Luke’s eyes were fixed on the television, and he continued to absently run his hands over my feet. The only difference was, this time he went even higher, gliding his thumb over the swell of my ankle and then over my calves. I wondered whether it was a conscious decision on his part or whether he was just spacing out. Was touching my leg like this something he’d always wanted to do, something he’d wondered about—the way I wondered about the freckle just below his left ear?
I couldn’t play it cool, couldn’t stop looking at him, until he turned to face me.
“What?” he asked.
“You have a freckle right there,” I said, reaching forward to touch it. He leaned closer so I could run my finger over it. It felt like we were on the same page, like he knew that I knew that we were both doing the things we’d always wanted to.
Feeling brave, I asked, “Also, just how soft is your hair?”
He leaned over again, letting me have at it. I dug my fingers into his hair, slowly brushing up from root to tip. I loved that he closed his eyes until I was finished.
“Anything else?” he asked, his voice quiet.
“We’ll stop there for now,” I said over the lump in my throat. His eyes darted to the kitchen door, then back to me, and I noticed that his neck was getting red, like maybe he could think of other things he wanted to do.
We went back to watching TV in silence.
Rowan walked in the front door about halfway through the second episode of our sitcom marathon. He held a basketball under one arm, had a gym bag over the other shoulder, and was dripping with sweat. My first instinct was to jump away from Luke, to put as much distance between us as possible, but doing so would make it look like we were doing something odd. Which, technically, we weren’t. Luke had always been my footrest.
So I stayed exactly as I was. Luke, for his part, didn’t react, glancing away from the screen just long enough to throw his brother a casual “Hey,” his hand continuing to make small circles on my leg the whole time.
“Hey, Ro,” I said, trying to sound normal.
“Jess! Didn’t know you were coming over.” Ro sounded genuinely happy to see me, which instantly made me feel guilty. I’d purposely come over when he wouldn’t be home, so I could have my talk with Mel.
Ro strode over to the other couch and flopped down. “What are we watching?”
While I was answering, Sydney came prancing into the room and Ro became temporarily distracted.
“Hey there, puppers! Did you miss me?” he cooed.
I turned my attention back to the TV.
When Sydney wandered out after a few minutes, a long silence filled the living room. I looked over at Ro on the other couch, but to my surprise, he was already looking at me. Or, more specifically, he was looking at Luke’s hand on my leg.
“Did you and Eric have a good game?” I blurted. I knew they’d spent the afternoon playing pickup basketball.
“Yeah,” Ro said shortly, then stood. “Going to go take a shower.”
“Thank God. I can smell you all the way from here,” I said, feeling the need to lighten the mood. Maybe there was no need, but I could have sworn something changed when Ro saw Luke’s hand.
Rowan snorted and started toward the stairs.
Before he went up, he turned and looked over at us again, his eyes resting on the hand Luke still had on my leg.
Luke’s gaze remained trained on the television, but the feel of Rowan’s eyes made me warm and self-conscious. Our eyes caught for a second, and he looked at me as if asking something. If his eyes held a question, I had no idea how to answer it, so I didn’t. Just stared back at him.
After a moment he turned and started up the stairs. “Cool story,” I heard him mutter to himself, and then he was gone.
For the next few hours I kept expecting Ro to come back down, but he never did.
I didn’t see him again the rest of the night.
THEN
Ro knew something was up.
The way he’d looked at me told me he did. Half of me wanted to leave it at that, or leave it to Luke or Mel to tell him, but I couldn’t do that to Rowan. No matter how absent he’d been from my life lately, he deserved to hear it from me. And I didn’t know why exactly, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t like what I had to say.
By the time Luke and I said goodbye that evening, kissing for minutes in the Cohens’ driveway, I had decided that I’d tell Ro the next day, after Luke left for State.
I came bounding downstairs on Sunday morning, planning to borrow Mom’s car to drive to Ro’s house, when an unfamiliar sound stopped me in my tracks.
A laugh.
Deep and short.
My father was laughing.
In general, our house tended to be pretty light on laughter.
When I entered the dining room, my father was sitting at one end of the table, his hand wrapped around a mug of coffee. His iPad was in front of him, and he was grinning. It shouldn’t have surprised me so much, finding Rowan in the chair beside my father, eating a blueberry muffin like he lived here, but it had been a while since he’d come over for one of his and Dad’s “chats.” They happened sporadically. Every once in a while Ro would drop in on Dad and chat his ear off about tennis. Ro claimed he liked doing it, that he liked being regaled with optometry school anecdotes and eye horror stories that Dad offered in turn, but I knew he was just being nice. That just the way he’d looked at me years ago and seen a lonely little girl who needed a friend, Ro had looked at Dad and seen someone who could use a distraction, could use some levity, if only for a few minutes at a time.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Dad said now.
“Brought you guys some of the muffins Mom made yesterday,” Ro said, talking with his mouth full. He slid a large Tupperware container over to me and patted the chair beside him. “I was just telling Jeff how I got out of a ticket last week.”
“Let me guess—all you had to do was blink and show your teeth,” I joked, sitting down beside him. I nudged his thigh with mine, and he nudged me back.
