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I raise an eyebrow. “Is it now?”
“Of course, that’s the point. You’re too young to realize how good it is to be young.”
So I should sleep around? I don’t know what to say.
She waves me off. “It’s okay, Arden. I won’t meddle in your love life, though I can’t promise the same for your uncle.”
My hackles rise and I sit up taller, pressing my bare feet deeper into the warm sand. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, you’ll find out tomorrow night, but this is me warning you. And remember, just because Gregory wants you to do something doesn’t mean you actually have to do it.”
My eyebrows rise in question but the attractive helper returns with drinks and a dimpled smile, and she drops the topic in favor of mojitos.
Thirty-Eight
While I was in Boston, I was able to keep to myself. And then I came to Manhattan and I had the excuse of double majoring to keep busy. But right now? Right now I have no excuse but to go to the Nantucket Yacht Club summer kick-off party with my family. It will be my first big social event since meeting them. I knew this day would come, but I still feel woefully unprepared.
My hands sweat and I tug at the elegant champagne slip dress Sybil helped me pick out back in the city. It hugs my curves in an unfamiliar pull, accentuating the areas I usually keep covered under loose-fitting clothing.
“Look in the mirror and tell me you aren’t fucking gorgeous,” she insists.
“You’re the best hype woman.” I laugh nervously and let her drag me in front of her full-length mirror. She’s right, the dress transforms me into a girl who belongs. I have to admit I like what I see, mostly because I look so grown up and like one of her crew. Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong with her, like we’re just pretending, what with her upbringing being so different from mine and the fact that she’s six years older. She firmly knows who she is and I’ve just barely figured myself out.
“It’s true. This dress makes you look more like a Laurence, see how it accentuates the warm undertones in your hair and brightens your skin so you’re not washed out?”
I try to see what she’s talking about, but it’s lost on me. I only know that the dress is a good one. I shake my head. “I have no idea what you mean. I know I look good, but I couldn’t tell you why. I don’t have the same eye that you do.”
My brain always worked in numbers and now it works in code too. I’m far too left-brained for the creativity it takes to put the right color fabric with the right skin tone, but ask me the difference between javascript and html and I’ll have no problem explaining it.
“Trust me, you look incredible and you’re going to do great tonight.”
I do trust her but I don’t know how great I’m going to do. I’m not cut out for this world. I’m better suited behind a computer than out working a crowd. Clearly, if I don’t even know what dress looks good enough to make me look more like a Laurence. What makes me think I can handle tonight without embarrassing myself?
A half hour later and we’re stepping from my uncle’s restored classic Ford Bronco that Amelia says is his newest toy. He had it painted the exact same blue as the house and bought it especially for Nantucket, saying that we needed something that can go “off-road” on the beach. Aunt Amelia had rolled her eyes behind his back and winked at us when he’d said that as we all climbed inside. It’s just the two of them and the two of us tonight. Hayes and Chandler stayed back to play video games and eat pizza.
I would’ve liked to stay back for video games and pizza but instead I was stuck in the back of the Branco, but at least it’s not the ostentatious Bugatti Uncle Gregory typically drives back home. I like the Bronco better. It feels more normal even though I’m sure the restoration cost as much as some people’s houses.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” I gasp at the sheer size of the party.
“We didn’t think you’d come,” Sybil whispers, tucking my hand into her arm and tugging me along. Don’t they know me better than that by now? I would’ve come because they asked me to come, plain and simple.
“It’s fine. I knew this was going to happen eventually.”
“Dad wants to show us off to his friends and their eligible sons,” she warns. “But don’t worry, he’s not going to actually make you date anyone.”
So that’s what Aunt Amelia meant yesterday.
“Great,” I reply sarcastically. It’s not that I never wanted to be introduced to their social circles or that I think I’m too good for anyone, it’s that I’m still terrible in social situations. My medication has helped with a lot of things, and therapy even more, but nothing can stop my social anxiety. Not yet, anyway.
I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.
I’m not like the Sybils and Hayes of this world who were bred for socializing. I’m not like the Chandlers who gets a pass when he doesn’t fit into places, and not because he lacks anything, but because the world is lacking the right accommodations.
I’m just me. I’m just Arden. The girl who doesn’t know the appropriate things to say or how to draw the right kind of attention. People may consider me a Laurence now but deep down I’ll always be a Davis. I never knew the man that gave me my last name, why he wasn’t on the birth certificate, or why my mother chose Arden, but sometimes I think their genes must run strong in me.
Still—I’d like to belong. I’d like to be better. More confident. And nobody can give that to me. I have to fight for it myself.
“I’ll do my best to try,” I say to Sybil and she smiles like she believes in me.
