The Last Best Kiss

by Claire Lazebnik

  “Whatever,” Eric says. “No one’s answered my question.”

  “We can have wine,” Hilary says. “Our parents are cool with that.”

  “What about beer?”

  “Our parents are cool with wine,” she repeats. “Take it or leave it, Manolo.”

  He looks at Phoebe like he needs to check with her—another sign that something’s going on with them. She flicks her light brown hair behind her shoulders and says, “Wine sounds good to me. Do you have rosé?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll check.” Hilary opens a door in the back corner of the kitchen. It’s filled with intersecting diagonal shelves; a bottle nestles in every diamond-shaped hole. There are dozens of holes, dozens of bottles.

  Hil picks out two bottles and brings them back to the counter. “No rosé, sorry, Phee. Just red and white. Who wants what?” She hands Finn a bottle opener, and he sets to work uncorking the bottles.

  “Hold on!” Lily says. “I have an idea.” She grabs a glass from one of the cabinets. “Phoebe, this is for you.” She fills it partway with red and then adds some white and holds out the glass. “Look! Instant rosé!”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that,” Oscar says.

  She makes a face at him. “They made fun of Thomas Edison too.”

  “Actually I don’t think they did,” Finn says. “As far as I know, he was well-respected in his own lifetime.”

  “But they would have laughed at him if he’d mixed red and white wine,” I say.

  “Phoebe? Back me up here,” says Lily. “Tell them it’s delicious.”

  “I’m not drinking it,” Phoebe says, backing away.

  “Fine. I’ll drink it.” Lily takes a big sip. “Delicious. You guys are cowards. Take a chance on something new.”

  “What the hell,” Finn says. “I’ll take a Lily-rosé.”

  She grins at him. “You’re not a coward.”

  “Maybe not,” I say. “But he did just give in to peer pressure.”

  Oscar laughs. “Anna’s right. You may be a maverick, Lil, but Finn’s just following your lead.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that,” he says. “You follow Lily, you’re going to end up somewhere interesting.” They clink glasses and toast each other.

  That wasn’t the point I was trying to make.

  Later, after we’ve all agreed that wine and pizza make the best combination ever, Lily declares that she wants to make brownies. When she can’t find a brownie mix in the pantry, she pouts for a while and then brightens up. “I’ll make some from scratch! What goes into a brownie? Flour? Sugar? Eggs?”

  “Look up a recipe,” Hilary says.

  “That takes all the fun out of it.” Lily disappears into the pantry. “Just you wait,” she calls out. “These are going to be fantastic.”

  “Can we watch a movie?” Oscar asks Hilary, who says, “Absolutely.”

  Finn stays with Lily in the kitchen while the rest of us head back to the sofas in the family-room area. Eric and Phoebe are already sitting close together. They move apart when we enter. Then shift back again. I cock my head at Phoebe, who shrugs at me with an uneasy smile. I give her a surreptitious thumbs-up, and she looks relieved.

  Oscar and I squeeze into a big armchair together. He’s nice and warm, and I’m cozy and a little sleepy from the wine and exhausted from taking the SATs that morning and at risk of falling asleep until Eric talks Hilary into live streaming Arachnophobia, which is an old movie about enormous spiders and not at all the kind of thing that puts you to sleep. I am, in fact, wide awake (and clutching Oscar’s arm so hard, he has to ask me to stop) when Lily comes in with her pan of brownies. She sets it down on the coffee table and orders Hilary to pause the movie.

  When she tries to cut the brownies, they turn to mush under the knife. They’re very runny and slimy.

  “They look not unlike turds,” Oscar whispers to me as Lily scoops out pieces and passes them around on napkins. People take their first tentative bites. We instantly recoil, one by one.

  “Ugh!” says Hilary, wiping her tongue with a napkin. “Lily, these are disgusting. They’re, like, raw. And they taste weird.”

  “Yeah,” Lily says cheerfully, spitting her bite back onto the napkin. “My brownies suck.”

  “They really do,” Finn agrees.

