The Spring Girls

Jo was definitely going to leave this town the moment she turned eighteen. She reminded us of that every day. A man with red hair stared at the top of Jo’s dress, and I reached over and lifted the strap up her shoulder.

My feet were killing me; I had barely let the blisters from yesterday heal before I put my feet through torture again. Twelve chairs were spread around the long oval table, and I walked around slowly to find the seat with my name written on the little place cards. When I found my name, my seat was directly across from Shia and Bell, and four seats down from Jo. I thought about asking them to move my seat, but I didn’t want to be difficult.

Throughout the dinner, course after course of delectable food was served. The entire six-course meal was a lot like a typical creole réveillon dinner, which was a staple of a New Orleans–style Christmas, but the Kings were having it on New Year’s Day. Somehow that seemed fitting. This family could change the date of Christmas itself, and many people would follow.

During the meal, Jo talked to Laurie and Shia King about the food, although I also watched her gag at the foie gras on the little plate in front of her. She picked around half of the courses, and Shia ate a bite of soufflé from Bell Gardiner’s fork. The waitstaff were quick and efficient. When Jo spilled a spoonful of leek soup on the table, they quickly covered the spot with a new napkin, and they used little hand-sized brooms to sweep the crème tablecloths between every course.

I made it through dessert, the cocktails, and the coffees that came after, and even the awkward speech by Mrs. King. She thanked her husband for his warm heart and thanked her son for spending the holidays with them, and I looked at Jo, who was looking at Laurie. I dared to be rude and pulled my cell phone out of my bag. On the home screen was a notification of a text from Amy: How is it, lucky girl? You don’t even know how lucky you are!

I didn’t reply to her, but I texted Meredith to tell her we made it just fine, even though it was late, then I tucked my phone back into my purse and hung it on the back of my chair. I followed most of the conversation around the table. Everyone was talking about theater and galas and their own accomplishments. I nodded along to the pissing contest around me. Honestly, it made me feel a little bitter to sit there and not have anything to say besides that I was working for Mrs. King and used to work at Sephora. Even Bell had more to say than me, and she was a freaking bartender. Shia traveled the world, his family was loaded from Mr. King’s success, and Mrs. King raised three functioning members of society. I couldn’t even say I was an actual makeup artist; I was just good at it. The matriarch of the house did try to help keep me afloat in the conversation and complimented my talent for makeup, telling them how I managed to make her look ten years younger. As I went to reply, Bell and her mom took control of the conversation, so I just kept my head nodding and my lips closed while the servers cleaned around us.

I needed some fresh air; I was going to lose my mind if I didn’t go outside for a minute. I noticed a few seats at the table were empty, so I grabbed my glass of water and stood up. I tried to get Jo’s attention, but she was waving her hands around and looking back and forth between Laurie and an older man I’d never seen before.

I figured she was fine; her cheeks were flushed and her shoulders were relaxed. Since she looked like she was lecturing them, I left.

I took my time walking down the hallway and out to the back patio. I could only hear faint voices coming from the dining room when I got outside. The patio was empty, and I sat down on a black iron chair and leaned my elbows onto the matching table.

I looked around at the perfect landscaping, and it intimidated me. So many things went into keeping a property like this. I’d always dreamed of a big house and a gorgeous yard. Yet I didn’t know if I was capable of remembering to have the bushes trimmed. The twinkling lights from last night were still up, and it was a beautiful Louisiana night, about seventy degrees with a slight breeze that picked up the loose bits of my hair and pushed them back down. I was oddly at peace before my bubble was popped.

Shia’s voice was the thumbtack. “Find anything interesting out here?”

I shook my head, not ready to give up my peaceful serenity outside and definitely not ready to talk to Shia.

“No. You should go back inside. Nothing out here to see.”

I tried to be funny, but it just didn’t land, and Shia walked toward me and sat down across from me. The chair creaked when he sat down, and I tried to imagine how it felt growing up in a fairy-tale land where even old outdoor tables are enchanting. But I knew enough to know it wasn’t fair to say his life was a fairy tale.

“So, despite your having been here last night and tonight, my mom says you’ve been sick. Are you feeling okay, Margaret?”

