Then I wrap an arm around her and give her a sideways hug.
“How’s my Pey-Pey Le Pew doing this morning?”
She sighs. “Fine. Although you may be stuck with me this summer because I received another internship rejection in the mail yesterday. That’s two in a row now, which leaves only two others left. What if none of them want me, Kyler?”
I spin her around so fast she gasps and has to grab hold of my biceps to catch herself from toppling over.
“Listen to me, Pey-Pey. You’re an amazingly talented designer. Better than any Stella McCartney, Tom Ford or Tom, Dick or Harry for that matter. The right one will come along and when it does, they’ll swoop you up so fast your head with spin like the Exorcist. But eww, please don’t puke like she did, that shit was just gross.”
Peyton laughs lightheartedly at the reference to the horror movie we just watched together for the first time and pushes me away with her hands on my chest.
“You’re such a dork.”
“Ah, but you love me, don’t you Pey-Pey?” I snuggle my cheek across her shoulder, similar to the way Pussy Cat preens for love and affection. Speaking of which, I glance around to see where the cat is.
“Did you feed Puss this morning? Where is she?”
Peyton gestures toward the patio sliding door. “Oh, I let her out. She was meowing loudly and I didn’t want her to wake you.”
My mouth gapes open in surprise. “You what? You know I don’t let Pussy Cat outside. She’s too pampered to be out with the likes of outdoor cats.”
Panic laces my voice as I rush to the patio door finding it locked. When I look back at Peyton she’s smiling a huge, cheeky grin.
“Gotcha! I can’t believe you fell for that. Geesh, do I look that stupid? Either that or you must need more coffee.”
“Why you little brat...” I stomp toward her waggling my finger and grimacing playfully. “Just for that, I’m not going to paint your nails or do your hair today. Or make you brunch.”
She pouts. “Oh, come on. It was a joke! Lighten up. Plus, look at these horrendous nails. I need you!” She wiggles her fingers in front of my face and I take the opportunity to grab her hand, pretending to be disgusted by the state of her chipped nails.
That’s another thing we typically do together on Sundays. Ever since I moved in, if we’re both home on a Sunday afternoon, we curl up on the couch to watch our shows and paint each other’s nails, as well as play with the other’s hair. I’ve become very good at highlighting her straight blonde bob with blues, pinks, and purples. And she’s also allowed me to practice my unicorn pattern because rainbows and unicorns are my favorite.
I concede, dropping her hand and pouring myself some more coffee, leaning a hip against the counter to continue our conversation.
“Fine, only on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
I step forward, moving my coffee cup to the side, and place a kiss on the top of her forehead before looking down at her seriously.
“You, my friend, have to do the grocery shopping today.”
She tries to slink past me but I reach around her belly and yank her back. It’s these moments with Peyton that I love. We’d be perfect for each other if we weren’t both interested in men.
When I finally let her go, she swivels to open the fridge, looking at it with despair.
“Ugh. We don’t do this adulting thing very well, do we?”
“Meh,” I shrug half-heartedly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There’s plenty of time in the future when we’re settled down with Mister Right and have to grow up.”
Peyton nods in agreement. “Oooh, speaking of Mr. Right. Who were you with last night? I heard you chatting and laughing, and well, then I fell back asleep to block out all the other sounds coming from your den of iniquity. Our walls are just too thin for that.”
My innocent little virgin roommate blushes sweetly.
“Nobody. Just a guy I met at the club. It’s nothing.”
I turn away so she can’t see the lie across my face. While it’s true I did meet Lucas at the bar, there’s also that teeny, tiny fact that he’s my professor and we’re not supposed to be talking at this point. While she knows I’ve slept with him in the past, I don’t want to spill the beans that there’s still something there between us.
“Huh,” she muses, as this seems to baffle her. “Why didn’t you bring him home then? Why the late night phone call?”
Pussy Cat chooses this moment to stroll into the kitchen, acting as the perfect distraction and getaway from this line of interrogation. Whether Peyton knows it or not, she has a way of sussing out information from me. Personal details I’ve never shared with anyone else.
But right now I’m not at a point to share anything more about my feelings toward my professor or the connection between us.
Not only because it’s complex and frowned upon to have a thing with your teacher, but it’s also confusing the hell out of me.
11
Lucas
“Hello, Grandmum. How are you feeling this morning?”
My weekly call with my grandmother begins as it always does, a sign that we’ve grown all too accustomed to the monotony of our regular check-ins.
I normally begin by asking her how she’s doing or how she’s feeling, to which she replies she’s always fine but her gout, or back or arthritis are acting up.
I inquire about the weather in New England. Nantucket, specifically. She’ll complain even if it’s the most perfect of summer days.
And then I’ll ask what she has planned for the coming week, which usually consists of board meetings in the city, golf, and tea on Saturdays, and church services on Sundays. Which then leads to our weekly call.
“Oh, my dear Lucas. It’s so good to hear from you. I wish you would check in more often.”
And there’s also the guilt trip she lays on thickly related to my infrequent visits, which I work to do twice a year for an extended period of time and hold our weekly phone calls. Thankfully, I can handle this particular grievance.
It’s the other one she brings up about my lack of relationship and marriage potential that has me wincing every time it’s mentioned.
I grit my teeth and remember that I’m her only grandson and her desire to carry on the family name causes her great stress and worry. Besides my mother, whose relationship with Grandmum has been strained for years, we’re her only remaining family. My aunt Meredith died several years back and while she had been married, she never had children. Which leaves me to pass on our genes.
It also means I have to bite my tongue and respond politely to whatever she insists I do or don’t do.
“I know, Grandmum. But you know how busy I get at the start of every semester. There’s so much additional workload in preparation for the new school year and the endless series of meetings and task forces. And with the time difference, it’s difficult to get you during the workweek. Plus, your calendar is generally busier than mine.”
Which is true, but she’ll never admit to it.
Jocelyn MacArthur Mathiasson is a force to be reckoned with in her own right. At age seventy-three, she’s still the CEO of Mathiasson Industries, as well as the Chair of the Board for two international businesses, and on countless other charity and non-profit boards. She keeps herself busy and on-the-go more than any man or woman I know of at her age.