ChapterFive
The contrast between Friday with Alexie and Sunday with Alexie was like night and day.
At Friday’s exhibition, Mallory had stuck out like a sore thumb, practically with the words: NOT FROM AROUND HERE plastered across her forehead. After Alexie had closed the gallery for the night, she’d blown off her French boyfriend and led Mallory across Manhattan: first, a high-scale bar for thirty-dollar cocktails, which Alexie paid for with her new gallery money; then, appetizers, dinner, and dessert, all at three separate locations that Alexie said were “the best in town.” Alexie clearly liked to be “in the know” when it came to Manhattan’s best of the best— something Mallory couldn’t remember from Alexie’s personality back on the Vineyard. As far as she knew, Alexie had just frequented the diner, just like everybody else.
Their conversations had dug deeper than Mallory had expected. Perhaps it was unfair, but she’d recently regarded Alexie as a shallow and selfish city girl and incapable of conversations that extended beyond her own little art universe. Mallory couldn’t have been more incorrect or more grateful. Alexie spoke about her difficulties in the city, the long nights of loneliness and the real struggles she’d had after their father had died.
Mallory explained that Zachery was her only reason to hold herself together, sometimes. “When I ended my engagement to Lucas, I felt like the biggest fool on earth. How could I have fallen for that guy, let alone had his baby? Of course, we’re together now. And sometimes, it even works. Sometimes. Maybe we can grow and change together?”
Alexie told her that even the most intelligent and artistic, and prosperous women had made ridiculous mistakes when it came to men. “Look at Kim and Kanye,” she pointed out. “Or Sandra Bullock and Jesse James.”
“Or you and Jon-Michel,” Mallory countered.
Alexie rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “Yeah. Sure.” Her shoulders fell forward. “Dating an artist is more like a status symbol here in New York. You’re meant to project each other forward into the world, acting as a sort of decoration.”
“That’s kind of disgusting, Alexie.”
“You’re right. I sometimes wonder what Dad would think if he heard some of the stuff I said in my everyday life,” Alexie breathed.
“He’d tease you, for sure. But he’d also understand that you’re just doing what you can to go after your dreams,” Mallory said.
“Thanks for saying that, Mall. Really. It means the world to feel your support.”
Sunday afternoon, Mallory and Alexie boarded the ferry in Woods Hole, wrapped in windbreakers to guard against the blustery ocean air. Together, they stood on the top deck and watched the island as it crested over the horizon. Seagulls cawed above them, welcoming them home.
“It feels like I’ve been gone a lot longer than just a weekend,” Mallory murmured.
Alexie dropped her head on Mallory’s shoulder. “You should find reasons to come to the city more often. Bring my adorable nephew with you if you want.”
“Where would we stay?” Mallory asked with a laugh. Over the past two nights, she and Alexie had shared the bed in her closet-sized room, which had very little space for a crib.
“We’ll figure something out,” Alexie said.
The sisters allowed a moment to pass, each heavy in thought. Mallory’s head flashed with images and sounds from the weekend— hours of dancing to techno music, the bright pink salmon in the center of the sushi roll, the older man at the bodega who’d given her directions during her time of need, Alexie’s laughter as it echoed through the streets.
“I’m going to grab a coffee from inside,” Mallory told Alexie. “You want anything?”
“Sure. Coffee sounds great. I’ll need my energy to face Mom’s endless questions about my art career.”
Mallory laughed, turning back to enter the enclosed area, where a ferryboat worker sold stale muffins, scones, coffee, and tea. After she ordered two coffees, Mallory rifled through her wallet for change, hoping to expel some of the jangling coins.
“You had a nice trip off the island?” the man behind the counter asked as he filled the coffee cups, recognizing her as an islander.
“I did. I visited my sister in New York City.”
“That place is too big for me,” the man told her, sliding the cups across the counter as she flashed eight quarters and several dimes into his outstretched palm. He blinked down at the coins, laughing. “Thanks, hon. I always need some extra change.”
Mallory lifted the cups, feeling suddenly jittery and foolish. He hadn’t included plastic tops, which was better for her, especially as she’d begun to read a bit too much about the plastic in the oceans and the ever-dying environment. But as she spun on her heel, ready to make her escape, she toppled directly into the man waiting to order behind her. The piping hot coffee flashed across the red flannel material across his broad chest. Mallory’s jaw dropped with fear.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” She placed the cups back on the counter and grabbed a big wad of napkins.
The man hissed at the hot liquid, clearly in pain. He began to unbutton his shirt, all the way to his waist. He then slung the shirt off his shoulders and dropped it to the ground, standing bare-chested. The coarse hairs of his chest held droplets of the coffee.
“Are you okay?” Mallory finally managed, throwing napkins toward him as though they would do anything.
The man accepted the napkins and tapped across his chest, puffing out his cheeks. “It was more of a surprise than anything.”
“I’m so clumsy. I’m sorry.”