Blush - Jamie Brenner Page 0,13

that it wasn’t necessarily Holden she was missing, but more the idea of him. The idea of a partner. She was twenty-one years old and had never been in love.

Maybe this was just supposed to be a time of work. So what if half her friends were coupled up? So what if her mother had met her father when she was just two years older, and her grandmother had already been married at her age? Those were different times.

She sipped her coffee, the early-morning sun streaming into the vast room. The library had double-height ceilings and rows and rows of walnut bookshelves spanning two floors, the second of which was reachable by an interior spiral staircase. The space was filled with late-nineteenth-century walnut furniture covered in red silk damask, Oriental rugs, and walls decorated with French tapestry in baroque frames. The centerpiece of the room was a white marble fireplace. Silk damask curtains covered the windows. When they were pulled closed, the room felt like nighttime even on a bright summer day.

Sadie settled at one end of the long table closest to the fireplace. She cued up her laptop and opened her copy of “Notes on ‘Camp.’”

She’d first read the essay when she was in middle school and discovered Sontag’s Against Interpretation. She’d been with her mother at the Strand bookstore.

“You’re lucky to have so many books for your age group to choose from,” her mother had said, emerging from the labyrinth of shelves with a bundle of books in her arms and presenting one to Sadie. The title was in pink letters, the cover showcasing a long-haired blonde lounging on her bed as she stared at her phone. “When I was growing up I only had Judy Blume, Norma Klein, and Paula Danziger.”

“I already found a book,” Sadie had said, waving the thin paperback in Leah’s direction. Her mother had squinted at the cover, taking it from her hand and examining it with confusion.

“You want to read that?”

Sadie loved her mother, would not trade her for any other mother in the world. But there had been many times while growing up that she saw with stunning clarity how little her mother understood her. And yes, she knew—even without reading mainstream teen fiction—that parents typically did not understand their teenage children. But Sadie felt certain that the difference between herself and her mother was a gap that might never be fully bridged. She knew that her parents were proud of her—so proud of her. And yet sometimes her accomplishments left them looking a little bewildered—stunned, even. She had seen them share more than one glance that seemed to say, “Where did this creature come from?”

That was why the idea of camp fascinated her. Her taste in books and film and music was so different not only from that of her parents but also that of her friends. It was reassuring to read an examination of taste as a consistent worldview—an essay that said that experiencing the world uniquely was a strength and not a shortcoming.

The essay had always been not only precious to her, but private. It felt, absolutely, like it had been written just for her. But then “Notes on ‘Camp’” came into broad view in the most surprising—and somewhat appalling—way: it had been selected as the theme for the Metropolitan Museum’s splashy, celebrity-studded costume gala. Suddenly, everyone from Kim Kardashian to Cardi B was talking about camp.

Sadie knew it would be a perfect topic for her thesis. But what could she say about camp that hadn’t already been said by Lady Gaga?

Sadie flipped through her notes, her fingers poised above the keyboard. Nothing came to her. Her mind drifted, images of Holden’s angry face the day he left. What if Sadie had handled things differently? What if she’d been more honest? I don’t like the beach, and the thought of meeting your family in that setting makes me incredibly anxious. But it was hard to admit weakness, quirks. It was so . . . messy. Now she realized she should have said, Compromise: I have to work this week, but let’s go to my family’s vineyard at some point this summer. Why was that so impossible for her?

She wasn’t cut out for relationships. She should stick to no-commitment hookups and work. That was where she was most comfortable.

Except the work was not working.

“Damn it.” In an act of surrender, Sadie pushed back from the table. She looked up, up at the ceiling, her gaze drifting to the tall