The Shortest Distance Between Love & Hate

by Sandy Hall

  “Are you serious?” I ask.

  He nods and waggles his eyebrows so I settle on his knees. I worry that this is the chair that I yanked the screw out of back when I hated Carter. What if it’s no longer structurally sound?

  “I don’t know. What kind of date would we even go on?” I ask, putting my arms around his neck and trying to get comfortable.

  “I don’t know. That’s why you’re in charge of it. You’re far more creative than I am. You and your T-shirts and your imagination.”

  “I don’t have that good of an imagination.”

  “You and your T-shirts and your corny puns.”

  “I have the best puns,” I say.

  “We don’t have to, like, define the relationship,” he says. “But it might be nice to go somewhere besides your room, my room, work, and class.”

  “And the dining hall. We go to the dining hall together.”

  “And the dining hall,” he says.

  “This is going to take some thinking. I’m going to have to scramble the brain trust and see what they come up with. Going on a date that doesn’t cost a lot of money and is better than going to the dining hall and then coming back to my room to make out is going to be tough to come by.”

  “That’s why I truly think you’re up for the challenge,” he says.

  “When do you want to go on this date?”

  He shrugs.

  “Maybe I’ll simplify things and make you take me out while we’re home for Thanksgiving in a mere forty-eight hours from now.”

  “That seems like cheating,” he says.

  “You know you could help instead of complain,” I say.

  “But isn’t it more fun this way?”

  “More fun for who?” I asked.

  “More fun for whom,” he corrects.

  “Is it really whom? Are you making that up? Is it ever whom?”

  “It is.”

  I twirl a pen in my fingers, and it flies out of my hand and rolls under the desk. I slide off Carter’s lap to retrieve it.

  “Ugh. I can’t reach,” I say.

  “Let me help you.” He joins me under the desk.

  My cardigan snags on something, so I pull it off and toss it away.

  Carter grins. “Well, that was sexy.”

  “Was it?” I ask, dubious.

  He leans over to kiss me. I am totally weak when it comes to Carter kisses. So even though I know we could get in trouble, I almost lean in too.

  But then my conscience gets the better of me.

  “We really shouldn’t do that here,” I say.

  “It’s not like anyone can see us,” he insists, even though our legs are pretty obviously sticking out from under the desk. “It’s been so quiet all morning,” he continues, his voice just a little whiny. Even one little bit whinier and I would have said no. But once again, I find myself completely weak to the idea of making out with him.

  I’m about to kiss him and that’s when I hear it.

  The click of fancy dress shoes on the tiled floor.

  “I know there are two people under the desk in various states of undress. This is inappropriate, as per the memo that was posted earlier this semester. I will see you in my office as soon as you’re decent and off the clock.”

  The footsteps recede.

  “Shit,” Carter says.

  “Guess we’re both out of jobs,” I say, trying to hold in a laugh. Why is my first instinct to laugh? Is that what shock does to a person?

  We slide out from under the desk and the full force of the situation hits me.

  I put my hand on my forehead. “Oh my god, we’re going to lose our jobs.”

  “I’ll go,” Carter says. “I’ll take the hit. You’re not even on the clock. I don’t think he saw you. And I already have two strikes anyway.”

  “We weren’t making out!” I say. “We hadn’t even kissed yet.”

  “I know, but he doesn’t know that. I’m not sure he’d accept an excuse like that. And we were about to. The only reason we didn’t is because he interrupted.” He sets his shoulders straight and takes a deep breath. “It’s fine. I wasn’t long for this world. I’m sure another strike would have come up sooner or later.”

  “But you need the money,” I say.

  “So do you,” he says. “Especially since it was my fault that you had to fold your online T-shirt empire.”

  “I was the T-shirt mogul of Robinson Hall for a brief moment there.”

  “Have I apologized for that?” he asks, squinting at me.

  “Once or twice,” I say, sliding away from him.

  “At least I was smart enough to get a scholarship,” he says.

  I laugh. “Thanks for making jokes at a time like this.”

  -CARTER-

  Paisley leaves a few minutes later and then my shift is over. It’s time to face the music. I walk as slowly as possible up to the manager’s office on the third floor. I knock on the door. The room is intimidating, so different from the rest of the building.

  I can’t help but notice that there’s a window behind his desk that looks directly down to the reception area. So he could see us. He saw what was happening from his office. And he could definitely see our legs and Paisley’s discarded sweater.

  It all makes sense now, how he would have been walking by at just the right moment. Or the wrong moment, really.

  I’m not shocked when he fires me. I have no interest in excuses or explaining myself.

  I’m probably going to get an ulcer worrying about how and where I’ll make up that money, but I’m not going to tell him that. There are plenty of jobs on and around campus. Not many where I’ll be able to get homework done while working, but let’s be real, I wasn’t getting that much homework done between six and nine in the morning anyway.

  “Where’s the girl you were with?”

  “She doesn’t work here. So I’m the only person who needs to be punished.”

  He doesn’t seem pleased with that answer, but there’s not much he can do. Something tells me this guy doesn’t know how to use the security cameras.

