21. Paisley
WatchingKlein’s reaction to his introduction to Bald Head Island has only made me love it more.
He was in awe, and not afraid to show it. Not afraid to enjoy it. There was a moment, when he caught himself, and I watched the hesitance slip onto his face. Why does he do that? Why does he anticipate me finding something wrong with him?
Right now, watching him absorb the uniqueness of the island as we hurtle over the path, it would be difficult to believe he’s the same person who had a momentary freak-out on the ferry.
The same could be said of me, too. Chapped lips and cheeks, snarled hair, and happy as can be, nobody would know I’d had to pull the rental car over and have my own meltdown earlier today.
“Here we are,” Grandma announces, driving down the gravel driveway lined in white rocks.
It’s the same home I’ve been coming to since I can remember. The place where I had my first taste of watermelon, where I missed a bottom step on the outdoor stairs and earned the small scar under my chin. My first kiss was on the beach, with a boy who was here for the summer. I passed my driver’s license exam with flying colors because I’d been driving a golf cart for years by then.
Klein carries my overstuffed suitcase up the stairs like it’s made of nothing more than feathers. Grandma leads us into the back entrance, straight into the dining room and adjoined kitchen.
Nothing about this place has changed, and I appreciate that more than my grandmother can know. She could easily update the kitchen, install white cabinets and marble countertops, replace the can lights with rattan pendant lights.
It brings me such joy to know she hasn’t. I do not want fancy new floors. I want wood marked by scooters and roller skates in the house. I want scratchy sisal rugs under bare feet and sand no matter how meticulously we vacuum.
“Your home is beautiful,” Klein comments. It’s not a compliment given because he feels he is supposed to. There is a touch of wonderment in his voice, an undertone of gratitude at being here.
A small thought floats across my mind, opaque and shiny like a bubble. I’m genuinely happy to be here with Klein.
And then, well, there’s what he said to me earlier in the car. I intend to make our first good kiss so unbelievably good, you’ll have trouble remembering we ever had a bad one.
That line has played on repeat in my mind for hours. When does he plan on doing such a thing? How good are we talking?
Grandma accepts Klein’s compliment, showing him around the kitchen. She opens up drawers and cabinets, getting him acquainted with where things are, and showing him how to use the coffee maker.
“I’ll need to know that,” Klein grins teasingly at me. “Paisley’s underpants are in a twist until she is properly caffeinated in the morning.”
I playfully roll my eyes and look away. Grandma swings open the pantry door and steps inside, rummaging through boxes.
Klein comes closer, and I whisper, “Did you just say underpants?”
“Better than saying ‘panties’ to your grandma.”
“Call them whatever you want. She wears thongs.”
Klein tries not to make a face, but fails.
“Kidding,” I say, to put him out of his misery. “She puts the granny in?—”
Klein’s palm shoots into the air. “Enough.”
Grandma steps out of the pantry. “It’s just the three of us here tonight. Everyone else arrives tomorrow, so we better soak up the peace and quiet while we can.” She sets a few items down on the counter. “You two go to your room and get cleaned up while I start dinner.”
Yourroom?
I shake my head, certain I’ve heard her wrong. “I’m staying in my usual room.” I thumb at Klein’s chest. “Where do you want Klein?”
“Arrangements are different this time. Starting tomorrow, this house will be filled to the brim with people for the next week. Your brother and cousins, and Sienna because she’s doing the old-fashioned thing and not staying with Shane until the wedding. I’m putting you and Klein in the second main bedroom.”
Panic sits at the base of my throat. “But that’s where Mom stays.”
Grandma scrunches her nose. “Not with that boyfriend of hers. I told her to rent her own place.” She throws up her hands. “Why she thinks I want all those details is beyond me.”
“I don’t blame you for that,” I grimace. “The last time we spoke, I hung up wishing for the conversation to have been a dream.”
