Текст книги "We'll Always Have Summer"

Автор книги: Jenny Han

Соавторы: Jenny Han
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Chapter Fifteen

Anika was next, and I was dreading it. I respected her opinion. I didn’t want her to think less of me. The prospect of being a bridesmaid wasn’t going to have any sway over her.

That wasn’t something she would care about either way.

We had decided to room together that fall, in a suite with two of our other friends, Shay and Lynn, in the new dorm on the other side of campus. Anika and I were going to buy cute plates and cups, she was bringing her fridge, and I was bringing my TV. Everything was set.

We were hanging out in her room later that night.

I was packing her books inside a big crate, and she was rolling up her posters.

The radio was on, and our campus station was playing Madonna’s “The Power of Good-Bye.” Maybe it was a sign.

I sat on the floor, putting away the last book, trying to drum up the courage to tell her. Nervously, I licked my lips.

“Ani, I have something I need to talk to you about,” I said.

She’d been struggling with the movie poster on the back of her door. “What’s up?”

There’s nothing left to lose… . There’s no more heart to bruise… . There’s no greater power than the power of good-bye.

I swallowed. “I feel really bad having to do this to you.”

Anika turned around. “Do what?”

“I’m not going to be able to room with you next semester.”

Her eyebrows were knit together. “What? Why? Did something happen?”

“Jeremiah asked me to marry him.”

She did a double take. “Isabel Conklin! Shut the shit up.”

Slowly, I held up my hand.

Anika whistled. “Wow. That’s crazy.”

“I know.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then she said,

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah. I think so. I really, really love him.”

“Where are you guys going to live?”

“In an apartment off campus.” I hesitated. “I just feel bad about letting you down. Are you mad?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I’m not mad. I mean, yeah, it sucks that we won’t be living together, but I’ll figure 72 · jenny han

something out. I could ask Trina from my dance team. Or my cousin Brandy might be transferring here. She could be our fourth.”

So it wasn’t such a big deal after all, my not living with them. Life goes on, I guessed. I felt a little wistful, imagining what it would be like if I was still the fourth. Shay was really good at doing hair, and Lynn loved to bake cupcakes. It would have been really fun.

Anika sat down on her bed. “I’ll be fine. I’m just …

surprised.”

“Me too.”

When she didn’t say anything else, I asked, “Do you think I’m making a huge mistake?”

In her thoughtful way, she asked, “Does it matter what I think?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not for me to judge, Iz.”

“But you’re my friend. I respect your opinion. I don’t want you to think badly of me.”

“You care too much about what other people think.”

She said it with sureness but also tenderness.

If anyone else had said it—my mother, Taylor, even Jere—I would have bristled. But not with Anika. With her, I couldn’t really mind. In a way it was flattering to have her see me so clearly and still like me. Friendship in college was different that way. You spend all this time with people, sometimes every day, every meal. There was no hiding who you were in front of your friends. You were just naked. Especially in front of someone like Anika, who was so frank and open and incisive and said whatever she thought. She didn’t miss a thing.

Anika said, “At least you’ll never have to wear shower shoes again.”

“Or have to pull other people’s hair out of the drain.

Jeremiah’s hair is too short to get caught.”

“You’ll never have to hide your food.” Anika’s roommate, Joy, was always stealing her food, and Anika had taken to hiding granola bars in her underwear drawer.

“I might actually have to do that. Jere eats a lot,” I said, twisting my ring around my finger.

I stayed a while longer, helping her take down the rest of her posters, collecting the dust bunnies under her bed with an old sock I used as a mitten. We talked about the magazine internship Anika had lined up for the summer, and me maybe going to visit her in New York for a weekend.

After, I walked down the hall back to my room. For the first time all year, it was really quiet—no hair dryers going, no one sitting in the hallway on the phone, no one microwaving popcorn in the commons area. A lot of people had already gone home for the summer. Tomorrow I would be gone too.

College life as I knew it was about to change.

