It's hard to sleep in other people's houses. My body and brain won't shut off completely, as though they're keeping me primed to respond to a threat, and by six a.m. I am wide awake. The sun is up already, pouring through the skylight and bathing the room in the kind of bright, pretty light that comes after sunrise on a clear summer's day. I lie in it for a while, tipped upside down in the bed so I can see the sky through the window. It captures a polaroid-perfect square of blue, not even the slightest wisp of a cloud in sight: today will be a hot one. I plan to spend it in the water, by the water, on the water.
I don't know what the protocol is for taking a shower in someone else's house at this time of day. Is it a totally unreasonable hour? Is it weird? I know Lou said I could shower, but it feels wrong to sneak into her bathroom and get naked, to use her soap all over my body, to make myself smell like her.
I check my cell phone. The battery is critically low. I'm amazed it survived the night at all — I am long overdue for an upgrade, something I keep putting off because I can't bring myself to drop hundreds of dollars on something new when my current phone still does what it needs to do. Just ... slower. Less reliably. The fact that it managed to get me to Fisher without it dying on me several times at random or the location services packing in is a miracle. The chance of this last ten percent of battery getting me back to my hotel is slim but I know the way from here. I'm home.
There's a new message in Greg's Gals. Tay's awake even though it's five o'clock in Los Angeles, selling her soul for a good job and a great paycheck.
What happened?? she texts. You left us hanging !! are you okay?
Came to visit my uncle's old cabin, snuck into the garden and got caught by the neighbor (the MILFest of all MILFs btw #obsessed) and we went for drinks and i stayed the night at her place
Not in her bed unfortunately, I add, because I know that will be Tay's next question.
Oh my god!! You absolute player!! Nice ;)
I snort out loud at the thought. I'm the farthest thing from a player and Tay knows it. I've had three relationships in my life, and when I fall, I fall hard. And when my relationships eventually fall apart, so do I. I don't do casual and I fucking hate break-ups.
I wish lol, I text back.
Gaby joins the chat with: Wait are you trying to sleep with someone who knew you when you were a kid & she was an adult? Please say no. She adds a string of grimacing faces.
She moved next door when i was 17 is that allowed
Okay that's okay I guess, Gaby says.
Also i barely even remember her from when i was here. I was out being an awesome super cool teenager remember!! You're talking to the queen of the lake here guys. I lie with my legs in the air as I text, my head hanging off the edge of the bed. Although turns out her daughter kinda "dated" my little brother the last time we were there
Ohhhhhhh, Tay texts, she's a MILF milf. Like, she's got a fully grown up kid?? We're not talking about a 25yo with a toddler??
Ummmmm no. she's like 40?
I wait for judgment. I love my friends but I sometimes think they don't really get me. They're both straight and well-adjusted and they know what path their lives are following. I'm out here winging it and developing crushes on people my parents used to know.
Tay's response comes in first: wyd talking to us, go get that sugar mama ;) ;)
Gaby sends a cry-laughing emoji and says, I don't get you lol but you do you. That's good enough for me. She's never been one for this kind of girl talk like Tay is, unless it's about her own infrequent forays into the world of dating.
I decide that six thirty is a reasonable enough time to get up. There's a towel hanging on the back of the door so I strip off and wrap it around myself and sneak into the bathroom. It's bright, the window facing the sun, and clean. There's evidence of life in here. Shampoo and conditioner and body wash on the shelf in the shower; a razor and a bar of soap and an exfoliating sponge hanging from the temperature control. There's a separate full-sized bath, too, with a wooden tray holding a paperback with wrinkled pages and a half burned candle.
Compared to the shower in the apartment I shared with Gaby and Tay, this is luxury. Five stars. The pressure is incredible, the water pummeling my body like a massage. I work Lou's shampoo into my hair and the bathroom fills with the summery scent of coconut. After fifteen minutes, I am thoroughly refreshed and I smell like a tropical beach, and my skin is pink from the heat and the mango shower gel I scrubbed into every inch of my body.
It seems a waste to change back into the clothes I wore all day yesterday, sandy and sweaty, so I look through the dresser and find a casual playsuit in my size, the palm leaf pattern bold and summery. Even I, with my questionable boundaries, find it a bit strange to borrow Lou's underwear too but it feels even weirder to wear her clothes without underwear and there's an open pack of colorful cotton boxer briefs right there, so I slip on a green pair and button up the playsuit. It's cute. I spend my life in shorts and jeans, leggings and yoga pants. Perhaps I should switch it up a bit. I twirl in front of the full length mirror; I like how the fabric feels against my thighs. Time to enter my feminine era.
At seven o'clock, I try to be as quiet as possible when I head downstairs in case Lou is still sleeping and I jump when I find her sitting in the window seat with her feet up, a mug balanced on her knee and a book in her hand.
"Morning, Charlotte," she says, resting the book upside down on her other knee. "Did you sleep all right?"
"Uh, yeah, not bad, thanks," I say. "How long have you been up?"