“A nightmare,” Grandma corrects. “Anyway, you and Klein will share a room. And you can lose the shocked look. I’m sure you’ve already done the horizontal mambo. I’m old, but I’m not that old.”
She crosses her arms, eyebrows raised, daring me to contradict her.
I grab Klein’s arm and lightly shove him toward the exit on the left. “We’re going to get out of here before this conversation devolves any further.”
Grandma twinkles her fingers at us as I push Klein from the room, luggage in tow.
“Phew,” I say, careening with him into the living room. “Two topics I don’t want to discuss: my mother’s sex life, and mine.”
Klein looks around the living room, taking in his surroundings. “I think your grandma and my mom would be best friends if they ever met.”
“They’d probably turn into a formidable team of feisty, crime fighting superheroines.”
Klein steps up to a shelf on the media center, peering at the jars of small shells and sea glass my siblings and I collected over the years. The same shelf holds a book on the history of the island, and a second book about the animals and native plant life.
He lifts his arm like he’s going to remove the books, then draws his hand back.
“You can read those. They’re not one of those doorstop coffee table books nobody ever reads. They’re meant to be enjoyed.”
Klein takes both books and tucks them under his arm. “Coffee table books are my pet peeve.”
“That tracks.”
Through the living room we go down the hall, passing a bedroom with two sets of bunk beds. Next up is the bedroom commandeered by me and Sienna every summer. A quick peek as we pass tells me not much about it has changed. Same floral bedspread, same Roman shades on the windows.
The end of the hall is our destination, the second main bedroom with its own, glorious bathroom. And glass shower that faces the window, and beyond that, the beach.
In another time, when this was my mom and dad’s room, I’d sneak in to use the shower. Sharing a bathroom with my brother and sister was less than ideal; Sienna stole my products, and Spencer ignored all warnings that if he didn’t start flushing the toilet, he was going to be forced to sleep outside.
That feels like a lifetime ago. Does a decade count as a lifetime? That’s how long it’s been since that final summer with the Royce’s vacationing as a family of five. One glance out the bedroom window at precisely the exact moment when my dad and the neighbor slipped into a movie-worthy kiss, and that was it.
But I won’t think about that now. Hopefully, I’ll think of it as little as possible.
“Here we are,” I announce, stepping into the room.
“Wow,” Klein says, walking in behind me.
A large window running three-quarters of the length of the wall greets us, the sparkling late afternoon ocean beyond. Curtains frame the window in a delicate white lace. A chair, upholstered in nautical blue and white stripes, is positioned beside the window. I can already see Klein sitting there, reading his books. Outlining his next novel.
One wall houses the dresser, and the entrance to the bathroom. Opposite that is my second favorite part of this room, a shiplap wall where the bed and two night stands are situated. The bed is a king, with a matching headboard and footboard that looks like taupe woven ropes. The bedding is textured, white, with throw pillows to match the blue stripes of the chair. And?—
Oh no.
I look sharply at Klein.
His hands are in his pockets, his lips pursed.
Klein already knows, but I say it aloud anyway. “There’s only one bed.”
How in the world did I not see that coming a mile away? Of course there’s only one bed. There has only ever been one bed in this room.
My mind races. Is my head exploding? It feels like it.
“Paisley.” Klein takes hold of my shoulders. “Calm down. Maybe we can find an air mattress somewhere and I’ll sleep on that.”
I nod, though I have little confidence. Guilt pokes at me. I didn’t haul Klein across the United States so he could sleep on an air mattress.
And yes, he has promised me an epically good kiss, but that doesn’t mean we need to share a bed. Right?
Klein opens his carry-on suitcase and sets about unpacking. I do the same, starting with hanging the dress in the closet. With the lightest touch, I admire the fabric. I’m the only person in the wedding party wearing a pattern. Carolina blue roses on a white background, floor-length with a corset top and three rows of ruffles on the bottom. It swings, with a hidden slit that reaches mid-thigh. I have to hand it to Sienna, she has exceptional taste. The three remaining bridesmaids will wear various style dresses all in a shade of blue that matches mine.