Chapter Sixteen

I didn’t plan to start going by Isabel. It just happened. All my life, everyone had called me Belly and I didn’t really have a say in it. For the first time in a long time, I did have a say, but it didn’t occur to me until we—Jeremiah, my mom, my dad, and me—were standing in front of my dorm room door on freshman move-in day. My dad and Jeremiah were lugging the TV, my mom had a suitcase, and I was carrying a laundry basket with all my toiletries and picture frames. Sweat was pouring down my dad’s back, and his maroon button-down shirt had three wet spots. Jeremiah was sweating too, since he’d been trying to impress my dad all morning by insisting on bringing up the heaviest stuff. It made my dad feel awkward, I could tell.

“Hurry, Belly,” my dad said, breathing hard.

“She’s Isabel now,” my mother said.

I remember the way I fumbled with my key and how I looked up at the door and saw it. isabel, it said in glue-on rhinestones. My roommate’s and my door tags were made out of empty CD cases. My roommate’s, Jillian Capel’s, was a Mariah Carey CD, and mine was Prince.

Jillian’s stuff was already unpacked, on the left side of the room, closer to the door. She had a paisley bedspread, navy and rusty orange. It looked brand new. She’d already hung up her posters—a Trainspotting movie poster and some band I’d never heard of called Running Water.

My dad sat down at the empty desk—my desk. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off his forehead.

He looked really tired. “It’s a good room,” he said. “Good light.”

Jeremiah was just hovering around, and he said, “I’ll go down to the car to get that big box.”

My dad started to get up. “I’ll help,” he said.

“I’ve got it,” Jeremiah said, bounding out the door.

Sitting back down, my dad looked relieved. “I’ll just take a break, then,” he said.

Meanwhile, my mother was surveying the room, opening the closet, looking in drawers.

I sank down on the bed. So this was where I was going to live for the next year.

Next door, someone was playing jazz. Down the hall, I could hear a girl arguing with her mother about whereto put her laundry bin. It seemed like the elevator never stopped dinging open and closed. I didn’t mind. I liked the noise. It was comforting knowing there were people all around me.

“Want me to unpack your clothes?” my mother asked.

“No, that’s all right,” I said. I wanted to do that myself.

Then it would really feel like my room.

“At least let me make up your bed, then,” she said.

When it was time to say good-bye, I wasn’t ready. I thought I would be, but I wasn’t. My dad stood there, his hands on his hips. His hair looked really gray in the light.

He said, “Well, we should get going if we want to beat rush-hour traffic.”

Irritably, my mother said, “We’ll be fine.”

Seeing them together like this, it was almost like they weren’t divorced, like we were still a family. I was overcome with this sudden rush of thankfulness. Not all divorces were like theirs. For Steven’s and my sake, they made it work and they were sincere about it. There was still genuine affection between them, but more than that: there was love for us. It was what made it possible for them to come together on days like this.

I hugged my dad, and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. He never cried. My mother hugged me briskly, but I knew it was because she didn’t want to let go. “Make sure you wash your sheets at least twice a month,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“And try making your bed in the morning. It’ll make your room look nicer.”

“Okay,” I said again.

My mother looked over at the other side of the room.

“I just wish we could have met your roommate.”

Jeremiah was sitting at my desk, his head down, scroll-ing on his phone while we said our good-byes.

All of a sudden, my dad said, “Jeremiah, are you going to leave now too?”

Startled, Jeremiah looked up. “Oh, I was going to take Belly to dinner.”

My mother shot me a look, and I knew what she was thinking. A couple of nights before, she’d given me this long speech about meeting new people and not spending all my time with Jere. Girls with boyfriends, she’d said, limit themselves to a certain kind of college experience.

I’d promised her I wouldn’t be one of those kind of girls.

“Just don’t get her back too late,” my dad said in this really meaningful kind of way.

I could feel my cheeks get red, and this time my mother gave my dad a look, which made me feel even more awkward. But Jeremiah just said, “Oh, yeah, of course,” in his relaxed way.