"Only a half hour or so. You were in the shower." She folds the book over her thumb and sips her drink, and whatever's in it is still hot enough to fog up her glasses as she stands. "I like that on you — you should keep it."
I look down at my outfit like I didn't just spend five minutes looking at myself in the mirror. "Oh no, I can't. It's cute. I'm not gonna take your clothes."
"You should. It suits you. I can't wear it anyway — too short in the crotch. Those one piece things are not made for anyone taller than, like, five foot six."
"I'm five eight," I can't help adding. "But I do have an unusually short torso." I don't remind her that I know she's a whizz with a sewing machine, that she could alter it with ease. She knows that already. Which means she really does think it looks good on me.
That gets a smile out of her. "Then it's yours." Her eyes drop to my feet and back up again. "You do have long legs."
I do. I stick one out like I'm doing the hokey cokey and internally curse my idiocy. Lou doesn't seem to notice, or care.
"I'm afraid there isn't much I can offer in the way of breakfast. I keep meaning to get groceries and now I'm down to plain bran and skim milk." She drains the last of her drink and joins me in the kitchen. "I do have tea and coffee, though, and I was thinking of heading into town — I have a lesson back here at nine so we could go to the cafe if you'd like a bite to eat?"
"I don't want to impose." All I want to do is impose. I want to study her, to watch her hands as she teaches piano. I watch her hands now, as she washes up her mug. Her fingers are mesmerizing. Too mesmerizing. I am at high risk of giving away every thought in my head. Tay has told me before that I am easier to read than a picture book; I wear my feelings written into my forehead and if Lou is remotely literate, she can probably tell that I am currently imagining myself as that mug. In her hands. At her mercy.
"Breakfast is not an imposition, Charlotte." Her lips tug into a smile. God, the way she says my name. I'm weak at the knees. "I have a pretty busy day today with lessons but listen, I can't have last night be your experience of dinner at my place — I can do better than pizza pockets."
"Really, the pizza pockets were perfect." I rest my hip against the counter and drag my eyes from her hands. She sets the mug on a rack to dry. "My favorite food, actually. What's not to love about carbs and cheese and tomato sauce?"
"Have you got plans tomorrow night? It's a Friday," she adds, correctly intuiting that I have already lost track of the days. Not that it matters. I know it's not the eleventh yet, so I am wide open.
"I don't have plans for the next ... ever," I say.
"Good. You're coming over for dinner, then." She collects the mug and plate I noticed yesterday and washes them up too and I have to look away. There's something about her soapy hands. Fuck, I cannot bear myself sometimes.
"Okay. What's the occasion? Or is it a spontaneous pizza pocket redemption?" I hop up onto the counter, legs swinging. The thud of my heels is a metronome.
She's facing the sink but I catch the slightest curve of her cheek, a smile she keeps to herself. "I'm having a few friends over. Julia will be here, and a couple of others. You might know them — Kate Stewart? Talia Jackson?"
I shake my head, no. "For all the time I've spent in Fisher, we never got that involved in local life. The only person I ever knew was Riley, and only 'cause she introduced me to coffee and never judged me for all the weird flavors Connor and I used to request. She never treated us like kids even when we were fifteen and had no idea what we were doing."
"She's not much older than you, I don't think. You're, what, twenty-five?"
"Twenty-four." The correction makes me feel like a child. I do not want Lou to see me as a child. "I figured she must've been twenty-something back then, right?"
Lou laughs. "She was a junior, I think, when Jules and Danny opened Cafe Au Late. So I guess that makes her ... god, I don't know, twenty-six? Twenty-seven?"
"Oh my god. She seemed so grown up back then and you're telling me she was seventeen? We're basically the same age."
"She's a good egg." Lou dries the plate and turns to face me. "So, what do you say? To dinner on Friday? That is, if you're interested in hanging out with a bunch of middle-aged women."
"Yes, please. That'd be nice." I don't say that's my favorite pastime. It's not like I have anything else going on. God knows what I'd be doing right now if Lou hadn't caught me yesterday. Probably wondering why the hell I committed myself to two weeks here alone. But I'm not alone anymore, and I don't want to be.
"Awesome. Let's say seven, okay? Have you got any dietary restrictions?"
"Nope. I'll eat anything."
"Perfect. That's settled, then."
It feels good to have a plan. Something concrete in the future. Dinner with a MILF and her friends. Totally normal plans.
*
We get breakfast at Cafe Au Late and Lou won't let me pay. I can't decide if it's flattering or infantilising. Am I some lost soul she feels the need to mother, or is she being nice? A consummate host? I mean, it would be rich of me to complain seeing as I need all the financial aid I can get but I can't stop myself from overanalyzing our every interaction. She doesn't bat an eye when she taps her card to pay thirty bucks for breakfast, and I don't miss that on top of a twenty percent tip on the card machine, she slots a rolled-up five dollar bill into the hand-decorated tip jar.
"Are your parents still in Fisher?" I ask. I want to figure her out, one sliver at a time.
