Wait, p.19
Wait, page 19
Elise and Sophie embrace their friends as they prepare to leave. Sheba leans back in her beach chair. It was nice meeting you both, she says and waves a stiff goodbye.
After Jacqueline and Amara depart, Elise announces she’s going for a swim.
Does anyone want to come?
Sophie and Sheba decline, so she walks to the water alone, eyeing Amara’s and Jacqueline’s silhouettes moving closer to the horizon. She wants to ask Amara about her relationship with her parents, how she manages to connect with them in Jamaica when the distance feels impossible. She wants to know if Amara is afraid to mother a child in this world. Not the world generally, but their world specifically—the world they share. She wants to hear Bryan play guitar, songs he’s written especially for Amara, and thank him for always protecting her friend. She longs to follow them, but she is weighted in place, waiting for an appropriate time, too cautious, perhaps.
She wades out past the small ledge in the sea floor until she’s submerged to the top of her neck. The ocean swells around her, pregnant with water. She relaxes, letting her lungs buoy her onto the surface. As she floats, her arms out, her eyes mirroring the shifting clouds, she hears the sound of the geologist’s fake Irish accent, Helen prodding her about her mother’s birthplace, and now, You could have backed me up. Back me up. Back up. She pulls herself underneath the water and attempts to exhale, but a wave passes through and the ocean fills her mouth. She scrambles to the surface and swims to shore.
When she returns, Sophie is asleep and Sheba has taken off her sunglasses, tipping her face to the sun. They sit in silence—punctuated only by Elise identifying a passing bird—until hunger sets in and they decide to go home. In the car, Sophie is absorbed by her cellphone in the back seat and Sheba quietly balances her head against the passenger’s side window. After a few minutes, she glances at Sophie behind her.
You were so obsessed with that girl Jacqueline, she says.
Sophie lifts her eyes from her phone. What’s that supposed to mean?
You were like a puppy dog when she arrived. It’s obvious you have a crush on her.
Elise glances at Sophie in the rearview mirror.
Sheba, you literally don’t know what you’re talking about, Sophie says.
Jacky and Sophie have known each other for a long time, Elise says, trying to temper the exchange. They were excited to see each other.
So you’re saying you don’t have a crush? Sheba says, twisting to face Sophie.
Sophie throws her phone onto the seat beside her.
Let me live my life, Sheba. You don’t have to be an emotional terrorist just because we didn’t hang out at your pool.
They pull up to the main house and Sheba hurries to exit the car first. She’s been irritable all day, Elise says to Sophie, watching Sheba ascend the porch steps. They wait for her to enter the house before they step out and hang their damp towels over the porch banister. Sheba retreats to her bedroom, her original bedroom, Sophie’s room, and shuts the door.
I should go talk to her, Elise says.
Sophie sighs, still focused on her phone. I would let her sulk. She’ll get bored and snap out of it.
They hear a door open upstairs. Sheba crosses the hallway to her mothers’ bedroom and the door slams. Maybe you’re right. I should wait, Elise says, smelling a container of bluefish pâté from the back of the fridge. Sophie remains affixed to her phone. Are you scrolling social media? Elise asks.
Jacqueline texted me, Sophie says, allowing a smile to escape. She still has the same number from middle school.
Elise spreads a dollop of pâté onto a gluten-free cracker made mostly of seeds. The fish tastes briny and tart. She watches Sophie edit and reedit her reply texts to Jacqueline for several minutes, then closes the lid on the bluefish and returns it to the fridge.
All right. I’m going to see how she’s doing, she says, and leaves Sophie in the kitchen.
Upstairs, Elise finds Sheba in her moms’ room with a towel wrapped around her, vacuuming the silk duvet with a DustBuster.
There’s sand everywhere now, she shouts over the loud suctioning noise.
Are you OK? Elise says. You seem testy.
How would you know? You barely spoke to me today.
She shuts off the vacuum and throws it on top of a pile of shoes in the closet.
What do you mean? Elise says, stepping closer to her. We talked.
