f i v e
“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends.
I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”
—Jane Austen
Antonia pulls up to her house and parks the Land Rover in her driveway. In the car, she told me that both of her parents are back at work after their long summer vacation so we don’t have to worry about being loud as we enter the house.
Going to Antonia’s house feels like traveling to another country. The colors of their drapery and furniture are vibrant and deep and the hallways are filled with Antonia’s mother’s framed vinyl album covers—she’s a famous singer from the Dominican Republic—and pictures of her with other famous singers and musicians. There’s one photograph of her mother hanging in the entryway that’s always been my favorite. She’s very young—just barely twenty, maybe—and wearing a tight, sparkly sequin dress that fits her like she was poured into it. Antonia looks almost exactly like her mother, but with a darker complexion.
It’s wild how much they look alike. Even though my mom is part Latina, no one ever guesses that I’m Mexican. It’s the last name, I suppose. Blakely. Not to mention my skin is ghostly white. I spent most of the summer running around conference rooms and fund-raisers, helping Mom with her campaign to increase childhood literacy. I’m basically her intern and help with everything from setting up events to data entry. Sometimes I get to read to little kids at her events, which is my favorite part, but mostly I have to hang out with adults who think I have everything together but don’t really know who I am.
Summers are hard for me. Without school to focus on, I’m always obsessing about my weight and how hungry I am. I binge more. This year, with Antonia visiting the Dominican Republic and Sam away working as a counselor at a surf camp, I got really lonely. I started eating a lot and feeling crappy about myself. I got to a point where I started vomiting after every meal. It was so bad that I couldn’t stop myself from purging after a fund-raising luncheon, even though I knew Mom was in the stall next to me.
I told her I was sick.
I’m hoping Antonia being back will make things better.
“I’m grabbing a snack and then we gotta get ready,” Antonia says, walking through the entryway toward the kitchen. “You want anything?”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m not hungry. I’ll meet you upstairs.”
Leaving her in the kitchen, I walk up the stairs to her bedroom and plop down on Antonia’s bed, trying to figure out a plan to talk to Zach tonight without seeming awkward and obvious. Her bedroom is super bohemian. The shelves are filled with knickknacks from her mother’s tours around the world. The room is also cluttered with different musical instruments—guitars, conga drums, a balalaika—that she plays. Multicolored batik rugs cover the ground, which is nearly impossible to see because Antonia’s clothes are everywhere.
I daydream about the possibility of meeting LeFeber. It’s not only his art that I admire. It’s his life. His mother was an alcoholic who abandoned the family when he was a baby, and when he was sixteen, his father disowned him for being openly gay. The article said that when he lived in New York during the ’80s, LeFeber was practically homeless, trying to scrounge up enough money for materials and find places that would host his installations. I want to ask him how he found so much courage to pursue his dream. I want to ask him how he found so much courage to believe in himself for so long.
When she returns, Antonia shoves a plate of reheated black beans and red rice at me. Even though she’s trying to be nice, I give her some side-eye.
Right away, I feel like a total jerk—why can’t I just be normal about food for once? Why can I barely stand to eat in front of my best friend?
“Seriously not trying to be a nag,” she says, “but you should eat something. Especially since we’re gonna be drinking.”
She’s right. I can handle a few bites.
“Fine,” I say, taking the plate and a fork from her.
I pick at the rice and beans, eating a few bites to make her happy, while Antonia digs through her closet, looking for something for us to wear to the boat party.
I’m glad she’s going with me. I would have been nervous going alone. I don’t even know how I would have gotten there.
My phone buzzes.
“Oh crap,” I say, not even realizing I’m thinking aloud. I totally forgot that I’d made plans with Sam to go see a movie tonight. We’re supposed to be there in an hour.
“What’s up, BB?” Antonia asks, throwing a random pink shirt over her shoulder onto a pile of clothes and shoes behind her.
“Sam’s going to kill me.”
My phone buzzes again and I pick it up.
Yep. Just like I thought. He’s already texted two or three times.
“I promised him I’d hang out tonight,” I say. “He’s supposed to be picking me up from my house soon.”
“Okay, so? Invite him over,” she says. “It’s not like they’ll mind one more person at the boat party. Everyone’ll probably be so trashed that they won’t remember anyway.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that kind of party...”
I really do love Sam as a friend, but hanging out with all three of us means that there’s a totally different dynamic. I can be open with him about my feelings for the most part, but I don’t want him to think I’m shallow for wanting to hang with Zach’s crowd.
Antonia finally settles on a yellow dress, which she begins to pull on over her lean, muscular shoulders. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I thought it might be classy. Since it’s on a yacht?”
“Why are you being weird? Do you not want him to go or something?” Antonia asks.
Before I can answer, she slaps herself on the forehead. “Oh. I get it. Duh. You want to hook up with someone, and you don’t want Sam around being all big-brotherly.”
“Shut up,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush. “I just want to hang out with you!”
Antonia smirks to show me she knows I’m bluffing.
She’s right. Sort of. Sam and I have been close enough at times during our friendship to be mistaken for siblings, but that feeling has been shifting this last year. It’s like we’re almost becoming more mysterious to each other as each of us gets older. I don’t know what I feel about Sam.
She throws a tiny piece of black fabric at me. “Try that on.” The dress looks way too small, but I’m not about to argue with her. Handing the mostly full plate of beans and rice to Antonia, I get up and walk toward her bathroom. I can’t change in front of other people. Not even her.
“You’re so modest!” Antonia complains. “It’s just me!”
