Out from Under You Read online

  “Hey, Li. Good to see you.” She glances around the empty restaurant. “Is this place even open?”

  “Uh,” I say, my mouth suddenly filled with a giant imaginary piece of foam.

  But she doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Anyway, sorry we’re late. The train stopped in Bridgeport for like an hour.”

  I glance anxiously between them. Alex is crumpling up her used cocktail napkin and tossing it onto the bar while Grayson, for some reason, is staring awkwardly at the ground.

  “Wait? What?” is all I manage to say.

  We?

  Alex flashes me one of her beaming smiles that I know, from years of living as her inferior younger sister, is completely fake. “I was hoping to tell you and Dad at the same time, but oh well.” She reaches down and grasps Grayson’s hand in hers. A familiar queasy sensation settles into my stomach as I watch her long, dainty fingers interlace with his.

  “I have a surprise!” Then she leans over and plants a quick kiss on Grayson’s cheek. “We’re back together.”

  The day I met Grayson Walker eight years ago was a solid 9.5 on the Richter scale.

  I remember the chasm that opened under my feet the first time I looked at him. The tremors that rippled through my body when he first touched me. I remember the fault lines that splintered and ruptured my poor, naïve heart when he chose my older sister instead of me.

  Some might say I’m being overly dramatic. That I was never actually a viable choice—me being only fourteen at the time, and him being a whole three years older. Maybe Alex, in all of her seventeen years of womanhood and maturity, was the wise choice that night.

  Maybe age was the only deciding factor.

  But believing that would be just another lie.

  Alex always won. It’s what she did best. She had, what I like to call, an abundance of mores.

  More beautiful. More athletic. More popular. More sex appeal.

  Just...more.

  It’s a truth untold between any two sisters. A natural inequality that just happens without any specific rhyme or reason. Genetics doesn’t play on a normal distribution curve. God doesn’t evenly allocate desirable traits, diligently counting the score to assure fairness. Like two children divvying up a pile of Halloween candy.

  Some people simply get the better candy.

  It’s true Grayson was never mine to lose. And yet, somehow I lost him every single day of my life.

  I lost the “hope” of him.

  Every time his lips crushed against hers in the hallway of our high school. Every time I heard the moans of their teenage experimentation in the bedroom next to mine. Every time he promised to never leave her.

  It was like having to reread the same sad ending to a disappointing book over and over again.

  They were together off and on throughout their entire senior year. They would fight, break up, then get back together in some dramatic showing before repeating the whole process again. I watched them shatter and fuse back together so many times I lost count.

  It was no surprise when they both ended up attending NYU together. And their rocky relationship went with them.

  That, at least, was somewhat of a reprieve.

  I didn’t have to witness it every day. It was an echo of longing. A pain once removed. Decidedly better than the first-hand, front-row version.

  Then, one day, their relationship ended for good.

  Alex decided to stay in New York City after college, and Grayson decided to move to Washington, D.C. And just like that, they were no more.

  That was four years ago.

  And I thought that I was finally set free from the heavy, iron chains of being unrequitedly in love with Grayson Walker.

  But that’s the thing about earthquakes. Just when you think they’re over, just when you start to feel safe again, that’s when the aftershock hits. And the foundation you thought was finally stable enough to stand on is suddenly crumbling beneath your feet.

  Don’t stare, I command myself.

  Just look away. Focus on something else. Anything else! The floor, the ceiling, that annoyed-looking couple leaving the restaurant.

  But whatever you do, don’t look straight ahead.

  I can’t help it, though. I’m so speechless right now.

  Who is this girl standing in front of me? This is not Alex’s sister. The scrawny little girl I taught to play rugby on the beach eight years ago. The awkward freshman I used to help with her calculus homework. The tomboy who wore oversized T-shirts and read comic books.

  This girl—this woman—is...is...

  Fucking hot.

  The words pop into my head before I can stop them. I instantly rebuke myself. Alex’s little sister cannot be hot. She’s Alex’s little sister. She can be sweet. She can be adorable. She can be lovable. But she cannot under any circumstances be hot.

  Seriously, though, where did that body come from? Had she been hiding it all along under those baggy sweatshirts? Or did that happen recently? Her legs are long and slender, her hip bones are just visible above the waistband of her loosely flowing, knee-length skirt. And her breasts look so perfect under that white tank top.

  No.

  You did not just think about Lia Smart’s breasts.

  That’s breaking pretty much every single unspoken rule in the gentleman’s handbook.

  After Alex delivers the news of our reunion, I watch Lia reach for a bottle of wine on the bar, pour herself a large glass and guzzle it.

  Lia? Drinking wine?

  The last time I saw this girl drink was when she was sixteen and I offered her a sip of my beer while Alex and I were lounging around the house during winter break. I laughed so hard at the face she made when she took that sip, I nearly shot beer through my nose.

  And now she’s downing wine like a Real Housewife of Eastbrook.

  I can’t help but stare as the liquid moves down her throat. I can’t help but remark at how dainty and feminine her neck is. How radiant her skin looks.

  Stop it, I command myself.

  This is Lia you’re talking about.

