by Rea Frey
“Save it. Just leave me alone.” She sidestepped around her and rushed down the stairs. She plucked a new red Solo cup from the pile and got herself some water.
She watched Shirley pause dramatically on the landing. Several men turned to admire her. Lee rolled her eyes and drank glass after glass of water in an attempt to sober up. She expected Shirley to storm out, but she didn’t. Instead, her sober friend walked to the kitchen, plucked a cup from the teetering stack, and poured herself a drink. Lee, even in her drunken haze, moved to stop her.
“What are you doing?” She flattened her palm over the cup.
“The same thing you are.” Shirley wrenched Lee’s hand away and stared at the liquid in the cup.
Lee wavered. She couldn’t let her do this. She couldn’t let her throw away two years of hard work just to prove a point.
“You’ll regret that.”
Shirley looked at her. “So will you.” She tossed back the drink and made a face. “If you’re going to be stupid enough to drink after a lifetime of sobriety, then I am too.”
Lee bit her lip and moved to the edge of the kitchen. She didn’t want to play this game. Shirley was an adult. She could make her own damn decisions. (Except for dating her dad.) Shirley joined the drunken throng and returned to the kitchen to do shots. Lee ached to stop her. Shirley was punishing herself with alcohol. It was a tired game Shirley used to play, but not since she’d gotten sober.
Lee checked the time. She needed to call them both a cab. She’d worry about her car tomorrow. Lee cased Shirley for an hour, calculating how many drinks she consumed and how much more outspoken she became with each one. When Lee’s guilt threatened to overtake her anger, she decided enough was enough.
Before she could grab her, Shirley walked back upstairs. Against her better instincts, Lee followed. At the top of the stairs, Shirley waited outside the bathroom. She heard the crank of water from whoever was inside. The flip of the light switch to darkness. Lee opened her mouth to say something, but then the door opened, and before the person could step out, Shirley disappeared inside and shut the door firmly behind her.
Lee rushed to the door. She twisted the knob, but it didn’t move in her palm. She thought about banging on it, but instead listened through the wood. She could hear Shirley’s voice and a guy’s. Lee rolled her eyes. So she was going to sleep with a stranger after all. The drinking wasn’t punishment enough.
She strained to listen, wavering between wanting to leave and needing to stay. Even amidst her anger, she felt responsible for Shirley. She’d just ruined her own sobriety and Shirley’s too.
She raised her fist to knock, but something seized her, and she lowered it. When she closed her eyes, she saw Shirley and her father. She heard them in her mother’s room. She felt the betrayal slice across her like a blade.
The conflict made her hesitate. Wasn’t this exactly what she’d wanted Shirley to do? Lee’s thoughts were fuzzy, but the hydration was starting to clear her head. This was just Shirley’s typical way to prove to Lee that she would sacrifice herself. That they were like sisters. That Lee came first in her life, not Harold.
The knob felt hot in her hand. Her other palm flattened against the door. She needed to startle them both, to interrupt the moment, to get her out of there. She brought her hand back, but before it landed, she stopped: how could her very best friend consistently treat sex like it was nothing?
She pressed her ear to the door one last time and heard a slew of angry, muffled words: I could kill you, do you know how easy it would be to kill you?
Lee recoiled. Kill her? Who would say such ugly words? Fear throttled through her chest. She needed to get help. She stumbled toward the open door, ran to the landing, and quickly descended the stairs. The room swayed. She panned the crowd for Christy or a familiar face. Should she call the police? She extracted her phone, punched in 911, and hesitated before pressing send.
Her hand shook as she climbed the stairs again. She was going to kick the door down. She was going to save her friend. She approached the door, took a deep breath, and banged on it. She didn’t wait for a response and tried the knob. It gave in her hand.
She spun around the room? Had the guy left? She flipped on the light.
“Oh my God.” Shirley lay facedown, her head twisted, a pool of vomit by her cheek. Alcohol poisoning?
