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“Okay. Would you think it was weird if I went on a date with my doctor?”
She laughs. “Do you care if I think it’s weird?”
“I guess. A little.”
She tucks her shiny blond bob behind her ear. And it stays there. Straight hair is such sorcery. “I think it’s wonderful. He seems like a nice person, and you’re magnificent.”
“That’s it?”
With a shrug, she slides off the desk. “Yeah. That’s it. How much more thanmagnificentdo you need?”
“That’s not what I meant. And thank you. And maybe it’s really this easy.”
Desi wraps a rich brown scarf around her neck. “It might start easy.”
I wait a few seconds, but she doesn’t say more.
“Seems like you forgot to finish that thought.”
She shakes her head and grins at me. “Oh, you know. Conflict. It’s what makes a story interesting.”
Gross. I hate conflict.
“Dr. Mercer’s interesting enough for both of us.”
She grins. “He certainly is interesting to look at,” she says, waving as she heads out the door. “See you tomorrow.”
I’m still smiling about all of it when something comes sliding across the circulation desk. Not sliding like a gentle glide. Sliding like it’s the championship baseball game, ninth inning, two outs and a race for home plate.
My cousin Tessie, coming in for her evening study session with her boyfriend. She makes a dive over the desk in her usual way, all reaching fingers and laughter.
“Sage,” she says, tugging at one of my curls. “Fabulous to see you, as always.”
Everything isfabulousto Tessie.
Even though she’s four and a half years younger, Tessie is my favorite cousin, the funniest kid since the day she began talking. She’s also the only other cousin besides me to get into Chamberlain. This makes us our grouchy grandfather’s favorites. Say what you will about legacies, we earned our spots here.
And huge donations along with a great deal of tuition money didn’t hurt.
Tessie is a junior, so we weren’t students at the same time, but our we’ve been close for years. Our families summer together on Long Island. Montauk is a tradition.
And yes, I come from a family that usessummeras a verb.
“You, too,” I tell her. “What’s up today?”
She’s still got her torso draped over the circulation desk, and her feet must be hovering several inches off the ground.
“Writing a paper about Gatsby.” She wrinkles her nose. “Choose a character and analyze them using song lyrics. I’m using Daisy and the woman in ‘Hotel California.’ You know that old Eagles song?”
“Everyone knows that Eagles song.”
She nods, looking over my shoulder toward the door. They boyfriend must not be here yet, because she doesn’t hurry away. She’d cut off a conversation with me mid-sentence to run to him. I know exactly where I stand. And I don’t mind.
She slides backward off the desk until her feet hit the ground. “It’s important to give credit to the powerful and positive women characters in literature,” she says.
“Positive? You’re kidding, right?” I ask, just in case.
Her eyebrows come down. “No. I’m afeminist, Sage.”
