“They’re not rules,” says June. “They’re suggestions. The idea is to encourage social responsibility but not dictate it. I don’t want anyone to feel obligated. People should be in touch with their own systems, their own needs.”
I am not sure I see the difference between rules and suggestions.
“I know Tatum gets his iced coffees in town,” June goes on.“The boys love their potato chips and their store-bought coleslaw. I’m not judging that, or forbidding it. We just all feel better, and we’re at our most creative, when our bodies and minds aren’t jacked up on artificial foods and outside stimulants. And you know, Hidden Beach is where Brock was able to complete his recovery. There’s something nourishing about the way we live, even if it’s not what you’re used to.”
I’m silent for a minute, trying to figure out what I think. She claims she’s not rigid, but it seems like sheis.She says she’s not forbidding anything, but sheisforbidding. “You should have asked before you opened my bags and took my electronics,” I tell her. “Since it’s only a suggestion and not a rule.”
“You’re right,” says June. “I’m used to being the maternal figure, making calls on what’s going to be best for the boys and then guiding them to their best choices. But of course you’re different.”
“You didn’t guide me, actually. You just took my stuff.”
“Meer said he told you how we do things here.” She picks up a stack of linens and puts them in a large cardboard box. “But you have a good point. I should have asked. Why don’t you see how you feel with keeping electronics to a minimum?”
“I’d actually like my phone, please.”
She stares at me for a beat, then tells me that since it’s Monday, my devices are available in the office till two.
“What time does Kingsley get home today?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“Will you tell me when you know which plane he’s on?”
“I won’t be checking my texts.”
“So he’ll just show up, later this afternoon?”
“Or he might not.”
“How will you know? Like, how much to cook? Or whether to wait up for him?”
“I never know what Kingsley’s plans are. That’s not the way our partnership works. You will need to be patient and discover what occurs. Why don’t you have some breakfast?”
“Is that anothersuggestion?”
“It’s an offering,” she says. “You’re a guest in my home and I want you to feel welcome and nourished.”
—
When I haveeaten, June shows me to the Oyster Office, good on her word to give me access to my electronics. The room is at the base of Oyster Tower. It has one curved wall, similar to my bedroom. A wooden desk and chair are lit by a single lamp, and by the light that streams in the window. On the desk are six laptop computers, including mine. There is a bowl with five charging cell phones, also including mine. June gives me a piece of paper with the Wi-Fi password and leaves me alone.
On my phone, four texts from Saar.
A mirror selfie of him in a tight-fitting blue suit on his way to an industry event.
Stylist says baggy pants are over but I am REALLY NOT SURE. Might have regrets tomorrow.
You good? You didn’t make fun of my suit, which makes me think you might be dead.
Checking in from LA. How was the dad meet? I googled Kingsley Cello and !#$%&*.
And finally:Matilda! You okay? Pls confirm not dead. You know I have anxiety.
I should have checked in. It hadn’t actually occurred to me that Saar would be wondering how I was.
I send him a video game gif fromSomething Rotten:Hamlet slaying a dragon.Your suit = rockstar vibes.
I think about telling him more—explaining about Kingsley being gone, meeting Meer, who is my brother, the indigo, the trip to Beechwood Island—but some part of me doesn’t want to give a blow-by-blow of this journey to my anxiety-ridden, overexercising adult roommate, kind as he is. I want to just have it for myself. And I can’t quite put it into words, anyway. So I write:We did a tie-dye project.
