The Summer Everything Changed (19 page)

Read The Summer Everything Changed Online

Authors: Holly Chamberlin

BOOK: The Summer Everything Changed
12.53Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Chapter 32
CITYMOUSE
Bonjour,
My Friends!
I'm so excited to share with you all this outstanding hat Gwen and I found at a tiny little antique shop we'd never even noticed before. Just look!
It's like a puffball made of white feathers—isn't it hilarious?
But it's also kind of fabulous and intensely glamorous. When LouLou saw it, she remembered seeing photographs of Princess Grace of Monaco wearing a hat just like it. We went online and found the occasion—Princess Grace and Prince Rainier were visiting President Kennedy, and oh boy, the look Grace was giving Jack in one of the pictures . . . All I can say is that if I had been Jackie (and LouLou agrees!), I would not have been pleased!!!! And I guess if I had been the prince I would not have been pleased, either. Well, people felt that JFK was a really good-looking guy, so I guess that sort of thing happened all the time. Even now you hear stories about his affairs and whatnot. Personally, he doesn't do it for me and affairs are wrong, but . . .
Anyway, here's another picture of the hat, this time on top of Gwen's head! By the way, when we found the hat it was resting in its original cardboard box; if you look closely, you can see the box off to Gwen's right, that black and white round thing.
I can't imagine where one would have worn this hat—other than to meet the president! (And frankly, it seems an odd choice for meeting a head of state, but hey, what do I know about protocol among the rich and famous?) Maybe to a posh luncheon with one's friends, at a high-end, very proper restaurant on New York's Upper East Side, where everyone is dressed
“à la mode”
and
“mauvais gout”
is unheard of?
Sigh. How social and sartorial conventions have changed!
Now, let me end with some food for thought. I came across the following quote (online, of course) from Helen Gurley Brown (yes, another quote), and it got me thinking—as, I'm guessing, it was meant to do!
“Beauty can't amuse you, but brain work—reading, writing, thinking—can.”
As I can't really know what exactly Ms. Gurley Brown meant by this statement—and since I have no idea of the context in which she uttered it—it's difficult to comment with any intelligence . . . But I'll give it a try!!!
For me, thinking, reading, and writing ABOUT beauty is one of, if not the most, amusing things there is! Contemplating the very idea of aesthetics can occupy me happily for hours . . .
I love the poem by John Keats entitled “Ode on a Grecian Urn,” with those famous final lines that read:
 
Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
 
Now I know there's debate about what, exactly, Keats meant by that (everything in the world of art is debatable, I guess) and about how those lines are really meant to be read, but if I think that if you take the lines at face value, the message—that Beauty and Truth are one—is of the greatest importance for our souls.
Well, I hope that amateurish foray into art or literary “criticism” (ha!) makes some sense to you, my Dear Readers. If it doesn't—don't tell me!
Au revoir,
my fellow Style Seekers!
Later that day, Isobel and Jeff were sitting in the gazebo behind the inn. Isobel loved sitting there on almost any day of the year, even in winter; it was such a romantic setting, calling to mind long, flowing dresses, picture hats, and men in high white collars. Jeff, however, didn't seem thrilled. His expression was flat; he sat stiffly, his hands on his knees.
“Oh wow, look at that huge dragonfly!” Isobel exclaimed. The insect was darting crazily just out of reach. “Isn't it gorgeous?”
Jeff shrugged.
“You're not a nature lover?”
“No.”
“You don't have a favorite flower? Like, a petunia?” she teased. “Or maybe something more bold and masculine, like a sunflower?”
Jeff didn't respond to her teasing questions. “I've been reading your blog,” he said.
“You have?” Isobel smiled. “You might be the only guy who does.”
“Why don't you ever mention me on the blog?”
Isobel was caught short not only by his question but also by his tone, which was decidedly that of someone who felt very, very hurt. “I—”
He cut her off. “You mention every other person you know around here. I thought I was important to you.”
“Oh wow,” she said, reaching for his hand. He let her take it, but he didn't squeeze back. “You are important to me. I just . . . I didn't think you were all that interested in style and fashion. I mean, in women's style and fashion, which is mostly what I write about.”
“Isobel, I'm interested in everything that interests you.”
“But you don't have to be.”
“Yes,” he said. “I do.”
Isobel laughed. “But I'm not interested in everything you are.”
“You should be. That's what it means to be a couple.” Jeff pulled his hand away from hers and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture of great frustration. “That's what drove me crazy about my last two girlfriends,” he said. “They just didn't understand. They were so wrapped up in their own lives they didn't have any time for me. For us. I thought you and I were different.”
Isobel felt very confused. She was not so sure one person in a couple should be genuinely interested in every single thing that interested the other person in the couple. It sounded kind of stifling, not to mention improbable. Still, she didn't want to be an ex-girlfriend anytime soon. And what did she really know about the whole relationship thing, after all? She had never even been in one before now!
She considered for a moment. What were Jeff's interests, anyway? As far as she knew, he had none. Or for some reason he wasn't sharing with her what he enjoyed doing in his spare time. Come to think of it, he had never even told her his major at school! She must have asked him—it was such a basic, common question—in fact, she knew that she had, so what had he answered? For the life of her, she couldn't remember. She felt bad about that.
“Well, okay,” she said then. “So, tell me about something you like to do. Tell me about your hobbies. Tell me about your passions.”
Jeff made a rude, dismissive sound. “Why should I bother? You already said you don't care about the stuff I care about.”
Isobel felt her stomach sink. “That's not at all what I said! Come on, Jeff. Tell me. Maybe I could be interested in your hobbies. It's always good to learn about new things.”
“Forget it. I'm only the one who gave you a diamond bracelet. Why should I matter?”
“Jeff, no . . .”
“If you'd rather write about some dead guy than your boyfriend, I'm outta here.”
He turned and stalked off, leaving Isobel stunned and even more confused than she had been at the start of the disastrous conversation.
“Jeff, wait!” she called, but he didn't turn back. A moment or two later she heard his car roaring off.
The day suddenly seemed less bright, the dragonflies less interesting, the flowers less colorful. Isobel wondered if maybe Jeff was right; maybe she wasn't paying enough attention to him. Well, there was a way to show Jeff that she cared. She would add him to her next blog post!
But what to say? Maybe she could mention his earrings, but in and of themselves they were ordinary. Maybe she could write a brief history of men's jewelry and the famous guys throughout history (maybe just the western world, to keep things in check) who wore jewelry. Shakespeare wore earrings, didn't he? Lots of Elizabethan guys did.
No. No history lesson on CityMouse.
And the fact was that she would be embarrassed to tell her readers about the bracelet. She was afraid that to describe it precisely—and honestly—would sound like bragging and she was not a braggart.
Maybe if she let her mind wander a bit, inspiration would come. In the meantime, Isobel thought about those other girlfriends Jeff had mentioned. She didn't want to think about them, but she couldn't seem to help it. Had Jeff given those other girls expensive presents, too? Had he had sex with all of them?
Sex. Isobel wondered now if Jeff's hurt feelings could be frustration in disguise. So far they had done no more than make out. But Jeff was definitely not a virgin. He had to want a lot more from her, though he hadn't been pressuring her, not really.
The weird thing was that even though she was seriously attracted to him—the very thought of him brought tingles to her stomach—Isobel just didn't feel willing to take the next steps. It wasn't that she was afraid of sex. It was just—well, she wasn't quite sure what was holding her back from moving their relationship forward. But something was, some instinct maybe, and that was good enough reason for her. For now.
Isobel left the gazebo and went inside.
Isobel spent a good deal of the night pondering the notion of soul mates; of twinned and twined hearts; of infatuation and intense devotion and undying love. These were not topics meant to lull you into dreamland.
Did everyone who was truly in love lose him- or herself in the other person, or maybe in the third entity, the relationship? Was it necessary to “lose yourself”? Traditional notions of romance would seem to say so. The woman, especially, was to become a part of the man, a piece of something larger, no longer “only” herself. Really, it was a bit offensive and seriously old-fashioned—and experience had pretty much shown that nine out of ten times it ended in disaster for the woman—but it also did sound kind of heroic in a weird way, sacrificing yourself for the greater good, which was
LOVE
in capital letters. Lovers were two halves of a whole . . .
In the middle of the night, she had gotten out of bed to sit at her desk with her laptop. She thought it might be wise to see what great poets and novelists had to say about the matter. You could always rely on great poets or novelists to tell a truth in a way you would remember.
Isobel chose a “famous quotes” site at random and selected “quotes about love.” There was something from Emily Brontë; Isobel thought it was probably taken from
Wuthering Heights
. It sounded like something Cathy would say about Heathcliff. But she hadn't read the book in a while so she wasn't really sure.
“Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”
There was also a line from a work by Leo Tolstoy. She didn't know what novel this might be from, or even if it was from one of his novels. She had yet to venture into the works of the famous Russian writers.
“He felt now that he was not simply close to her, but that he did not know where he ended and she began.”
And then, from
Romeo and Juliet,
there was a line the teenaged Juliet speaks to her teenaged lover:
“The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.”
Her head spinning, Isobel had shut down the computer and crawled back into bed. Maybe love took more than she had in her to give. And maybe . . . Well, was she actually in love with Jeff? She thought that maybe she was. She got all tingly when he was next to her. Wasn't that a sign of love? Or was that merely a sign of sexual attraction? She thought about him when he wasn't with her. Then again, she thought about Gwen when Gwen wasn't with her.
Isobel shifted under the covers. She felt so awfully young and naïve. She so hoped she hadn't permanently alienated Jeff with her immaturity. She had learned as a firsthand witness how delicate relationships could be, even those that were supposed to be—or that, at least, looked to be—strong, like her parents' marriage. If that had failed after twenty-some odd years and an official and public vow of foreverness, how much more likely was it that her own fledgling relationship with Jeff would fail because of her inability to understand a simple need and request?
Very early in the morning, Isobel fell into a deep sleep. But after only three hours, she was out of bed and back at work on the blog post. Finally, inspiration struck. At least, she was able to craft a few sentences she felt pretty sure Jeff would like.
Jeff had said he would come by the inn at twelve o'clock. Isobel took her laptop down to the kitchen to wait for him. He was as good as his word, walking through the kitchen door at precisely noon. He didn't apologize for having stormed off the day before, but Isobel didn't expect him to. He had been upset, yes, but justifiably. She knew that now.
“I have to show you something,” she said immediately.
Jeff looked wary. But maybe that was her imagination.

Other books

The Bad Widow by Elsborg, Barbara
Tea-Totally Dead by Girdner, Jaqueline
Flaming Zeppelins by Joe R. Lansdale
Elisabeth Fairchild by The Love Knot
Outrage by John Sandford
Facelift by Leanna Ellis
Shana Abe by A Rose in Winter
Fairytale Beginnings by Holly Martin