  And yet, she’s not Lia anymore. She’s someone else. Someone intriguing and mature and stunning.

  As she lowers the glass back to the bar, I notice the smudge of black ink on the side of her left hand and immediately feel a rush of relief.

  There it is.

  What I’ve been looking for.

  A lingering trace of the old Lia. The girl I used to know. The one who made fun of infomercials and people who dress their dogs in stupid costumes, and the desperate girls who go on The Bachelor.

  The girl who used to stay up late at the kitchen table drawing comic book characters in her sketchbook with black pen.

  That ink stain on her hand is exactly what I needed to see. To reassure me that she’s still in there. That not everything has changed.

  If I can just cling onto the memory of that Lia, I’ll be fine.

  “I’m famished,” Alex says. “Let’s go. I made a reservation at Union Bistro.

  “Um,” Lia says quickly, a look of panic flashing across her face. “I kind of thought maybe we could eat here. You know, for old times’ sake.”

  But Alex scowls. “I’m not a fan of Italian food. I already texted Dad and told him to meet us at Union.”

  Lia bites her lip. “But I’m not sure I can just leave. You know, I kind of run the place now.”

  Alex lets out a cough of a laugh, which makes me cringe inside. She glances around the nearly empty restaurant. “I think they’ll manage without you.”

  I can see the internal war waging within Lia’s head. I recognize it only because it’s a war that often wages inside my own mind. The epic battle surrounding the question, “Is it worth the fight?”

  Lia clearly comes to the same conclusion I normally come to because her body seems to wither in defeat and she mumbles something about grabbing her bag and meeting us out front.

  As we head for the door, I glance briefly around the restaurant. It seem
s like forever since I’ve been here. It’s nice that Lia has managed to keep it afloat even after the whole fiasco with her and Alex’s mother.

  I’m just about to turn away when my eye snags upon a table in the far back corner. It’s set for three people and is far more decorated than the rest of the tables. Then I notice the white lilies in the vase—Alex’s favorite flower—and my chest clenches.

  I manage to catch Lia’s eye as she re-emerges from the back. I nudge my chin in the direction of the table. She seems to understand what I’m referring to but simply shrugs in response and follows her sister to the door.

  “Hey.” Lia stops and calls back to the only server in the restaurant. “Take the sixty-two dollars we made tonight and just split it between you and Blake.”

  Sixty-two dollars?

  That’s all they made? This place really has fallen apart since Marianne left.

  The server looks up from cleaning a table. “What?”

  “You couldn’t have made that much in tips,” Lia says. “So just take it.”

  “Are you sure?” the server asks, concerned.

  Solemnly, Lia nods. “I’m sure.”

  “That was nice,” I tell her as we walk outside. Alex is impatiently waiting next to a blue sedan—which I presume to be Lia’s—with her arms crossed.

  Lia shrugs again. “It’s the least I can do for them. It’s not their fault the place is dead.”

  I open my mouth to ask her why business is so slow, but I’m interrupted by Alex demanding the car keys from Lia.

  “I can drive,” I offer.

  “No,” Alex insists, holding out her hand. “You’ll just ask me for directions anyway.”

  Lia’s gaze flicks my way as she passes the keys to Alex. Yes, I could fight it. I could tell Alex I want to drive. Because it makes me feel like I’m contributing. Because it’s the chivalrous thing to do. But I know which battles are worth fighting with Alex, and this isn’t one of them.

  But also I wanted to drive so that I’d have something to think about that doesn’t involve the image of Lia’s skirt riding up to her mid-thigh as she sits down in the back seat and I close her door.

  Instead, as I lower myself into the passenger seat, I force myself to think about the day we first met. To hold that girl in my mind. The one with the braces and the oversized men’s basketball shorts and the knobby knees poking out from under them. But one glance over my shoulder erases all of that in a flash.

  Lia is staring out the window, lost in thought. My eyes immediately zero in on a light pink bra strap that’s peeking out from under her tank top, threatening to plummet down the delicate slope of her shoulder.

  Oh God.

  There goes the blood from my brain.

  Why does it have to be pink?

  Why can’t it be black or red? Black I can handle. Black says, “I like men to look at me. I like being on top. I like being in control.”

  Black says Alex.

  Pink says, “I don’t know I’m sexy.”

  I face forward and squirm in my seat like a little kid.

  Alex flashes me a look of annoyance. “What’s wrong?”

  I don’t meet her eyes. “Nothing. I’m just tired of sitting.”

  “Well, relax,” she tells me. “We’re almost there. You’ll love Union Grill. It opened after we left for college. It’s my favorite restaurant in town.”

  I know this is a direct jab at Lia and all the work she’s done keeping her mother’s restaurant open this past year. But I’m too busy attempting to subtly hide the bulge that’s forming in my pants to worry about Alex’s insensitive remarks. Apparently, though, I’m not subtle enough because I watch Alex’s gaze drift down toward my crotch. I suck in a breath.

  This could be bad.

  Very. Very. Bad.

  I brave a glance in her direction and am surprised to see a mischievous grin creeping over her face. “Already?” she whispers. “I thought the bathroom on the train would have tided you over at least until tonight.”