“Shirley. Shirley, can you hear me? Oh God, please wake up.” She shook Shirley’s shoulder and leaned down to make sure she was breathing. The room spun as she inhaled the vomit. Her own stomach bucked at the sight and smell. Before she could contain it, she lunged toward the toilet, hand splayed over her mouth, and emptied the contents of the wine and all the drinks after, swiping a hand across her sticky lips and collapsing next to the toilet bowl.
Shirley’s panties stretched tight around her ankles like pink handcuffs. Who just said those words and left someone? Had he been drunk too? Suddenly, she hated alcohol; hated the myriad excuses it presented and how it blurred the lines. She looked at her friend. Though this wasn’t blurry. She’d heard what he said. She was seeing the evidence.
Lee cleaned herself up and then yanked Shirley’s underwear back to their proper place. Something oozed between her friend’s legs. She could smell the semen.
“Oh, Jesus.”
She washed her hands, rummaged in the medicine cabinet for mouthwash, swished, and spat. There were no paper towels, so she grabbed the hand towel that was draped on the rod, wet it, pumped foamy hand soap into the fabric, and then scrubbed the thick, wet mess from the floor.
She shook the chunky towel into the toilet and flushed repeatedly, watching partially digested bits of her friend’s food swirl away. She felt dizzy and unsteady, but she had to erase this scene. Make it look like it had never happened. If there was evidence, she’d be reminded whose fault this really was: hers.
It was her fault Shirley was even here, that she was left like this. This had gone from a dare to a nightmare. No matter how angry she was at her, or if Shirley had initiated this crazy, wild exchange, she hadn’t wanted this to happen. She spritzed a plentiful amount of air freshener into the air, wrung out the hand towel in the bathtub, and draped it over the shower rod.
Now, for Shirley. She knew it was almost impossible to wake someone so drunk; she’d tried with her father. Lee needed to get her out of the bathroom. She scooped her up and dragged her limp body into the carpeted bedroom.
Music and voices thumped downstairs. She shut the bedroom door, locked it, and with effort, hoisted her slight friend onto the guest bed. It smelled like Febreze and stale cigarettes. She rolled Shirley to one side so she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit. She’d twisted her dad’s head too many nights, covering him with thin blankets and plying him with water and bread to soak up the booze.
She curled in behind Shirley, spooning her like a lover. She closed her eyes, the room tilting and twirling, and was relieved when sleep came heavy and fast. Her breath splintered, so much so that she woke a few times gasping for breath.
Every time she came to, she checked the skin of Shirley’s neck with her index and middle finger, hunting for life, and then fell back into fractured sleep. She knew the hosts would find them eventually, that they would bang on the locked door, but she couldn’t think of that now.
Her friend had just been sexually assaulted. This was bigger than her dating her father. This was bigger than her lapsing from sobriety. This was about more than the man who’d just left her in that bathroom.
This had happened because of her.
This was all Lee’s fault.
present
51
grace
Grace replays Noah’s statement in her head. “What do you mean it wasn’t Lee?” She wants to call his bluff, wants to challenge him, but knows it will do her no good. They are at a crossroads of sorts, and neither of them knows what to do next. No matter who was in that bathroom, he left her there, spread-eagled, like an animal. There is no getting around that.
>
“It was her friend,” he finally says. “That woman in the photo.”
“What?” The truth spins into the room. “How do you know Shirley?”
Noah paces and pulls at his hair. “I don’t. She approached me in the bathroom at that party. We … had sex.” He reddens. “We were in the dark. I flipped on the light before I left. I remembered her face. I…”
Grace is incredulous. “Didn’t you know that was Lee’s friend? Didn’t she ever bring her up?”
He shakes his head. “Even if she had, I didn’t know her name. When I first met Lee, I admit I did a double-take. I thought it was her. But I quickly realized it wasn’t the same girl.”
“How?”
He shrugs. “I just knew it wasn’t her.”