"Mmhmm. They live out by the golf club." She covers her mouth as she takes a bite of a ham and cheese croissant.
"What do they do?"
Lou laughs. "They play a lot of golf. Lots of walking. They're retired."
"Oh."
"Mom taught first grade up until a few years ago and Dad was a groundskeeper at the golf club. They take full advantage of his lifetime membership — if you're ever looking for the Carters, the club's the first place to check."
I add it to the list of things I know about her, add a last name to my mental file. "Do you play?"
She gives me a one-shouldered shrug. "I can handle a club."
I picture Lou in a golf visor, a club in her hand, wearing one of those little white skirts and a sleeveless top. I swallow hard.
"I like it. They have family days sometimes, when members' kids go free, and Dad maintains that age is not exclusionary. He's a member, I'm his kid — who cares that I'm forty-two?"
I catch her age, another precious fact, and tuck it into the recesses of my brain. "Does that fly? I can't imagine the kind of people who make the rules at a golf club are very lenient with the rules."
She grins. "About half the time. Depends who's on duty. I get a few free sessions a year. I should get my own membership, really. I go with my parents enough to make it worth it."
"What about Issy? Do kids' kids get to go?"
"Issy doesn't believe in sport. It's a waste of mental energy, she says." Lou rolls her eyes but her smile is fond. "She wouldn't know how to hold a golf club if one leapt into her hands, but she has made a pretty useful caddy the last few years. She gets to drive the cart and read in between holes, and I get to stretch my legs and hang out with my parents."
"If you find yourself in desperate need of a caddy in the next couple weeks, I'm sure I can handle a cart."
She looks at me over the top of her glasses. Aquamarine today, to match the simple maxi dress she wears with a belt to cinch her waist. "I'll keep you in mind."
*
When Lou leaves to begin her day of lessons, I go back to my hotel room to charge my phone, rescuing my phone's battery the moment it tells me it's going to shut down if I don't find a power source right fucking now. My feet are itching to run, the best way I've found to use up the excess of energy that builds in my limbs, but I can't without music so while my phone charges, I head out to the parking lot to dig my Kindle out of my car. I'm not a massive reader, my brain rarely keeping quiet enough for me to focus on a book, but the rules are different in Fisher.
Maybe it's the lake or the freedom or the lack of responsibility but I've always been able to read here. I used to ace the summer reading challenge my school set each year, when we were asked to try to read ten books over the summer. I'd go all year barely reading a word, and then I'd get to Fisher and I'd devour entire trilogies in a weekend. Then I grew up and started college and realized how expensive books are and I didn't have twenty or thirty bucks to drop on a brand new hardcover, so I fell out of the habit. Tay, on the other hand, is a reading machine. She plows through books like nobody's business, to the point that Amazon must be losing money with the number of books she reads each month with her Kindle Unlimited subscription, and it has been her goal for years to get me into books. When she upgraded her Kindle last year, she gave me her old one with full access to all her books and her subscription and the e-ARCs she downloads, and I'm not going to say no to free stuff.
It's the ultimate sign of trust, letting me see everything she's reading. I connect to the hotel's wifi to update the library in case she has downloaded any more books in lieu of the ones she's returned and it tickles me that the book at the top of the list, sixty percent read, is some kind of erotic monster romance. I scroll for a few minutes, looking for covers that catch my eye, until I remember that Tay organizes everything into collections and one of them is my name. Books she thinks I'll enjoy, which means they're most likely easy, lighthearted summer romances or twisty mysteries. My two modes, it seems. Major bonus points if they're queer. I choose one with a colorful cover, all pinks and purples and yellow, and I promise myself that I will read until my phone reaches full charge.
It takes an hour and a half, by which point I'm engrossed in the book, almost a hundred pages in. When I reach the end of a chapter, I leave the book upside down on the bed and change into my running gear — shorts and a loose t-shirt over my sports bra — and I load up a playlist of songs that match my running pace, the beat matching up with each footstep. It took me a while to curate. A lot of evenings at the gym when Gaby was busy and I could use her membership.
Fisher is where I first got into running, when the adults would challenge the cousins to races and I almost always came first, even beating my older brothers. Mom latched onto that, a way to drain my boundless energy, and signed me up for track the moment I started ninth grade. The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that my parents and aunts and uncles spent most of the summer figuring out how to exhaust their twelve collective kids.
The route comes back to me the moment I set foot on Main Street. Muscle memory takes over. My feet know the way, a three-mile loop that carries me along the entirety of the beach and then south into town, along the river that flows to the reservoir forty miles away. I follow the river for two thirds of a mile before crossing over and running past the high school, the tennis club, the elementary school, until eventually I am back on Main Street, sweating buckets but filled with the high I get from a run.
When I return to my book, when I change and slip my Kindle into my bag and grab an iced coffee on the way to the beach, I feel like I've earned it.
*
do you prefer physical books or ebooks?
i go through phases! there was one month last year where i somehow devoured about 45 ebooks in 30 days and then i'll ignore my kindle for ages!