Page 25 of We Were Liars

EVERYONE HEADS TO New Clairmont, leaving me and Mummy alone at Windemere to unpack. I ditch my bag and look for the Liars.

Suddenly they are on me like puppies. Mirren grabs me and spins me. Johnny grabs Mirren, Gat grabs Johnny, we are all grabbing each other and jumping. Then we are apart again, going into Cuddledown.

Mirren chatters about how glad she is that Bess and the littles will live with Granddad this summer.

He needs somebody with him now. Plus Bess with her obsessive cleaning is impossible to be around.

Plus again and even more important, we Liars will have Cuddledown to ourselves.

Gat says he is going to make hot tea and hot tea is his new vice.

Johnny calls him a pretentious assface. We follow Gat into the kitchen. He puts water on to boil.

It is a whirlwind, all of them talking over each other, arguing happily, exactly like old times. Gat hasn’t quite looked at me, though.

I can’t stop looking at him.

He is so beautiful. So Gat. I know the arc of his lower lip, the strength in his shoulders. The way he half tucks his shirt into his jeans, the way his shoes are worn down at the heel, the way he touches that scar on his eyebrow without realizing he’s doing it.

I am so angry. And so happy to see him.

Probably he has moved on, like any well-adjusted person would.

Gat hasn’t spent the last two years in a shell of headache pain and self-pity.

He’s been going around with New York City girls in ballet flats, taking them to Chinese food and out to see bands.

If he’s not with Raquel, he’s probably got a girl or even three at home.

“Your hair’s new,” Johnny says to me.

“Yeah.”

“You look pretty, though,” says Mirren sweetly.

“She’s so tall,” says Gat, busying himself with boxes of tea, jasmine and English Breakfast and so on. “You didn’t used to be that tall, did you, Cady?”

“It’s called growing,” I say. “Don’t hold me responsible.” Two summers ago, Gat was several inches taller than I. Now we are about even.

“I’m all for growing,” says Gat, his eyes still not on my face. “Just don’t get taller than me.”

Is he flirting?

He is.

“Johnny always lets me be tallest,” Gat goes on. “Never makes an issue of it.”

“Like I have a choice,” groans Johnny.

“She’s still our Cady,” says Mirren loyally. “We probably look different to her, too.”

But they don’t. They look the same. Gat in a worn green T-shirt from two summers ago. His ready smile, his way of leaning forward, his dramatic nose.

Johnny broad-shouldered, in jeans and a pink plaid button-down so old its edges are frayed; nails bitten, hair cropped.

Mirren, like a pre-Raphaelite painting, that square Sinclair chin. Her long, thick hair is piled on top of her head and she’s wearing a bikini top and shorts.

It is reassuring. I love them so.

Will it matter to them, the way I can’t hold on to even basic facts surrounding my accident? I’ve lost so much of what we did together summer fifteen. I wonder if the aunts have been talking about me.

I don’t want them to look at me like I’m sick. Or like my mind isn’t working.

“Tell about college,” says Johnny. He is sitting on the kitchen counter. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere, yet.” This truth I can’t avoid. I am surprised they don’t know it already.

“What?”

“Why?”

“I didn’t graduate. I missed too much school after the accident.”

“Oh, barf!” yells Johnny. “That is horrible. You can’t do summer school?”

“Not and come here. Besides, I’ll do better if I apply with all my coursework done.”

“What are you going to study?” asks Gat.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“But we want to know,” says Mirren. “We all do.”

“Seriously,” I say. “Something else. How’s your love life, Johnny?”

“Barf again.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“When you’re as handsome as I am, the course never runs smooth,” he quips.

“I have a boyfriend named Drake Loggerhead,” says Mirren. “He’s going to Pomona like I am. We have had sexual intercourse quite a number of times, but always with protection. He brings me yellow roses every week and has nice muscles.”

Johnny spits out his tea. Gat and I laugh.

“Drake Loggerhead?” Johnny asks.

“Yes,” says Mirren. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” Johnny shakes his head.

“We’ve been going out five months,” says Mirren. “He’s spending the summer doing Outward Bound, so he’ll have even more muscles when I see him next!”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Gat says.

“Just a little,” says Mirren. “But I love him.”

I squeeze her hand. I am happy she has someone to be in love with. “I’m going to ask you about the sexual intercourse later,” I warn her.

“When the boys aren’t here,” she says. “I’ll tell you all.”

We leave our teacups and walk down to the tiny beach. Take our shoes off and wiggle our toes in the sand. There are tiny, sharp shells.

“I’m not going to supper at New Clairmont,” says Mirren decisively. “And no breakfast, either. Not this year.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“I can’t take it,” she says. “The aunts. The littles. Granddad. He’s lost his mind, you know.” I nod.

“It’s too much togetherness. I just want to be happy with you guys, down here,” says Mirren. “I’m not hanging around in that cold new house. Those people are fine without me.”

“Same,” says Johnny.

“Same,” says Gat.

I realize they discussed this idea before I arrived.