Nantucket Blue

Thirty-four





THE NEXT DAY, I was cleaning off the tables on the patio after the breakfast rush when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. A text. I thought it was going to be Zack, who’d sometimes send me a quick message when he woke up; or maybe Liz, who sent me ridiculous sex tips throughout the day with suggestions for various positions. But it was Jules.

Meet me for lunch at the Even Keel?

I texted back immediately. My hand was shaking.

Yes! When?

Noon.

I work until 3

We usually finished by two thirty, but I’d need some time to get my head together.

3:30?

OK C U then.

“Put that phone down,” Bernadette said as she wiped down the tables, piling dirty cloth napkins in the laundry basket. “This isn’t break time.” I was too stunned to let Bernadette’s tone bother me. I slipped my phone back in my pocket and carried an armload of dirty dishes into the kitchen, where Gavin was mixing something up in a ceramic bowl.

“Try this,” he said, handing the batter-covered rubber spatula for me to sample. He was expanding his afternoon cookie repertoire lately, experimenting with new flavors. I ran my finger along the spatula’s edge and tasted the sweet batter.

“Lime?” I asked.

“New recipe,” Gavin said. “What do you think?”

“It’s sweet and tart. It’s kinda…complicated,” I said.

“Complicated, huh? That’s not exactly what I’m going for with my cookies.”

“I mean complex,” I said. I was mixing up my own recipe inside as I thought about seeing Jules. There was a half a cup of guilt over the fact that I was secretly dating her brother, a tablespoon of ice-cold fear that she’d found out about Zack and me, two pinches of boiling anger when I remembered how she’d acted at that party, a teaspoon of whipped hope that she missed me as much as I missed her, and a sprinkling of giddiness that I might get my best friend back.

Gavin sighed. “Well, I guess ‘complex’ could be good.” He used a tablespoon to drop the batter on a cookie sheet.

“Lime cookies will taste so good with your sweet peach sun tea.”

“Now, that’s a good idea, Cricket.” Gavin’s face brightened, his big smile deepening the lines around his mouth and revealing his slightly tea-stained teeth. “I knew I hired you for a reason.” If I thought sweet peach sun tea would make this conversation with Jules easier, I’d have downed a gallon.

I was shaking when I entered the busy café. It was noisy with fifty conversations. It was 3:28 and the place was still slamming. I scanned the room for Jules, hoping that I’d arrived first. She wasn’t inside, so I walked to the back patio. Jules was sitting at a shady table, a cup of coffee in hand. My ears started to hum. She looked up and waved, a half smile on her face.

“Hey. How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. I was so relieved when the waitress approached almost immediately. I ordered a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea.

“I’m all set with coffee,” Jules said to the waitress.

“Oh,” I said, feeling dumb that I was going to be the only one eating. She had said lunch in her text, right? Shit. I wasn’t even hungry.

“I already ate,” she said with a shrug. “So, what’s going on with you?”

I’m wearing a thong! I want to tell her. I went swimming with a boy! Buck-ass naked! I think I’m in love. With your brother!

“Not much,” I said, folding my hands in front of me on the table. We were like those people we would see at The Coffee Exchange in Providence on Internet dates. While we were doing homework we listened to people on coffee dates have the world’s most awkward conversations. We’d pass notes back and forth with our commentary. He just wants to squeeze her big boobs, Jules once wrote on my social studies folder as a girl went on and on about feminist theory and her bearded date made noises of pretend interest. She’s refusing to mention his vampire fangs! I scribbled to Jules on the corner of her math homework another time when a guy at the next table polished his fake fangs with his index finger while his date talked about her dance class. And he’s dying to discuss!

We sat there for another thirty seconds in awkward silence, each of us taking in the café surroundings as if we were foreigners observing American island culture. Finally, I just came out with it. “Let me just start by saying that I’m really glad you texted me. I’ve been so, so worried about you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Cricket.”

“But, Jules. I care about you. I’m your…friend.” I’d stopped myself from saying best friend.

“My mom died,” she said. “You can’t expect me to act normal.”

“No,” I said. “I know.”

“You have to let me act how I want to,” she said. The tips of her ears reddened.

“But even if you want to act mean? Like telling Jay what I said about his brother. Do you like him?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why did you do that?” The waitress dropped off my iced tea. I looked her in the eye and smiled. “Thank you so much,” I said. If she overheard any of this, I wanted her to be on my side. I pounded the straw out of its paper case and took a long drink.

“I was drunk, and it just came out.”

“Yeah, well, thanks. He’ll never go out with me now. And that night, at the party, you were acting like a different person.”

“I am different,” she said, as if I were proving her point.

“But you’re still you,” I said. “You’re still Jules Clayton.”

“I’m not,” she said.

“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“My family is mine. You’ve been acting like it’s yours.”

“We were all acting like that,” I said, my voice trembling with hurt. I crossed my arms. “You invited me to spend the night all the time. Nina always set a place for me at the table. Even on school nights. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Jules raised her eyebrows at me. “What? What did I do?”

“The memorial service?” She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I looked at her blankly. The Caesar salad landed in front of me.

“Fresh pepper?” the waitress asked.

“No, thank you.” I turned back to Jules. “What did I do?”

“You weren’t supposed to talk,” Jules said. She sat back and folded her arms.

“But I asked you afterward, remember? And you said it was fine. You said it was great.”

“Mom had just died,” she whispered. “I didn’t know what I was saying.”

I stared at the salad I knew I wasn’t going to be able to eat. “I thought…I mean, when you were up there you looked like you were about to laugh or die. You even said yourself that you were freaking out.”

“It wasn’t your place. She wasn’t your mom. She was mine.”

“I thought I was helping,” I said.

“Well, you were wrong.”

“Your dad didn’t mind. Zack didn’t mind.”

“I did,” Jules said. I sat back, inhaling the coffee-scented café air. I didn’t want to be wrong and I didn’t want her to be right, but as I watched her shoulders rising and falling with deep, shaky breaths, it was so clear.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really, really sorry.” I wanted to fling myself over the table and hug her. I wanted to reach out and touch her hands. She put her hands in her lap in such a way that made me feel like I might never be able to touch her again. I balled up my hands. My eyes filled.

“Sometimes I think I smell her perfume,” I said, wiping the tears away with a stiff napkin. “It happened once when I got off the ferry, and again when I was walking past The White Elephant. Does that ever happen to you? Do you ever smell her perfume?”

“Marc Jacobs perfume is really popular.” Jules shook her head and stirred her coffee. I sensed I was annoying her. I willed my tears to stop. “Look, I can’t explain how I’m feeling, but that’s the thing. I don’t want to explain how I’m feeling, and I shouldn’t have to. No one else is asking me to.”

“Okay,” I said. “I understand.” I pushed the salad around on my plate. “What made you text me?”

“Zack,” she said. “Freak boy.”

“Oh.” My shoulders caved as guilt flooded my chest.

“He said I owed it to you to at least tell you why I was mad. He believes in discussing feelings.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh,” I said, and slid the pepper toward her, wondering if she’d build a leaning pepper tower like she always did at school.

“So what are you doing for your birthday? It’s on Tuesday, right?” she asked, ignoring the pepper.

“Yeah. I think the people at the inn are going to have a little party maybe.”

“That sounds nice,” she said. I met her eyes. “I better go. I’m working tonight.” She picked up her bag like it weighed a hundred pounds. “Look, I feel bad, okay? I know you didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay.”

“And I know I’ve been a total bitch.” She closed her eyes, defeated, and then swung her bag over her shoulder and sighed.

“It’s okay.”

“Happy birthday, Cricket.” She smiled. It wasn’t a real smile. But it was close.