stammered. “I just have a headache all of a sudden. I think I’m going to go sit down.”

  Dazed, she made her way over to Jessica and Greer.

  “Hi, cuz!” Jessica cried, then bit into a carrot. Her T-shirt had GAP in big blue letters and a little piece of carrot on it that she’d apparently failed to get in her mouth.

  Lara absolutely did not want them to know she was upset. She hated looking vulnerable even more than she hated clowns, snakes, and people who drove Hummers. She put on a brave face and sat down next to them. “So it’s just us girls this summer,” she said, keeping her voice casual and light. “No big brothers to slow you down, right, Jessica?”

  Jessica smiled. “I know! I’ll miss them, won’t you? It’ll be so different.”

  Lara tossed her head and pulled her Ray-Ban wayfarers down over her eyes. She realized that Jessica must have assumed she already knew about Drew’s plans—which frankly was not an unreasonable assumption.

  But he hadn’t told her. He hadn’t called her back, and he hadn’t told her that he wasn’t coming to Pebble Beach. Lara felt her heart squeeze. There was no denying it now, no hoping or wishing for another outcome. It was really and truly over with Drew before it had even really begun.

  Lara refused to get mopey about it.

  She snuck a beer out of the cooler and poured some into a blue plastic cup. “You’re right it’s going to be different,” she announced firmly. “Different in a better way. Right, ladies?” At that, she raised her glass and drained it, as Greer laughed and Jessica clapped.

  She put the cup down and wiped her mouth defiantly. She was spending the summer in a gorgeous Maine beach town and she was definitely single. “Let the party begin!”

  4

  Greer lingered by the pool at Chace Warner’s house, gazing at the masses of people welcoming the summer season with stiff cocktails and shrimp on skewers. She saw a few of the boys she’d met last year, as well as plenty of fresh faces to pique her curiosity. As she leaned back in a lounge chair and crossed one long, tanned leg over the other (she’d made sure to get a base tan at the CLAY spa
before arriving in Maine), she was pleased to see that there was no shortage of cute members of the male species. She saw one guy with a Yale T-shirt give her gams an appreciative look. She smirked to herself and took a sip of beer. Boys were so predictable.

  Over in the far corner of the vast lawn, Jessica and Connor were getting reacquainted, an activity which, as far as Greer could tell, involved more kissing than talking. Not that she blamed Jessica! It was a beautiful June night in a beautiful beach town—it was the kind of night just made for making out.

  Peering over the rim of her glass, she inspected her fellow partygoers more closely. Surely there was someone here worth kissing, she thought. Chace Warner had certainly wanted to kiss her, she reflected, smiling faintly. The Dartmouth sophomore responsible for the party had casually mentioned to Greer that he was single, rich, and looking for a girlfriend—all within five minutes of her arrival—but Greer had coolly brushed him off. She preferred come-ons that had at least a touch of subtlety. After all, Chace seemed to be talking to her boobs the whole time. And though Greer’s boobs, cradled in their black Victoria’s Secret push-up bra, were truly impressive, they were not very good conversationalists, which was why Greer objected when men talked at them like that.

  Speaking of conversations, she knew she ought to be making some with the other people at the party but she preferred to remain aloof. This way she could focus on her own thoughts.

  Thoughts like how, against her will, she still missed Brady. After so many misunderstandings last summer, it seemed as though they’d finally figured things out. They both cared for each other enough to try to make it work long distance: Greer had flown to Maine in October, and then they spent New Year’s together in Manhattan. Instead of going out to a club (Brady claimed that clubs were too loud), they watched the ball drop on a flat-screen TV at the Fifth Avenue penthouse of one of Greer’s classmates, and they kissed at midnight, drunk on champagne and each other.