  “Toss them here,” Lily says, holding out the pan. “I’ll throw them out.”

  “And next time use a recipe,” Hilary says as we hand back our brownies.

  “Never!” As Lily stands up, a napkin-wrapped brownie falls out of the pan onto the floor. She kicks it toward the kitchen. Bits of goo fly out of it.

  “What are you doing?” her sister says. “Pick it up!”

  “Score!” Lily says as she kicks it again with a giggle.

  “You’re making a mess!”

  Oscar puts his mouth to my ear. “Here’s the thing,” he whispers. “I love John Green as much as the next gay teen. But the whole manic-pixie-dream-girl thing? It gets a little annoying in real life.”

  I kind of agree with him and can’t help glancing over at Finn, to see what he thinks. Except I can’t see his face, because he’s on his feet, bending down, carefully using a napkin to pick up the brownie crumbs off the floor. When he stands up, his back is still to me, but I hear Lily say to him, “A noble experiment, right?”

  Finn’s back shrugs. He says something I can’t hear. All I know is that Lily looks—for just a second—uncharacteristically uncertain. Maybe even embarrassed. Then she turns around and goes on into the kitchen.

  And Finn follows her.

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  Eight

  Wade Porter and I have been texting. Nothing too major—we just check in with each other every now and then. We keep agreeing that we should hang out together sometime, but with the SATs hanging over us for the last couple of weeks, that just wasn’t going to happen.

  But now they’re over, and I get this:

  Could I drop by your house just to say hi on Tues evening? I have a physics test that morning and need something to look forward to.

  I didn’t think we were at the dropping-by-each-other’s-houses stage of things yet, but why not? I text back a Sure and my address.

  Dad’s home and in his office when I hear the doorbell. I race down the stairs to get to the door before Wade rings again—Dad will ignore a first ring on the assumption I’ll get it, but a second one risks bringing him out, and I don’t really want to launch into the whole introduction thing.

  I fling open the door.

  Only it’s not Wade—it’s Ginny Clay.

  “Hi, Anna!” she sings out. “Surprise!”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. That sounds too rude. I fix it. “I mean, hi, what are you doing here?”

  She squeezes by me. She’s wearing cigarette jeans and a shrunken cardigan over a long, narrow top. Her blond hair is sleek on her shoulders. She’s carrying a brown paper bag with a fragrant baguette sticking out of the top.

  “I just found the most amazing new gourmet food store in Santa Monica,” she says. “I wanted to buy everything there, but I couldn’t just buy it for myself, and then I remembered how you’re all such foodies in your family, and so I figured I’d satisfy my greed by buying everything I wanted to for you guys.”

  “Really?” I say. “You bought us food? For no reason?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She’s still smiling. “Is your dad home?”

  “I’ll get him.” I’m halfway down the back hallway before I realize she’s followed me.

  I knock on Dad’s office door and get permission to open it.

  “Surprise!” Ginny sings out as she pushes by me and enters.

  Dad looks slightly stunned by her sudden appearance. He’s not used to being interrupted when he’s working, and he’s definitely not used to people barging into his
office. But his social skills are strong. “Ginny,” he says. “How nice to see you.” He snatches his reading glasses off of his face and puts them on his desk, then runs his hand through his hair, settling it all in place. He rises to his feet. “To what do we owe the honor?”

  Ginny repeats the explanation she gave me. “You’ve taken me out to such nice meals,” she says at the end. “I wanted to give something back. Can I show you what I got?”

  “Not here,” my dad says hastily. Food is not allowed in his office. “In the kitchen. In the kitchen.”

  In the kitchen Ginny unloads her purchases. The crusty baguette. Some kind of fig jam. A soft cheese I’ve never seen before. Dark Belgian chocolate. Pickled miniature vegetables. A bottle of red wine. And a small carton of quail eggs.

  “How cute are these?” she says, showing us the tiny speckled shells in their little carton.

  Dad says, “This is all just terrific, but I’m afraid I ate a late lunch today.”

