33
McKenzie
W
hen I woke in the morning, I found myself alone in my big bed. I could smell coffee brewing; the scent of Lilly’s perfume was still on my pillow. When I rolled over, I was surprised to see that the digital clock displayed nine forty. I couldn’t believe I’d slept in so late on such an important morning.
I dressed and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the room, trying on a paisley scarf, discarding it, and then putting on a ball cap. I had a collection now. I tugged on the brim, then yanked off the hat and tossed it.
I studied myself in the mirror for a minute and found I was caught between feeling self-conscious about my fuzzy head and the sentiment of liberation. Why was I bothering with the hats? They’d all seen me without it last night. No one had even commented on it. And Chris wouldn’t know that I’d once had long red hair. And she already knew I had terminal cancer.
Looking at myself, I suddenly saw a correlation. All these years, Aurora had assumed we would think less of her if we knew she had killed Buddy to save herself. It hurt me; it hurt all of us to think we would judge her. Was I doing the same thing to them, underestimating my friends, on a smaller scale? Why did I think any of them cared what my head looked like? It certainly wouldn’t be an issue for me if it were one of them who was sick. Weren’t we beyond such trivial things?
I left the hats and scarves on the dresser, put on my silver starfish earrings, and went out into the living room. I stopped at the bathroom, then followed the smell of the coffee, wondering if I dared try a cup. Maybe just a half cup, black or with a little sugar? It smelled so good.
In the kitchen, Lilly was busy arranging bacon on crumpled foil on a cookie sheet. She was dressed in her signature capris and a cute top with an apron tied around her waist. Lilly is the only person I have ever known, other than my grandmother, who has ever worn an apron. Janine and Aurora sat on stools at the island, sipping from mugs.
“McKenzie!” Lilly waved both hands. “She’s on her way. She’ll be here any minute. I’ll get you a cup of tea. I found a teapot. I knew it was here somewhere,” she chattered. “No loose tea, but I still think it’s nice, brewing it in a teapot. Don’t you?” She poured water from the teakettle into a white-and-yellow primrose teapot. It had to have been something she’d brought from home, sometime in the past. It was too cutesy to be anything the three of us would have brought.
I looked from Aurora to Janine. Neither looked worse for wear after last night. Aurora didn’t look like she even had a hangover. Janine was freshly showered, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought she was wearing tinted lip balm.
Aurora nudged a stool in my direction with her bare foot. She was in a tank top and white shorts, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. No makeup, no earrings. Still, a perfect face.
“Should we carry the table out onto the deck?” Lilly asked. She put the tray of bacon in the oven and set the timer. “I love to eat outside, but I know it’s a pain to stack the Adirondacks and carry the table out and back in.”
“I should have made the deck bigger when I had it rebuilt. You told me to make it bigger,” Janine told Lilly.
“Right.” Lilly considered that for a moment. “But the permits were going to be a pain in the butt. And I don’t know if you would have gotten the variance. I was talking to Lori, two houses down. She had a heck of a time with her driveway permit. The town really cracked down on the rules.” She went back to the teapot, lifted it, swirled the hot water inside, and poured tea into my favorite blue mug.
“I think making the deck bigger would have made the house look weird from the shore,” Aurora put it. “It would have ruined the lines, architecturally. You did the right thing.”
“We don’t have to move the table, Lilly. We’ll push back all the curtains. You see the ocean from the table.” Janine sipped her coffee. “It’ll be fine. It’s not the president of the United States coming to breakfast. I really don’t want this to be a big deal.”
I added sugar to my tea. “Speaking of big deals . . .” I looked from one of them to the next. “Are we going to talk about last night?”
Aurora raised her eyebrows as if I had said the most ridiculous thing. “You want to talk about that?” She pointed to my fuzzy head.
I refrained from stroking it. Instead, I stirred my tea, liking the sound the spoon made against the mug. “Nothing to talk about,” I said.
Janine made eye contact with Aurora. “Works for me.”
“I’m not apologizing for getting drunk, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Aurora held up her hand. “If I can’t drink too much and make an ass out of myself in front you guys, where can I?”