  I leave and move on with my day. Or at least I try to.

  I don’t want to dwell on this. There’s almost nothing I can do about it. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. And I wasn’t lying to Paisley; I likely wasn’t going to be able to keep that job forever anyway. Having two strikes already didn’t exactly give me job security.

  I’ll find something else, somewhere else.

  Later on, I’m in Paisley’s room. It feels so much better to be with Paisley than to not be with Paisley.

  We’re currently working on calc homework. It’s my last class tomorrow before I leave for Thanksgiving break. I really need to keep my scholarship more than ever and the only way to do that is to do really, really well in my classes.

  “You were amazingly cool about getting fired today,” Paisley says. “I honestly can’t believe you would do that.”

  “It’s not great, but it’s okay,” I tell her, being as honest as possible.

  I glance at my phone and sigh. Another day, another text from Thea about our dad.

  “What’s up?” Paisley asks.

  I shake my head. “Thea’s been texting me about our dad. I don’t really want to get into it.”

  “Right. Dad stuff. I don’t have one of those. So I don’t have any advice or anything, but you know, I’m here if you need someone to listen.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I want to ask about her dad, but I don’t want to have to answer the same question.

  “For the record,” she says, like she’s reading my mind, “my dad left before I was born. My mom got pregnant when she was nineteen. But it’s okay, we’ve always had this Gilmore Girls thing going on that I liked.”

  I grin. “You would like that.”

  My phone buzzes again and I shove it into my bag. I roll my neck and try to relax. I don’t want to end up snapping at Paisley and causing a fight, just because my dad wants to see me.
r />   “Maybe you would feel more relaxed if we make out for a little while,” she says.

  I grin over at her. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Meet me at the bed in three seconds,” I say.

  I lie down and scoot over to the wall, making room next to me for Paisley. We can barely keep our hands off each other. Things get heated pretty fast and I’m glad the door is not only closed but also locked.

  “Should we do more?” I ask. I don’t really know how to say this. I’m really not very suave about this stuff. “Like, go further?”

  “Maybe? I don’t have a condom,” she says.

  “I didn’t really mean right now. But yeah, I don’t have one either. I have some in my room.” The thrill of the idea sends a shiver through me.

  “We could,” she says, her voice a little nervous.

  “Have you ever done it?” I ask. “Is that okay to ask?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine to ask.” She pauses. “See, the thing is. This is kind of awkward, but you’re the first person I ever kissed.” She winces away from me a little and I miss her even though she’s still right here. I pull her closer, trying to show her that it’s not a big deal.

  But I’m not sure how to respond.

  “Pathetic, right?” she says with a nervous laugh.

  “Nah. I only had one real girlfriend. We didn’t have sex. We got to third base.”

  She looks at me and I can tell she’s already more relaxed. “When do you think people stop talking about bases? Do adults talk in bases? Can you get to third base with your husband?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so. Third base is a fun base.”

  She laughs and the tension between us dissolves along with her nerves.

  “Well, what now?” she asks. “Stef is gone for the rest of the afternoon. She has a marathon swim practice or something. She won’t be home until five or six.”

  “We could watch TV for a while,” I say, needing to calm down a little. The mere idea of sex was almost too much to handle at the moment. “Or we could nap it out.”

  So we do.

  We nap it out good and hard.

  We sleep like we’re hibernating. I hear nothing, I feel nothing, and I dream nothing.

  Not until the door opens and light pours in. It could be hours or even days later and I would have no idea.

  I squint into the brightness.

  Stef is standing there.

  So I guess it actually is much, much later.

  “Hey,” Paisley says, sitting up, rubbing her eyes. I’m really glad she put her shirt back on. The whole situation feels awfully vulnerable without there being exposed underwear involved.

  “You guys are getting cozy,” Stef says, flicking the overhead light on and dropping her bag by her bed. All my stuff is out on her desk. This is the opposite of what Paisley and I wanted to happen.

  And then I realize that my jeans are on the ground.

  So there is going to be some exposed underwear.

  “I should go,” I say, leaning over Paisley and indelicately scooping my pants up off the carpet. I swear I just about throw out my back trying to reach them.

  “Yeah, we were done here,” Paisley says.

  “I’m sorry my stuff is over here,” I say after pulling my pants on. I leap across the room, grabbing for my calc book. “We were studying and then, you know, needed a nap.”

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Stef asks.

  “Um, yeah, sure,” I say.

  After I shove everything in my bag, I kiss Paisley’s temple. “Text if you want to go to dinner. I’ll probably go in an hour or so.”

  “Sure,” she says.

  And then I wave to Stef and leave.

  Talk about tension, I think, as I close their door behind me. And not the sexy kind.

  -PAISLEY-

  I end up going to the dining hall with Stef, trying my best to placate her and show her that she still matters to me.

  “I really meant for him to be gone and the room to be picked up before you got back. But we fell asleep,” I explain on our walk to the dining hall.

  “It’s cool. You don’t have to, like, hide your relationship from me. I’m not some kind of shrew. I’d just like to be able to come into my room without worrying whether you and Carter are naked.”