Grace does not know what to say and balks at his casual gesture. She flicks through the secrets like cards in a Rolodex. The girl in the dark wasn’t Lee. The girl in the dark was Shirley. Lee lied. About the party. About the man in the dark. About the nature of her pregnancy.
“Lee wouldn’t just make up some horror story. She had to have a reason.”
“Why would anyone use that as a false story? And to say that they were raped?” He lowers his voice on the last word and makes eye contact with her. “Which never happened, by the way.”
Grace grimaces. “How am I supposed to know that? How could I possibly know the truth?”
“Because I’m telling you what happened. Because I’m a good guy. Because I’m the father of your unborn child. Because that’s the truth.”
Grace takes a few steps back like he’d slapped her. “How do you know that woman in the dark wasn’t really Lee?”
He crosses the room to Grace’s desk.
She continues. “Think about it. You were drunk. They look exactly alike. Don’t you think you could have been confused? That the story Lee told is the real story?”
Noah hands her the journal. “No, I don’t.” He opens it and stabs a page. “Read this.”
Grace takes the journal and scans the entry. Lee’s loopy cursive jumps out at her.
After what happened with that guy at the party, everything changed. Shirley got depressed. It’s like the feisty version of my best friend was replaced with a stranger.
She flips through a few more pages and then closes the book.
“See? I’m telling the truth.”
Grace shrugs one shoulder, a loose gesture for what she’s really feeling. “Okay, so it’s true. I still don’t understand why she’d tell me that she was the one who was sexually assaulted.”
“Please don’t use those words. I did not sexually assault anyone.”
“Regardless of what you call it.” She runs her thumb over the L. “You still had sex with a drunk woman and left her there.”
“Grace, that was eight years ago. But it was completely consensual, I swear.” He looks away from her and something dark flashes across his face. “I’d just lost my brother. I was out of my mind with grief. It was a horrible decision to leave her in that bathroom, sure—I’ll admit that. But that’s the only mistake I made that night. I did not force myself on her. I did not do anything that she didn’t demand I do. And I certainly didn’t leave her in a pile of her own vomit. She must have gotten sick after I left.”
Grace doesn’t want to go into all the ways men get away with things; all the ways stories are twisted to best serve them. She knows Noah has shown her nothing but kindness, but she can’t get beyond what happened in that bathroom. Or what Lee said. What she needs to concentrate on now is what happens. How she handles him. How they move on. Or don’t.
As if reading her mind, he speaks first. “What now?”
“I’m not sure. I want to believe you, Noah. But…”
“Look, I know Lee was your best friend. I get it. I do. But she blatantly lied to you about this, and I have no idea why. She’s not the woman I slept with. I swear on whatever you need me to swear on. I never even saw that woman again.”
Grace tosses the journal onto the couch by Noah’s bag and folds her hands over her stomach. His eyes travel to the baby. She adjusts her robe and tries to formulate an appropriate response, but struggles for something to say. Instead, she flings her frustration into the room in a sweep of agitated breath and tightly crossed arms. She is so tired. She can’t absorb any more information or talk about things she doesn’t understand.
He takes the cue. “I know this is a lot. I’m sorry we have to deal with any of this, but what happened in the past doesn’t really matter. We’re a family. That’s what matters now.” He searches her face.
When she remains silent, he stands and grabs his keys and bag. “I’ll give you some time. There’s pizza in the kitchen.” He steps toward the door and pauses. “Can I see you after work tomorrow?”
She rubs an invisible stain from the floor with her sock. “Maybe.”
He nods, grazes her cheek with his familiar fingers, and tucks a curly strand of hair behind her ear. “I love you, Grace. Beyond everything. You have to know that.”
Goose bumps stud her skin. He has not said those words out loud until this very moment, and she is angry that he’s robbed her of that experience. She will forever link those three words to this. She only nods, shuts and locks the door, and spins around in her living room.
Now all she can do is wait.
