Five Georgia
Five
Georgia
Since Eden still hasn’t gotten her license, I do all the driving on the way to the lake house. Once we get out of the city
it isn’t so bad, and we have our favorite snacks—watermelon Sour Patch Kids, Reese’s Pieces, salsa-flavored SunChips, an Arnold
Palmer for me and giant Diet Coke with ice for Eden—plus a well-curated playlist, which I know we’ll talk over the entire
time.
Eden sits in the passenger seat in her loose black overall shorts and cropped black tank top, like an exact negative of me
in my new white eyelet romper that buttons up the back.
(She took one look at me this morning and was like, “You’re in a beautiful pee prison! How do you ever go to the bathroom
in that?”
“My arms are extremely flexible,” I told her, easily reaching behind my back for the buttons.)
Now Eden’s munching hard on her Sour Patches and shouting out orders.
“Merge!”
“Watch out for that biker!”
“The exit is coming up!”
I can tell she’s a little surly over us driving up today—we were supposed to spend the whole weekend in New York and drive
up Sunday afternoon, but once I learned that Rhys would only be at the lake for the weekend, I couldn’t stand the idea of
us missing each other. So we left early this morning, and I’ll have the whole rest of today and tonight with Rhys.
Rhys and I usually hang out every other weekend, but because of various end-of-school-year commitments, it has actually been
three weeks apart, and I have this anxiety to be in his presence. I always get this feeling when he’s away too long. It’s the nature of being in a long-distance relationship,
I suppose. You end up putting a lot more energy into planning when you’ll see each other next, and it just carries a different
kind of weight and intensity. Which I like, because we never waste any of our time together. It’s always full of activities and deep conversations. Neither of us wants
to laze around when we could be doing something more meaningful together.
Anyway, he’s not the only reason I decided to leave early. I also need to prep for the lifeguard test. More time at the lake
this weekend means more time for me to get in that practice I need. I’ve been swimming at the Y consistently, but I need to
do some basic circuit training and sand running, too. Just thinking about training has my body itching to move. Unlike Daisy
and Eden, who are slugs, I thrive on constant physical activity. I hate relaxing.
“Damn,” Eden says, looking at me over the lid of her huge soda. “You merged into the left lane like a demon!”
“I did? Oh, sorry. Guess I’m just eager to get to the lake.”
“No, no, don’t apologize. It was fierce.”
When we finally pull up the long dirt driveway to the lake house, any guilt I was feeling about dragging Eden out of bed early
this morning dissipates.
The tall evergreens paint stripes of shadow and light across the lawn. The house peeks out between them, its dark brown chipped
siding and white shutters so familiar and cozy they bring instant tears to my eyes. I roll down the windows to take in the
fresh, summery smell of the lake and the forest.
It looks like we’re not far behind Daisy and Mom and Dave—the Subaru’s trunk is still sprung open and only half unpacked.
“Come on!” I say to Eden as I kill the engine and our playlist along with it.
With a squeal, she leaps out of the passenger seat and beats me to the front door. Mom, Dave, and Daisy are in various stages
of carrying boxes and suitcases and grocery bags around.
“Girls! You’re here so early!” my mom exclaims. “Eden, look at you!” She goes in for a hug with one arm, still holding a grocery
bag in her other arm, and ruffles Eden’s hair. “I love these bangs. You look adorable. I mean adorable and very mature.”
“Mom, please don’t embarrass her,” I say, taking the groceries and heading to the kitchen.
“I don’t mind!” Eden calls from the other room. “Please feel free to shower me with praise, Aunt Elena. I’m not picky.”
I hear Mom laugh. “Oh, good. Nothing’s changed, then.”
Daisy comes pounding down the stairs as I’m emerging from the kitchen, having already unpacked all the groceries and disposed of some seriously sketchy-looking three-year-old mayo from the fridge.
“Eden!” my sister yelps, throwing herself at our cousin, and they do a little happy jumping hug dance. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re here!”
Dave comes down the stairs next, sneezing into a Kleenex. “I opened up all the windows,” he says to Mom. “This place is fantastic,
but it could use a little love, sweetie. And all the dust is activating my allergies.”
Mom shrugs. “That’s to be expected! It’s been empty too long.” For a moment, a cloud of sadness passes across her face. And
then, just as quickly, it’s gone. “Come look at the upstairs den,” she says, turning to Eden. “That’ll be your room this year,
if that’s okay! But it’s going to need to be put in order. The good news is you can rearrange it however you like!”
