Love? Maybe.

by Heather Hepler

  “Ginger ale,” Claire says, coming up behind me. Jeremy is with her.

  “Hey there,” I say. “You clean up good.” He does look nice. His suit manages to give him a little more bulk, making him look less scarecrow-ish and more just tall and lean. It turns out Jeremy and Ben Donovan know one another as well.

  “We used to swim together,” Jeremy says.

  “Of course you did,” Claire says. Jeremy and Ben Donovan start talking about the Braves and their pennant chances. I shake my head and turn toward Claire.

  “Where’s Jillian?” I ask. She looks around then shrugs.

  “She took off with Charlie as soon as we walked inside. He didn’t look happy,” she says. “Maybe he doesn’t like surprises after all.”

  “Maybe,” I say. We stand around listening to the guys talk sports and watching the beautiful people walk by. We entertain ourselves by trying to decide what work each of the women has had done.

  “Botox,” Claire says as a woman with a leopard print dress walks by. Her face barely moves when she speaks.

  “Clearly,” I say. “Eye lift and lip injections,” I say about a woman with long blonde hair. Claire nods. “So what else do we do besides stand around?”

  “Well, if we had a couple thousand dollars, we could bid on a painting,” Claire says. I smile.

  “We should go look at them,” I say. A sudden gust of wind blows through the garden, making the paintings swing and goose bumps break out on my arms.

  Claire looks up at the sky. “I hope it doesn’t rain,” she says. I look up, seeing long dark clouds whipping across the nearly full moon. I look around at all the artwork hanging in the trees and the beautiful people dripping with diamonds and sipping champagne from tall, thin glasses. Rain would definitely be a bad thing. Claire tells Jeremy and Ben Donovan that we are going to walk around the garden and look at the artwork. They both nod but barely look at us. They’re too engrossed in some argument about how designated hitters do or do not ruin the integrity of the game.

  “So,” Claire says. “Alex texted me a few minutes ago.” I smile at her. “He asked if I wanted to go out to dinner on Saturday.” She squeezes my arm. “I told him no, of course.”

  “What?” I ask. “Why? I thought you liked him.”

  “I’m not going to bail on my best friend on her birthday.”

  “Oh that,” I say. “Claire, it’s fine. Let’s just do my birthday on Sunday.”

  “You sure?” she asks. She’s trying for nonchalance, like it doesn’t matter to her one way or the other, but it’s not working that well.

  I laugh. “Yes, I am very sure.” Claire pulls her phone from her bag and starts typing on it. I turn away to look at one of the paintings, but I’m really looking for Jillian and Charlie. Two women walk up next to me to study the same painting.

  “He hasn’t arrived yet,” one of them says. The other one looks surprised. “Dorian must be getting awfully nervous.” Dorian is Jillian’s mother. I wonder who hasn’t arrived yet.

  “Well, you know artist types,” the other one says. “I’m sure he’s just being dramatic. He’ll turn up.” They walk down the sidewalk to the next painting.

  Claire comes up beside me. She’s smiling. “He says he can’t wait.” I look at her, confused. “Alex,” she says.

  “Oh. Claire, that’s great.” I look across the garden again, trying to find Jillian or her mother or Charlie. Or for that matter Charlie’s dad.

  “What is it?” Claire asks. She smiles at me. “You’re looking for Charlie, aren’t you?”

  I look over at her, seeing a satisfied look on her face. “Well, yeah, but…” She continues to smirk at me. “Charlie’s dad hasn’t shown up yet,” I say. Claire is clearly as surprised as I am.

  “We should find Charlie,” she says. We walk through the garden as quickly as we can considering the crowd and our high heels. We see Jillian’s mother talking on her cell phone near the koi pond. She nods at us but turns away, obviously freaked. Another gust of wind, harder this time, whips up the trail. We find Jeremy and Ben Donovan, this time both talking to the paper doll girls. They both look at us sort of sheepishly, but we just keep walking toward the large tent where tables and chairs have been set up for people to sit down. Dozens of people dressed all in black circle the room with trays filled with crab cakes and tiny quiches.

  “There’s Jillian,” I say, spotting her near the entrance at back of the tent through which the serving people keep appearing and disappearing. We thread our way through the crowd, navigating the maze of people and tables, but by the time we reach the back of the tent Jillian is gone. A gust of wind makes the tent flaps flutter. We peek through the opening. The makeshift kitchen is filled with half a dozen chefs in white coats and checked pants, working grills and wielding pastry bags. A long table is set up along one end of the kitchen, where more serving people are filling trays with different canapés and shot glasses filled with something bright green.

  “Piper,” Claire says softly, putting her hand on my arm. She nods toward the other side of the tent, where piles of coolers and empty metal pans are stacked. Sitting on one of the coolers is Charlie. His hair is hanging forward, covering his face. Across from him on another cooler is his dad, Frank. Claire and I stand, watching as Charlie reaches out and puts a hand on his father’s shoulder. Frank looks up at him. I gasp when I see his face. He’s a wreck. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are red, bloodshot. Jillian sees us standing there and motions for us to leave.

