by Piper Lennox
“Speaking of which,” she says, “I, uh...I should say ‘sorry’ to you. For what I said about your mom, that day.”
For the second time since I arrived, I’m truly speechless. Eventually, I find the words: “Oh. Um…thank you.”
Then I get another surprise: Caitlin-Anne clapping her hands and announcing, “All right, Ban, screen time is over. No pouting—we made a deal, twenty minutes and then both of us stop.” She makes a big show of shutting down her phone, eyeing her son until he reluctantly powers down his tablet.
“Good job,” she tells him, hopping up and bouncing her way out of the pit. “Now let’s show Silas how to get out of here. I think he’s lost.”
Banner laughs and says he’ll be the leader. Caitlin-Anne and I follow behind him in silence, but it isn’t awkward. It suddenly feels like I’m leaving a very different house than the one I walked into.
In the foyer, Florence appears with my coat, seemingly out of nowhere. I thank her, then tell Caitlin-Anne and Banner goodnight. They wave from the doorway, shivering in their bare feet, until I get into my car and start to drive away. I don’t see the door close until I’m back at the gate.
“I hope it happens soon, that’s all I can say. I’m tired of telling you about my exploits and you just giving me some clueless stare.”
I kick Brynn under the blanket and steal back our bowl of popcorn. “Excuse me for wanting to take things a little more slowly than some people. Silas and I are just...enjoying the relationship as it stands, right now.”
“I said those exact words before I lost my virginity,” she says, “but okay. Sure.” She grabs the remote from between us and scrolls until she finds a horror movie, our shared weakness. We’ve seen it at least five times, though, so most of it gets spent providing sarcastic commentary.
“It is nice,” she adds, a moment later, “to see you out in the real world, though. Whatever this boy’s done to you, keep it up. I don’t think you’ve mentioned work once tonight, which is an honest-to-God miracle.”
Actually, I have mentioned it a few times—including a vow to kick her out as soon as midnight strikes, because I have an early shift at the Acre tomorrow—but I don’t point this out. Things are different, since Silas came into my life. I’m different.
“So your folks are actually on a date tonight? Like a real one?”
“I guess. Dad brought her candy, they dressed up.”
“That’s ridiculously adorable.”
I laugh. “It is. Things have been way better, lately.”
“Your mom still refusing your money?”
“Yep. She said things were ‘looking up,’ so I guess it’s true. They’re not as stressed, being all cute together…and I’m definitely less stressed, not having to work all the time.”
“You never had to,” Brynn argues. “That was just you going crazy. Your parents would have found a way to make things work, without you helping.”
I roll my eyes. This is a sore subject, but one we still manage to poke on a regular basis. “Mom wouldn’t have accepted my money if they didn’t need it. Trust me, they were struggling bad, the last few years. Now it’s like...they’re going on dates, Jeff just moved out—the change is noticeable. Which means I wasn’t ‘crazy’ before.”
Brynn mutters more disagreement, but lets the subject drop.
“Back to Silas,” she says. “When are you thinking...?”
“I told you, whenever it feels...right. I’m not going to plan it, but I’m not looking to just get it over with, either.”
“Are you guys ‘official?’” she teases. I ask her the same thing, every time she brings up another dating prospect. Now I understand why she finds it so annoying.
“We’re dating,” I answer carefully, “and...not labeling it.”
Her eyebrow lifts. “Are you dating other people?”
“No.”
“And who gave you those new earrings?”
The heat from my face radiates against my hand as I touch the gift in question: tiny polymer ice cream cones, sent with a note—In honor of the first time I tricked you into a date.
“He sent them,” I mutter, the words bubbling into my glass of wine as I grab it from the end table.
Brynn smiles and takes back the popcorn. “Yep. You’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“We are not. Quit it.” My sigh smells like pinot and melted butter, trapped in the blanket when I pull my knees to my chest. “Right now things are just...good. Exactly the way they are. I guess neither of us wants to push the label too much and wreck everything.” I pause. “Probably me more than him, but still.”