52
noah
Noah climbs into his car and ransacks his bag for the stolen diary. He feels bad about taking it, but he has to read more. He has to understand where he fits into this story. Why Lee lied. Who Shirley is.
Ever since he saw that photo of Shirley, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story. More to her story. More to what happened at that party and after. More that Lee never told anyone about (because why would she?).
This tenuous and strange situation aside, he realizes that making sure things are fine with Grace is not only critical for them, but for the boys. Once he proposes to Grace, he will become Mason and Luca’s stepfather. And a biological father to the baby. That sort of responsibility would scare most men, but he’s been waiting his whole life for this. He’s always wanted to be a father, and to have a special boy in his life who reminds him of Wyatt—who will now become a permanent fixture—it all seems right, on purpose.
The boys know he and Grace are dating—it wasn’t some big announcement, but rather a quiet conversation that the boys had simply shrugged and said “cool” to. They will have a bigger discussion once Grace tells them both about the baby.
The wheels turn. Mason has gone through such dramatic changes lately. How will he feel about Noah stepping in as his stepfather? He knows he has to propose first. He doesn’t want to get too ahead of himself. Grace needs time to sort through her emotions, but it’s where they’re headed.
As he pulls into his neighborhood, his thoughts drift back to Lee. He calculates all the different reasons why she would lie. He cringes at what she told Grace. He’s never been one of those guys who takes advantage. But hadn’t he just choked Grace during sex?
But Grace is wild in bed. She begs him to do the unthinkable, almost taunting him with her persistence. It’s one of the things that is the most surprising about her. How calm she seems in day-to-day life. How she comes undone behind closed doors. Despite that dichotomy, he’d still somehow crossed the line. He’d said those stupid fucking words before he realized they’d even come out of his mouth. Why had he done that?
He parks his car.
He still doesn’t know what Lee would gain from lying. Sweet Lee. She wasn’t a liar … was she? He knew her better than that.
He gets out of his car and locks it, tracing the timeline of his and Grace’s romance. He’d been interested right from the start, but she’d just wanted to be friends. He’d waited so patiently until he’d finally asked her out for drinks and she’d said yes. He never knew what changed, but once she was in, she was all in.
When she’d introduced him to Lee, his heart had almost blown
right out of his chest. He thought it was the girl from the party, but then realized it wasn’t. Still, he was uneasy for months after they met, and he’d asked Grace all sorts of questions to assuage his fears.
His stomach tightens again at the thought of hurting Grace. The way she’d looked at him in absolute disgust. He’d assumed, despite all the trauma of recent weeks, that they were on steady ground. Now everything is fragile and uncertain, and he knows he has to concentrate on getting her to trust him again.
He steps inside his condo, settles in with the journal, and suppresses the guilt at reading something that doesn’t belong to him. He knows, as he reads, that it’s time he makes the ultimate commitment to Grace. To become the father that Mason and Luca need. To be the man he’s always wanted to be.
He closes the journal. This isn’t right. It’s not his to read.
Lee must have had her own reasons for lying, but he can’t worry about that now. He has to focus on his present and future with Grace, his unborn child, Luca, and Mason. He casts one last look at the journal, tucks it back into his bag, and then heads upstairs to bed.
past
53
noah
Noah got to the party late. He didn’t know many people, except Phil and some of his basketball buddies. He found the birthday boy, handed him a bottle of booze, and poured himself a drink.
His parents had called him obsessively since he’d left Philadelphia. They wanted to know if he was okay. They wanted to know what they could do for him. The anger wrapped itself around him like a cord. If only he’d known what Wyatt had been feeling, thinking, or planning. He could have saved him. He knew it.
He blasted through shitty cocktails and moved onto shots with a set of guys as the music thumped and the bungalow filled with flowing bodies and women in flirty dresses and heavy-handed perfume. He was hungry for a warm body—he needed a release. He took his final shot. The tequila opened his sinuses and made his eyes tear. He blinked. Every time he closed them, he saw Wyatt, and then the pieces of him, scattered like leaves in the wind.