“You didn’t make an ass of yourself, Aurora,” Lilly said sympathetically. “I think McKenzie’s right. I think we should talk about it. See how everyone is feeling this morning. Don’t you, Janine?”
Janine shook her head once. “Nope. I’m tired of rehashing the rehash. Aurora’s shocking revelation wasn’t that shocking. She’s probably disappointed,” she joked.
“So . . .” Aurora clapped her hands together. “Let’s talk about what we all
really
want to talk about.” She spun on the stool to face Janine. “What do we need to know about Chris?”
Janine closed her eyes, her fingers wrapped around her mug. “This is a bad idea. I
knew
it was a bad idea.”
“No, no, it’s a wonderful idea.” Lilly plugged in the waffle maker. “I hope Chris likes waffles. I decided against eggs. You think bacon and waffles is enough? We’ve still got fresh fruit I cut up yesterday. And Greek yogurt. I could make eggs. Scrambled or fried. I don’t like fried eggs, but—”
“Lilly!” Janine interrupted.
We all started laughing.
“Please,” Janine said. “Let’s just have a nice breakfast and pretend like this is not a big deal. Please?” She put her hands together, begging.
Lilly sighed loudly and dramatically. She knew the role she played with us, and she played it well. “I’m not making a big deal.” She poured a carton of orange juice into a glass pitcher. “It’s just breakfast.” She carried the pitcher and five glasses on a tray out of the kitchen.
Janine rolled her eyes and reached for her coffee. I wished I’d had my phone to catch the eye roll on video. Realizing I’d left my phone plugged in to the wall in the bedroom, I took a sip of tea and went to go get it. I was brushing some blush on and was checking out my eyelash stubble when I heard Fritz bark.
“She’s here!” Lilly squealed in the other room. “I’m so excited. She’s here!”
I heard Fritz run through the living room into the kitchen. I threw on some peach-colored lipstick. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to look nice for Janine’s girlfriend. It wasn’t like she and I were going to have a long-term relationship.
As I came out of my bedroom, I heard the back door open. Janine’s voice.
I walked into the kitchen, phone in hand, as Fritz shot into the kitchen from the laundry room. I was really tempted to hit the record button on my phone, for posterity’s sake. But if I did, I knew there was a possibility Janine might drop my phone into my mug of tea.
Janine walked into the kitchen, followed by a blond man. A man. She stopped inside the doorway, and he stopped. He was in his late thirties, possibly early forties, nice build. He was wearing board shorts almost identical to Janine’s, a faded surf-shop T-shirt, and dark, wraparound sunglasses.
For a second, none of us said anything. Even Lilly was at a loss for words.
Janine pointed at the man beside her. “Chris,” she introduced. Then she pointed at each of us. “McKenzie, Aurora, and Lilly.”
He took off his sunglasses. He was average looking, with brown eyes, but he had the
nicest
smile. “Great to finally meet you all. I had to practically beg Janine to get an invite.”
“Chris?” Lilly breathed. “Chris!” She rushed over, wiping her hands on her apron. “We are so glad to finally meet you. We’ve been threatening Janine to come find you on our own if she didn’t invite you over.” She grabbed his hand and shook it with both of hers.
Aurora was looking at Janine and then she burst out laughing.
I was grinning, ear to ear.
Chris looked up. “What?” He smiled and laughed because all of us were smiling, I’m sure.
“Nothing.” I came forward, offering my hand. “It’s just so nice to finally meet you, Chris.”
At noon, Lilly, Aurora, and I headed down to the beach, walking single file over the dunes. We’d left Janine on the back deck, talking with Chris. Lilly had tried to convince him to come back for dinner, but Janine said she’d had enough big happy family for one day. We’d made arrangements, instead, for him to come back Wednesday night. We’d gotten a highly sought after permit for a bonfire on the beach, and he was invited to come then instead.
“Holy Christ,” Aurora said, carrying a striped canvas beach chair in each hand. On her back, she wore a woven textile backpack with her towel and suntan lotion in it. The chairs were for Lilly and me.
