Dear Henry,
I apologize for calling you drunk.
And for puking on your car.
And for all other unfortunate moments last night.
Zadie
I hear the crinkle of the paper as he refolds it and wait, terrified to look up.
“Zadie.”
“What?” My words are muffled because I’m hiding behind my hands.
“I accept your apology.”
I open an eye and look at him. His doesn’t seem pissed. In fact, he’s smiling a little. “Really?”
“Yes.”
I sigh in relief. “Good.”
He laughs and I give him the stink-eye. He seems awfully amused by my humiliation, but I let it slide due to the circumstances. When he rubs his face I see his knuckles are red and scraped. Ugh, probably my fault, too.
“I’m sorry you got so sick.”
“Ugh, me too. It’s half your fault with that weed.”
He reaches a finger out to touch my cheek. “Ouch.”
I roll my eyes. At myself, of course, because of the flutter rolling around in my stomach from his finger on my skin. “Apparently, I fell out of the car.”
“I tried to stop. You opened the door before I pulled all the way over.”
“I heard. I don’t really remember much.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
I make a face. “Did you really carry me in?”
He smiles and I notice a tiny dimple by his eye. Maybe a scar. One of his roommates walks up and says hi, disappearing through the open door.
“I should go,” I say, watching the guy, Syd, I think go inside.
“Tomorrow? Pick you up at 9:30?”
I nod, happy he’s not going to let this get any weirder. Happy that I’m at this big school where I don’t have to face a thousand Facebook friends laughing at my antics. Just this guy. This really great guy. “It’s going to be awkward with Tate.”
“Why?”
“I embarrassed myself and him. He ditched me. I don’t know. It’s just unfortunate, you know?”
“Zadie, you are not the first person to puke at a frat party.”
I sigh and take the first step toward my apartment. “Thanks, Henry.”
He frowns, just a little, but it vanishes fast. “Anytime.”
*
I meet Henry at his car the next morning. He’s half asleep, hair a total mess, and a fine, red line run down his cheek from his bed sheets.
“Over sleep?” I ask, getting into the car. He tosses his towel and pool bag into the backseat.
He grunts in reply and rubs his hand over his face. “You’re awful chipper for someone so hung-over yesterday.”
“I have a sure-fire hang-over remedy.”
Henry pulls the car out of the parking lot and heads toward the pool. “Enlighten me.”
“Stage one is waffles, bacon and hash browns. Stage two; French fries and a cheeseburger. Additional necessities include several large sodas and a big piece of chocolate cake.”
His eyes widen. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Works every time. I also crashed at about 8 PM even though my downstairs neighbors were yelling all night while they played Grand Theft Auto.”
He glances over and I can see his eye wrinkles. “Sorry about that.”
I shrug. “We’re pretty used to it.”
Henry pulls into the convenience store and we go in to get snacks. It’s become a daily ritual. Sodas, lemonade, candy. We hop back in the car and make it to the pool just in time. To our surprise, Tate’s here. It should be his day off.
“You going to be okay?” Henry asks before we get out of the car.
“Sure, why?”
“With Tate being here and everything. You were pretty pissed at him the other night.” I try to remember and vaguely recall being dragged away from the party and yelling something about ‘kicking ass’.
“He called yesterday. I think he feels pretty bad about stranding me, which is stupid because I’m the one that made an ass out of myself.”
“No,” Henry says, his eyes dark. “He should feel sorry.”
Tate meets me at the gate with an apologetic smile. He’s not in his trunks but regular shorts and a T-shirt. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine,” I say, feeling stupid.
“She powered through it on junk food and sugar,” Henry says, walking past us to the office.
“Why are you here?”
Tate grabs my hand. “I’m a douche.”
“Obviously.”
“And a jerk.”
“Yes,” I agree. “You came in on your day off to tell me that? I got your messages. We’re good. Besides I’m the one that embarrassed myself.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a legend.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yep, all anyone can talk about is the kick-ass chick dressed up like Black Widow. I know five guys that want your number.”
Everything starts to spin. “Oh man.”
Tate wears a huge grin and clearly thinks this is hilarious. It’s not hilarious, it’s a disaster. He rubs his chin and the smile vanishes into a grimace. I notice a purple bruise by his lip.
I reach up and touch his jaw. “What happened?”
“Eh,” he shrugs. “You’re not the only one that made a scene on at the party.”
I point to my own rash. “We’re twins. Except you like the attention.”
When I explain how I got the burn, Tate doesn’t even try not to laugh. “I just feel bad because I know you were nervous about going and then I ditched you. I’m just glad Henry came and got you.”
I glance across the pool where Henry has his back to us, skimming the pool for leaves and debris with a large net. My eyes linger over the way his muscles tense and how broad his shoulders seem. “Yeah, he’s the real hero of the night. Costume or not.”
Tate chuckles and says, “Figures,” under his breath. “I put all this work into my Herculean body and he gets the accolades.”
“Go home, Hercules,” I say, stashing my bag in the office and climbing into my chair.