I met my roommate, Jillian, later that night, after dinner. It was in the elevator, right after Jeremiah dropped me off in front of the dorm. I recognized her right away, from the 78 · jenny han

pictures on her dresser. She had curly brown hair, and she was really little, shorter than she’d looked in the pictures.

I stood there, trying to figure out what to say. When the other girls in the elevator got off on the sixth floor, it was just the two of us. I cleared my throat and said,

“Excuse me. Are you Jillian Capel?”

“Yeah,” she said, and I could tell she was a little weirded out.

“I’m Isabel Conklin,” I said. “Your roommate.”

I wondered if I should hug her or offer her my hand to shake. I did neither, because she was staring at me.

“Oh, hi. How are you?” Without waiting for me to answer, she said, “I’m just coming back from dinner with my parents.” Later, I would learn that she said “How are you” a lot, like it was more of a thing to say, not something she expected an answer to.

“I’m good,” I said. “I just had dinner too.”

We got off the elevator then. I felt this excited pitter-patter in my chest, like wow, this is my roommate. I’d thought a lot about her since I got my housing letter.

Jillian Capel from Washington, DC, nonsmoker. I’d imagined us talking all night, sharing secrets and shoes and microwave popcorn.

When we were in our room, Jillian sat down on her bed and said, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, he goes here too,” I said, sitting on my hands.

I was eager to get right to the girl talk and the bonding.

“His name is Jeremiah. He’s a sophomore.”

I jumped up and grabbed a photo of us from my desk.

It was from graduation, and Jeremiah was wearing a tie and he looked handsome in it. Shyly, I handed it to her.

“He’s really cute,” she said.

“Thanks. Do you have a boyfriend?”

She nodded. “Back home.”

“Neat,” I said, because it was all I could think of.

“What’s his name?”

“Simon.”

“Do people ever call you Jill? Or Jilly? Or do you just go by Jillian?”

“Jillian. Do you go to sleep early or late?”

“Late. What about you?”

“Early,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. “We’ll figure something out. I wake up early, too. What about you?”

“Um, sure, sometimes.” I hated to wake up early, hated it more than almost anything.

“Do you like to study with music on or off?”

“Off?”

Jillian looked relieved. “Oh, good. I hate noise when I study. I need it to be really quiet.” She added, “Not that I’m anal or anything.”

I nodded. Her picture frames were at perfect right angles. When we walked into the room, she’d hung up her jean jacket right away. I only ever made my bed when 80 · jenny han

company came over. I wondered if my sloppy tendencies would get on her nerves. I hoped not.

I was about to say so when she turned her laptop on.

I guessed we were done bonding for the night. Now that my parents were gone and Jeremiah was on his way back to his frat house, I was really alone. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d already unpacked. I’d been hoping we could explore the hall together, meet people. But she was typing away, chatting with someone. Probably her boyfriend back home.

I got my cell phone out of my purse and texted Jeremiah. Will you come back?

I knew he would.

For the hall icebreaker the next night, our RA, Kira, told us to bring one personal item that we felt represented us best. I settled on a pair of swim goggles. The other girls brought stuffed animals and framed photos, and one girl brought out her modeling book. Jillian brought her laptop.

We were all sitting in a circle, and Joy was sitting across from me. She was cradling a trophy in her lap. It was for a soccer state championship, which I thought was pretty impressive. I really wanted to make friends with Joy. I’d had it in my head since the night before, when we’d chatted in the hall bathroom in our pajamas, both of us with our shower caddies. Joy was short, with a sandy bob and light eyes. She didn’t wear makeup. She was sturdy and sure of herself, in the way that girls who play competitive sports are.

“I’m Joy,” she said. “My team won the state championship. If any of you guys like soccer, hit me up and we’ll get a hall league going.”

When it was my turn, I said, “I’m Isabel. I like to swim,” and Joy smiled at me.

I always thought that college would be It. Like, instant friends, a place to belong. I didn’t think it would be this hard.

I’d thought there would be parties and mixers and midnight runs to the Waffle House. I’d been at college for four whole days, and I hadn’t done any of those things.