He was already so close to me and he leaned in farther. The crickets were even silent; I held my breath. I could smell the honey on his lips. He was so sly in that way. He made you crave him, but then he would vanish and leave you thinking you imagined the whole thing.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” I turned the other way and unpinned my hair. I wondered if my makeup was still in place. I hadn’t thought about it since dinner.

Did I smell like shrimp gumbo? Shia King didn’t smell like gumbo, or even the garlic-soaked artichokes I’d watched him devour. He smelled like his earthy self, like rain and lumber with a hint of cologne. His outfit surprised me the more I stared at it. I hadn’t allowed myself the liberty of taking him in fully, but now it was just us, and he was staring hard at the ground.

His shirt and his jacket were almost the same color olive, and his dressy undershirt was buttoned all the way to his neck. Little black designs were printed on it, and he was wearing dark gray boots. He looked like he stepped out of New York City or Milan. I suddenly worried if he could see the outline of my strapless bra. I couldn’t wear clothes like Bell Gardiner could, but I knew I looked good in that maroon dress. I just had more to cover.

“I didn’t realize you and my mom were so close.” He eyed me and brought a glass to his lips. “Until I heard you talking about me last night. I always knew you were more like her than me, but I didn’t realize just how similar the two of you are.”

“She just wants the best for you, Shia. You’re her only son. They want the best for you—”

“Oh my God, Meg! Do you hear yourself? You’re sitting here . . .” He paused and his eyes focused in on me. He tapped his fingers on the center of the vinelike design on the table. “You’re a clone of her. Last night when I looked in the pantry, it was eerie how alike you looked. You were holding your glasses the same way.”

His shoulders shuddered and I recoiled.

Part of me couldn’t hide that I was flattered that Shia thought his mother and I were similar, but maybe that was why he liked me sometimes and hated me others.

. . . and he had called me Meg again, finally.

“You’re lucky your parents care so much,” I said.

Shia rolled his eyes and dropped his head back, looking up at the starry sky. “I used to think you got it, Meg. But you just don’t get it. It is what it is.”

The way he shook his head made me feel like he was judging me immensely.

I jutted my arms out and stood from the table. “You don’t know anything about who I am or what I get.”

If I had had any water left in my drink, I might have sucked it down or thrown it at him, I wasn’t sure. I wanted drama; it was how we were.

“I did at one point. And you know it.” His eyes were unwavering as they stuck to mine.

I stepped around my chair and past him to storm across the yard. If my shoes had been less murderous, it would have been much easier to make a classy, sassy getaway. Instead, I ended up on the ground, struggling to yank my foot from a dirt hole. Shia was standing over me, a flat look on his face as he pulled my shoe out.

The heel snapped and he pointed to my ankle. “That looks bad.”

I shifted my eyes to where he was looking.

My ankle

was throbbing in an unnatural way. I hadn’t noticed the burning pain until he mentioned it. Which was weird. Jo would have a theory about that; she had theories for everything. I wanted to ask her.

“Here, let me help you up.” Shia reached for my hands.

I jerked away and shifted my weight, shaking my head. “Get Jo. I don’t need your help.”

He threw his hands up in the air, but didn’t say a word as he walked inside to get my sister.

I was humiliated in the worst way, and I could feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyes. I needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. I couldn’t believe I had gone there anyway—what the hell was I thinking? I didn’t know. I sat on the soft grass and waited for someone to come back. I should have stayed in my seat at the table and I wouldn’t have looked like such an idiot.

Jo ran out the back door, moving so quickly in her flat boots. I should have been smart like Jo.

My skin felt clammy. “I’ve sprained my ankle. It was those stupid shoes, I tell you.” I moved my body a little and my foot throbbed. “I don’t think I can stand up.”

“I told you those shoes were awful for your feet. They weren’t worth it, were they?” Jo rubbed my ankle.

“I need to get home. Call a car or something.” I didn’t know how I would get through or around the house, let alone into the car, but I would find a way.

“Laurie!” Jo called loudly.

I scowled at her and swiped my hand through the air. “No way. Don’t have him take me. I’m sure he wants to stay. Jo, I don’t—”

I stopped midsentence. Laurie came strolling out of the house, Shia behind him. I was completely mortified. I bit down on my cheek and tried to lift myself up, but the second that I put all my weight on my knee, I fell back over and yelped in pain.