Chapter Four Lily #2
When I return, they’re in the middle of a conversation about our family.
“How long are they staying for?” asks Josie, leaning against the table.
Mom sighs. “I think only for two or three weeks in July, but it’s long enough.”
They’re talking about my grandfather and Aunt Elizabeth.
Or, as I like to call them, the gruesome twosome.
My grandfather has three great loves: his cat, Aunt Elizabeth, and any decent mirror capable of reflecting his own personhood back to him.
He is the single most vain, pompous person I have ever met, and Elizabeth is a chip off the old block.
“Are they staying with you?” Josie asks.
“No, thankfully. I had already rented out the other half of our cottage before I knew they wanted to come visit,” says Rose. “I need to find them a place still, but it’s hard in their budget.”
“I’ll help,” says Josie immediately. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have my brother find them something off market.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“I insist,” says Josie.
Our cottage is technically two small houses attached at the front by a breezeway.
It’s single story with a peaked roof, small living room, kitchen, and two bedrooms on one side, and a guest bedroom and attached bathroom, kitchenette, and outdoor shower on the other.
Rose has been renting out the smaller of the halves for the last two years.
I love our home. Everything about it reminds me of the best parts of the island. The force of the wind sometimes causes the house to creak, gets into the nooks and crannies and whistles a tune. Everything about it reminds me of Lottie.
“Who are you renting to this year? My brother didn’t mention.”
“I’m not sure. Some woman named Rachel rented it for the entire summer, but she said her brother might come for a few weeks of the lease.”
“Is he single?” There’s mischief in Josie’s eyes.
Rose laughs. “I have no idea. I doubt it, but I didn’t exactly inquire if my tenant was single. That must be in violation of some sort of housing law.”
“Well, if he is, send him my way!” says Josie. “This island is getting stale.”
I decide now is a good time to interrupt. “Um, Mom.” I place the mudslides down on the wooden surface. “Would you mind signing the check for me?”
I can’t face the man at the bar again. I’m such an idiot. How many times in one night can a single person humiliate herself? Surely, I’m on track to set a record.
“Of course, honey.” Rose gets out of her chair. I’m thankful she doesn’t ask questions.
While she’s gone, Josie and I chat about her summer plans, the nephews and nieces who will soon come to visit in June. As she talks, I take a long pull of the mudslide, scraping the chocolate sauce off the sides of the cup, mixing it in until the liquid changes color.
I look around the bar. The boats in the harbor are bobbing up and down under the moonlight. The island is beautiful at night, even when it’s cold. It’s the very same dock Henry and I walked on our first date, and I have the strange urge to draw it.
The impulse is odd only because it’s been dormant. I used to love to draw. Painting is my preferred medium, but whenever I left the house, I used to bring a sketch pad with me in case inspiration struck. I would only show my work to Mom, Lottie, a few teachers at school, and eventually Henry.
“That’s, like, really good,” I remember him saying the first time I showed him something I created. “Like, really, really good.”
My plan after college was to work at a magazine, learn the ropes, and eventually become an art director. I knew making it as an artist is near impossible, but this way, I could at least be around art, and maybe that was enough. The plan was to work on my own projects on the side.
I applied to internships at every major publication and studio in New York City.
I got the standard mass rejection emails—hundreds of them—but one offered me an interview.
It was for a position as executive assistant to Clive Bozeman, an art director at a prestigious fashion magazine.
His name sounded almost too pretentious to be real, but the role was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
I borrowed business clothes from Rose, took the ferry to the Cape, and then rented a car to drive to New York. I came with pitches, ideas for more content, a list of my favorite covers going back ten years.
When Clive called to say that I had the job, I felt the world spinning, as though for the first time everything, absolutely everything, was moving for me. The whole world conspiring for my success. My dreams within reach.
The delusion lasted for a while—a few months maybe, if that—but then it faded away to reveal the truth, the way all lies we tell ourselves eventually fall flat.
“Who’s that man your mom is talking to?” Josie points toward the bar, where Rose is standing suspiciously close to the older guy from earlier, the one in the Nantucket reds who was with the blond jerk.