“Dude! Thank God you called! I need wardrobe help.”
“Hey, graduate! Whatever you need. You going out to celebrate?”
“I’m spending the weekend with Thomas, actually. He’s taking me away somewhere. It’s a surprise.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
“Hello?” I said.
Charlie sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Oh, well hey, try to contain your enthusiasm,” I snarked.
“Whatever. Mom told me not to hassle you, so I won’t, but I draw the line at pretending I’m happy about something that I’m not.”
I thought of saying, “Oh, like how we all pretend when it comes to your dick-bag boyfriend?” but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Why did you call, sis? Because you are seriously harshing my buzz right now. I’m about to hang up unless you can come up with a legit reason for me not to.”
She sighed again, and I held the phone away from my ear, trying to resist the urge to throw it at the wall.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Thanks.”
“Alright, where are you going?” she asked.
“Told you. Surprise. But he said we aren’t leaving the state. Although he also said to bring a bathing suit, so take that for what it’s worth.”
“There’s probably a hot tub where you are going, then. You certainly won’t be reclining on the beaches of Maine in December.”
“True.”
“Okay, bring your sexiest lingerie, obviously, but also something a little sweeter, more demure for when you have some downtime.”
“Okay.” I put the phone on speaker and pulled open drawers, throwing clothes into my suitcase as she spoke.
“A pair of jeans, skinny, and a pair of boots, the ones I bought you last Christmas.”
“Got it.” I raced to the closet, grabbed the boots and threw them at the bed.
“Throw in a few V-neck tees, and that sparkly pink cashmere cowl-neck sweater. You look fantastic in that.”
“Aw, thanks baby sister,” I cooed.
“Shut up.” She laughed. “Okay, I assume you need a fancy dress?”
“Yes, he did specify that.”
“Go with black. That scoop-neck little black mini-dress you have, the one with the gathered bust and the fitted waist.”
“It’s all beaded along the hem,” I said. “Is that overkill?”
“Absolutely. Pack it.”
“Okay. You’re the genius.”
“Yes I am,” she said. “Here’s why. Bathing suit. Pack the one you met him in. The pink vintage bikini.”
“Oh crap, you are a genius,” I said as I held the suit aloft. “And I’m freaking hungry.” My stomach growled angrily, so I grabbed the phone and headed to the kitchen for a slice of toast.
“Have you spoken to Mom yet?” Charlie asked as I waited for the toaster.
“No, what’s up?”
“Mason and I are coming for Christmas.”
“Yay!” I yelled into the phone. My toast popped up. I grabbed a knife and a jar of blackberry jam from the fridge.
“Yeah, well…it should be nice.” Her tone suggested she thought it would be anything but.
“It will, it will be awesome,” I said as I slathered the toast with jam. “I mean, I couldn’t give a shit about Mason, of course,” I said, lifting the toast to my mouth for a bite.
“Janie, don’t start.”
“Oh shit!” I screamed. “NO NO NO!”
“What? What the fuck?”
“Oh dammit dammit dammit.” I stood, paralyzed, staring at my pink bikini. It lay between my phone and the toaster, currently decorated by a huge blob of blackberry jam.
“Major fucking wardrobe malfunction, Claremont! Fucking jam on my fucking bikini.”
Charlie laughed. She laughed so hard she started coughing and I had to threaten her with bodily harm before she calmed down enough to talk me through my crisis.
“Ha ha; karma,” she said. “That’s what you get for being mean about Mason.”
“Oh my God, if the gods smote everyone on the planet that ever said anything mean about Mason, there’d be about four people left.”
“Hey!”
“Okay, sorry, just help!”
“Club soda, in your pantry. I know it’s there, I left it there myself two summers ago.”
“Fucking hell, you brilliant lifesaver. I love you, I love you, I love you.”
“Careful, don’t scrub! That suit is vintage so the dye job is fragile. Just splash it on and let it sit, massage very lightly then wash the entire suit so that the color isn’t uneven.”
“That means a trip to the laundromat.”
“Yeah, so?”
“I’m just on a tight schedule today,” I said, looking at the clock. “Gotta run.”
“No problem. Talk later. Have fun having sex with your teacher.”
“Fuck you.” I laughed.
“No thanks.” She laughed back and hung up the phone.
Two seconds later my mother called.
“Mom,” I said, breathless into the phone as I pulled on a pair of shoes, grabbed my coat, purse and keys and headed for the door. “You are calling to congratulate me, to tell me how proud you are, to tell me you love me, and to ask me if I have plans to celebrate this momentous occasion.”