Page 21 of The Beachgoers
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SOME THINGS YOU NEVER GET used to. Like too-small pedestal sinks.
Oh, how Kyle had hoped hewouldget used to his, especially since the sink perfectly fits in their tiny en-suite bathroom.
But he hasn’t.
Fresh from the shower Friday afternoon, he grabs a hand towel and wipes steam off the mirror hanging above that darn, inadequate sink. After carefully lifting the shaving cream can from its precarious perch on the sink’s narrow edge, he lathers his face. Without complaining. Because if he’s learned anything, it’s to bite his tongue about the problematic sink. Any time he hasn’t, Lauren nicely reminds him that he’s lucky to evenhavean en-suite bathroom. After pausing, she adds for good measure,In our home by the bay—even though it is almost on the train tracks.
Still, Kyle thinks while standing there with only a large, plush towel wrapped around his waist, a sink with a spacious countertopandvanity would be more practical. And practical keeps his busy life well ordered. Practical means a place for everything and everything in its place. No thinking involved. Just get things done.
But saying nothing to Lauren—who’s fussing in the bedroom behind him—he drags his razor down his face, his cheeks, his jaw. Rinses the foamy blade in the faucet water, taps the razor on the sink edge. He tips up his head, too, and shaves beneath his chin, and along his neck. When he’s done toweling off his face and head afterward, he rehangs the hand towel and spikes his damp hair.
“Ell,” he says while opening the also-too-small cabinet mounted near the wall mirror. He sees her reflection in that mirror. She’s wearing a short robe and straightening her hair at the dresser in their bedroom. “Do we have any more hair gel?” Kyle calls out.
“Check the closet,” Lauren tells him while clipping up sections of her freshly blow-dried hair.
“Closet, closet,” Kyle whispers, then opens the narrow closet door directly behind the bathroom door. He grabs the gel there, squirts out a dollop and lifts it through his damp hair. “Where are the kids?” he asks while his fingers pull up short tufts.
“Downstairs with Mom and Dad.”
Kyle leans out the bathroom door and watches Lauren. She’s sliding the flat iron down a wide section of her blonde hair. “What’d you think of my idea to help Jason and Maris get back together?” he asks. “I ran it by Maris yesterday at the diner, and she was definitely on board.”
“So am I.” Lauren unclips more of her pinned-up hair and clamps the flat iron around it. “But you better finalize everything with Maris tonight, at Elsa’s.”
Blowing out a long breath, Kyle leans against the doorjamb. “Oh, man. No easy feat. Do you know how many people will be at the inn?”
“Kyle, no one’s going to miss one of Elsa’s galas. Ofcourseit’ll be mobbed.”
“Right, so how will I tell Maris? Because if Jason’s around, I can’t have him catch on.”
“Well, what about this?” Standing there in her robe, Lauren slowly glides the flat iron over her hair while talking. “You know Elsa’s events always go late into the night. So I’ll pull Jason aside at some point and walk on the beach or something. You can grab Maris and tell her then.”
“Okay.” Kyle walks into the bedroom and kisses the top of Lauren’s partially pinned, partially straightened hair. “Okay, that’s good. But what will you and Jason talk about?”
“I’ll think of something. Maybe ask him if he’d like to commission my driftwood art for the Fenwick reno. A centerpiece, or even a custom painting.”
“Hey, not bad, Ell. And that’s when I’ll start up Operation Get Jason Home.”
“Good luck, hon.” Lauren sets her flat iron on a tray on her dresser. After unpinning another hair section, she turns to Kyle. “But here’s the question of the hour.”
“Oh, no. Please don’t ask—whatever it is.”
“Kyle, I have to. Because with everything going on with Jason and Maris—you know, like how they’reobviouslykind of separated?” She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if this plan of yours can even happen. I mean, do you think Jason will evenbeat Elsa’s?”
“He said he would when I brought him a diner dinner last night. But then I texted him a reminder this morning and never heard back. So who knows what the guy’s up to.” Standing there with only that towel wrapped around his waist, Kyle slightly shrugs. When he does, Lauren gives him a hopeful smile and reaches up to respike his damp hair.