  “We should go,” Claire says, pulling my elbow. We turn to walk out of the kitchen. Unfortunately I turn just in time to come face to face with one of the servers who is headed back into the kitchen to refill his tray. The good part is that it isn’t one of the drink trays with the dozens of empty glasses; the bad part is that even an empty tray can make a lot of racket when it’s knocked to the floor. I apologize, trying to step around the server, who is stooped to pick up the fallen tray. I look back to where Charlie is sitting with his father. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. And while his father is sitting with his head in his hands again, Charlie is looking up. And he’s looking straight at me.

  I follow Claire out into the garden, where the servers have ditched their trays and are now busy moving all of the paintings into the big tent. Because instead of the sky just threatening rain, it looks like it actually is going to rain. I see Jillian’s mother flitting around the garden, directing the servers and guests to head indoors. Claire and I stop under one of the blooming dogwood trees near the fountain.

  “He looks terrible,” I say, not sure whether I’m talking about Frank or Charlie.

  “Yeah,” Claire says. “I had no idea.”

  I shake my head. “Me neither,” I say, but memories tug at me. Frank’s increasing antisocial behavior and Charlie’s general sadness.

  “Hey, ladies,” Jeremy says, walking up to us. “What do you say? You want to head indoors or do you want to stand out here and get soaked?” Ben Donovan is still talking to one of the paper doll girls. She keeps touching his arm while he talks. A voice on a microphone inside the tent announces that the auction is ready to begin. I peek through the open flap and see Frank standing next to Dorian on the stage. He looks wobbly, but okay. He’s donned a pair of sunglasses that, while very odd—considering it’s nighttime and he’s inside a tent—can maybe pass for simple artistic eccentricity. Jillian walks toward us. Charlie is close behind her.

  “So,” Jillian says, brightly. “Can you believe it’s going to rain? My mother is freaking out.” I imagine she is freaking out, I think, but I’ll bet it’s a lot more because her artist is a wreck than about the state of the weather. Charlie won’t meet my eyes. “Do you want to stick around for the auction or… Wait, where’s Ben Donovan?” I gesture over to where the paper doll is pulling on his arm to get him to bend down low enough to let her whisper in his ear. Jillian looks mad, but Charlie looks like he’s about ready to explode.

  “You’re here with Ben Donovan?�
�� he says, turning to me. His voice is tense, each word clipped.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Charlie smirks. “Figures,” he says.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask him.

  He turns back to me. “Why are you here, Piper?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded like fun,” I say, getting angry myself. If I had to pinpoint exactly why I was getting angry, I wouldn’t be able to. All I know is that I can’t figure out why Charlie is so clearly furious with me and so not angry with anyone else. We hear Frank’s voice over the microphone. It’s loose and slow, but unless you knew what his voice usually sounded like, you wouldn’t notice anything different.

  “So,” Jillian says again. This time the brightness in her voice sounds even less real. “Do you want to go in? Auctions can be pretty fun to watch.” I keep looking at Charlie, who is alternating between glaring at Ben Donovan and me.

  “I think maybe I’ll see if I can get a ride home,” I say.

  “You sure?” Jillian asks. “It could be fun.” Claire puts a hand on her arm. Jillian looks at me for a long moment. “Well, if Ben Donovan can’t take you home, I’ll get the driver to take you.”

  “Listen,” I say. “Thank you. This really was fun.” She gives me a hug, followed by Claire. Jeremy raises his hand and half smiles. Only Charlie doesn’t say anything. He just stares past me, like I’m already gone. He turns and walks away. I notice Jillian doesn’t follow. “Okay then,” I say.

  I turn and walk toward Ben Donovan, who is typing into his phone as the paper doll talks to him. I catch the end of her phone number as I walk up. “Can you take me home?” I ask.

  “Now?” he asks, looking up at me. I notice he has the decency to look at least partly embarrassed about being caught scamming another girl’s phone number while he’s supposed to be with me.

  “I really need to get home,” I say.

  “Of course,” Ben Donovan says. I glance over toward the tent entrance. Claire and Jillian both smile at me. I smile back as I wait for Ben Donovan to say good-bye to the paper doll. She does look slightly contrite for trying to snag my date. I look back over, hoping to see Charlie again, but he’s gone. Jillian is leaning toward Jeremy to say something. He nods and laughs. She smiles up at him as he reaches out to brush her hair away from her cheek. Claire’s not even looking at them. She’s looking at her phone and smiling as she types.

  I follow Ben Donovan out to his car. He opens the door for me. I climb in carefully, not that interested in embarrassing myself further by giving everyone in the parking lot a look up my dress. He closes the door behind me and jogs around to his side. He climbs in, looking at me briefly. I give him the directions to my house and then lean my cheek against the window and close my eyes. I suddenly feel tired way down in my bones. The glass feels cool against my cheek and it makes me think about riding in Charlie’s car. This thought just makes me feel more exhausted, like the last bit of air escaping from a balloon.