With a final look at the stunner of a dress, I close the closet and make my way into the bathroom with my toiletries.
“Do you mind if I put on some music?” Klein calls.
“Go for it,” I yell back from the shower, where I’m lining up my various bottles.
The Beach Boys start playing, and it makes me smile. My grandpa loved The Beach Boys.
“Good choice,” I tell Klein, returning to the bedroom to begin unpacking my clothes. Klein stands at the window, gazing out.
“I can’t believe you spent every summer here,” he says. His voice is a mix of awe and forlorn. “We went to California a few times when I was little, but then—” He cuts off.
Was he about to talk about his dad? Or whatever else it is that makes him close down?
“—we stopped going, “ he finishes lamely. “And I’m sure you already know this, but there are far better places to be in the summer than Phoenix.”
“It’s not so bad,” I say, placing a stack of pajamas in a drawer. “You stay inside in the air conditioning, and you go from one air-conditioned store to another. It’s the reverse of winter in cold climates where they stay inside seeking warmth.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“It gets hot here, too. And humid.”
“But there’s a beach.”
“You got me there.”
“You were right Paisley, this place is magic. There’s an ocean out there,” he points, then swivels, “but oak trees that way. And animals. Did you know there are deer on the island? And foxes?”
I deposit my underwear in a drawer and close it with my hip. “Someone’s been reading one of the books he swiped.”
“When you were putting your stuff away in the bathroom,” he says, pointing at the book propped open on the arm of the chair. “I guess we should probably go to the beach and take a picture to send to Cecily.”
“Whatever you say, Klein the writer.”
I scoot from the room to give Klein time to change and freshen up, and he meets me in the kitchen where my grandmother has her homemade chicken noodle soup simmering in a dutch oven.
“Lausanne, would you like to come with us to the beach?”
My grandma beams at Klein’s invitation, but says, “You two go. I’ve been dying for a chance to make my homemade biscuits, and this seems like a good reason. Do you like biscuits, Klein?”
“I like homemade biscuits a lot more than a man should.”
Grandma titters. She shoots me a look. “Oh, Paisley. I like this one. You should keep him.”
I wink at Klein. “I’m considering it.”
There isn’t a doubt in my mind Klein is one of the good ones. This would be a perfect time for him to lay a passionate but respectable kiss on me, but since we’re in need of a re-do before the fake kisses can begin, I force myself to calm down.
Donning a hat and sunglasses, I follow Klein outside to the covered porch. I point out the wood plank private walkway to the beach. He takes my hand as we go, threading his fingers through mine.
“In case your grandma is watching,” he explains, squeezing my hand. “There are about fifteen windows on the backside of that house, and she can probably see through at least eight of them from where she’s standing in the kitchen.”
“You missed a golden opportunity to kiss me back there in the kitchen. Just something sweet and small, a little more than a peck but not too much.”
“I know,” he says gruffly. “But I made my intentions clear.”
“You’d better cash in on those intentions pretty soon, because my entire family is descending upon us tomorrow.”
“I’m aware.”
We take three steps up to the next part of the walkway. Klein halts at the end when we reach the top of the sand dune. The ocean, as stunning as it is powerful, hurls itself at the shore. “I’ve always loved listening to the ocean.”
“Are you a Pisces?”
“March 4th.”
“Pisces.”
“How is that relevant?”
“You’re a water sign.” Relief cascades through me. “How did we forget to ask about one another’s birthday? Kind of important to know.”
“What sign is January 11th?”
I startle. “That’s my birthday.”
“I know.”
“How did you know that?” He must’ve asked Paloma, or Cecily.
He shrugs, and not only do I see it, but I also feel it because he’s still holding one of my hands. “I used to see you sometimes in the cafeteria before our class started. Someone walked up to you one day and handed you a cupcake with a candle in the center of it.”
“Marie,” I say, the memory draping over me. “It’s been so long since I thought of that day. I can’t believe you remembered the date.”
