Blake smelled like California to Justine. She had only been there briefly, on the way to Oregon where she met him in a roadside diner (the two of them looking every bit like a Hopper painting, she in a white fuzzy sweater and rolled up jeans and squinting into the sun, he in something tan and rumpled, hat pulled happily over his eyes). Blake was aquamarine.
Adam was a deep shade of burgandy. He smelled like train stations, like libraries, like museums. He was something to delve into and stay for hours, to think on and wonder about, to go w hen you had to do something or someone to meet. Blake was somewhere to go to get away from it all. He was sand and tide pools while your skin gets nut brown, and when the sun goes down you feel dizzy with heat and waves. Adam was where mysteries of the Universe were unlocked in an academic way, in a way that made you say Eureka! and drive up sums of formulas on napkins. Blake was where Justine went when she wanted to be airy, flowy, nymph-like and taken care of. Adam was where she went when she had confessions to make and dark places she wanted to visit. Right now we’re at the part of the story where Justine likes floating between these two men, hiding behind fireweed like a dandelion seed, floating this way and that, and she’s not ready to settle on one yet.