  “And I had an enormous sub a couple of hours ago,” I say.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” Ginny says, a little too brightly. It’s seven thirty, and I’m sure she thought she’d be getting to us right around our dinnertime, but the truth is, we don’t actually bother with sit-down meals in our house: Dad and I just eat when we’re hungry. And I’m usually starving right after school. And then again later, but that’s just for stuff like ice cream and brownies. And popcorn. And chips. She says, “This will keep. I didn’t mean for us to eat it tonight necessarily. It’s really more of a house gift.” She gives a little stilted laugh.

  “Well, thank you,” says my father. He clears his throat. “Can you stay for a glass of wine?”

  She says eagerly, “Only if you’re not busy. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”

  “A pleasant interruption is far more enjoyable than the work I was doing,” Dad says gallantly. He stands up a little straighter. “Anna, get the wineglasses.”

  I get out three. He pours two and puts down the bottle. I pick it up and pour a little bit into the third glass. “Cheers,” I say, and drink it.

  Dad shoots me a look, but he lets it go.

  “Shall I put out the bread and cheese too?” asks Ginny, who’s probably starving.

  “Sure,” Dad says amiably. “We’ll have a little party. Anna, get out a cheese board.”

  I hand Ginny a cheese board from the drawer, then pour myself a little more wine.

  “Enough,” Dad says, just as the doorbell rings. “Who could that be?” he asks.

  “A friend of mine.” I put down my wineglass and speed out of there.

  This time it really is Wade. He’s waiting there on our front step, looking slim and handsome in a polo shirt and khakis. And a belt. And loafers. He seems kind of dressed up, actually. Like for a date. Only we’re not going on a date—he’s just dropping by to hang out, right?

  Which is why I’m wearing sweatpants and a hoodie and a ponytail.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey.” He leans forward and pecks at my cheek.

  Well, this is awkward.

  I say, “Come on in.”

  “Who’s here?” he asks as he steps over the threshold and hears Dad’s and Ginny’s voices coming from the kitchen.

  “My dad and a friend.”

  “His girlfriend?”

  “No! God, no.”

  “Oh, sorry. Who is she?”

  “Just this friend of my sister’s. She teaches at my school now.”

  “So your sister’s here too?” I shake my head, and he says, “She’s your sister’s friend, but she’s here even though your sister isn’t?”

  “Yeah, but I have no idea why. Let’s just go to the family room so we don’t have to deal with them.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says. “I like meeting people.”

  I shake my head—I can imagine the little knowing smile Ginny will give me when she sees Wade and assumes it’s romantic. Which it may or may not be. I’m honestly not sure yet. But Wade’s already heading toward the sound of their voices, so I follow him into the kitchen.

  Ginny looks up from the bread she’s smearing with fig spread and spots Wade. “Well, hello there,” she says. “You must be the reason Anna went running for the door so quickly.” She gives me a sly wink.

  I reluctantly introduce everyone.

  My father strides forward to shake Wade’s hand. “Good to meet you.”

  “Great to meet you too, sir,” says Wade, pumping away enthusiastically. Sir? Boys in California don’t say “sir.” Do they? “Has Anna told you how we’re related?”

  My dad shakes his head, so Wade explains that we’re cousins. Dad asks what his mother’s maiden name was, and Wade tells him, and Dad says, “Oh, yes, I know exactly who she is. I met her mother—your grandmother—a few times when I was a lot younger. Please send them both my regards.”

  “I will,” Wade says.

  “Are you two kids hungry?” Ginny asks, like she’s our hostess. Like this is her kitchen. “We have tons of food. Cheese, bread . . . quail eggs . . .”

  “Oops, too bad—I had quail eggs for lunch today,” Wade says, and Dad and Ginny laugh appreciatively.

  “How about some bread and cheese?” Ginny says.

  “Sure,” Wade says with a quick glance at me.

  I shrug, and we join them on the stools around the kitchen island. It wasn’t exactly how I wanted the visit to go, but the bread and cheese are good, and I’m hungrier than I realized.

