The Spring Girls

“Here, take him some of the leftovers from last night.” Meredith handed me a covered dish, then gently set a pie on top of it. The pie was from Christmas. It was Meredith’s cherry pie recipe that no one except Dad ever ate. Since Aunt Hannah was here now, it seemed like she wanted to make up for missing Christmas by making as many pies as humanly possible.

“Okay, okay.” I blocked Meredith from putting another pan, this time meatballs, on top of the stack. On the edge of the kitchen island was a little bowl of the barbecued sausages that Laurie seemed to like the night before, so I grabbed them and loaded them on top.

“Careful, you’ll crush that pie,” Meredith warned me. Beth grabbed the stack from my hands and dumped the sausages into the big dish on the bottom.

“I’ll get the door,” Beth said, moving past Meredith to help me. Beth’s eyes looked a little tired, I thought.

I adjusted the pans in my arms and walked through the backyard.

“Jo! You’re not wearing that?” Meg cried from inside the house. I continued across the yard and didn’t look back at my sister.

When I got to the door of the Laurence house, I rang the doorbell twice before someone answered. I was just about to walk away when an elderly man pulled the door open. His hair was white and almost transparent, but was combed neatly and looked like even the wind couldn’t move it. I recognized him immediately as Old Mr. Laurence.

“Send her up!” Laurie’s voice carried down the stairs, and Old Mr. Laurence waved me in.

His eyes were suspicious and the oddest shade of river-green I had ever seen. Laurie’s eyes were so dark, it surprised me that he looked so different from his grandpa. Old Mr. Laurence had a sharply squared jaw, and his thick shoulders reminded me of someone on TV, but I couldn’t think of who.

Thanking the old man, I walked toward the staircase and saw Laurie making his way down. My arms were killing me. The interior of the house was so strange. The curtains were maroon and massive, draping over the hunter-green wallpaper. There were so many curtains, it was distracting. The random candlesticks and books everywhere reminded me of the set of Downton Abbey or something. It was messier than I had imagined, especially compared to the view from the windows I usually snooped through.

“Do you need help? What is all that?” Laurie’s long legs carried him down the staircase quickly, and he reached for the food in my arms.

He led me back up to his bedroom and set the food on a desk near the door. His room seemed bland at first glance, but as I looked closer, I saw touches of magic everywhere. From a distance, his wallpaper looked like black squiggles on a white sheet, but when I walked over to it, I realized it was sheet music.

Against the wall farthest from the doorway was his bed. The sheets and pillowcases were all white and burlap and reminded me of an IKEA ad. The Louisiana sun was beaming through his big, open windows. It was warmer in the room than outside, and the ceiling fan made a nice breeze. As Laurie pulled the Tupperware lid off the sausages, I explored his bedroom. He didn’t seem to mind, because he sat down on the edge of the desk and started eating while I flipped through the pages of an old coffee-table book with Barcelona on the front cover. The pages were filled with bright, vivid pictures of beautiful beaches and tapas-style food.

“Have you been to Barcelona?”

His mouth was full of food. He nodded.

“Was it wonderful?”

He nodded again.

I couldn’t imagine how it would be to be so young and have traveled so much. Being an Army brat, I have moved with my family a few times, from Connecticut to Texas, and now outside of New Orleans, but that was nothing compared to traveling Europe and having an Italian artist for a mother. I loved Meredith so much, but I didn’t get my love for writing from her.

I put the Barcelona book down and grabbed a notebook full of scribbles.

“Not that.” Laurie grabbed it from my hand before I could flip to any of the pages.

It made me want to see it even more. “What is that?”

“It’s a book of drawings, but I’m not good at it.”

I let him hide it away from me. One day, when we were friends, I would ask again if he would show me.

I moved to another part of his room, near his bed. He had stacks of graphic novels in languages that I didn’t even recognize. Next to that were empty bottles of Coke and two glasses of what I assumed was water. On the nightstand, his wallet lay on top of a GQ magazine, and was stuffed with cards and receipts. I picked it up in my hands and started looking through the cards. Honestly, who hoarded so many cards? There was an Urban Outfitters gift card, a punch card for Panera Bread, a business card with a Realtor’s name on it.

Before I could see any more of them, Laurie said my name and then, “Um, what are you doing going through my wallet?”

I felt myself getting a little anxious. “Just looking.” I shrugged and turned around to him.

He was holding the pie plate in his hands. but he didn’t seem upset. He half-smiled at me. “Is that something people around here do? Pick up someone’s wallet and go through it?” Humor was in his voice. “Imagine if I picked up your purse and opened your wallet!” He sat down on the small sofa in his bedroom.

“I don’t have a purse.” I guess it could be considered invasive to go through someone’s things like I just did. The wallet felt heavier in my hands and I dropped it back onto the nightstand.

“I have three sisters.” I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. “We don’t have any privacy. Sorry.” I took a few steps away from the nightstand and tried to find something else to look at.

“Did you know that the Russian language doesn’t have an original word for privacy?” Laurie asked.

His couch was big enough for both of us to sit on, so I sat on the opposite end from him. An orange pillow with a fox’s face on it was between us. I put it on my lap and touched the soft fur. For a second, I thought his comment was a random thing to know, but then I remembered that I knew that, too.

“I did know that, actually,” I said rather proudly.

Laurie’s ch

in turned to me. “Did you? How?”

I didn’t think he believed me, and I found that funny. “I read it in a book once.”

“What book?”

“The Bronze Horseman. It’s a—”

Laurie shot up from the couch. “I know it! It was my mother’s favorite book. Well, books. I read the trilogy last summer.”

“No way.”

Laurie was definitely the most interesting boy I had ever met.

“Yes, way. The Italian version cut some of the text—can you believe it?”

I liked how he got excited easily. I did that, too, but Meg always told me it was immature. If Laurie was immature, then so was I.

“What? Why would they?”

“Not sure. But they did.”

“What were we talking about before?” My head was fuzzy when I tried to remember what was happening before I was on the couch with Laurie.

“Who cares? Let’s talk about your aunt and your mom. Are they sisters?”

I told him about us girls’ theories about Aunt Hannah and Meredith and the drama between them. I told him more than I should have, but I felt like that was okay. For a second I thought about Meg and how River had tortured her when they broke up. I had to remember that guys can be important to me, but I’m more important. I want a career and I want to be taken seriously. I couldn’t imagine being someone’s wife and liking it. I didn’t think anyone was out there that I would like enough to share the remote with.

His phone rang twice while I was talking, and when I stopped for a moment, he said, “It’s my mom,” with the kind of shy smile that boys in magazines wear.

I wondered if he knew that he looked like a troubled musician or a struggling actor. He had the polish of a well-groomed politician’s son, but the wit of a bartender’s son. I stared at his mouth and the slow way it moved when he explained things in detail with memories from Rome and Boston and how he somehow loved the two equally. I wondered what the girls that he usually dated looked like. Not that pretty girls couldn’t be smart, because I knew they could be. I knew many. The thing was, though, that pretty girls are sometimes taught that it’s their job to be pretty and not to be smart.