A group of kids walk through the gate including Mrs. Robinson’s kids. A teenage girl holds the hand of the youngest and I assume she’s the babysitter. I focus on the pool but I see Tate corner Henry. I can’t help but wonder what they’re saying and more than once they glance in my direction. Anxiety fills my chest. Tate’s playing some kind of game, and Henry? Even though I don’t want to admit it, I’m attracted to him big time.
A kid, a teenager really, bounces on the diving board, flying high with his arms stretched wide, before slicing through the water in a perfect dive. He emerges, shaking his hair out of his eyes, comfortable and confident. I glance back at the boys. If only I could navigate these two with the precision of that diver.
Chapter Eight
That night I get a text from Henry. It’s late and the apartment is quiet. I’ve got a writing journal next to me on the bed, opened to a blank, wordless page. I pick up the phone and slide my thumb over the screen.
What are you doing?
Nothing—can’t sleep.
Me either. Come see me.
Now?
On the steps.
That’s so far away.
You’re so lazy. Do you want me to carry you?
Give me five minutes.
I close the journal with a snap and kick off my quilt. It only takes me three minutes to get downstairs.
*
Tricia’s margarita sits half empty on the table in front of her. Josh is at the bar looking for a refill and I sip a soda and try not to puke when I get a whiff of the tequila.
Motorhead is pretty packed for a summer week night. People get excited about dollar fishbowls, I guess. We’ve staked out the back corner, which makes me nervous because it’s so dark that I can’t see how dirty everything really is.
“So, okay, time for the round-up. Me first,” Josh says, joining us at the table. “Davey and I
went out three times last week. Once to the movies where he held my hand. Then to play mini-golf where we had our first kiss by the windmill, and then finally he met me for lunch this afternoon between my classes.”
“So does that count in the three date rule?” Tricia asks, between sips on her straw and checking her phone screen.
“Maybe. Depends on the next one I think,” Josh says. His eyes have a dreamy look. He’s smitten alright.
“What about you?” I ask Tricia.
“Work, work, work. I have met this hot intern down at the courthouse though. I may try stalking him a bit.” She brushes her long bangs out of her face. “How are your boys? You hook up with one of them yet?”
I choke on my drink. “Boys?”
“Please, we’ve seen you and Henry coming and going for the last couple of weeks. You guys look chummy.”
“We’re friends,” I admit. Friends who work together, carpool together and sit up half the night talking together. “Just friends.”
“And Tate?” Josh asks. Tricia checks her phone again.
“Tate is good and is super flirty but just a friend.” They both look doubtful. I fiddle with the strap on my sundress. “Seriously. I don’t know what he has going on but something’s up. He may have a girlfriend or something. Maybe he’s taking a break like he said. Whatever it is, there’s no spark between us.”
“You’re hopeless,” Josh says. “Two total hotties and you can’t work it up to make a move on either of them.”
I bite the inside of my cheek because although he’s right, he may not be for long. Henry and I have been getting closer lately. Our past is holding me back and I’m not sure how to deal with it.
“Oh I do have some news to share. Next week, Henry and I are going up to the overnight camp to lifeguard for the weekend. Double the pay and Tate pulled rank on us.
“Overnighter?” Josh raises his eyebrows hopefully. “So Operation Payback is still in effect?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I’m done with that. Henry is a good friend and I’m trying to move past all that hurt and anger. It’s time.”
We leave the bar and hop on our bikes. Even at this time of night it’s hot as hell, but the breeze from riding feels good on my face and my hair blows back, cooling my neck. Tricia and Josh weave their bikes back and forth, laughing like maniacs and I worry one of them will break their neck, but somehow they manage to get back to our neighborhood in one piece.
I lock up my bike and follow my roommates up the stairs.
“Hey,” I hear from the bottom stoop. Henry leans over the railing overlooking the parking lot. The overhead light is out but I can see his outline clearly from the lamps in the parking lot. Loud bass music throbs from inside his apartment.
The smell of smoke wafts over to me and I see the glowing red tipped joint between his fingers. I watch as he inhales and then exhales slowly. A small grin tugs at his mouth. “I’ve never seen you in a dress before.”
“Technically you’ve seen me in a lot less,” I laugh, escaping his gaze and glancing down at the blue dress I’m wearing. I smooth the fabric nervously with my hands until I feel one of his fingers tangle with mine.
“Have you been drinking?” he asks, his tone serious.
“No. Designated biker.”
I reach for the joint and lift it to my lips, taking a hit. My nerves are all over the place sitting out here with him like this. The warmth spreads through my limbs and I know I’ve got to come clean.
He watches my movement in the dark, eyes on my mouth and down to my legs. I’ve managed to get his attention like I’ve always wanted, I know this. But it feels off to me. He means too much. I don’t want to taint this with manipulation.
“Remember that day at the park we were talking about?” I ask. “Back in high school?”
“I do. You wore a black shirt with a tiny skull and cross-bone on the chest.”
I turn to face him. “So you do remember that day.”
“Explicitly.”
“Then you know what you did to me,” I whisper, afraid this may be the final moment we have together. Airing our dirty laundry.
He stubs the joint on the step and rubs his face with his hands. “I know and I’m sorry. I acted like a dick.”