“You wound me,” Ro said, but he was grinning. He was in a better mood than I’d seen him in weeks. “I also gave Officer Hamilton an autograph.”
“Of course,” I said, reaching for a muffin and taking a bite.
For the next few minutes the three of us sat around the table talking and laughing. I felt an unfamiliar ache then, and it took me a second to realize what it was: I wished my mother were here, that we were the kind of family that sat around on Sunday mornings, laughing and telling stories.
“I’m just going to go up and check on Jessi’s mom,” Dad said, excusing himself as if he’d heard my thoughts. “She has this head cold.”
Ro gave me a knowing look, but said nothing.
After Dad was gone, I turned to Rowan. “He loves you.”
“They all do. Can’t say I blame them either,” Ro said, and I shoved him.
“Well, Luke’s gone back to school.” He said it in a strange way, like he knew it would mean something to me to know this.
“I know,” I said, bracing myself for what was coming next. “I was going to come over today. I need to tell you something.”
“What’s it about?” From the way he was staring at me, I knew he knew what I was about to say. My cheeks warmed, and I couldn’t look up at him.
“Luke and I . . .” I began. “We . . .” Again, the words didn’t come. God, why was I being so weird about this? It wasn’t a big deal. Luke and I weren’t doing anything wrong.
“Me and Luke,” I said finally, and looked up to meet his gaze.
Ro kept his eyes on me for a long moment, and then all he said was “Oh.” Zero inflection in his voice.
“That’s it?” I said, incredulous. “Oh?”
“What do you want me to say?” Ro said. “Ask you what your intentions with him are?”
It sounded like it should have been a joke, but he wasn’t smiling. He stared down at the table.
“How long?”
“You like him?” Ro asked, finally looking up at me. It was such a weird question, such an obvious question. Clearly, if we were together, I liked Luke.
Still, I gave him the simplest answer I could. “A lot,” I said.
“Oh,” Rowan said again, and then he changed the subject, telling me about the repairs he was getting done on his Ford soon. It was as if he’d gotten what he’d come for, as if the reason he’d come this morning was to hear it with his own ears.
I felt oddly sad, like simply by telling the truth, I’d ripped the gap between us even wider. But I also meant what I said. I liked Luke a lot, and though it might be weird for a while, having his older brother date his best friend, Ro was just going to have to get used to it.
NOW
Everything changes after everyone knows.
Suddenly we’re in the cafeteria, and Willow jumps out of her seat when she sees Luke, signals for him to come, and then takes the next seat over, leaving us next to each other.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable, but Luke thanks Willow and sits down next to me like he’s been doing it half his life. Which. Okay, let’s say, like he never stopped doing it.
“How’s your day going?” he asks, resting his hand on the back of my chair. He looks down at his food as he speaks, so I know he’s doing it for the benefit of our audience and not because he really wants to know how I am. This realization stings, but I ignore it.
“Good. Yours?”
“Pretty good. We’re making volcanoes next week, so I’ve just been prepping for that. Been a while since I did a volcano project.”
I nod, like he’s telling me deeply interesting and romantic things, and I think I’m doing a great job until he leans in and says, “You know you have to pretend to like me, right?”
His hot breath against my ear makes it tickle, and a series of other impulses get sent elsewhere in my body.
“I am,” I say back.
“You’re not.” He tucks a strand of my hair back gently and continues eating.
Willow is telling Brett about the renovations her dad is having done on the courts at Tennis Win, and Luke stiffens beside me. Now, neither of us is acting like we like each other.
The only positive thing about sitting beside Luke all through lunch and enduring this awkwardness is that Eric doesn’t speak to me. In fact, he seems to have stood down completely, talking to the group at the other staff table like nothing happened yesterday. It’s so infuriating when I think about it. I’ve asked him to fuck off so many times, and he never listened, but as soon as Luke puts his stamp on me, as soon as it’s clear that we’re okay, Eric suddenly has nothing else to say. What a piece of crap.
“See—you staring at Eric for the whole hour won’t help our cause,” Luke whispers. Our cause? Is Luke’s whole prerogative in continuing the charade from yesterday to keep protecting me from Eric? Was the whole “keeping our story straight” excuse just bullshit? I thought I made it extremely clear that I didn’t need his help.
“I’m trying to think of where I’d hide the body,” I whisper back. Also, ew, on the thought that I’d be looking at Eric for any other reason.
“Carry on, then,” Luke says, and I find myself fighting the smallest smile.
We somehow make it through to the end of lunch. Before we go our separate ways, Luke kisses me on the temple.
“We still on for tonight?”
I nod, slightly lightheaded from the feel of his lips on my skin. When it happened yesterday, I was too shocked and wound up to appreciate it. Now it feels . . . I can’t think about how it feels.
“Wait—tonight?” I repeat.
“Dinner and then my mom’s?”
Oh, right. Today is Friday. “Dinner” which we will pretend to have together before we go back to Mel’s.
“Right. Sure,” I say.
Willow grabs my arm and walks me across the cafeteria. “Y’all are so cute,” she says. “Why did you ever break up again?”
“The whole college long-distance thing took its toll,” I lie.