  We ride in silence all the way to my house. Ben Donovan pulls up to the curb and jogs around the car to let me out, clearly anxious to be rid of me and my weirdness. I squeeze his hand and thank him for the ride at the curb, not wanting to deal with more awkwardness should he decide to walk me to the door. He seems relieved as I turn to walk away. I notice that he barely waits until I have the door open before he pulls away. The sky finally opens up. The rain is slow and gentle at first, but increases in intensity as I stand there. I turn and head inside. I shut the door and lean against it for a moment.

  “Piper’s home!” yells Dom from the living room. He runs around the corner, but stops short when he sees me standing there. “You look funny,” he says. Lucy runs up behind him.

  “You look beautiful,” she says. “Like Cinderella.” I smile at her, although I think she’d be pretty disappointed at the direction my fairy tale is going.

  “I hate princesses,” yells Dom, running away from me. Lucy chases after him and they disappear upstairs. I walk into the living room, where my mother is just hanging up her cell phone. She looks sort of sheepish, making me wonder what she’s been up to.

  “You do look beautiful,” she says. She looks at her watch. “You’re home a lot earlier than I thought you’d be. I was thinking eleven. Maybe later.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to turn into a pumpkin,” I say.

  “Did you have a good time?” she asks.

  I take a deep breath. “It was—” I try to finish the sentence, but can’t. My mom looks at me.

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. I see the look on her face. “I’m just really tired.” She doesn’t look convinced. “I promise.” She keeps looking at me, but she can’t find anything. After all, it isn’t a lie. I am tired. Really tired. “I’m going to get in bed,” I say. She gives me a hug. I climb the steps slowly. I kick off my shoes and unzip my dress, careful to hang it up in my closet. I pull on a T-shirt and a pair of pajama pants; these have conversation hearts all over them. The one on my right knee says DO U LUV ME? I frown at it and click off my light. I climb into bed and lie there for a long time, waiting. I tell myself I’m waiting for sleep, but if I have to be honest I’m waiting for something else. A loud noise on the roof above me.

  chapter eighteen

  Hours later, I’m still trying to sleep. Finally I hear a car pull up in front of our house and a lot of doors opening and shutting. I walk to the window, hoping to see Charlie. What I do see is Jillian’s mom shaking Frank’s hand and him smiling slightly. She doesn’t seem freaked, which is good. But, I also see Jillian talking with Charlie, then him bending down to hug her. I pull back from the window before I see anything else. I hear the car pull away as I climb back into bed. I’m sitting here arguing with myself about whether I should go over and talk to Charlie or not. I check the clock—almost one in the morning. I think probably not. I lie back down and try to sleep again. Finally I give up.

  I sigh and pull my sweatshirt off my chair and yank it over my head. I open my window and gasp at how cold it’s gotten. I climb through the window and onto the roof, being extra careful because it’s still damp from the rain. I do make some noise though. Enough that if Charlie wants to talk to me, he’ll know I’m here, but not so much that if he wants to ignore me, he can’t. I sit for a long time feeling the dampness soak into my pajamas. I stare out at the night. I’m just about to give up when I hear Charlie’s window sliding open. He climbs out onto the roof and walks partway over and sits down. Usually we’re within a few inches of each other. Tonight he’s keeping his distance, even staying on his own roof instead of coming over to mine like he usually does. We stay like that, not really sitting together, but more like parallel sitting, for several minutes before he speaks.

  “I just ate half a jar of peanut butter and a whole can of Pringles,” he says. I smile into the darkness. We’re both quiet as if weighing the nutritive value of his meal, but then he speaks again. “I didn’t know you were dating Ben Donovan.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “You sound surprised.”

  “I am,” Charlie says.

  “Why? Didn’t think Ben Donovan would go for a girl like me?” I say it as a joke, thinking he will laugh, but he doesn’t.

  “I didn’t think you’d waste your time on a guy like him,” Charlie says.

  “He’s nice,” I say, defensively.

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t.”

  “You implied—”

  “Piper, I merely said—”

  “Charlie, I didn’t come out here to talk about Ben Donovan.”

  “What do you want to talk about, Piper? The weather?” He laughs, but it’s short and brittle.

  “How’s your dad?” I ask.

  “Frank? Well, he’s asleep right now. I’ll tell him you asked about him.”

  “Why are you so angry at me?” I ask. “I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t think? No, you didn’t Piper. Maybe you should have thought that I might not like you surprisin
g me tonight.”

  I shake my head. “I thought you liked surprises now. That’s what you told your girlfriend.”

  “My girlfriend?” Charlie sighs. “I thought Jillian meant she made me cookies or something. I didn’t think she meant that you were all going to show up and watch my dad make a fool of himself.”

  “Charlie. He was fine. I don’t think anyone noticed.”

  “It’s not anyone I was worried about. It was you noticing.”

  “Your dad was a wreck. So what?” I look over at Charlie, but he’s turned away from me. “I’m sure he was nervous. Frank’s not the most social person. I imagine being up on a stage with a bunch of Atlanta socialites looking at him is pretty much Frank’s biggest nightmare.” I pause, waiting for him to say something. He just keeps looking straight forward. “Listen,” I say finally. “It was just one time. It’s no big deal.”