Piper
As Tati and I are getting ready to sit down to Chinese takeout, Henry texts my sister to let her know his dad’s been discharged.
“You guys traded numbers?” I ask, scooping fried rice onto my plate.
“This morning. I told him to get in touch if he needs anything.”
“That was nice of you.”
“I’m hardly the wicked witch you’ve spent years making me out to be.”
I pick up a wonton and snap my arm back like I’m going to throw it at her. She ducks behind the door of the fridge, laughing. “Don’t you dare!”
“I won’t, because that’d be a waste of a perfectly good wonton.” I drop it onto my plate and head for the table. When Tati joins me with a plate of her own, I say, “I’m going to Henry’s later. You were right—he and I need to have a conversation.”
She nods, smiling down at her food.
It’s not often that I admit she knows better than I do.
She didn’t react to the news about me getting fired the way I thought she would. I mean, she was disappointed for sure, but she didn’t yell, and she didn’t make me feel worse. More than anything, she was bummed that I’d put Turtle in such a difficult position, which bothers me equally.
“I’m going to reach out to him,” I told her this morning. “I want him to know how sorry I am and that I learned from my screw-up.”
“I think he’d appreciate that,” she said. “He may not want you to work for him anymore, but he’ll always care about you. He knows we’re more than our mistakes.”
She’s right. It’s been a hard-won lesson, but this summer more than any other time in my life, I’ve realized the importance of forgiveness, of assuming good intentions, of compassion, and of conviction.
I want to keep surrounding myself with people who embody those traits, and I want to strive to exemplify them myself.
My sister is the best example.
“You know, I can help you look for a new job, if you want,” she tells me now.
I make a mopey face and say with a sigh, “Maybe. I was hoping for a letter of recommendation from Turtle, though. I’m gonna need some stellar endorsements for my college applications.”
She reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. “It’ll work out. You’ll get letters of recommendation from your guidance counselor and a couple of teachers and your next boss, probably. Your GPA is strong. You’ll get into a good school.”
“I don’t want just any good school. I want to go to Stony Brook University.”
“In New York?”
“Yes, in New York. I want to study marine biology, Tati, like Mom and Dad. I’ve been doing tons of research, looking into lots of different schools, learning about programs all over the country.
There are a few I’d like to apply to, but I’ve just got this feeling—Stony Brook University is it for me.
I know you don’t think I should leave Florida.
I know it’s super far away, and I know out-of-state tuition is bananas, but I’m going to apply for scholarships, and I can take out loans if I need to. Will you keep an open mind?”
She lets out a hefty sigh, and I sense it—the turning of tides.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says slowly, like she’s still working it out in her head. “I’ll keep an open mind if you will too. Promise me you’ll consider some Florida schools as well.”
“Tati—”
“Look, I know it’s selfish, but you’re my baby sister. I don’t want you to live far away.”
“But think of it as an opportunity for you too. If I leave Sugar Bay, you’ve got nothing keeping you here. You could move anywhere. Back to Boston, or LA, or Europe. Get back into interior design, or something else entirely.”
She considers this as if she’s only now realizing that she’s got a whole lot of life ahead of her. Then she reaches out to take my hand. “I’m going to miss you no matter where you go.”
I smile. “I know. But look on the bright side: Your home will be so clean when I’m not living in it.”
Poking me with her foot, she says, “I’ll try to wrap my head around college out of state if you keep your nose clean. I mean that figuratively and literally. No more piercings.”
“Okay—yes. No more piercings. Best behavior.”
She grins, giving me a resolute nod. And then she launches into a story about how when she was home from college one summer, she was not on her best behavior and ended up getting fired from her job as a beach lifeguard.
“Apparently, you’re not supposed to snag a key from your supervisor’s office, use it to unlock one of the guard towers, and sneak in with a random summer hookup,” she finishes with mock indignation.
I die laughing.
Maybe she and I aren’t so different after all.
***
After dinner, I shower and tame my curls. I put on a sundress, even though it’s nearly dark, and the espadrilles Gabi finally returned, because they make my legs look almost as good as hers. I use mascara and perfume and my favorite vanilla lip gloss.
Tati said she’d wait up, so I leave the apartment empty-handed—no phone or keys or gloss for touch-ups. I’m free; I feel like I’m moving in the right direction for the first time in a very long time.
During my trip down in the elevator, I list the things I need to say. Last night hurt me. I want us to be honest with each other. Thank you for punching Damon’s stupid face. I also review the things I don’t want to do: get defensive, back down, storm off.
As the elevator stops, butterflies lift off in my stomach. I hesitate when the doors open, like my cute shoes have glued themselves to the floor. I force myself to step into the lobby. I’m nervous, but Henry has earned my effort.
I make my way into the softly lit courtyard. The sun has set, but the sky still glows lavender. Palm fronds dance in the breeze. I approach the pool, which is deserted, looking up at the east tower as I move across the deck.
Maybe he’s out grabbing dinner.
Maybe he’s sleeping off the horribleness of the last twenty-four hours.
Maybe he’s with his dad, enjoying a guys’ night now that Davis has been sprung.
“Piper?”
My gaze drops from the eighth floor to the other side of the pool.
Henry.
I stop like I’ve come up against an invisible wall: abruptly and without grace.
“Where are you headed?” he calls.
To you.
But the words get caught in my throat, and my eyes are welling with tears. I shrug like a half-wit, then cover my face with my hands.
When he says my name again, this time with concern, he sounds much closer.
I peek out from between my fingers, mortified by the way I’ve fallen apart at the mere sight of him, to find that he’s hustled around the pool.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt and tan shorts and flip-flops.
His chestnut hair is hidden beneath a backward baseball hat.
He looks listless, like his spirit has been siphoned out of him.
“Tell me why you’re upset,” he says, and the way he phrases it, like my unhappiness is a burden he insists on sharing, breaks me apart.
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
He opens his arms in the loveliest invitation.
My cheek nestles against his sternum. I clutch his shirt, and he wraps his arms around me, exhaling so deeply that I feel all his frustration, anger, and sadness retreat in that swell of air.
We stand there until the wind dies down, leaving the night warm and still. When I draw back, he smooths my curls, which have already gone frizzy. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m a mess. Are you okay?”
He smiles down at me. “I’m getting there.”