NOW
When Luke picks me up from my house at quarter to eight, there’s a bag of takeout on the passenger seat.
“We ate at Dynasty?” I say, peeking into the container.
“Yep. You loved their dumplings. Sweet and sour pork was great as usual. These are our leftovers,” Luke says.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
He doesn’t say anything as we come to a stop at a red light.
In the silence that follows, I drum my fingers on the side of the door. At this point I’m not even that anxious about seeing Mel. It’s these uncomfortable moments with Luke, when it’s just the two of us. A feeling of sadness replaces the awkwardness as I remember the way things used to be with us. I know he can’t look at me for real these days, but I wonder if he feels it, too. If it hurts him as much as it hurts me that we’ve drifted so far apart.
“Luke . . .” I say before knowing what I’m going to say.
He turns to look at me.
“Did you get all my messages?” I ask. “Last year?”
If he got one, he got them all. They were all pretty much variations of the same thing:
I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry please don’t hate me
He had never responded.
“Yeah,” he says now, simply, and silence stretches out between us once again. I go back to drumming my fingers in that way I know is annoying, but I can’t seem to stop.
Soon we are pulling up in front of his house.
I hop out of the car, the container of food in my hand. Luke starts to reach for it when a loud buzz interrupts us.
He digs his hand into his pocket and stares at his screen. “Have to take this. Door should be unlocked.”
“I’ll go inside then,” I say.
I leave him walking back up the driveway, talking in a low voice. The door is unlocked, and as soon as it swings open, I hear voices and laughter.
Naomi.
I enter the living room and find her on the loveseat, Mel in her wheelchair beside her, and they are watching two men in spandex wrestle.
“Hey, guys,” I say.
The TV goes off as soon as they hear my voice.
“Wow, that’s not suspicious at all,” Mel says.
“I don’t care if it’s suspicious. It doesn’t paint him in the best light.”
“Oh, come on.” Mel laughs. “Everybody has a past.”
Are they talking about Naomi’s husband? I’ve never met Bobby, but Mel described him as a “character.”
“She probably already saw it!” Mel says now.
“Saw what?” I ask innocently, and Naomi looks vindicated.
“Absolutely nothing. Hi, Jessi.”
“Hi, Naomi.” I go around the couch, and she gives me an awkward back-patting hug. I know she doesn’t love hugs, but I haven’t seen her in so long.
“Where’s Luke?”
“Outside taking a phone call.” I crouch down, putting the takeout on the floor beside me, and give Mel a hug too.
“Hey, Jessi-girl,” she says. “You get prettier every time I see you.”
“Stop,” I say, embarrassed.
Mel sighs. “What is it with everyone not being able to take the truth today?”
Before I can ask what she means, Naomi points to the takeout on the ground. “You went to Dynasty?”
“Oh, yeah. We just came from there.”
“Did you eat there or do takeout?”
“Eat there,” I say, feeling uncomfortable about her interrogation. This whole thing was Luke’s lie. He should be here to deliver it.
Naomi’s eyebrow goes up. “That’s weird. I picked up from there just before I came over, and I didn’t see you two.”
“Oh, we must have just missed each other.”
“Hmm.” Naomi says, but she doesn’t seem convinced. “What did you order?”
Mel looks at her. “Let
it go! Maybe they went somewhere they don’t want to tell us! They’re young and beautiful and in love.” When I say nothing, Mel takes it as confirmation of her rightness. “See? She can’t even deny it.”
My face warms, and I’m thankful for the cover of dark skin. “Has anybody told you that you have an overactive imagination?” I say.
Mel laughs, but Naomi is still giving me an odd look.
Thankfully, Luke comes in then.
“Hey, Mom. Hey, Naomi.”
After he greets them, Luke’s arms slither around my waist. I jump but recover quickly, letting my hands rest on his.
“So what’s the story? You two ran into each other and decided to give things another try?” Naomi asks, looking between the two of us.
“Apparently it’s too illicit to share with the class,” Mel says, raising her eyebrows.
“Nobody ever used the word illicit,” Luke insists.
“Well, so what happened then?”
“You want to tell it?” he has the audacity to ask me.
“Nope, you tell it,” I insist, shooting daggers up at his face.
“Okay, so I was at Wally’s weeks ago,” Luke begins.
Wait, is he telling the real story?
“I’m getting milk, and I see someone who looks just like Jessi. But I’m thinking it can’t be her. It’s been months since I’ve heard from her, and for all I know, she’s no longer even in Winchester—”
“Where else would I be?” I hear myself interrupting.
“Maybe you left early for college. Some people do that. I don’t know,” he says. If he’s annoyed that I’m questioning him in the middle of his story, he doesn’t show it. “My whole body freezes up,” he says, “and before I know it, I’m following her to the freezer aisle. I have to talk to her.”
Okay, now he’s definitely making it up.
“So I basically sneak up on her, and we start talking, and all I can think about is how much I miss her.” My throat tightens as he speaks. “I ask her for coffee, but we never make it there. We’re in the parking lot and . . . one thing leads to another.”
What the hell?
First of all, there’s no way anyone is going to buy that. Second of all— What. The. Hell.
Some Other Now Page 13
