I meet her at the Anthropologie in Georgetown Mall, and we start going through the sale racks as we catch up. While she's not looking, I slip a couple sets of lingerie and sexy bras into my basket. I want to wear something a little sexy for Nate, but I don't want to face Allison's inevitable questions if she sees what I've picked out.
We eventually make our way to the changing rooms and begin trying on our choices. I quickly slip on the first matching set of bra and panties. I admire myself in the mirror. The lace is a pale violet, and not overtly sexy—it's Anthropologie, not Victoria's Secret, after all.
“What do you think?” Allison asks suddenly, pulling the curtain aside and stepping into the dressing room with me. She's wearing a blue cotton dress and twirls for a second before she realizes what I'm wearing. Her eyebrows raise. “Whoa.”
“Allison,” I groan, pulling one of the more substantial pieces of clothing off a hanger to cover myself.
“You know, I had a feeling something was different with you,” she says, beginning to smile.
“Really?”
“Yup. And I was right. I always thought you two would make a good match.”
“What? That's not what you said.”
“Yeah, I totally called it!”
“No, you completely warned me against the whole thing,” I reply, confused and even slightly annoyed.
“Wait,” she says with a frown, “who are you talking about?”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Greg, obviously…”
“Oh, right.”
“Brynn…”
“What?” I ask innocently.
“If it's not Greg, who did you think I was talking about?” she asks, her eyes widening.
“It's not important, OK?” I reply, blushing.
“Brynn, no. Please tell me it's not Nate. Please. I mean, he's your stepbrother. It's…it's gross.”
“Thanks a lot, Allison. Not exactly what I needed to hear right now,” I snap, turning my back to her to pull off the lingerie.
“Um, maybe it's exactly what you need to hear right now. I mean, what's with you? You're ignoring a perfectly nice guy to go out with some jock like Nate.”
“Well, first of all, it's none of your business. Second of all, you're actually completely right about Greg. He is 'perfectly nice.' There's no spark at all. Zero. Third of all, Nate's not 'some jock.' He's really smart, and kind, and funny. And with him? Sparks galore!”
“God, Brynn, I'm just trying to look out for you. You're making some really bad decisions.”
I take a deep breath, not wanting to raise my voice in this public place. “No, Allison, you're not trying to look out for me. What you're doing is judging me. Completely different. And I really don't appreciate it.” I finish pulling on my skirt and quickly slip my flats on as I grab my purse and walk quickly out of the dressing room.
I walk straight out of the store and toward the elevator to the parking garage, my cheeks burning with anger, though I also feel a bit like crying. I've never had a big fight like that with Allison before, and I don't like it.
I freeze outside another store just as I'm about to reach the elevators. Victoria's Secret. My relationship with Nate isn't “gross.” There's nothing wrong with what we're doing. If anything, my conversation with Allison has made me want to lean into my relationship with Nate, not out of it. I march in and straight to the raciest pieces I see.
When I get home, I hear my mom and Pierce laughing in the kitchen, and the TV from the den. I walk in there and smile in relief at the sight of Nate with his feet up on the couch. He moves his legs over and I plop down.
“Hi,” I murmur with a smile.
“Hi,” he replies. “What's wrong?” I frown at him, and he reaches up to his shoulder, miming pulling at something. I stare at him for a moment before realizing he's mirroring my own action of pulling at my hair. I sigh and drop my hand.
“It's Allison. We had an argument,” I explain. “She…she found out.” He cocks his head and then lets out a low whistle as he realizes what I mean.
“Well, I suppose it's not that bad. I mean, I always thought…” he lowers his voice, looking back toward the kitchen where our parents are still talking. “I always thought that at school, we could be more open. No one really knows you're my stepsister there. I mean, Allison would have found out then anyway, right?”
“I guess so…she just…she called it 'gross.' We're not, are we?”
“Well, I certainly don't think there's anything gross about you.”
“It's more than that, though. I feel like we're drifting apart a little,” I reveal, swallowing a ball of hurt in my throat.
“Mm,” he replies, considering. “Like me and Jackson, sort of. Well, maybe you won't be quite as close as you were, but there are still things you can enjoy about her.”
“When'd you get so wise?” I ask, nudging his feet next to me.
“Since I started hanging out with you. You're rubbing off on me.”
Before I have time to consider whether he's being serious or not, we hear my mom call, “Dinner!” from the kitchen, and are forced to put our conversation on hold.
Pierce seems to be in an unusually good mood during the meal, for which I'm grateful. Not for his sake, but for Nate's, because he's much less likely to snap at his son when he's feeling jovial.
“Well, we haven't made an official announcement, Brynn, but Thornhill and Co. has just landed Mark Broadman as a client,” he reveals eventually.
“The hedge fund billionaire?”
“That's right. He has several new holdings, and needs advice on some public policy matters.”
“Wow, that's huge. Congrats, Dad,” Nate chimes in. Pierce nods at him in a self-satisfied manner.
“I'm glad it's all—I'm glad that's happened, Pierce,” I correct myself. I almost referenced the scandal earlier this summer, but managed to change course. We never talk about it now, though I know that Pierce was concerned that it would negatively impact his business. But landing such a big client is a good sign that people have moved on, and are on Pierce's side.
After dinner, Nate and I leave the dining room separately, while our parents remain there chatting. We always make a show of going our separate ways, to keep up appearances. I close my bedroom door knowing that he'll come for me around midnight, as he has every night this past week. My body quivers with excitement just thinking about it.
I consider writing an email to Allison, but decide I want a little more time to think about what to say. I turn to my purse and pull out the bag from Victoria's Secret that I stuffed to the bottom. I touch the black lace panties, a narrow diamond-shaped piece of fabric that just covers the essentials, with several thin strips, string, really, hooking around my hips and latching on to the back. The bra is conservative by contrast, though pretty with its Chantilly lace-covered cups.