“It’s perfect weather,” he said. “I thought for sure it would still be raining, but it’s a beautiful day out there.”
“Mmm,” I said. I was exhausted. I needed at least four more hours of sleep.
He gave me a kiss on the top of my head. Something about it reminded me of my mom and made me want to die. I turned away and saw that Luca was standing near the window with a camera pointed right on me, so I buried my face in the pillow. Bellamy began bustling about opening curtains.
“Let’s let some light in,” he said. When I didn’t respond he asked, “Did you sleep well?”
“Mmm,” I said.
He took my grunt as a yes. “Good. Me too. My mom is a real stickler for nice bedding. I thought you’d appreciate it. Why don’t you meet me down in the kitchen for some breakfast with my family whenever you’re ready. We’re having waffles and orange juice, and Dwight usually makes hash browns with peppers and onions, so whenever he gets up you’ll get to try those. You can’t logroll on an empty stomach.”
“No,” I agreed.
“My mom put out some towels and things in your bathroom. Do you have everything you need?”
“Uh huh.” I nodded.
“Okay. Have a nice shower.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
He and Luca left the room and I dragged myself out of bed. I felt achy and fuzzy. At first I couldn’t understand why, but then I remembered that we had all spent hours playing strategic, apocalypse-themed board games and drinking wine the night before. I must have had six or seven glasses counting the wine I’d had with dinner, and now I felt positively awful.
I’d been ready for bed by midnight, but they were all too competitive to call it quits. I was beginning to get a clear picture of what life with Bellamy and his family would be like: I’ve been around overachievers before; there’s never a lot of downtime. The good news, if you could call it that, was that Bellamy seemed more laidback and independent than the rest of his family. I took it as a good sign that he lived nearly a thousand miles away from them. I just hoped he wasn’t like other rich boys I’d dated: thrice daily potsmokers pursuing Ernest Hemingwayish experiences like trespassing at an abandoned Russian cabin and living off canned fish for a few months, before taking over their family’s business and running it into the ground.
I looked at myself in the mirror. My face somehow appeared simultaneously puffy and sunken. I wasn’t sure that I was really up for logrolling. It sounded dangerous.
I turned on the shower, noticing fancy little bottles of high-end toiletries artfully arranged in a basket by the window. I uncapped one and inhaled. It seemed to ease my hangover a little, so I tried another. This one was even better. I felt a tiny bit cheered up. Kate seemed like she would be the kind of mother-in-law who gave pretty good Christmas gifts. I would have to find a moment to pull Sherifaye aside and get an outsider’s perspective on their family.
I stepped into the shower and was just lathering up my hair when something caught my eye. It was a shower squeegee with a radio in the handle, suction-cupped to one of the granite shower walls. Squeaky-Tunes said the peeling sticker on the top of it. In such a spa-like bathroom it really didn’t fit in; honestly, it was kind of gross. But that was not why I couldn’t stop staring at it. A flood of emotions overtook me. Pete had the same shower squeegee suctioned to his shower wall. I had noticed it many times when I used his bathroom, and I had always found it curious that he’d have such a thing. Perhaps it was something he’d promoted on an infomercial. Or maybe it had been a gift from some random weirdo or ex-girlfriend. I’d never given it much thought, but now it seemed like a symbol of home and truth and everything that was real and holy.
I took the squeegee off its suction cup hook and made a couple of half-hearted swipes at the shower wall. It occurred to me that I had never taken a shower at Pete’s. Why would I have when we’d always just been friends and I had my own shower right next door? I looked around me. Why was I in this fancy bathroom? Who were these people? Did they really think I belonged here? I felt broken-hearted and pointless. I hung the squeegee back on the hook and coated my hair in conditioner. I tried to focus on the scent of the conditioner, being present only in this exact moment. No past. No Pete. No future. No plans or worries. No logrolling or fams. Just rosemary mint tea tree oil happiness. For good measure, I doused myself in some more potions and lotions. This is nice, I told myself as I drew in deep breaths of minty lavender steam. This is the kind of thing you really love.
I wondered if he even missed me anymore. He was probably in some kind of relationship with the pillow fight girl. Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be?
Not that it mattered. Why was I even thinking about him still?
It was time to move on.
“And that’s what you’re doing,” I told myself. “In a big way. Now remember: A smile is a springboard to happiness.” I tried smiling to see if it worked. When it didn’t I added some more conditioner to the ends of my hair. I considered shaving my legs, but since I’d be dressed like a lumberjack all day, I figured there was no reason to. I finished up with my shower, half-heartedly did my hair and makeup, and got dressed.
When I got down to the kitchen, Bellamy’s whole family was there bustling about. I was glad they’d started without me. It made me feel more like a part of the family and set me at ease a little.
“Good morning,” they all said in near unison. Everyone had on lumberjack attire, down to their rugged hiking boots. They looked like a family from a breakfast sausage commercial.
“Good morning,” I said back. It was still hard to believe I could be a part of something like this. I told myself that if I could stop being so judgmental, stop thinking about how cheesy it all was, I could be pretty happy joining a family like this. Growing up in my own family, we had eaten mainly cans of soup or microwave dinners. We certainly did not take the time or effort to create a big mess like this at eight in the morning, just to gobble it up and be left with dirty bowls and pans. I don’t even think our stove worked. We’d all done a lot of sneaking off to bedrooms or the TV room to be away from one another, to eat our bland little snacks or meals in a state of lonely, unceremonious distraction. And though we occasionally ate dinner together, we had never gotten up early enough for a real, hot breakfast. None of us. Ever. So this was my big chance at being part of a close-knit family.
“I saved you a place,” said Bellamy.
“Thanks,” I said, taking a seat beside him. Seeing him again made me feel better. It was hard to be in a bad mood around him. He was so smiley and sweet.
“Bellamy told us you like coffee,” said Dericka. She set a mug in front of me. “Do you want cream or sugar?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I said. I took a sip. It was delicious. Maybe today would be okay after all. I looked around me, taking it all in. There was so much to think about. When you pick a husband, you really are picking a whole family. A whole lifestyle. Traditions, habits, attitudes. Could these people sense that I was normally more of a TV watcher than a logroller? Or had they misunderstood and thought I was some kind of athletic daredevil? Perhaps they truly thought I’d like this. In that case, I was flattered. If they saw it in me, maybe it was real. Could they turn me into someone better?
“So, here’s our plan,” Bellamy began. “As soon as we finish here, we’re going to head up to Woods View Point and practice our axe throwing. Have you ever thrown an axe before?”
“Hmm,” I said, spreading some raspberry jam on my raisin toast. “I’m not sure.”