by R.S. Grey
My dad reaches out to grip my hand on the table and squeezes gently. “I know that, Brooke. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
The silence around the table is fraught, and my dad tries hard to salvage the rest of dinner by asking us how our days went. Ellie offers a quick reply and I stay silent, so it’s up to Martha. Fortunately, she can talk enough for all of us.
“Oh, it was fine. I had lunch with Lacy and Jillian to go over final plans for the fall fundraiser. It’s going to be sensational. We’ve got everything booked at the Driskill. Bob Schneider has agreed to perform, and you won’t believe this, but apparently Lacy was able to get quite a large sponsorship from BioWear.” She turns to address me. “You know James don’t you, honey?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Ellie tries to meet my eye, but I keep my gaze on my lap.
“Apparently they’re dating! Can you believe it? You know how much I love Lacy. She’s done so much for the League, and I’d be so happy to see her land someone like James. He’s quite a catch.”
“H—” I try to speak, but my throat is so tight I can barely get the words out. I clear it and try again. “How do you know they’re dating?”
She beams. “She told me so herself. She thinks they’re on the fast track to marriage.”
“How is that possible?” Ellie asks on my behalf. “They just started dating.”
Martha casts a loving glance toward my father. “Sometimes when you know, you know.”
Shockingly, I’m not able to force down the rest of dinner. I ask to be excused before dessert and storm straight up to my old bedroom. Once the door’s locked, I dial James’ number. He doesn’t answer, but I call again. Still…nothing. I wait for his voicemail to click on and ignore how chipper his voice sounds as he politely asks me to leave a message. I have a scathing monologue prepared in my head all about his so-called feelings for me, but the moment the beep sounds, I pull the phone away and quickly stab my finger at the end button before the message starts recording.
Later, back in my room at the co-op, Ellie points out the obvious. “Why is this bothering you so much? You don’t want to be with him, remember?”
“Don’t really wanna talk about it, Ellie.”
“You should be happy he’s with Lacy.”
I yank a dress out of my closet and toss it on the ground. I’m creating three piles: clothes for Spain, clothes for Ellie, and clothes for Goodwill.
“She’s horrible.”
“Ohhhh, so you’re upset because you don’t think she’s good enough for him?”
“Exactly.”
She grunts in disbelief. “You’re delusional.”
I ignore her and go back to sorting clothes. When I come across the slinky flapper dress from the speakeasy party, I toss it into the Goodwill pile without a second thought.
“Whoa!” Ellie leaps up off the bed to rescue it. “Why are you donating this?”
“Want it? It’s yours.”
“It looks expensive.”
“It was.”
She holds it up and admires it with a greedy smile. “Well if there’s anything else like this, I want it.”
I nod and get back to work, but clearly Ellie isn’t done. A few minutes later, she decides to pry a little deeper into my life. “Tell me again why you’re doing this?”
“Moving to Spain?” I ask, keeping my back to her as I file through my t-shirts. It’s easiest to hide my cards if I don’t have to look her in the eye.
“No, leaving when you’re clearly in love with this great guy.”
My back stiffens. “I’ve told you, it just isn’t good timing.”
“This is about Mom, isn’t it?”
I throw up my hands in defeat and glare at her over my shoulder. “Stop asking me questions if you think you have all the answers!”
“Right, okay, he’s older. I’ll give you that, but that’s not why you’re doing this. Mom really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
I purposely delay answering. Instead, I yank a shirt out of my drawer and start to fold it into a tiny square so it can fit snugly in my suitcase—a suitcase I’m packing for a position I have yet to officially accept.
“It’s not your fault she left Dad,” she affirms, her voice clear and gentle.
I pick at a nonexistent piece of lint on my shirt. “I know that.”
“So then talk to me. What’s the real problem?”
She’s relentless. I could kick her out of my room, but being Ellie, she’d probably just slither right back in. So, I give her honesty in the hopes that this conversation will end soon.