Eden follows Mom up the stairs and Daisy trails behind them, leaving me in the living room facing Dave. He stands with his
hands in his khaki pockets, hovering behind the old plaid-and-wood couch as if he’s afraid I’ll bite.
And I can’t help feeling glad that he still seems a tiny bit afraid of me. Dave is a perfectly kind man. But he doesn’t know
our family. He doesn’t understand what we’ve been through, not really. He doesn’t know how anything works between us. The
Holliday girls don’t come with a manual. He’s going to have to earn his place in our world, and that takes time. Until then,
it’s only right that he’s a little uncomfortable.
“So—” he begins, but my phone rings.
“Rhys!” I answer, turning away from Dave and stepping back out the front door onto the lawn.
“Baby!” he says. I almost choke with happiness and relief at hearing his warm, deep voice.
“Where are you? What are you up to? Can I come meet you?”
He laughs. “Mateo and I are heading over to the club to knock the ball around a little.”
“Oh! Mateo?”
“Yeah, he’s staying up here with the fam this summer. I told you that, right?”
I nod, the phone bobbing against my ear. “Yeah, of course.” Although I’m not actually sure that he did. Mateo Roman is one
of Rhys’s close friends, so I know Mateo’s parents are divorced and he lives with his mom in Connecticut.
“So . . . wait,” I say. “Is he up here all summer or only this weekend?”
“All summer,” Rhys answers. “His mom’s going to Italy this year to see extended family, and he didn’t want to go with her.”
“But your internship . . .”
“Yeah, I know. I feel bad, but honestly, I think he’s stoked to spend more time with my parents. You remember all that shit
that went down with his dad. . . .”
Again, I’m nodding, but honestly, I really don’t remember or care. I’m . . . frustrated. My time with Rhys has already been
reduced to weekends only. Now I’m going to be sharing his limited attention with Mateo?
Not cool.
But I know Rhys is just being a good friend, and his family is so generous to host Mateo even when Rhys himself can’t be there
the whole time. Rhys’s family is truly the American dream—they’re the real-life version of those beautiful, multiracial families
you see in movies or luxury car commercials, all gorgeously confident, nurturing, well-traveled, and sincerely smiling.
“When can I see you?” I blurt out, trying to contain the weird mix of eagerness and annoyance in my voice.
“Why don’t you come down to the club, too?”
“We can’t all three play,” I say.
“Bring Daisy or something. We’ll play doubles!” Rhys says cheerfully. I can tell that it hasn’t even occurred to him that
I’m a little upset—which is for the best. I’m being really pouty and immature.
“Doubles sounds great! I’ll drag Daisy or my cousin Eden over with me. See you there in twenty minutes?”
“That sounds perfect, babe,” he says.
“Yay! I’m so excited to see you. I miss you so much.”
“Me too. Love you.” Then he hangs up before I can say, “Love you, too.”
I look up to notice I’ve wandered away from the edge of our lawn.
It’s a short walk through the trees and down a narrow path to get to our part of the lake.
It’s rocky—no beach area or boat dock—but we can still clamber in up to our knees and then swim out or drag a kayak off the muddy bank.
Though I shudder to imagine what state our kayaks are in.
Probably home to an entire civilization of spiders, full of spider infrastructure.
Spider highways, spider bridges, spider sewage systems.
I stand at the edge of the biggest rock that juts into the water and stare out at the sparkling lake and the opposite shore,
still feathered with a morning fog. I take a huge deep breath of the mineral-scented air and feel it rejuvenating me. I hear
the distant sound of kids laughing and splashing around, though I can’t see anyone. I wonder if it’s just an auditory hallucination.
For a moment, a memory of me and Daisy and Eden, all squeeing and splashing and calling out to each other, floods my senses,
and there he is. Dad. Standing out there in waist-deep water, tossing us one by one off his shoulders into the blue water.
I blink, and he’s gone.
I turn back to the house.
I’m not really surprised when Eden refuses to come with me to the tennis club, instead joining my mom, who needs to run into
town for some supplies for the house and offers to take her shopping. That’s obviously much more Eden’s speed. At least she
promises to bring back candy.
So it’s Daisy’s arm I have to twist. She looks at me skeptically. “You want me to play doubles with you and Rhys and his friend?
You realize I am terrible at tennis, right?”
“No you’re not!” I say encouragingly. She’s exaggerating. She used to play with me when we were younger, but since starting
high school she plays JV softball and that’s about it.
“Like, almost as terrible at it as you are at lying,” Daisy says. “But fine, I’ll go. I need to stretch my legs after sleeping in the car anyway.”