  I exhale softly, feeling like I just dodged a bullet drenched in Alex venom.

  Of course, she thinks this is for her. Of course, she wouldn’t suspect anything. She thinks of Lia the same way I think of Lia (or did until thirty minutes ago). As her dorky kid sister.

  I force out a sheepish grin for Alex’s benefit. It feels fake and slimy on my lips. But fortunately she buys it. She rests her hand on my leg—close to my groin—and squeezes.

  The blood instantly flows back into my brain.

  This is going to be a long night.

  I glance out the window and catch sight of the sign for Union Grill. Alex pulls off the road and into the parking lot.

  I seriously consider bowing out. Faking sick and escaping to the house.

  I really need to take a cold shower. Run a marathon. Something.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I try to think about the black smudge of ink on Lia’s left hand. The metallic glint of her braces when she used to laugh. The white lilies on the table.

  But for some reason, all I see is pink.

  I can remember the night Alex lost her virginity better than the night I lost my own. This is pretty par for the course when it comes to my sister. Everything she does is naturally more memorable than anything I could ever do. Even sex.

  I can still hear the heavy breathing through my bedroom wall and the gentle creaking of my sister’s bed that increased in speed and intensity as Grayson moved from tentative to eager to climactic. And, despite the fact that I knew Alex had never done it before, I couldn’t help but remark how confident she sounded. How perfectly timed her moans and gasps and sharp inhales were. She sounded almost identical to the girls we used to watch on the cable channels that my parents kept locked with the easiest, most hackable password ever: “Password.”

  I can even remember the tender affections they shared before, during and after. His deep voice, with a faded Southern accent, slipping through the air like a lullaby. Although I couldn’t make out every word, the inflections and sweet airiness of the whispers were enough to infer.

  If she was in any pain, she hid it well. But knowing Alex, her body was most likely just built for sex. She was probably born without a hymen. Inherently ready and able to please a man the moment she turned sixteen.

  My first time, on the other hand, was messy and painful and clumsy. And the boy I finally decided to give it up to at age eighteen finished less than two minutes after we started and was never heard from again.

  And the whole time, all I could think about was Grayson. I pictured him moving on top of me. I pictured his bare chest rubbing against the lace bra that my so-called “partner” never even bothered to take off. I pictured his hand cupping and caressing my face as he came. His hot breath in my ear telling me how amazing it felt to be inside me. How he wanted to stay there forever.

  I never envied my sister more than during those two awkward minutes. I couldn’t help but think how magical it must have been for her. How lucky she was to be doing it with someone like Grayson Walker. Someone who cared about her. Not some drunk frat boy she met at a spring break party who smelled like a carnival.

  But by then, I had already started to come to terms with the fact that everything was more magical for Alex. That’s just the way it was. She was superior to me from the very beginning. I never really stood a chance. While she was born happy and healthy at eight pounds and two ounces, I was born three years later, premature, sickly and stuffed in an incubator for the first three weeks of my life. While Alex excelled at school and sports and just life in general, I’ve never really had a serious boyfriend, and barely managed to pull a C average all through high school. While Alex is living the glamorous life in New York City as the highest-grossing account executive her advertising firm has ever seen, I now live at home, with an unfinished art degree, a dozen sketchbooks full of random drawings and story ideas that I swear I’ll turn into a graphic novel one day, and a father and a restaurant who are both still mo
urning the mother who left us.

  But now suddenly Grayson Walker is here again. Sitting next to my sister at the table she reserved at the poshest restaurant in town. Staring lovingly at her while she talks.

  His delicious scent lingers in the air. His deep, slightly accented voice echoes in my ears. His eyes repeatedly flicker to me and then away again as Alex relays the story of how they found each other in the city. How they reconnected during a long, romantic dinner, how they worked out all their past “issues,” and how happy they are now.

  “And what made you decide to move from Washington, D.C. to New York?” my father asks, relishing the story as though it were a made-for-TV movie.”

  “He got promoted,” Alex answers for him, pride overflowing in her voice. “They clearly sees his potential. He’s on his way to running that company one day.”

  Dad beams, über-impressed. “Wow. An investment banker and an ad executive? You two really are the New York power couple, aren’t you?”

  I can tell from Alex’s ear-to-ear grin that this is exactly what she wanted to hear. “That’s the plan, anyway. Right, baby?”

  Grayson nods, taking a bite of his bread.

  “I told you that Business degree would pay off one day, didn’t I?” Alex strokes his arm.

  “That you did,” he replies between chews.

  I reach for the bottle of wine on the table. The earlier news of their glorious reunion completely sobered me up, washing away all my hard work from before.

  Grayson notices and makes a move for the bottle, offering to pour it for me. A jolt of electricity shoots up my arm as his fingers graze against mine. He gives me a quick wink as he pours, and I have to look away for fear of forgetting how to breathe correctly.

  Calm the fuck down, I tell myself.

  This is nothing new. Grayson was always flirty like that. Never in a torrid, I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off-and-sprawl-you-across-this-table kind of way. But in a brotherly way.

  I gulp greedily at my wine.