“James made his intentions perfectly clear from the beginning: he wants a wife and kids. After I pressured him to just go with the flow, he claimed to have cast those goals to the wind.”
“And you don’t believe him?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe he’s trying, I just…” I struggle to find the words. “I just don’t think it’s that easy to change. I couldn’t help but see a deeper motive in all the sweet, innocuous things he did. I felt like Hansel and Gretel—on the surface, I was just eating cake, but really I was being fattened up.”
“But you love cake!” she teases, trying to lighten my mood.
I smile and shrug. “Exactly. I had to get away before I lost my ability to resist and ended up as someone’s wife and someone’s mother.”
“Why is that a bad thing? Don’t you want kids?”
“Eventually, but not like tomorrow!”
My shouting stuns her for a few minutes, and I relish the silence. My suitcase is half packed for Spain, and my Goodwill pile is growing taller by the minute.
“You know Mom had me when she was only 21?” Ellie offers thoughtfully. “She had one year left at St. Edward’s, but she couldn’t finish her degree, and I think she always resented Dad a little bit for that. He was able to finish college and find a solid career. I think Mom wanted to do the same.”
I didn’t know that.
“She could have gone back when we were older,” I point out.
She shrugs. “She probably would have if she hadn’t found Jorge. He fulfilled something in her that Dad never could.”
I know what she means. With my dad, she was only ever a stay-at-home mom and a doting wife. He thought her time was best spent rearing children and cleaning house. Jorge tore her from that world and flipped her entire script. Together, they travel the world, working as partners in the Peace Corps. I don’t have to like the fact that she left to understand why she did, which is the exact reason I decide I don’t have to like that I’m going to Spain. I just have to do it.
…
The shitty thing about putting in my two weeks notice is that I don’t get to go out in a blaze of glory. I have eight more shifts to get through in the next two weeks, and as much as I’d like to blow them off, I could actually use the money. There are a few last-minute things I need to buy before I head to Spain, not to mention, I have to pay off the rest of my lease agreement at the co-op. For free-loving hippie types, they sure made a show of squeezing every last dime out of me.
The country club is quiet during my shift on Monday. Summer is winding down and school is starting soon. Now, midday, there are only a few families at the pool, and they’ve been here all morning. I’ve offered them enough beverages and food to hold them over for the next hour, which means I have nothing to do but stand in the shade near the bar and focus on the rippling water of the pool. I wonder if Spain will be this hot when I arrive, if the cicadas will chirp as loud there as they do here.
One of the mothers near the kiddie pool waves me over and asks for a few extra napkins. I take my time with the task, trying to ignore the fact that I still have another few hours of this. By the time I hand her a half-dozen, I’m hopeful they’ll need something else, but she dismisses me and I’m back to moseying around the pool. I’ve already swept out the bathroom and restocked the toilet paper. The cooking staff takes care of everything inside the caba
na kitchen, but I ask them if they need any help restocking. Unfortunately, they have everything covered. I frown and head back out to stand by the pool, wondering if I actually see a black Porsche driving down the tree-lined drive or if it’s a figment of my imagination.
It winds slowly toward the parking lot and then takes a sharp left and a right before stopping in James’ parking spot. He could see me from where he is, though thanks to the tinted windows, I have no way of knowing if he’s looking or not. Either way, I jump at the opportunity.
“I’m taking my break!” I shout to the cooks inside the cabana, though they’re too busy watching a soccer game to do much more than grunt in response.
By the time I make it out of the pool gate and down the path toward the parking lot, James is getting out of his car and glancing my way. Fortunately, there’s no one with him. If Lacy had slid out of the passenger side, I’m not sure I would have had the courage to approach him. Even still, it’s hard to continue considering James doesn’t seem all that enthused to see me walking toward him. At least he doesn’t turn and walk away as I approach. He toys with his keys as I come to a stop a few feet away from him.