  Somehow—I’m not sure how or why—we get onto the subject of colleges. I guess it’s inevitable. It’s all anyone asks us seniors about, and it’s all we think about, so conversations these days always seem to end up there.

  Ginny asks Wade if he’s applying early anywhere, and he says, “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s probably ridiculous, because it’s such a long shot . . . but it is the best school out there, and I figure I have no chance of getting in if I don’t even try, right?”

  “That’s the spirit,” says Ginny.

  My dad nods absently, because he’s reading something on his phone.

  Wade raises his voice slightly. “You went to Stanford, didn’t you, Mr. Eliot?”

  Dad looks up. “I did. Best four years of my life. Eight years, if you count law school.”

  “Law school definitely counts,” Ginny says.

  Wade says, “Any advice for someone desperate to get in?”

  “Yes,” Dad says. “Get good grades and do well on the SATs.”

  “I’m working on it,” Wade says.

  “I’ve done quite a bit of alumni interviewing for Stanford,” Dad says. “We’re always looking for the exceptional.”

  “The exceptional. Got it. Will you be interviewing this year, sir?”

  Sir again.

  “Not this year, no. When you have a child applying, they make you take the year off.”

  “But she’s not actually applying to Stanford, right?” Wade looks at me for corroboration, and I nod.

  “I’m hoping Anna will change her mind,” Dad says, which is probably true, since he’s said that to me several times. If we spent more time together, it would probably stress me out, but he can only put pressure on me when he’s actually with me, so it hasn’t been too big an issue.

  “I wouldn’t get in, anyway,” I say.

  “Oh, Anna,” says Ginny, who clearly enjoys saying “Oh, Anna” to me. “That sounds like fear talking. Wade’s got the right idea—you have to take the shot if you want a chance to make the goal.”

  “I don’t know why you think I’m so afraid of everything,” I say irritably. I drop a bread crust down onto my plate. “I’m not.”

  “I worry that you’re holding yourself back out of a fear of looking stupid.”

  “How nice for you that you don’t have that problem,” I say sweetly.

  “Funny,” she says icily. She glances at Dad, but he’s looking at his phone again.

  “You done yet?” I ask Wade, who obligingly slides
off his stool, even though he still has a chunk of bread and cheese in front of him.

  I was thinking we’d go to the family room and hang out there for a little while—maybe watch some TV and talk—but in the hallway he says he should probably get back to his homework and college applications. At the door we say good-bye, and then he bends down to kiss me. He kisses my cheek, straightens up, hesitates, and then leans back down and kisses me again, on the lips this time. It’s light and brief, but it’s definitely on my lips. Then he smiles at me and leaves.

  I call Lucy to ask her what she thinks that meant.

  “He likes you,” she says without any hesitation.

  “It was a very quick kiss.”

  “Well, did you respond? Pull him back in?”

  “Not really. Did I mention it was very quick? I mean, his lips landed and then were gone. Stealth kiss.”

  “How’d you feel about it?”

  “Fine. I felt fine about it.”

  “Calm down,” she says sarcastically. “You’re fogging up my phone.”

  “I don’t not like him. I’m just not sure I like him yet. I was hoping I’d have a better sense after he came over tonight, but we spent the whole time with my dad and Ginny.”

  “Who’s Ginny?”

  “Ginny Clay.”

  That only confuses her more. “Why was Ginny Clay at your house if Lizzie wasn’t there?”

  It takes a while to explain the whole Ginny Clay story, so we never get back to our discussion of Wade, which is maybe just as well. What insight could Lucy have into the viability of this relationship when she doesn’t know anything more than I can tell her?

  And when you toss around phrases like “viability of this relationship,” doesn’t that sort of mean you’re not in love?

  But why aren’t I in love? Wade is perfect.

  I’ll have to work harder at falling in love with him. That’s all. I need a boyfriend so I can stop lying in bed at night wondering whether Finn and Lily have finally decided to stop worrying about Hilary’s feelings and let themselves become a couple.

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