Nantucket Blue

Thirty-five





“I’D KILL FOR YOUR FLAXEN TRESSES,” Liz said over the noise of the hair dryer. I was sitting in front of the vanity in her room in my bathrobe. She had put hot curlers in my hair a half hour ago, and now she was taking them out, revealing wavy perfection. My hair had never looked so good. I’d thought curlers were for grandmas, but now I was thinking I needed to ask for a set of these for Christmas.

“You’re giving me magazine hair!” I clapped.

“Tonight is the night,” Liz said.

“I don’t know about that,” I said.

“Oh, who are you kidding?” Liz said, laughing.

“Seriously, I can’t do it with this guy, but I still want to look hot.”

“You’re going to torture this poor bloke,” Liz said.

Zack was taking me out on a real date for my birthday, which was technically at 12:31 a.m. He wanted to be with me the moment I turned eighteen, so we were celebrating Monday night. We were going out to dinner at Gigi’s, the place where he worked as a busboy and one of the nicest, most expensive restaurants on Nantucket. It was not a place for children. It was a place for women in high heels and expensive dresses and men in ties and loafers. I’d peeked in the windows once and seen a grown couple making out.

“Are you sure you want to take me there?” I’d asked Zack when he told me the plan. The cheapest thing on the menu was the bleu cheese hamburger, and it was thirty-three dollars. But he’d said yes. He and the chef, Anne-Marie, had become friends this summer.

“Anne-Marie promised me an unforgettable meal, on the house. And Jeff, the manager, said he’d turn a blind eye if I happened to bring in a bottle of champagne, which you know I have.”

“Are you sure your dad won’t miss that champagne?”

“Uh, yeah,” Zack said. “I’m sure.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Eight o’clock.”

I was a little worried about people seeing us together. Every day felt like an extension on a paper, one more day of putting off something we had to do—break it off. But every day also tasted like ice cream. And I always wanted another bite.

I’d been thinking about this date all day while I cleaned. After Liz and I finished the rooms, I checked in with George, who was now communicating only with hand signals. The particular one he was giving me meant go away.

So I took a long shower, using the Bumble and bumble shampoo a guest had left behind. I’d waited a week for the guest to call and reclaim it, but there hadn’t been a word. The shampoo was mine. I sat down in the shower to shave my legs. I toweled off, put on some nice lotion, and once I was completely dry, I slipped the green dress over my head. I looked in the mirror. Perfection. Liz insisted I put a robe over my dress as she did my hair and makeup.

“Ouch,” I said, when one of her curlers snagged, pulling my hair.

“Well, do you want to be beautiful or do you want to be comfortable?” Liz asked as she untangled it.

“Can’t I be both?” I asked.

“No,” she said, slapping some product on her hands and twisting the ends of my hair. “You must choose. Beauty or comfort.”

“Fine,” I said. “Beauty.”

“Good girl.”