Jillian and I had eaten in the dining hall together, but that was about it. She was mostly on the phone with her boyfriend or on the computer. There had been no mention of clubbing or frat parties. I had a feeling Jillian was above that kind of thing.

I wasn’t, and Taylor wasn’t either. I’d gone to visit her dorm once already, and she and her roommate were like two peas in a trendy little color-coordinated pod. Her roommate’s boyfriend was in a fraternity, and he lived off campus. Taylor said she’d call if there were any cool parties that weekend, but so far, she hadn’t. Taylor was taking to college like a goldfish to its brand-new tank, and I just wasn’t. I’d told Jeremiah I’d be busy making friends and bonding with my roommate so I probably wouldn’t see him until the weekend. I didn’t want to go back on that.

Thursday night that first week, a bunch of girls were drinking in Joy’s room. I could hear them down the hallway. I had been filling out my new planner, writing in all my classes and things. Jillian was at the library. We’d only had one day of classes so far, so I didn’t know what she could possibly be studying. I still wished she’d asked me to go with her, though. Jeremiah had asked if I wanted him to come pick me up, but I’d said no, in the hopes that I would be invited somewhere. So far, it was just me and the planner.

But then Joy popped her head in my doorway, which I’d been keeping open the same way the other girls had.

“Isabel, come and hang with us,” she said.

“Sure!” I said, practically leaping out of my bed. I felt this surge of hope and excitement. Maybe these were my people.

There was Joy, her roommate Anika, Molly, who lived at the end the hall, and Shay, the girl with the modeling book. They were all sitting on the floor, a big bottle of Gatorade in the middle, only, it didn’t look like Gatorade.

It was light brownish yellow– Tequila, I guessed. I hadn’t touched tequila since I’d gotten drunk off of it in Cousins the summer before.

“Come sit down,” Joy said, patting the floor next to her. “We’re playing I Never. Have you ever played before?”

“No,” I said, sitting down next to her.

“Basically, when it’s your turn, you say something like,

‘I never …’”—Anika looked around the circle—“hooked up with someone related to me.”

Everyone giggled. “And if you have, you have to drink,” Molly finished, chewing on her thumbnail.

“I’ll start,” said Joy, leaning forward. “I never …cheated on a test.”

Shay grabbed the bottle and took a swig. “What? I was busy modeling, I didn’t have time to study,” she said, and everyone laughed again.

Molly went next. “I never did it with anyone in public!”

That time, Joy took the bottle. “It was at a park,” she explained. “It was getting dark. I doubt anyone saw us.”

Shay said, “Does a restaurant bathroom count?”

I could feel my face get hot. I was dreading my turn. I hadn’t done much of anything. My I Nevers could probably last all night.

“I never hooked up with Chad from the fourth floor!”

Molly said, collapsing into a fit of giggles.

Joy threw a pillow at her. “No fair! I told you that in secret.”

“Drink! Drink!” everyone chanted.

Joy took a swig. Wiping her mouth, she said, “Your turn, Isabel.”

My mouth felt dry all of a sudden. “I never …” Had sex. “I never … played this game before,” I finished lamely.

I could feel Joy’s disappointment in me. Maybe she’d thought we could be close friends too and now she was rethinking it.

Anika chuckled just to be polite, and then they all took turns drinking before Joy started it up again with,

“I never went skinny-dipping in the ocean. In a pool, though!”

Nope, never did that either. Almost, that time I was fifteen, with Cam Cameron. But almost didn’t count.

I ended up taking one drink when Molly said, “I never dated two people in the same family.”

“You dated brothers?” Joy asked me, looking interested all of a sudden. “Or a brother and a sister?”

Coughing a little, I said, “Brothers.”

“Twins?” Shay said.

“At the same time?” Molly wanted to know.

“No, not at the same time. And they’re just regular brothers,” I said. “They’re a year apart.”

“That’s kind of badass,” Joy said, giving me an approv-ing look.

And then we went on to the next thing. When Shay said she’d never stolen before and Joy took a drink, I saw the look on Anika’s face, and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. She saw me, and we exchanged a secret look.