“Holy Christ,” she repeated. Then she looked over her shoulder to Lilly, who was walking between us. “You notice I didn’t say holy fu—”
“And I appreciate that,” Lilly interrupted. “As does my unborn child.”
I trooped behind Lilly, in flip-flops because the sand is always hot. I was only carrying my small canvas beach bag. I was wearing my dumpy blue swimsuit with a cover-up and a big straw hat. There was no way I was taking my bald head on the beach, even in light of my big
reveal
. It would sunburn.
“Did either of you suspect
for a minute
that Chris was a guy?” Aurora asked, still sounding truly stunned.
We all were. I certainly was.
“I had no idea,” Lilly said. “Did she ever say
he,
referring to him? I feel like I would have noticed. On the other hand, I guess I just assumed Chris was a she because—you know—”
“Because she’s a lesbian?” Aurora asked.
“I know I had to lift my jaw up off the kitchen floor.” Lilly adjusted her big straw hat. “I texted Matt. He thinks it’s hilarious. Like the joke is on us.”
“I hate to agree with Matt.” Aurora led us toward our usual spot in the sand, just behind and to the left of the lifeguard stand. “But it
is
kind of funny. That at forty-two years old, Janine’s coming out of the closet,” she threw over her shoulder. “And she’s
straight?
”
“I can’t imagine why she didn’t tell us,” Lilly mused. She was wearing a white cover-up over a pink swimsuit that was amazingly cute for being in a toddler color.
“Janine and a guy.” Aurora slipped one chair and then the other off her shoulders. She opened mine first. “You think this means she’s bi?”
“Well,
clearly
.” Lilly took her chair from Aurora and opened it, setting it next to mine. “I mean, she was definitely in love with Betsy.”
“Weren’t we all?” Aurora asked.
Lilly propped her hands on her hips. “But Janine’s never even dated a guy.”
“That we know of.” I dropped my bag in the sand and sat down to catch my breath. It wasn’t that hot out today, so I wasn’t that out of breath.
“What’s the world coming to?” Aurora took her towel from her backpack and flapped it in the air before laying it in the sand. “There are certain things you’re supposed to be able to depend on in life. The sun rises in the east.” She gestured toward the ocean. “And Janine only dates girls.”
I reached for my sunblock spray. “You sound disappointed.”
Aurora stretched out on her stomach on her towel. Today, her teeny bikini was tie-dyed. “I do, don’t I?”
34
Janine
I
dawdled around the house for at least twenty minutes after Chris left, putting off the inevitable. I took out the garbage. I rinsed out Fritz’s water bowl. I even checked my e-mail.
I knew Aurora, Lilly, and McKenzie were going to have the same question Chris had posed the minute he and I were alone. The same question I’d been turning over in my head for days, weeks . . . months.
I know why, in the beginning, I didn’t tell them Chris was a guy. Why I didn’t tell
Chris
I hadn’t told them he was a guy. I was uncertain of the relationship. Uncertain of myself. All I’d ever been is a lesbian. It was the way I identified myself. This was a big deal for more reasons than anatomy.
At first, when we started dating, I was plain scared. He was the first guy I’d ever dated. I mean
ever
. I’d never even kissed a guy before I kissed him at the bar the night we met. I was sure, that first time, that it was just too much Jack and some sort of midlife crisis thing. Even after we saw each other a couple times, I was still sure it was a fluke or a phase, or something. It was weeks before it occurred to me that I might be falling in love with him.
Today, standing next to Chris’s car with him, we’d both laughed about it. He had a couple of psychobabble terms to label me, but basically, it was his personal opinion that we can’t help who we love. And sometimes, for some of us, that meant male or female.
As I stood on the deck, looking over the dunes at two figures in big straw hats in chairs and a leggy blonde lying on one of my towels, the truth of that statement really hit me. You can’t help who you love.
Who would have ever thought that our friendship—Aurora’s, Lilly’s, McKenzie’s, and mine—would survive Buddy? Would survive high school and college and ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends and estranged children? We were so mismatched in so many ways and yet we fit together so well. We complemented each other. They make me a better person.