I scoff. “You broke my heart.”
“Don’t say that,” he begs, lifting his eyes to mine.
“You did.”
“I liked you so much. You were different and fun. I wanted to go with you to prom. I’d planned on it and then I had to go to this family wedding and everything went to hell.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because I was eighteen and stupid. I didn’t want you to go with anyone else. I was petrified some other guy would ask you.”
“You made sure no one else did,” I say, barely containing the bitterness.
“Look, I was a dick—hands down. I thought I’d make it up to you when it was all over, but you were pissed and I came back to all the Carter shit.”
“Don’t blame this on me,” I say, knowing full well some of the blame lands squarely on my shoulders.
“I’m not. I chickened out.”
I look away, unable to meet his eyes. His stupid, amazing, blue eyes. “I had a crush on you for forever,” I confess. “Like forever. I don’t want it to sound like you doing this thing to me was the end of my life. It wasn’t. It just changed me. I questioned my judgment with guys. My intuition. I thought if you could treat me so badly, others could too.”
“Taking this job this summer was a big risk for me. I thought I was ready to handle this—to handle you, but I was wrong.”
“You handle me just fine.”
“It’s all an act—a dare by Tricia and Josh, who want me to break out of my shell and get over my dramas. I thought maybe I could show you what you missed out on, but that’s just not really me. I’ve liked you for so long, Henry. It feels good to be your friend again. I don’t want to mess anything else up.”
“You’re not messing anything up,” he says, grabbing my arm. “I fucked up. We fucked up. But I’m really ready to get past it.”
He licks his lips and he’s got that look, the decisive one where I know he’s going to kiss me. It’s all I’ve wanted him to do for weeks—for years—but my stomach and head hurt too much.
“Don’t,” I say quietly. “Not now. Not like this.” If this were a cartoon, the girl would have reached inside the boy’s heart and ripped his heart out with her bare hands. That’s what happens when I tell him not to kiss me.
Henry’s crushed. Visibly. His eyes cast downward and his fingers go in his hair. I feel like my heart’s breaking over him for a second time, but I’m not running away this time. “I’m not angry anymore,” I tell him. “I just need some time to figure out how I want to deal with this. I can’t do the wishy-washy, ‘What does Henry want?’ game anymore. When you’re ready, let me know.”
I turn and race up the steps to my apartment, afraid to linger even a moment longer.
Chapter Nine
I drive myself to work the next day, unable to handle the fallout between Henry and myself. Well, more like, I’m unable to handle the brutal honesty and declaration of love I professed for him the night before.
“You’re here early,” Tate says, looking behind me and running a hand through disheveled hair. “Where’s Henry?”
“We didn’t ride together. I had some errands to run.” I hear laughter across the pool deck and see Mrs. Robinson’s kids chasing each other in the grass. “Why are they here so early?”
“Oh, I told her she could drop them a couple minutes early today. She had an appointment or something.”
“So you’re babysitting them now?”
“Just doing her a favor. Single mom and all that.”
I give him a hard look. “Are you screwing her?” He shakes his head but I see the way his jaw clenches. He may not be but he wants to. Badly. “She has kids. Don’t turn this into some kind of desperate housewiv
es situation.”
“Chicks in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, Pip.”
I frown trying to follow his logic. “What the hell does that mean?”
He crosses his arms which make his biceps as big as his head. “It means I’ve been following your no messing around at work rule but I’m not so sure about you and Henry.”
“There’s nothing going on with me and Henry.”
He laughs. “Maybe not yet, but you two are getting awful chummy. Seems to me like if you guys plan on getting it on at work, then so can I.”
“You’re ridiculous. No one is ‘getting it on’ anywhere. In fact, you’re the one inviting me to parties and hanging out at my house watching TV all night, not Henry,” I argue.
“Not Henry what?”
I spin and find Henry behind me jaw tight and eyes angry. I spot the wadded up note I left on his car saying I’d see him later in his hand and feel a pang of guilt. “Nothing,” I say, tossing my bag into the office and walking away from the guys.
Half way up the ladder to my guard chair, I feel a hand on my ankle. I look down and see Henry below. “Are you angry at me?” he asks.
I slip my sunglasses over my eyes and say, “No. I just thought we could use some space.”
“We had space, three years. Don’t make this worse than it needs to be.”
Tate climbs the other chair and blows the whistle, letting the kids know it’s okay to get in. He stares at me pointedly and holds his hands up in annoyance.
“What’s that all about?” Henry asks.
“Tate was all over me this morning about us being too close to one another and how we’re breaking the deal about not hooking up with people at work.”
“What? We aren’t hooking up.” But he looks guilty because we both know he wanted to kiss me last night and if our world wasn’t imploding, we would have.
“I know but he’s pissy anyway, most likely because he has a hard-on for Mrs. Robinson and he can’t do anything about it.”
“Probably,” he snorts, looking away. His voice turns serious again and he says, “Will you talk to me about this later, because I have some things to say.”
I swallow and keep my eyes on the pool. “If you want.”
No Regrets Page 7