I saw Joy around after that, in the hall bathroom and in the study, and we talked, but we never became close.

Jillian and I never became best buddies either, but she ended up being a pretty good roommate.

Of all those girls, Anika was the one I ended up being closest to. Even though we were the same age, she took me under her wing like a little sister, and for once I didn’t mind being the little sister. Anika was too cool for me to care. She smelled the way I imagined wildflowers smelled when they grew in sand. Later, I found out it was the oil she put in her hair. Anika almost never gossiped, she didn’t eat meat, and she was a dancer. I admired all of those things about her.

I was sorry we’d never be roommates. From now on, I’d only ever have one roommate again—my husband.

Chapter Seventeen

I woke up early the next day. I showered, threw away my shower shoes, and got ready one last time in my dorm room. I didn’t put my ring on, just in case. I put it in the zippered pocket in my purse. My dad wasn’t the most observant guy when it came to accessories, so it wasn’t likely, but still.

My dad was at the dorm by ten o’clock to move me out. Jeremiah helped. I didn’t even have to give him a wakeup call the way I’d planned; he showed up at my room at nine thirty with coffee and donuts for my dad.

I stopped in some of the girls’ rooms, hugging them good-bye, wishing them good summers. Lorrie said, “See you in August,” and Jules said, “We have to hang out more next year.” I said good-bye to Anika last, and I teared up a little. She hugged me and said, “Chill out. I’ll see you at the wedding. Tell Taylor I’ll be e-mailing her about our bridesmaid dresses.” I laughed out loud. Taylor was going to love that. Not.

After we were done loading up the car, my dad took us to lunch at a steak restaurant. It wasn’t super fancy, but it was a nice, a family place with leather booths and pickles at the table.

“Order whatever you like, guys,” my dad said, sliding into the booth.

Jeremiah and I sat across from him. I looked at the menu and picked the New York strip because it was cheapest. My dad wasn’t poor, but he definitely wasn’t rich, either.

When the waitress came over to take our orders, my dad ordered the salmon, I got the New York strip, and Jeremiah said, “I’ll have the dry-aged rib eye, medium rare.”

The rib eye was the most expensive thing on the menu. It cost thirty-eight dollars. I looked at him and thought, he probably didn’t even look at the price. He never had to, not when all his bills got sent to his dad.

Things were gonna change when we were married, that was for sure. No more spending money on dumb stuff like vintage Air Jordans or steak.

“So, what do you have going on this summer, Jeremiah?” my dad asked.

Jeremiah looked at me and then back at my dad and then back at me. I shook my head just slightly. I had this vision of him asking my dad for his blessing, and it was all wrong. My dad couldn’t find out before my mother.

“I’m going to be interning at my dad’s company again,” Jeremiah said.

“Good for you,” my dad said. “That’ll keep you busy.”

“For sure.”

My dad looked at me. “What about you, Belly? Are you going to waitress again?”

I sucked soda from the bottom of my glass. “Yeah. I’m gonna go in and talk to my old manager next week. They always need help in the summer, so it should be all right.”

With the wedding just a couple of months away, I would just have to work doubly—triply—hard.

When the bill came, I saw my dad squint and take a closer look. I hoped Jeremiah didn’t notice, but when I realized he hadn’t, I wished he had.

I felt closest to my dad when I was sitting in the passenger seat of his minivan, studying his profile, the two us listening to his Bill Evans CD. Drives with my dad were our quiet times together, when we might talk about nothing and everything.

So far the drive had been a quiet one.

He was humming along with the music when I said,

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

I wanted to tell him so badly. I wanted to share it with him, to have it happen during this perfect moment when I was still his little girl in the passenger seat and he was still the one driving the car. It would be a moment just between us. I’d stopped calling him Daddy in middle school, but it was in my heart—Daddy, I’m getting married.

“Nothing,” I said at last.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell him before I told my mother. It wouldn’t be right.

He went back to humming.

Just a little bit longer, Dad.