“Hey, do you have a second to talk?” I ask, hopeful.
He nods toward the main clubhouse. “I have a lunch meeting in a few minutes.”
I wring out my hands in front of me and nod. “Right, yeah. Okay, I just really think you and I need to clear the air after what happened in Vegas.” I look down at my feet. “I don’t want to leave things…the way they are.”
“I appreciate it.” I look back up in time to see him cross his arms and glance away, thoughtfully staring off into the distance for a moment before he turns back to me. His features hardened in those few moments, and now he appears every bit the cavalier businessman I used to assume he was. “But I don’t think it’s necessary. I was 25 once. I understand where you’re coming from. Maybe I pushed too hard, or maybe it never would have worked. Either way, you don’t need me chasing after you to figure things out. If my experience counts for anything, you just need time.”
I didn’t expect him to be so diplomatic about the whole thing. The way he speaks, I can tell he’s thought long and hard about saying exactly this, but there’s no conviction behind his words at all.
“I still want to apologize.”
He shrugs. “Consider it done.”
His words are infused with arrogance I don’t recognize, and though I should walk away and finish what I started, I can’t help but fire back.
“So Lacy is probably a nice change of pace right? I’ve heard y’all are on the, quote, fast track to marriage?”
His eyes narrow. “If we are, you should be happy for me.”
I look away, angry that he didn’t outright deny it. “That didn’t take long. Weren’t we in Vegas just a few weeks ago?”
“A lot has happened since then.”
I think of Spain and the job I’ve accepted; obviously he’s somehow heard about it through the grapevine. “I guess you’re right.” I step back toward the cabana. “I’ll see you, James.”
I’m more angry with the situation now than I was before. I wanted to apologize and then tuck James into a clean little box, but he isn’t making it that easy. Now, I have two weeks left until I move to Spain, and I still feel like he and I have unfinished business—starting with the bike he gifted me.
I plan to return it later that night because I can’t stand the idea of hanging on to it any longer. Sure, public transportation will take longer to get around on, but I’d rather sit on a thousand urine-soaked bus seats than spend one more minute on that sunflower-yellow reminder. I wonder if he’s purchased anything to consummate his relationship with Lacy yet. Maybe he’s gotten her a bike as well and had a local artist paint it shit brown to match her soul.
After a lonely dinner back at the co-op, I pedal as hard as I can toward Mount Bonnell Road, sticky with sweat by the time I pull up in front of his neighborhood’s private gate. I forgot about this part. I don’t know the code, and I’m not about to call James and ask for it. Part of me wants to just sling the bike up and over the gate and let him deal with the aftermath, but I won’t. Instead, I lurk in the bushes like a creepo until a car pulls up and the heavy iron bars swing open. I wait a few seconds so they can pass and turn down a side street and then I race through the gate before it squashes me like a bug.
I have a hard time finding James’ house once I’m inside the neighborhood. It didn’t seem all that complicated the last time I was here, but then again, I was frazzled from our crash and didn’t really pay much attention. I do find it eventually, but not until I’m coated in a new, second layer of sweat and more annoyed than ever. I want to drop the bike at the curb and bolt, but better judgment warns me against it. So, I take a deep breath and head for the front entrance of his property. Fortunately, the pedestrian gate is unlocked, and I start to walk up his front path. His Porsche is in the driveway and there are lights on inside, but I don’t see any movement behind the floor-to-ceiling windows along the front of the house. I pick up the pace and hustle, scurrying up before he walks by and sees me in all my sweaty glory.
I leave the bike just outside his front door with a note I painstakingly drafted before I left the co-op. There were half a dozen different iterations, but this one is the most simple.
Thank you for the bike, but I won’t be needing it in Spain.
All the best,
Brooke
I think it sounds mature. Ellie thought it sounded slightly bratty when I texted a photo of it to her. Obviously, I ignore her advice and leave it anyway, angling it so it sits centered on the bike seat. That way, there’s no way he’ll miss it.