“Uh-huh,” she says, sarcasm wiped clean for once. “Can I ask...what do you think is holding you back from making things official? Is it the Fairfield thing?”
“No, no. He isn’t—”
“I know he isn’t one of ‘those’ Fairfields. I’m just saying, maybe that’s, like, a subconscious thing. A mental block, you know? Like you’re worried he’ll suddenly change or something. Because that’s kind of the whole reason he was in town, wasn’t it? To get to know his dad? Maybe you’re worried he might…turn into one of those Fairfields, after all.”
I shake my head, vehement. “Silas isn’t like that. I think it’s more that he’s the first guy I’ve gotten involved with since high school.”
“Maybe.” Brynn passes me the popcorn and turns off her lamp. I turn off mine, and we watch the movie in the darkness until midnight comes and goes. It’s been a long time since we stayed at the other’s house. It’s been a long time since I had...well, time.
She falls asleep, Arrow curled up behind her legs, and I don’t have the heart to kick her out after all. I cover them with both blankets and hook her phone up to charge before tiptoeing upstairs. I thought my parents snuck in undetected, but when I peek through their open door, the bed is empty. Date night must be a success.
I brush my teeth, change into a T-shirt, and climb into bed, knowing full well I won’t sleep yet. Silas hasn’t texted me all day. It isn’t totally unheard of, but still: it’s hard to feel tired until I get his goodnight text or phone call.
An hour later, I hear a thunk downstairs. Probably my parents, stumbling home and shushing each other.
Arrow whines, then lets out a short bark that makes me fumble for the baseball bat Dad has me keep behind my door: Arrow doesn’t bark when family members come home. Only when something startles him.
Brynn is still asleep on the couch. I hiss her name, but she doesn’t stir.
The noise came from the front door, where Arrow is now scratching and sniffing, so I relax. Probably just the neighbors’ cat with the missing paw, who can still outrun Arrow with ease and loves flaunting this fact by draping herself on our porch railing until he goes insane and barrels outside.
I open the door; Arrow plows past me.
“Oh, you are awake.”
My scream gets clipped short, drowned inside a gasp when I realize the intruder in front of me is actually Silas.
“What are you doing here? Do you have any idea how close I just came to bashing your face in with a bat? Oh, my God.” I put my hand over my heart, then hit his arm as he laughs. “You can’t sneak around an ex-cop’s house like that. Good thing my dad isn’t home.”
“I should say so—if you answer the door with a baseball bat, I can only imagine how your dad answers the door. But I’m sorry I scared you. My phone died, otherwise I would have called first.”
There’s a wavering quality about him, even his smile, that makes me step back so he can come inside. We creep past Brynn and into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” he laughs, the sound thin and stretched tight. “I’ve been driving around the city for hours, just....”
I wait. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?”
“No,” he answers quickly, smoothing back his hair as I start a pot of coffee, anyway. Arrow circles his feet until he sits, then flops onto his shoes and sighs.
&nb
sp; “Not that you seem drunk or anything,” I explain, “just kind of shaky and weird.”
“I feel shaky and weird.”
We’re quiet while the coffee brews. I keep worrying the noise or smell will wake Brynn, even though she can (and has) slept through a tornado. Silas clearly isn’t in any state to get grilled again, which is probably what she’d do.
I make his coffee the way he likes, two sugars and plenty of creamer, and set it in front of him. He thanks me, but doesn’t drink.
“Silas.” I sit at the table beside him and lower my head until he looks at me. “What happened?”
“I, uh...I went to the estate today.”
My nod is slow, but heavy. Things are making sense, now.
Little by little, he tells me everything: Jeannie being kind, Tim being an asshole, and, in a surprise twist, Caitlin-Anne being...well, human. She’s the last one in that family I would have expected to have a heart, but I’m glad to hear it. It’s probably the only reason Silas isn’t wasted right now: as twisted as his voice gets when he relays details about Tim, the ones about his brief encounter with his sister seem to calm him.