  “I understand. We’ll do better,” I promise. And we will. I know we can. This was a fluke.

  “It’s not, like, this big deal,” she insists. “I guess I just wanted to say something before it became a big deal and he was, like, moving in with us.”

  “I get it. I get what you’re saying. And I promise he won’t move in with us.”

  “Good,” she says.

  But there’s still a simmering sort of tension between us that I don’t know how to shake. I smile tight-lipped and try not to worry.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  -CARTER-

  It’s officially Thanksgiving weekend. At least it is for me.

  Paisley had to work this morning but I don’t have such issues these days. I took the train home last night and I’ve spent pretty much the whole day doing nothing. Paisley and I made plans to meet at the mall later on for cheap food and a movie, but I still have a couple hours until I need to get ready.

  I’m watching my thirteenth episode of Family Feud, thanks to a marathon on the Game Show Network, when the doorbell rings. My sister is at work and my mom is actually out grocery shopping for tomorrow. Her doctor only okayed her to drive last week, which means I probably should have gone with her, but she insisted on going alone. Even though it’s the day before Thanksgiving.

  Thea and my mom aren’t living in a very big house, a little ranch with three bedrooms and one bathroom, but it’s got a front door with lots of windows in it.

  I wish that door were completely solid because then I wouldn’t be able to see my father standing on the other side, peering in, waving at me like he’s thrilled to see me.

  I debate turning on my heel and walking away, hiding in the unfinished basement for the rest of my life.

  Instead, I have no choice but to open the door.

  He grins at me like this is a completely normal Wednesday.

  “Hey there, buddy,” he says. “Long time no see.”

  He hugs me, but I don’t hug back. I don’t have it in me. I used to have it in me. My dad used to be one of my favorite people in the world. I just don’t know how to look at him anymore. Which is why I’ve spent the past five years avoiding him. It’s not like he’s ever really reached out either.

  “Is there something you need from me?” I ask, my voice cold. I don’t want to let him into the house. It’s this barrier that I want to keep up. My safe space.

  “Can we talk?” he asks.

  I rub my jaw. “I’m not sure there’s much to say.”

  “Aren’t you happy to see me at all?”

  “No, I’m really not. You can’t just show up here.”

  “I didn’t just ‘show up here,’” he says, putting air quotes around the last part. “Thea invited me. I talked to her last night. She said you’d be home today. I’d love to see your mother too. I haven’t seen her in a week but I hear she’s on the upswing.”

  He doesn’t deserve to see my mother and I’m so happy she’s not home right now. But if I’m going to shield her from him, that means I need to get out of the house.

  “I haven’t eaten yet. We could go do that,” I say. “Give me a second.” I close and lock the door behind me even as he moves to come inside. I run to my room and change into yesterday’s jeans and throw on a hoodie.

  I write a note on the back of an envelope. I need to be vague or lie, and somehow I end up doing both. “Out for a run, be back later.” I don’t think I’ve ever gone for a run in my whole life, but hopefully my mom will think I’ve turned over a new leaf.

  We drive in silence for about ten minutes to a diner in the next town.

  We sit and order, and he looks at me over the ri
m of his coffee mug.

  “I want to apologize,” he says.

  “So apologize to Mom,” I say.

  “You don’t think I have a million times?”

  “I don’t know what you have or haven’t done.”

  “I’ve seen Thea, but you’ve staunchly refused to see me. You don’t think that’s been hard for me?”

  “Obviously Thea doesn’t feel abandoned.”

  “You feel abandoned?” He sips his coffee. “Is this about the aquarium?”

  I roll my eyes. He was supposed to take me to the aquarium for my twelfth birthday. I really wanted to be a marine biologist back then. He said he had a friend who worked there who could give us a backstage tour. And then he just never picked me up.

  The waitress delivers our food. I ordered French toast, because it’s the only breakfast food that isn’t great at the dining hall and I’m not sure why.

  “This isn’t about the aquarium,” I say while pouring syrup over my plate.

  “Then what is it about?”

  “What do you think?” I say after my first bite. “I didn’t understand what was going on. So I was confused. Nobody wanted to tell me anything. And Thea had just left for college and Grandma died. There was too much to deal with. Too much going on. Too much to process.”

  “I just want to tell you—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” I say, stabbing at my next piece of French toast. “I have no interest in your excuses.”

  “Why did you come if you don’t want to listen?”

  I look up at him, hopeful that my annoyance is written all over my face. “Because I didn’t want Mom to have to see you. I figured I’d go out for lunch with you and send you on your way.”

  “This isn’t like you,” he says.

  “You don’t know me anymore,” I say.

  He leans back into the booth. “I wanted to see you, to get to know you again. It’s been too long.”

  “I’m on Mom’s side, in case that isn’t obvious.” I take an enormous bite of food and then think of something else to say.

  “That’s fine.”

  I kind of hate how calm he is. I kind of hate how much I feel like he isn’t listening. Like I could say the same thing over and over again and it wouldn’t make a dent.