“I was born with everything, I have no excuse for not achieving my all of goals.”
“Where did you hear that? It sounds like—” I break off, feeling him stiffen under my touch. I was going to say his father but I can tell he doesn't want me to go there. “You're just really hard on yourself, that's all,” I say instead. I gently dab some Neosporin onto the cuts.
“I know what everyone sees when they look at me,” he replies quietly. “Entitled…born with a silver spoon in my mouth…I work as hard as I do so that no one can say I succeed because of my family's wealth.”
I frown. That's half of the equation I think, but it seems like he doesn't see how hard his father pushes him.
“I got a little bit of that at work the other day,” I say, wondering if it's OK to broach the topic of the internship he wanted. I take a dry piece of gauze and cover his palm with it before picking up the tape and beginning to wrap it around his hand. “When they found out I was Pierce's stepdaughter, I mean. Feels weird.”
“Your first experience of nepotism?”
“Yeah,” I say with a smile. “Actually, my mom once got me a part-time job as the receptionist at the salon where she used to work, so I guess that's not true.”
“Where does your dad work?”
“No idea. Probably a repair shop somewhere. He's a mechanic, or he was. Last time we heard from him was several years ago. He was in Florida then, but he never stays in one place very long.”
“So you're the first in your family to go to college,” he observes, as I finish taping one hand and move to the other.
“Yep.”
“Is that why you're so serious?”
“Am I?” I ask, my eyes moving up to his.
“Serious isn't the right word…distant, maybe.”
“Distant? That's worse,” I reply, feeling a little hurt.
“I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just trying to figure you out. We were really in class together? Which one?”
“There were three. The first was this American History survey class freshman year.”
“Professor Michaels?”
“Yeah. I always sat behind you, though. I'm not surprised you didn't see me,” I say, pressing down slightly as I finish wrapping his hands.
“I am,” he replies. I glance up sharply, but his eyes aren't focused on my face. They're looking at my body, which I now realize is quite exposed in my thin, white cotton nightie. I completely forgot I was wearing it. There's a moment of silence, and I suddenly become very aware of every inch of myself, and every inch of him. His smell of sweat, beads of it still dripping forward down his chest, through a smattering of hair between his nipples. Allison's face appears in my mind, and I'm reminded of what she said.
“I'm done.”
“What?” he says, his eyes pulling up to mine.
“With your hands. I'm done.”
“Right.”
I grab a glass from the cabinet and pour him some water from the faucet. “Here, you felt dizzy because you’re dehydrated.”
“Thanks,” he says. He reaches for the glass with his left hand, which is closer, and then pauses and takes it awkwardly with his right.
“What was that?” I ask, frowning.
“What?”
“Let me see your left arm,” I reply, reaching for him, but he pulls back.
“No, no, it's nothing.”
“What is?”
“My shoulder. It's just a little tendonitis.”
“Oh really? Did a doctor tell you that?”
“Not exactly.”
“WebMD?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. He shrugs, then winces. “You need to take better care of yourself. You can't keep pushing yourself so hard.” He frowns, and doesn't respond. “Well, at least take some Tylenol for the pain,” I add as I pour two pills into my hand and begin to repack the first aid kit with the other.
“That's OK.”
I tilt my head at him. “Pain isn't going to make you heal any faster,” I point out.
“Fine,” he says with a little smile. I blush as his fingertips scrape my palm as he takes the pills.
“Well. I think I'm going back to bed. I'm supposed to check out some of the Smithsonian museums later, so…” I trail off, feeling awkward now.
“OK, see you later,” he says, turning toward the back door. I pause for a moment, then head back toward the staircase. Just like that, the one real conversation that my stepbrother and I have ever had is over. I could practically feel him closing back up at the end there. I climb the steps and shut my bedroom door behind me. I feel more confused now than ever about our relationship. I didn't think it could get any weirder after that peep show I gave him, but somehow this candid glimpse of him makes things even more complicated.
I close my eyes and try to fall back to sleep, but when my alarm goes off at ten, I'm still wide awake.
CHAPTER NINE
The humidity is really starting to thicken by the middle of June, and it’s a wonder that I haven’t taken advantage of our pool yet. The only swimsuit I have is an old athletic one-piece, and I pull it on reluctantly in my bedroom. My mom keeps asking me if I want to go shopping, but I haven't taken her up on it yet. All her new clothes look wonderful but I think I'd feel uncomfortable spending so much money on myself.
I head down the hallway and almost bump into Nate as he leaves his bedroom. I reflexively cross my hands over my chest, even though I know he's seen me in less.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” he replies. It's the same conversation we've had ever since I saw him in the kitchen that morning. We quickly slipped into polite, but formal, interactions with each other afterward. If I had to choose between this and the mind games we started out with, I might choose the mind games.
The doorbell rings and I start to move past him to answer it.
“It's OK I’ll get it. It's my friend Jackson.” He walks down the hallway toward the stairs.
I follow after him, and turn toward the backyard once we're in the foyer. I hear his friend walk in just as I exit the French doors. There's a chest set against the house with the outdoor towels in it, so I grab one and set it on a chair.
The area around the pool it is paved with light stones before it turns into grass, and lounge chairs and a table with an umbrella are carefully set around it. I turn to the pool and step gingerly onto the first step in the shallow end. It's nice—warm, but still refreshing in the hot summer day. I step down the rest of the way until the water circles around my stomach, and then dive forward. I swim to the other end, where the water gets darker and deeper, then push off and glide onto my back. I open my eyes as I push the water past me with my hands and look up toward the house rising against the sun on my left.