“Brooke?”
“JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH!” I scream and slap my hand to my chest like I’m trying to stop myself from having a heart attack. When I spin on my heel, I find James standing a few yards down his driveway, and I think maybe I will have that heart attack after all.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Can’t a girl break into a neighborhood, sneak onto someone’s property, and leave a gift without being noticed? Isn’t that Santa’s entire MO?
“Brooke?” James asks again, clearly confused as to why I’m currently frozen in place on his front porch, sweaty and wide-eyed.
The note I left on the bike seat goes sailing toward the ground before I can speak. We both glance down at it and I reach for it quickly, snatching it up before he can. When I straighten, he’s only a few feet away, dressed in a black t-shirt, shorts, and Nike sneakers, as if he’s just returning from an evening run. He’s sweaty (almost as much as I am) and breathing hard, and I could be imagining it, but his tall frame seems more imposing than usual. It’s probably just because he caught me off guard.
“Oh, hey. I was just returning this,” I say, pointing back at where the bike rests on its kickstand. I took the time to clean it before I rode over, and it looks every bit as new as it did the first day he had it delivered. My heart aches at having to give it back; I probably won’t ever get another one like it.
“It wasn’t on loan,” he points out with a biting tone. “It was a gift.”
“I shouldn’t have ever accepted it, but I don’t need it anymore.”
He looks stricken. “Did you get a new one?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I’ll wait and get one in Spain.”
His rears back and frowns darkly. “Spain?”
My mouth drops open. I’m confused. I thought he knew, but now that I think about it, how would he have?
“I’m moving.” When recognition doesn’t dawn in his eyes, I continue, “I found an au pair position. Didn’t you know?”
He steps forward and snatches the note out of my hand, the note I now agree sounds slightly bratty. He reads it and then shakes his head. With a sad laugh, he moves around me and unlocks his front door.
“No, I didn’t know.”
I turn over my shoulder. “Earlier at the club, it seemed like—” I shake my he
ad. “It doesn’t matter. I finally found a new tutoring position with a family that’s moving to Spain, and they’ve offered to bring me along.”
“Congratulations. It’s what you’ve been searching for.”
He doesn’t sound like he’s congratulating me. In fact, he doesn’t even glance up as he takes the bike and wheels it into the front foyer of his house.
“You really should be happy for me!” I call out after him. “Especially after what happened in the dining room the other day!”
He laughs like I’ve just proposed something absolutely ludicrous. Then, finally, he glances up and meets my eyes with enough emotion and anger that it feels like a direct punch to the chest.
“I guess you should be happy for me that I’ve found someone like Lacy. Is that how this works? We’re just supposed to be happy for each other?”
“Yes. That’s the mature thing.”
“Please don’t lecture me on maturity,” he snaps back.
We’re both sweaty, our hearts racing from physical exertion and the heat of this encounter. He’s provoking me into a fight, and after my annoying bike ride and my 30-minute trek through this stupid rich neighborhood, I don’t have the patience to take the high road. So, instead, I go in head first. BRING IT ON.
“You know what?!” I say, stepping past his doorstep. “If we’re being honest, I think Lacy sucks! You saw how she treated me the other day—how do you think a person like that is going to treat those kids you want so badly?”
He turns and marches off down the hallway. If I want a fight, I’ll have to follow him. That’s fine by me, because I’m just getting started.
He walks straight into his kitchen and yanks open his refrigerator, withdrawing a single bottle of water for himself without bothering to offer me one even though I’m clearly a panting mess. I stare at him over the kitchen island with simmering rage as he slowly lifts it to his mouth and takes a long sip. His gaze is locked with mine. We’re cursing each other to hell without words, and then finally, after he’s drained nearly half the bottle, he sighs and drops it down onto the island. His thirst is quenched, and mine just got 10 times worse.