You acted like you barely knew me. She’s my friend from college. Wow, really? And I don’t understand why you wouldn’t agree with me about the pool. You know I don’t like the beach, but you’ll do whatever your sister wants.
I wanted to go to the beach too! We’re always here, at the house, with the pool. We swim in your pool all the time, Sheba.
Sheba spins her hair into a tight twist over her shoulder.
If you hate my pool so much, then maybe you should leave, she says.
What? Elise shifts from one foot to the other. What do you mean by leave?
If this place is so awful, and I’m some kind of emotional terrorist, maybe you shouldn’t live here anymore.
Sheba—are you actually asking us to move out?
Sheba grunts and throws her fists against her thighs.
Why is everything about you and your sister! she yells, and erupts into tears. Her towel shifts and falls to the floor, revealing her porcelain body, a pinched belly button, and a narrow wisp of pubic hair. Elise bends down to collect the towel.
I don’t want it, Sheba says as Elise tries to hand it to her. She throws herself facedown onto the bed. Elise opens the towel and covers her.
You know, maybe it’s not exactly the same, but I lost my moms too, Sheba says. They refuse to talk to me. This yacht club drama really took a toll on my mental health. But I feel like I can’t talk to you about it because so many horrible things have happened to you. And, like, I’m sorry I can’t relate to you like Amara can, but, you know, you’re not the only one who saved Sophie from jail. I had a part in it too. And then she calls me an emotional terrorist? I offered her a place to live after she was arrested!
Elise can feel the tips of her ears burning. She doesn’t understand Sheba’s persistence with Sophie. Does she want credit for her sister’s well-being?
Sophie can be cutting with her words sometimes, she says, trying to find a middle ground. You can understand that, right? Saying harsh things you don’t actually mean?
Sheba rolls over, facing Elise. I know this is probably the wrong thing to say, she whimpers. But I feel like, because your life is so tragic, I’m not allowed to feel bad about the things that happen in my life.
Elise rubs her chin. I wouldn’t use the word tragic, she says finally.
Sheba, perhaps realizing she crossed a boundary, reaches for Elise and says: But you’re a much better sister than I could ever be. You’re the best. I wish in another life you’d be resurrected as my older sister.
Elise takes a deep breath, her lungs stuck. I have a lot going on in my life, she says, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tell me about your life, Sheb.
Sheba tucks herself into the fetal position and clutches the towel underneath her chin.
There was a moment, on the beach, she says, when I thought you were going to leave me for Amara. You went for a swim and I thought for sure you were going to follow them down the shore.
Elise swallows the saliva caught on the back of her tongue.
But I didn’t, she says, before Sheba closes her eyes.
At dawn, the hatchlings knock against the insides of their thinning shells and crack open the hard outer case, that which has protected them, allowed them to grow. They emerge, slick and chirping, and begin a creaky balance on dainty limbs. Elise arrives and discovers the eggs broken and abandoned, which alarms her initially, until she locates the hatchlings nestled in dried pearls of seaweed, prodding a broken quahog shell, grasping at pebbles with their newly unfurled feet.
Elise drops her logbook when she sees them, the pages cutting into the sand. She watches through raised binoculars until her hands go numb, their bodies a puff of white feathers, their stubby beaks chattering. When Steve arrives to retrieve her in the afternoon, she waves one hand in the air, gesturing for him to hurry over. He anchors the boat and jogs to the fence.
I told you they’d breed again, he says, nudging her with his elbow.
Don’t try and take credit, she says. This one’s all me.
He drags over a large piece of driftwood that the tide has carried ashore and offers for them to sit for a while. I downloaded a meditation app, he tells her. They say it’s important to be present during moments of joy. He retrieves a bag of sunflower seeds from his back pocket and pours a handful into Elise’s palm.