“The visit wasn’t a total loss, then,” I point out. “And...at least you got—”
“Answers,” he finishes, with a sip of his coffee. “Yeah. That’s what I keep telling myself. At least I know.” His pause stretches past a beat, two, three. “But I wish I didn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, Silas.” I kiss his cheek. He turns his head, staring at me, before capturing my mouth.
I think about my virginity conversation with Brynn earlier. To her, it’s something to get rid of quickly. Actually, it’s not a “something” at all. Just another mental block.
To me, it’s a gift. Not some social construct or antiquated concept, or bragging rights, or a good story—but a place in my memory that can’t be erased. Whoever I give it to will be my First, forever and always. They’ll hold some piece of me, for the rest of our lives, that I can never get back.
And in that moment, as I kiss Silas and slide into his lap, I realize how much I want him to have it. It would be so easy to take his hand and lead him into my bedroom, to kiss the salt from his skin and erase this day.
But I know I won’t.
I can make him forget it, all the answers he finally got and wishes he’d never searched for in the first place—but only for tonight. No matter how much I give him, it won’t undo the rest. It isn’t supposed to.
This might feel like the perfect moment, but for all the wrong reasons.
“It’s weird,” he says, after a long silence, my head now on his shoulder, his arms locked around me, “when I left the estate, after seeing Caitlin-Anne and her kid...I felt okay. Like, I figured I would just come see you for a little bit, then go home. But I started driving, just taking turns wherever, and all my dad’s bullshit kept circling back. I felt like I couldn’t stop moving.”
“I did that whenever my mom wasn’t doing well. I’d just walk around the neighborhood, or take my bike and tie Arrow’s leash to the handlebars. It’s like...as long as you’re moving, you don’t have to fully think about it.”
“Yeah...yeah, that’s exactly what it felt like.” Through his coat, I feel his breathing pick up. “You should have heard him, going on about those stupid acquisitions. I could have handled it if, you know, he was just trying to save his marriage or whatever. If being in my life meant he’d have lost Jeannie and his daughter. It would hurt, but I’d understand, if that had been his only reason.”
He swallows, the sound like boulders falling under my ear. “But why was Fairfield Industries even part of it, you know? Why did that reason play into anything at all? And Jeannie stayed through all his affairs and other bullshit—I’m sure she would’ve stayed with me in the picture, too. It’s like that’s just his cover. The reason he pretends was the most important one. But it isn’t—losing those contracts, that’s what he cared about most.”
I don’t know what to tell him. Anything I think up sounds too much like “I told you so,” because none of this surprises me. I’ve always maintained the Fairfields are jerks. If anything, only my opinion of Caitlin-Anne has changed—and not all that much.
“I actually feel sorry for him,” I manage, after a minute. “That’s really pathetic and...and just plain sad, that he doesn’t get how much that business cost him.”
Silas is quiet, but I feel his arms relax around me. “Maybe that’s what I should focus on. Feeling sorry for him, instead of angry.”
“No—you should feel both.” I lift my head and turn his chin until he gives me eye contact. “You’re allowed to be angry. Remember? Don’t fight it. Feel what you’re supposed to feel.”
“‘Feel what you’re supposed to feel,’” he repeats with a sigh, like it’s a mantra he’s been forced to repeat for years and can’t stand.
I offer for him to sleep here tonight, but he shakes his head.
“I’ve got work tomorrow. And if I wake up with you, I won’t want to leave.”
He kisses me goodbye on the porch, cupping my face in his hands and pulling away before I’ve opened my eyes. It’s the kind of kiss that feels unfair, too final, when you know there’s so much more time you could have.
It turns out to be perfectly timed, though: Silas’s taillights vanish exactly when, at the other end of the street, my parents’ headlights appear.
18
“You said it was a field.”
I glance at Camille as I spread the blanket over the grass. “And?”