I groaned, realizing my eyes were getting misty. Lilly was wearing off on me. I grabbed a towel from a basket inside next to the door. “Stay, boy,” I told Fritz.
The sand was hot on my bare feet as I hurried over the dunes. Approaching the group, I debated where to lay my towel. Did I lie down next to Lilly? Aurora? Lilly would phrase her questions delicately. Aurora would come right out and ask me about Chris’s
wang
. Of course, the disadvantages could be the advantages. Aurora was good at ripping the Band-Aid right off. Lilly picked at it, fussing at the edges, prolonging the discomfort.
I walked past Lilly’s chair and spread my towel out right in the middle of them, at McKenzie’s feet. I lay down on my back, pushed my sunglasses up on my head, and closed my eyes. The sun felt hot and good on my skin. I waited.
“Anyone want a bottle of water?” Lilly asked after a few minutes. “I brought the minis.”
“I’ll take one,” Aurora said.
“Me too.” McKenzie.
I heard Lilly pass out the water bottles.
“Are we inviting the neighbors to the bonfire?” Lilly asked, sipping her water.
I kept my eyes closed.
“We might as well,” Aurora put in. “They’re going to come anyway.”
“And if you invite them,” McKenzie said, “you can ask them to bring food to share and their own drinks.”
“Right,” Lilly agreed. “Otherwise, we’re feeding everyone on the block. Anyone want pretzels? I know I had that huge breakfast, but I want something to munch.”
I heard her rattle a snack bag. Her beach bag was this bottomless pit of snacks and beverages and lip balm and suntan lotion and baby wipes and anything a person could want on the beach.
“Mia and Maura coming?” Aurora.
“They wouldn’t miss it. I told them they could bring a couple of friends, but I expected everyone to be on their good behavior,” McKenzie said. “I’ll have a pretzel. I told them no drinking and nothing else illegal.”
“Here,” Lilly said. The pretzel bag crackled again. “Pass them to Aurora.”
“You have any Pringles?” Aurora asked. “I always feel like pretzels are a waste of carbs. If you’re going to eat crap, it might as well be greasy crap.”
I heard what sounded distinctly like potato chips being shaken in a cardboard can.
“Just a few left. Catch.”
I propped myself up on my elbows, unable to stand it another second. “The three of you are funny. Hilarious.”
“What?” Aurora pulled the top off the Pringles can Lilly had tossed her and looked inside. “Want a chip? Just crumbs.” She held out the canister.
I looked at her, then McKenzie, then Lilly. “Go ahead. Ask.”
“Ask what?” McKenzie took a loud bite of a pretzel.
Aurora tipped the can, dumping chip crumbs into her mouth.
“I was going to get hot dogs for the bonfire, because you can’t have a bonfire without roasting weenies on a stick,” Lilly directed to me, “but I was thinking about getting Italian sausages, too. What do you think?”
“Personally, I like weenies,” McKenzie said.
“I prefer Italian sausages,” Aurora replied.
They were both snickering.
“I’m sorry,” I said loudly. “I didn’t
mean
to keep it from you. It just . . . kind of happened and then I didn’t know what to say.”
“
What
are we talking about?” Aurora asked.
“Never mind. Never mind.” I dropped back down on my towel.
“Wait, Janine, are we talking about you dating a dude?” Aurora asked.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated.
“You’re sorry you’re dating a
dude?
” Lilly asked. She sounded so funny saying
dude
. “Or you’re sorry you didn’t tell your best friends in the whole wide world that suddenly you’re playing . . . for the . . . original . . . team,” she said, obviously struggling to make the analogy fit.
McKenzie and Aurora started laughing. Then Lilly.
I closed my eyes, shaking my head. “I thought you guys were going to be mad at me.”
“Because you kept something this important from us?” McKenzie asked. “Because we are.”
I pushed up on my elbows again. They had stopped laughing. “You are?”
“We’re angry because you didn’t tell us you’re
in love
.”
I know I must have gotten the silliest look on my face. “I guess I am,” I said.