The Identicals(17)

“Hey,” Ainsley said. “It’s time to go to bed now, Mama.” And like a dutiful child, Tabitha had risen and followed Ainsley down the stairs.



Now it’s Monday, and Ainsley should be at school, where she finally might discover what had happened during the remainder of everyone’s weekend. Maybe she hasn’t been the only one to get punished; maybe the unthinkable happened and Emma has been grounded as well—although Ainsley doesn’t think so, because it had been Emma’s father, Dutch, who provided the weed and the beer for the party. He had actually asked Emma if she wanted any coke (not the drink, he said, wink, wink), but Emma had used common sense and said no, thank you. Ainsley had really liked Dutch until she heard that; now she questions his ethics. To provide beer and weed to your sixteen-year-old daughter makes you not only a “cool” parent but also kind of a criminal. To offer coke makes you only a criminal.

Ainsley wonders if Teddy got into any trouble and decides the answer is also no. Graham is an uncle. The whole parenting thing was thrust at him because his brother died fighting a fire and his sister-in-law, Teddy’s mother, is a suicidal depressed anorexic back in Oklahoma. Graham is only now mastering the basics: food on the table three times a day, making sure Teddy gets to school and sports practice on time—he’s a star at baseball, which is big in Oklahoma, whereas lacrosse is big in Nantucket—make sure he’s doing his homework, take him to get his driver’s license, give him chores so he learns responsibility. This summer Teddy is going to work as a bellhop at the boutique hotel 21 Broad. Teddy is so grateful for Graham’s steadying presence in his life that he doesn’t like doing anything that might land him in trouble. He did borrow Graham’s truck and say he was going on a date with Ainsley, and Graham did hand him forty bucks, which Teddy gave to BC to buy cups and vodka. But Teddy didn’t smoke or drink anything. He only came to the party to be with Ainsley.

Candace Beasley probably got in trouble. This time last year, Ainsley would never have invited Candace to a party. Candace and Ainsley had been best friends when they were little girls. They had the same teachers, participated in the same activities; in fourth grade, when Tabitha took Ainsley to Los Angeles for spring break, Candace came along. They rode the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier together; they ordered room service in their suite at Shutters on the Beach while Tabitha went to the bar to conduct business meetings. They went to the spa and got their nails painted the same color.

They used to pretend they were sisters. They used to pretend, at Ainsley’s insistence, that they were not only sisters but also twins.

But there had been some essential difference between Ainsley and Candace, and it concerned the way they were being raised. Ainsley—because she spent so much time with her mother and grandmother—was always encouraged to act older than she was. She accompanied Tabitha and Eleanor to the Galley for lunch and, when they were in Boston, to tea at the Four Seasons. Ainsley had been allowed to stay home by herself during the day starting when she was eight years old. She could use the microwave to make popcorn and then melt extra butter; she was allowed to watch Gossip Girl. She had a triple-decker pink aluminum case filled with makeup that Tabitha had bought her. Once when Candace had been over for the afternoon—on what Candace’s mother, Stephanie, still called a playdate—Candace had gone downstairs made up with foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and lipstick, and Stephanie had screamed as though Candace were missing a limb. She had yanked Candace into the powder room and scrubbed her face right there and then with one of the blue soaps shaped like a scallop shell that nobody ever used.

Tabitha had laughed and said, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting? They’re little girls playing dress-up.”

Stephanie had said, “You can let your daughter walk around looking like a prostitute, but I’m not going to.”

Tabitha had shrugged the comment off, but it had taken root in Ainsley. She knew Stephanie thought there was something inappropriate about the way Ainsley was being raised. Candace, also an only child, was being raised like a baby. She had ten thousand rules to abide by: four bites of everything on her plate (including broccoli and lima beans), PBS Kids and Disney Channel only (no Nickelodeon of any kind), bedtime at eight o’clock, even on weekends, teeth brushing and flossing, and a schedule of chores that earned Candace a dollar a week, deposited into her college fund.

Ainsley found much in Candace’s house to admire: the meals were homemade and delicious; Stephanie and her husband, Stu, said a nice short grace before eating and then kissed each other; the bath towels were fluffy; the sheets on Candace’s bed were always crisp and neatly made; and always, Stephanie would read to them before bed.

Tabitha, by contrast, watched every morsel that Ainsley put in her mouth, forbidding doughnuts, pancakes, and baked potatoes. Ainsley had learned the term empty calorie by third grade. Tabitha dressed Ainsley in smaller versions of her grandmother’s designs, dresses that would have fetched five hundred dollars or more on eBay. She gave Ainsley lessons in how to walk in high heels and how to throw French phrases into everyday conversation. à tout à l’heure! Probably Ainsley’s fondest memory of growing up is coming home from school, drinking Coke Zero on the sofa with Tabitha, and paging through the new issue of Vogue with Tabitha covering the captions with her hand and quizzing Ainsley on the designers.