“Silas, this is a full-blown farm.” She throws her arms out across the property, specifically to my grandmother’s old horse stables at the far end. “Arrow is going to get lost in all those woods back there.”
“He won’t, I promise. The entire property is fenced in.” I take the leash from her and kneel beside Arrow, who licks my face like I’m just a talking strip of bacon. “Okay, buddy, listen: your mom didn’t believe me when I said you were a farm dog, deep down.” I tousle his ears until he’s straining out of his collar, ready to play. “Prove her wrong for me.”
I unclip his leash. Immediately, he flies down the field at full speed, sending a flock of geese charging into the pond by the trees. At that speed, his limp is barely noticeable.
Camille laughs in disbelief. “He hasn’t run like that since he was, like...five or six.” We hear a clumsy-sounding splash, which makes her laugh even harder. “And he hasn’t gone swimming since...ever.”
“Told you. Suburbia bored him, that’s all.” I sit on the blanket and rummage through the backpack I brought, passing her Tupperware and plastic utensils. “Hope you like pasta, because that’s pretty much all I know how to cook.”
“Carbonara,” she says as she peels back a lid. “Not bad.”
“And sweet potatoes with garlic, the way my grandma makes ’em.” We divide the food onto our plates, then set some aside for Arrow whenever he deigns to return.
“Speaking of your grandma, is she here?” Camille eyes the farmhouse in the distance behind us. “I’d love to meet her.”
“Nope.” The pop of the champagne cork startles her as she turns back to me, laughing. “She’s in Florida for the winter. Remember?”
“Ah.” Camille watches me pour our drinks. “So...it’s just us here, then.”
I weigh my words carefully. “It is just us. I can show you around the farmhouse later, if you want.” Her hand brushes mine when I pass her the paper cup. “But if you don’t, that’s okay.”
She nods and taps her cup to mine before taking a drink. A long one, I notice.
I don’t know if tonight will be the night, or if it will conclude like the rest of our dates: making out that sometimes (okay, often) ventures into more. Either way, I’m happy she’s here. No matter how it ends.
“These are really good,” she says, sighing happily as she takes another bite of the sweet potatoes. “I’ve never had these with garlic. It’s always marshmallows and brown sugar, at my house.”<
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“That’s why they’re so good. You don’t expect them to be.”
Arrow barks his way through the stables, clearing out a few squirrels and treeing them in an oak. Camille laughs, still shaking her head when he trots back to us, tail wagging like a propeller.
“See?” I give him his plate of food and watch him all but inhale it. “He’s having a blast. Border Collies love big, open spaces like this, and chasing animals—”
“Arrow isn’t a Border Collie. He’s a mutt.”
“Okay, yeah, he has other stuff mixed in there—but look at his coloring, and the way his ears are halfway up. He’s definitely got some kind of Collie in his blood.” Arrow laps eagerly at the water I pour into a cup for him, draining it in seconds. I pour him the rest of the bottle. “He’s going to love the surprise I got him.”
“The farm isn’t the surprise?”
“Just part of it.”
We eat and talk until the sky is pale orange. The day is unseasonably warm, so it takes a long time for us to feel any kind of chill when the tree’s shadow falls over us. Arrow waits patiently while I search through my backpack.
“Here it is,” I announce, pulling out the tube of tennis balls.
Arrow goes berserk, whining and bounding against my legs when I stand. I shimmy one out of the tube and show it to him. “You want the ball? Huh? This ball?”
“Arrow doesn’t fetch,” Camille calls from the blanket. “He’s going to chase it, steal it, then refuse to give it back to you.”
“I’ve got a plan. Just sit and watch a while, I’ll show you how it’s done.” I toss the ball in place a few times, riling Arrow up until he starts going through his entire repertoire—paw, speak, roll over—in a frenzied attempt to make me give it to him. When I finally rear back my arm, he freezes and readies himself.
I launch it, pitching it as far down the field as I can. Arrow vanishes.
