“You think the university will let you in?” I ask, pouncing upon my first opportunity to pick holes in her plan. “Or are you going to start wearing breeches like a boy and hope no one notices your hairless chin?”
“What are you going to do in London?” she counters. “Strangely, I can’t see any of your skills being monetized. Aside from one, though I think they prefer ladies for that.”
“Don’t be mean,” I snap, then take a very, very long drink of tea that is far too hot to be drunk for that long, in hopes if I stall long enough they’ll move the conversation forward without me. I am apparently the only one who has avoided thinking about what happens once we leave the island. Because the list of things I am capable of has been thoroughly exhausted in the last month: sunbathing and sleeping late and looking handsome while eating grapes.
17
Scipio passes Georgie a napkin for his hands, which he instead uses to blow his nose and then hands back. “With the assurance of a Letter of marque, we’ll want to be off soon. As soon as possible. We’ve offloaded all the goods, and the last payment is due next week.”
“All the more reason for a party,” Felicity says, and looks at me again, this time with a different but equally obvious weight.
“Why not?” Scipio says. “There’s lots to celebrate.”
Under the table, Percy puts his hand on my knee and squeezes. I look away.
Since Felicity made the breakfast, Percy and I clean up—him washing the dishes and me drying.
My head is hurting in a way that I’m not entirely certain can be blamed on my injury but I’m entirely certain I’m going to blame upon it in order to justify going back to bed.
“We should probably discuss it,” Percy says as he hands me a plate.
“Discuss what?”
“London. What we’ll do when we get there.”
“Oh right. That.” I scrape at a bit of food stuck to the dish with my fingernail. “It’ll all work itself out.”
Percy frowns. “Well. No. We need some kind of plan.”
“Why? It’s London.” I add the dry plate to the stack and take the next one he offers me. “I know London.”
“You know the Covent Garden club scene.”
“Is that not helpful?”
18
He gives me a look that clearly conveys we are not yet to the point of joking about the purchasable companionship I have previously enjoyed, and I drop my grin. “Well, where are we going to live?” he asks.
“In London.”
“Stop it, you’re annoying me.” He flicks a handful of water at me. “I mean where?”
“In a house.”
“We can’t afford a house.”
Now it’s my turn to frown. “Can’t we?”
“We probably can’t even afford a flat for a while.”
My hand slips on the plate I’m drying. It shatters on the ground between us, and we both jump backward to avoid the shards of pottery that split into fine sand. “Damn it.”
I start to bend down, but Percy says, “Don’t worry, it’s just—watch out, you’re going to step on it.” He throws out a cautioning hand to me and I freeze.
“Damn it, sorry—”
“It’s fine. Just be careful.”
“You too.”
“I’ve got shoes on; you haven’t.”
Percy takes a knee, collecting the largest shards in a pile, while I remain obediently and impotently frozen until he says, “Hand me the broom, won’t you?”
I do the broom handing requested, then, useless again, watch him sweep up the mess I made.
“I can finish the dishes on my own,” I offer as he tosses the broken plate into our rubbish bin.
He dusts his hands off on his trousers. “Don’t be a martyr—it’ll only take a few minutes more. Just be more careful with these,” he adds as he picks up the knife set, and I feel like a 19
scolded child. After a moment of thoughtful scrubbing at a spot on the blade, Percy says, “We don’t have to talk about London right now. But think on it, all right? I’d prefer if we leave here with some sort of strategy.” He leans toward me, pressing our shoulders together. “And until then, I am looking forward to Felicity’s birthday.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“Start things off right.”
I almost drop another piece of dishware. “What do you mean start?”
“If we’re leaving for London, this will be the start, won’t it? Start of all this. Living together and on our own and being . . . you know. Partnered.” When I don’t say anything, he prompts in a tone that is trying too hard to be casual, “You are still coming with me, aren’t you?”
“Yes, of course.”
He glances over at me. “Then it’s a start.”
“Right.”
“A new beginning.”
“Right.”
“I think that’s dry.”
“Right. What?” I look down at the glass in my hand—I’ve rubbed its insides raw with the circles I’ve been turning it in. I set it down, and it lands with such a hard clatter I worry for a moment I’ve broken it too. Percy looks sideways at me, then passes over a handful of cutlery.
We finish the rest in silence.
On the appointed night, Percy and I go down to the beach for dinner with the crew, but as the sun begins to set and everyone else heads to Finikia, we turn in. We make the long climb up the 20
cliffside and through the crumbling stucco labyrinth of Oia back to our flat. In the darkness, the cobalt domes looks dark as India ink. When I start to moan about my legs being tired and also throw in an earache for good measure, Percy carries me on his back the rest of the way to the flat. I lean my chin on his shoulder and use the darkness as an excuse to trace the shape of his ear with my tongue, then down his neck.
“If you keep doing that,” he says, “I’m going to put you down.”
“Why?” I bite down gently on his lobe. “Am I getting you excited?”
“No, you’re getting yourself excited, and it’s not particularly comfortable for me.”
I slide off his back at the top of the hill and we walk into the courtyard together. Percy stops dead on the walk, surveying the ridiculous display of candles and flowers and food and three bottles of wine, which seems excessive, even to me. Like we’re going to need that much liquid courage.
It is . . . a lot. More than I expected it to be. Felicity had told me she would get some flowers and lay them out clandestinely after Percy and I went down to the beach. But this is quite a bit more than we discussed. Or perhaps she had discussed it and I hadn’t been listening. My stomach drops.
“What’s all this?” Percy asks me.
“Oh, you know.” I give a vague wave at it, like it’s hardly worth mentioning.
“Ambivalence.”
He looks sideways at me. “What?”
“It was Felicity’s idea. She said I should create ambivalence.”
A pause. Percy’s face is screwed up in thought. I suddenly feel hot and sticky all over, too aware of every place where my clothes sit upon my body and desperate to itch them all.