“What should I tell Sam?” I ask.
“You could be honest,” Antonia says, shoveling the food into her mouth with my fork. “Or you could just tell him that you want to hang out with me. Tell him you didn’t know I’d be back. That’s not lying.”
I pull on the strapless dress. It barely covers the necessary parts. I keep fidgeting with the top, pulling it up to make sure my chest won’t pop out from just breathing. The dress squeezes my ribs like a corset, punishing me for not being small enough.
“I don’t know...” I say, not knowing whether I’m talking about the dress or how I’m going to back out of my plans with Sam. Even though Jackson didn’t invite him to the party, I could invite Sam anyway. Except I definitely don’t want Sam anywhere near when I’m trying to talk to Zach. I can’t entertain him when I’m looking for LeFeber either. I need to step out on my own. And I really do want some girls-only time with Antonia too.
“Come on out,” Antonia says, pushing the bathroom door open. She lets out a deep whistle. “When did my lil homie become a grown ass woman? Jackson is gonna be so into this.”
I blush. It’s hard for me to see why Antonia thinks I’m so beautiful, especially compared to her, but I’m flattered anyway. She does have pretty good taste, after all.
“I’m not going for him,” I try to explain. “Not exactly.”
Antonia squeezes by and starts rummaging through her bathroom drawers for makeup. “No? Then who...? It’s Zach, isn’t it?”
Am I really that obvious?
“It’s more than that,” I say, only partially bluffing.
“Right,” she says, raising an eyebrow while twisting open her mascara. “Like I don’t know you’ve been in love with him for the past two years?”
“Actually, I’ll have you know that an artist I really admire is supposed to be there.”
“Going for the older men now?” Antonia asks.
I laugh. “Yeah, right. I guess one of the producers of Zach’s show invited him. He’s supposed to be in town doing a gallery show. I really want to meet him.”
My phone buzzes again. And again.
“You better answer him,” Antonia says. “He’ll start thinking something’s wrong.”
“Do you think Sam knows?” I ask. “About Zach?”
My skin flushes with warmth thinking about the possibility of his fingers intertwined with mine. I lean on the counter, waiting for her to tell me what I don’t want to hear. One thing about Antonia is that you can always count on her to give it to you straight.
“Honestly...” Antonia stares at herself close-up in the mirror as she applies mascara to her eyelashes. “I don’t think he wants to see it. But I think he also knows more than he lets on too.”
“Meaning...?” I ask, pulling up the texts on my phone.
“How long have you and Sam known each other?” Antonia asks.
I try to count the years in my head. They all blend together.
“During elementary school. I don’t remember which grade.”
“And you don’t think that this whole time, he hasn’t had at least one thought about you guys getting together?”
I look at his texts, remembering how we used to be inseparable. How we used to walk around at the marina and pretend that someday we’d sail away on our own boat and travel the world.
It’s different now. We’re older. We’re still friends, of course, but not best friends. Not friends who can tell each other everything.
It would be so weird to talk to him about liking another guy.
Hoping Sam will understand, I start to type out an apology.
SAM: Pick u up?
LIV: Antonia’s back. She says hi :-)
“What did he say?” Antonia asks.
“He hasn’t answered yet. He’s probably trying to make me sweat.”
“Just put the blame on me. He knows I don’t take no for an answer. He can handle us having a little girl time without him anyway. He’s a big boy. He’s got his own life.”
SAM: Does she wanna come?
LIV: Don’t hate me...
SAM: But?
LIV: She wants me to go to a party. Girls only. You know how she is :-)
I can’t bring myself to tell him the specifics—or that he’s technically not invited and that I don’t want him to crash the party either. When Sam doesn’t answer, my stomach sinks. How do I always somehow feel like I’m disappointing him?
“Life’s so different in the Dominican Republic,” Antonia says, talking about where she spent all summer. “Besides, like, having family around all the time, there’s practically a party every single night. Everyone’s invited. Grandparents, little kids, the weird guy who lives down the street. People are so helpful too. I was driving in Santo Domingo and I ran out of gas in the middle of the highway. Some guy just went and got gas for me, then another guy stopped to siphon the gas from the jug with his mouth. I’m pretty sure he inhaled some toxic fumes just to help me.”
“That’s crazy,” I say. “If that happened here, someone would probably just try to run you off the road.”
Finishing her eyeliner, Antonia continues her story without skipping a beat. “And I met this old guy who started teaching me the accordion so I can play merengue. I know that’s an instrument only nerds play, but I’m obsessed. Mama made a deal with me that she’ll buy me one if I start writing my own music.”
“Your mom’s so cool,” I say. “My parents insist painting is a hobby I’ll grow out of.” I might not share their love for politics, but I still respect their passions. I wish they could understand that painting isn’t some kind of craft for me. It’s my lifeline.
“Then you’ll have to prove them wrong!” Antonia snaps her makeup case shut.
“Well, actually, I talked to Ms. Day earlier this week and she recommended I submit a portfolio for this gallery showing. It’s supposed to be pretty prestigious...”
My phone vibrates again.
SAM: K. Surfing early tmrw morning. Night.
LIV: Sry. Wanna get together later this weekend?
There’s no answer. I think about asking him, but I don’t want to find out yet.
He’s probably pissed at me. Maybe he doesn’t actually care. Who knows? Boys are so hard to interpret over text. Why am I so worried about what he thinks about what I do with my life? We’re not together. Tonight’s about having fun. Letting loose.
That’s who I am now. Right?
Liv Blakely.
Fun girl. Life of the party. Girl of the century.