James sits up and rolls his eyes. He’s unshowered, unshaven, and still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I can honestly say I’ve never seen him look so disgusting, and it doesn’t diminish his appeal one iota.
“Who needs a clean house,” he asks, gesturing to himself, “when you have all this to look forward to?”
“Are you, like, planning to shower or anything?” I ask, scrunching my nose. As if I give a shit whether he cleans up for his girlfriend.
He shrugs. “Eventually.”
“Isn’t she coming any minute now?”
He turns the channel to ESPN. “No clue.”
I exchange a glance with Ginny, and she rolls her eyes while pretending to shoot herself in the head.
“Can you make sure his bathroom is clean?” she asks.
“I can almost guarantee you that his bathroom is not clean,” I tell her.
“Well, then can you go take care of it?” she huffs.
“You seriously expect me to go clean your brother’s filthy bathroom so his girlfriend won’t be grossed out?”
“Oh, sorry, media princess. I forgot you’re too good for that.”
“Stop being a bitch, Ginny,” James says over the TV. “And both of you stay the fuck out of my room.”
I go upstairs to shower. I need to get ready for work anyway, but mostly I want to stay out of the line of fire. God only knows what Ginny will expect next. I dry my hair, put on some makeup since I’m working cocktail tonight and my tips tend to be specifically correlated to my appearance, and throw on my uniform. I hear Ginny’s shout of joy, which tells me Allison has arrived, and I hesitate. I kind of don’t want to meet Allison looking like this. Looking just like my mom.
“Fuck it.” I sigh, realizing I’ve caught Ginny’s hero worship. Maybe there are some unsavory parts to my past, but I am doing my best to come back from them. I go to a good school, I work hard and—most importantly—I am not my parents. So I refuse to be intimidated by this girl just because she made law review.
I get downstairs and can see Allison on the deck from inside the house, perched on the arm of James’ chair. She is long and elegant, her sleek black hair straight out of a shampoo commercial. She’s still in the suit she must have worn to work, and despite the drive, her clothes look like she just pulled them off the dry cleaner’s hanger ten minutes ago.
I’m wearing what I can only assume is a T-shirt purchased from Baby Gap.
I am not my mother. It’s just a uniform. I’ve done nothing wrong. Bracing myself, I slide the door open. Her eyes shoot straight to me, as if she’s been waiting for this moment, expecting it.
“Allison,” James says, glancing quickly at me and away. “This is Elle, Ginny’s best friend.”
“How lovely to meet you,” she says, her eyes roaming over me.
Her smile is like an alligator’s: all teeth and a clear intent to attack. She makes a point of giving me yet another once-over. “Ginny said you worked together. Apparently it’s not at the senator’s office. You look like you just walked off the set of a rap video.”
“That’s the uniform, Allison,” says James. His sharp tone wipes the smirk right off her face.
“At the bar you work at?” she asks him. “Well, she must get plenty of tips, dressed like that.”
“That’s the uniform she’s forced to wear,” he says, the words clipped and angry. “The same one Ginny is forced to wear. So maybe you should tone it down some, huh?”
She looks incredibly displeased now, and I get the feeling she blames me for all of it. At least I no longer have to feel guilty about wanting to steal her boyfriend.
* * *
Work goes poorly as usual. I spend the entire night apologizing to someone, and the entire time I’m also thinking about James back at home with that witch. When the tray of frosted mugs and pitcher of beer I’m carrying hits someone in the head and falls on me, I’m pretty much ready to write the night off entirely, except I’d rather be at work than forced to see Allison and James together. She might be a bitch, but she’s beautiful and elegant in a way I will never be and can’t begin to compete with. She seemed, on the deck, like an adult—my first reminder in a while that there really is a difference between 19 and 25. And they’ve been apart for weeks, so if they aren’t all over each other yet, I imagine the moment is approaching when they will be.
When I finally get home, I discover that Max was not joking about hosting a pre-birthday bash for Ginny, and I’m in no mood for any of it. I smell like an unappealing combination of grilled meats and cheap beer, and all I want in the whole world is a shower and bed. Except when I get upstairs, Ginny’s got the door locked. I knock, but no one answers, so I return downstairs to find Max.
“Nice job,” I tell him. “Ginny loves her party so much she’s barricaded herself in our room and won’t let me in. I need to shower, and I’m sure as hell not using the outdoor one with a bunch of strangers around. And I need a T-shirt.”
“You can borrow something of mine and use my shower,” he suggests. “If you leave the door unlocked, I might even join you.”