When I was little, Elise says, spitting a hull into her other hand, we used to go to that beach over there. She points east, over the estuary, to a coast carpeted with shells. My sister, Sophie, and I would pretend the waves were stampedes of animals. If it was a big wave we’d say, Oh no, here comes a herd of tigers! Or if it was a small one we’d say, Don’t worry, it’s just a bunch of sheep.
You know tigers don’t stampede in herds right? Steve says with a cheek full of seeds.
Yes, I know that, Elise says. This is when we were kids.
If you’re going to be my endangered species monitor, you need to know basic animal hunting facts.
Elise laughs. You’ve clearly never seen a tiger-stampede wave.
I sure have, he says. That’s my favorite fishing spot over there.
They pass the binoculars back and forth, watching the chicks dig and nestle under their parent’s soft underbelly, already scurrying and plucking at crustaceans. Eventually Steve asks Elise if she would consider working through the end of September or maybe mid-October, to help him in the office. Elise is relieved by the offer. She was hoping for more time to decide how she’d make money over the winter. She tells him she can work for as long as he needs. On the drive home, Elise smiles as she cruises on the open road, a conveyor of lavender sky above her. She picks up her phone and dials Gilda, who answers from her desk at work.
Mom? she says, pressing on the brake to allow a stray cat to pass. Guess what? The eggs hatched. There are two new chicks.
You’re kidding! Gilda says, matching Elise’s enthusiasm. That is incredible news.
I know, Elise says, accelerating again. I’m happy.
When she arrives at the main house and ascends the porch steps, a text message from Rahul vibrates on her phone. Her thumb wanders to their conversation thread as she opens the front door. They have been chatting on and off since they reunited at the Chicken Box, not about anything of substance, but with a twittering playfulness. He wishes her good morning and good night with silly GIFs and sends her stupid articles, like one about a pet koala bear that dresses up like a panda bear on Halloween. Sheba is curled up on a sofa in the living room and Sophie is reclined on the sofa beside her, each staring at their respective phones. A triangle of sky peeks between a gap in the curtains. Elise assumes Sophie is talking to Jacqueline, with whom she is engaged in a prolonged text affair; they write to each other from the moment they wake until they fall asleep with phones still in hand. Elise doesn’t know who Sheba is talking to. It’s possible she’s scrolling so as not to seem like the only one without phone obligations.
The chicks hatched today! Elise announces as she enters the room.
Hey, that’s awesome, Sophie says, momentarily glancing up from her phone.
Yay, chicks, Sheba says and drops her phone against her stomach. Who are you texting?
No one, Elise says and tucks her phone into her jeans pocket.
It’s Rahul, isn’t it? Sheba says. You’re sexting with the hot bartender.
Sophie makes a gagging motion with her finger. Elise slumps onto the sofa.
I knew it! Sheba says. You’re so obvious. She grabs a pillow from behind her and tosses it at Elise.
For real, Elise? Sophie says. Rahul? Mom will be so proud.
Cool it, OK? Elise says, smoothing over her mouth. Nothing is going on between me and Rahul.
A reply from Rahul lights up her screen: There’s a bonfire party in the woods tomorrow. You going?
Is that him again? Sheba says, practically unzipping herself with glee.
He invited us to a party tomorrow, Elise says and buries her face into the pillow Sheba threw at her.
Is it the bonfire party in the woods? Sophie says. Jacqueline invited me too. I think I want to go.
Oh my God, you’re both nauseatingly in love, Sheba says. What are we going to wear?
Sophie furrows her eyebrows. Have you ever been to a bonfire party?
No, Sheba says. They didn’t have bonfires at the Gramercy Park Hotel when I was growing up.
I wouldn’t wear your finest silks, Sophie says.
Sheba crosses her arms. I don’t care if there’s a bonfire. Your sister needs to look hot for her new boyfriend.
Elise ignores them and opens up her conversation with Rahul.
Elise: Will you be there?