He shrugs again, tugging my hand up once more. “I have a good memory. Plus having 1/11 as your date of birth is kind of cool. Are you still friends with Marie?”
“I wish I could say yes to that, but no. She started seeing a guy and moved to Chicago for him after college. We grew apart. It happens.”
Klein looks out at the ocean. “Ready for that walk?”
The wooden stairs leading from the sand dune to the beach are old and narrow. Klein darts in front of me, saying, “That way, if you trip, I can catch you.”
“Is this your way of telling me you have eyes in the back of your head?” I’m teasing to cover up the thrill racing around inside me.
His shoulders shake as he laughs. We reach the bottom, kicking off our shoes and digging our feet in the still-warm sand. All down the beach families are packing up, and a few kids run around, their bright kites billowing in the wind.
Klein walks to the water”s edge and lets the sea foam tickle his toes. I do the same, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. It’s a body wide inhale, the wind a salt water smack across my cheek.
Five years have passed since I was last here saying a final farewell to my grandpa. I’m ready for this place to start feeling effortlessly good again.
“Klein,” I say suddenly. He looks down at me, eyebrows lifted. “How do you feel about me showing you around the island tomorrow? All this week, really, when we’re not doing wedding stuff. I’ll show you why I love this place.”
“I’d say it’s a date. Though I already see why you love this place.”
My smile stretches wide enough to hurt. “Just you wait. It gets better.”
“That’s hard to believe,” he says, his eyes on me. “But I’ll take your word for it.”
We resume walking. The evening sun drops lower, growing a darker orange, deepening into pink and purple.
Klein falls back. “Keep walking,” he instructs.
When he catches up a minute later, he shares the photo he took. It’s surprisingly good. My hair tumbles down my back, and my head blocks a fraction of the setting sun.
“You have some talent with a camera,” I say, “but what do you think about me getting a picture of you? Give Cecily some options.”
Klein agrees, and I have him sit near the water’s edge, facing the ocean. “Pull your knees in and wrap your arms around them.”
He does as I say, and I snap a handful of pictures. Handing back the phone, I say, “Hopefully there’s one in there you like.”
I start to step away, but Klein grabs my wrist and twists me back into him. His phone is extended, ready to take another photo.
“You and me,” he says.
I’m already standing in front of his chest, so I lean my head back and let it rest on the hard planes. Klein’s chin dips lower, the bottom of his face hovering above the top of my head.
“Say, fake dating,” he singsongs, making me laugh.
He takes the photo.
“Ugh,” I groan. “I hate pictures of me laughing.”
The skin between Klein’s eyebrows pleats. “Have you seen yourself laugh?”
“Only about one hundred thousand times, give or take.”
“If you really hate it, I’ll delete it, but I promise you the sight of you laughing is beautiful. And in case anybody has ever told you otherwise, let me be the first to disabuse you of that belief.”
Something warm and heavy settles in my chest. Emotions, to be sure, but I can’t put a name to them. They are a bit dodgy, these emotions, desiring to not yet be known.
“Keep the photo, but I appreciate you offering to delete it. And for the other stuff you said.”
Klein slides his phone into his pocket. “Dinner will be ready soon.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, turning me in the direction of the beach house. “You’re not very good at receiving compliments.”
“I’m not used to it,” I clarify.
“Do you know how somebody gets used to something?”
“How?”
“Repetition.”
“I guess it is a good idea for you to compliment me in front of my family.”
We reach the stairs that lead back to the beach house.
“And kiss you,” he points out. “Something sweet and small, a little more than a peck but not too much.” He smirks, looking proud to repeat my sentence verbatim.
Sliding my shoes on my feet, I pause on the first stair and look back at him. “The clock is ticking, Wordsmith.”
Do I throw a little extra side-to-side motion into my hips as I go up the stairs? Possibly.
We might be fake dating, but the enjoyment I get from taunting him is genuine.