“You're lucky,” Allison says.
“I know.”
“How's the stepbrother? I don't know if I could live with a dumb jock.”
“Well, Nate's not dumb. I've been in a few classes with him, and he's really smart. He was even waitlisted for a Lawn Room.”
“You're a little defensive of him,” Allison observes, sipping her water.
“Yeah, I guess so. I don't know why though. He's been playing these weird mind games with me.”
“Mind games?” she repeats, frowning. I push a crouton around my plate as I think about how much to tell her. I have a feeling it's not the kind of situation she'd condone, but I also really want to talk to someone about what's been going on.
“Well, you remember that I used to have a crush on him?”
“Yeah, I remember you saying something about it sophomore year.”
“I…I still have a crush on him. Or I think I do…I don't know. I'm definitely attracted to him, and he's aware of the fact. He can be really rude, and then last night, he almost kissed me, but he…”
“Whoa, what? I mean, Brynn, he's your stepbrother.”
“I know! But only for the last few weeks, and—”
“OK…but what if you did kiss? What then? You'd have to see him every day, because your mom and his dad are married. And then even if you weren't living together, what about holidays? You'd be cutting the Thanksgiving turkey and sitting across from the guy you'd made out with…for every Thanksgiving.”
“Ugh, you're right,” I reply, dropping my fork and covering my face with my hands. This is why I didn't want to tell Allison—she'd throw logic in the face of my hormones. But the truth is, she's right. I feel like a bucket of cold water has just been poured over my head. “You're right,” I repeat. “I can't believe I even let it get this far.”
I head back to the office after lunch and spend the rest of the afternoon sitting in an awkward silence with Constance. I try to get her to engage about online shopping, but she only offers me one-word responses. Later in the day I meet another intern named Greg, a cute, strawberry-blonde guy who blushes when I look him in the eye. He is more the kind of person I should be looking to date. I just wish I felt that same rush that I do whenever I'm around Nate.
I drive home just after six in the old Audi that was just sitting in the Thornhill's garage. It's definitely the most expensive car I've ever driven, and it's fun to really let out the engine on the short stretch of the Beltway on my way back to Potomac. I park in the garage and let myself in to the small anteroom off the kitchen, where I kick off my shoes.
“Mom?” I call out, before spotting her outside on the back lawn, talking on the phone as the sun sets behind her. I head upstairs with my tote bag still over my shoulder. The huge house is silent as I walk up the steps and down the hallway. Nate must still be at his internship. My mom told me he got one at some think tank downtown.
I drop my bag as I walk into my bedroom and push the door almost closed behind me with my foot. I can't wait to get this skirt off. It's my one pencil skirt, and it's a little itchy around my waist.
I step into the bathroom and turn on the elegant faucet in the sink. I tie my hair behind my head with a loose elastic and splash some cool water on my skin. First days are always exhausting, but I think today was unusually so. As I look back up to my reflection, dripping with water, I see something move in the mirror. I stare at it blankly, not understanding what I'm seeing. The mirror above the sink is reflecting the mirror above my vanity in the bedroom, which is in turn reflecting an image from my partially open bedroom door. It's Nate, I realize. He's standing outside my door, and he doesn't realize I can see him.
I look down at the sink, pretending to watch the last of the water as it swirls down the drain. A shiver of excitement runs through me at the idea that Nate could actually be interested in me—I mean, he's there, right now, watching me. Before I process what I'm doing, before I can think of all the reasons not to, I slowly move my hands to my lower back and undo the clasp at the top of the zipper, then unzip my skirt. I let it fall in a pile at my feet, then step out of it. I look up carefully and Nate is still there in the double reflection.
Allison's warning echoes through my mind but I keep going. I feel high, high on the feeling that I'm actually desired. I catch hold of the back of my rather shapeless blouse in my hands and pull it up over my head, then toss it onto the floor. As I look back in the mirror, I try to imagine what someone else might see when they look at me, without my constant negative interior monologue telling me nasty things about myself. Do I have the kind of body that someone like Nate could find attractive?
Now down to my bra and underwear, I begin to feel nervous, but I reach up to unclasp my bra. I feel the straps loosen on my shoulders and bring my hands forward to catch it as it falls.
“Brynn? You home?” I hear my mom call from the foyer. I freeze, holding the bra against my breasts. I glance up. Nate is gone.
“Yup, I'm home!” I yell back.
“I saw your shoes! I'm coming up—I want to hear all about your first day.” I hear her footsteps on the staircase and hurriedly refasten my bra. Nothing like your mom's voice to kill your libido.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next couple weeks of my new life seem to pass rather quickly, mostly due to the fact that Nate is always out with his friends after work, and our run-ins have been few and far between. I've settled into a routine of sorts, even if I still don't feel like I'm at home here.
I’d gone to bed early last night, with the intention of sleeping in this morning before visiting museums with Allison later in the day. However a loud noise from downstairs awakens me—I stare bleary eyed at my alarm clock, it’s only 6:15am. Who'd be awake this early on a Saturday morning?
I get out of bed and tiptoe to my door. I open it a little and hear something shuffling around downstairs. I tiptoe out into the hallway and see everyone’s bedroom doors are closed. I know there's an alarm system—I had to memorize the passcode. Maybe an ungainly mouse is exploring? I creep down the staircase and through the dining room. The noises sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. The swinging door is open, and I peak my head around it, my heartbeat blasting in my ears.