Rahul: I’ll be there
Elise: See you tomorrow night then
It’s after one a.m. and Elise tells Sheba she’s going to take a bath in the eggshell tub. My bones are cold, she says. I need to warm up. Sheba retires with a book in hand and falls asleep before opening the first page. Elise runs the tap, steps into the hot water, and submerges her ankles, knees, thighs, and belly button, slowly inching the steaming water up her body. When she’s acclimated, she pinches her nose and dunks her head under. Her breasts float, breaching the surface. She’s hoping the bath will relieve her anxiety about seeing Rahul at the party. She can’t stop assessing what time they should leave—she would prefer if Rahul was already there when they arrive, since she’s not sure who else will be at the party. She plans on wearing a black dress—something short but casual—strappy sandals, and a zip-up sweatshirt tied around her waist, in case the temperature drops. She hopes Rahul wears a loose button-down shirt partially undone. She loves his chest hair, the playful black ribbons, a field ready to be trampled. Had he been serious when he said he wanted to visit her at work and see the birds for himself? She had told him about how she lost the first brood but the second successfully hatched this morning. She imagines them sitting together on a thick woven blanket, their legs touching slightly, sticky in the heat, as they watch crowds of sanderlings butt and juke against the tide. She lets her hands buoy in the bathwater, one moving to his imaginary thigh. She can feel the muted pulse of her heartbeat under the water, her hand reaching deeper into his swim trunks, the warm humidity inside, the dense prickle of his pubic hair. Can I? she imagines he would ask her while scanning her breasts. She’d nod and he’d bite her nipple over her bikini top. She laughs and sighs slowly, her hand still searching. He tongues his way down her rib cage and gazes up at her. Yes, do it, please, she tells him. He places his open mouth against her bathing suit fabric and exhales, the warmth of his breath expanding against her pubic bone. He takes the end of her bikini string in his teeth and unties her. She tilts her head back, cheeks aflame, a flock of seagulls flapping overhead.
They drive into the woods on sandy dirt roads that thunk against the bottom of Elise’s car. There are no streetlights or road signs, only a series of intuitive lefts and rights that end with a line of cars parked diagonally against the bushy thicket. They hear a dull clamor of voices coming from a glow in the trees, at once close and distant, like the sonic whirl inside a conch shell. Sheba has an open prosecco bottle wedged between her thighs from which she’s been stealing swigs as Elise drives. Sophie is in the back seat with a six-pack of warm hard cider she found in the pantry. As soon as Elise cranks the emergency brake, Sophie cracks open a can and the cider fizzes onto her jeans.
Now my hands are sticky, she says, licking her palms.
Sheba steps out of the car, drinks the last of the prosecco, and tosses the empty bottle into the back seat.
Let’s go find your boyfriend, Rahul, she says, swinging the door shut.
Elise steps out on the driver’s side.
Not my boyfriend, she says for the fifth time that night, and checks her mascara in the side-view mirror.
They walk down the grassy hump in the middle of the road, careful with each step in the darkness. The woods smell of overripe mushrooms and straw. A pop breaks through the black lattice of trees—wet wood catching the flame, or an empty beer bottle bursting—lighting up the rough, craggy scales on the surrounding pine trees.
I can’t believe this is what locals do for fun, Sheba says, and asks for a sip of Sophie’s cider.
They enter the clearing, and Elise recognizes people she had almost forgotten about—boys with shaggy haircuts puncturing the sides of beer cans, girls in fleece jackets sitting on the ends of open truck beds, all clustered into predictable groups around the bonfire. The boys suction their mouths to the punctures and open the cans from the top, gulping the beer down in a few seamless breaths. Above them, smoke spirals into an open space between the treetops.
There he is! Sheba whisper-yells and hugs onto Elise’s arm. She gestures her chin toward Rahul, who is veiled by wavy fumes drifting off the fire. Elise stops walking, pretends to look in the opposite direction. Sophie announces she’s going to say hi to Jacqueline and vanishes before Elise can ask where. Let’s go over there, Sheba says and drags Elise by the hand through the party. As they pass by, several people wave, recognizing Elise, but Sheba doesn’t allow for a pause to say hello. Rahul notices them approaching and stops his conversation.
