Tangled Thoughts

by Cara Bertrand

  I glanced over at Manny again, and he inclined his chin minutely in acknowledgment. “I’ll…try not to,” I promised. “Have a safe trip.” I said it so frequently, the same way Aunt Mel always told me to drive safely whenever I picked up my car keys, I knew he hardly heard the words anymore.

  Uncle Dan nodded like always and I knew I was dismissed. I’d completely forgotten to ask why he was going to Arizona. Just before I was out his door, he called, “Cartwright?”

  I turned. “Yes, sir?”

  “Thank you.” So maybe he did hear.

  “And Cartwright? I love you, son. I know I don’t tell you that very often, but never doubt it.”

  “I won’t, sir,” I said softly. I never had.

  Chapter Seven

  Lainey

  A my rolled out of the guest room the next day looking not like something the cat dragged in, but something the cat had dragged behind a car and then run over for good measure. I, on the other hand, looked like someone who’d been up all night worrying her not-so-best friend would make it to and from the bathroom without puking on the carpet or dying because:

  “I’m thinking about killing you,” I told her. “Also, good morning.”

  She fell into a chair at the table, peering at me through eyes red as fire and still smudged with last night’s makeup. Her skin was approximately the color of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I’m not sure you’ll have to,” she rasped. “I’m dying. And have I mentioned before that this kitchen is far too bright.” She propped her elbow on the table and dropped her face into it, covering her eyes. “Seriously, let’s get you some lower wattage light bulbs or something.”

  Only Amy would still say words like wattage when epically hungover. I tapped my fingers on the table because I knew it would annoy her. “The wattage of my light bulbs is not going to matter once I’ve killed you. Or let the alcohol do it for me.”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sure you are.” I tapped my fingers some more. She peeked at me but said nothing. After a few moments, I got up to pop a frozen waffle in the toaster and retrieve a cup of coffee and some aspirin for her. Despite the green tint to her complexion, I didn’t think she’d throw up again. She’d already done so much of it, what could possibly be left?

  She thanked me and downed some of both, rolling her head back and forth before taking another sip. When the waffle popped up, I brought it to her dry. “Thank you,” she repeated. “Think you can make me forget last night?” She held out her wrist, which looked clammy and limp.

  “Even if I could, it wouldn’t cure the hangover.”

  “Shit.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “What good are mental superpowers if they can’t even make us forget our mistakes?” She took a bite and chewed slowly.

  I went back to tapping my fingers on the table, louder, until she narrowed her eyes at me. “If I could erase what you did last night, you’d just do it again.”

  Muffled by waffle, Amy grumbled, “So you’re saying this is all to teach me a lesson, right? Thanks, Mom. I won’t do it again.” She held up one of her fingers, and I laughed.

  “Were you trying to tell me ‘Scout’s Honor’? The Boy Scout Salute involves a few more fingers.”

  She waved her finger at me. “No, I think I got this one right.”

  “All I’m saying is now it will be awhile before you do it again—because you know you will—and by then I’ll be feeling charitable again.”

  She sighed and I made myself another cup of coffee. While I was mixing in my sugar, she finally said, “You know it’s going to be your turn one of these days. I promise not to gloat. Much.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Besides, I’ve had hangovers.”

  “A little headache after two glasses of wine where you go jogging or some shit to feel better does not qualify.” She rose from the table as if in slow motion, taking special care not to move her head at all. “Excuse me while I go die on the couch.”

  “Just be warned, my group partner will be here soon. No more talk of mental superpowers.”

  Her head snapped in my direction and she groaned, slapping a limp hand to her forehead. I resisted the urge to laugh at her. “Ugh. But, what? You mean someone’s coming here? To your apartment?”

  I shrugged. “I had no way of knowing when, or if, you’d wake up. So yeah, I invited her here. She’s cool.” Usually I kept college and my home separate. It was important to me for reasons I had trouble explaining, even to myself, but Amy seemed to understand.

  “Okay. I—I’m sorry.” She really meant it this time. “And, just real quick, a little more superpower stuff. Have you talked to Jack?”

  “No! And we’re not going to talk about it either.” She opened her mouth to say something and I sighed. “So much for hoping you wouldn’t remember.”

  A laugh popped out of her, followed by a groan. “Oh, crap, that was painful. Don’t make me laugh, Lane. I may have been drunk, but I wasn’t oblivious. Like I’d forget that. He’s—” The look on my face must have really been something, because she actually quit talking. “Okay. Later,” she said and changed her trajectory toward the shower.

  Serena arrived while I was still in the shower, which is how I found her and Amy sprawled in the living room, becoming fast friends. Amy was stretched out on the couch and I pushed her feet out of the way so I could sit down.

  “I like your friend,” Amy said without opening her eyes.

  Serena propped her feet up on the ottoman. “So, let me get this straight. You live here, like you, by yourself. This is your place—and you spend all your time in that crappy dorm why?”

  “See?” Amy said. She kicked me with her foot. “I like her.”

  “My dorm is pretty nice,” I countered.

  Serena nodded. “Yeah, actually, it is. But it’s not here.” She looked around and I wondered what she was thinking. I felt strange, exposing this side of my life to new people.

  “I—” I started to explain, but Serena grinned and waved her hand.

  “I get it. You got problems but money ain’t one. It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Thank you.” It was an odd sentiment, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying it. I shouldn’t feel like I had to apologize for my inheritance. I hadn’t stolen it. Serena and Amy shared a look and if I hadn’t already been regretting coming here for the day, I immediately regretted introducing them. They were too much alike and together were sure to cause me trouble.

  “Maybe thank me now,” Serena said, pulling a slightly grease-stained brown bag from her satchel and holding it out to me. “Because I brought the goods.”

  I practically dove across the coffee table to snatch it out of her hands. In the apartment, I kept almost no food, only basic non-perishable or frozen things. In other words, nothing like the huge, perfect, bacon-egg-and-cheese sandwich I was now stuffing into my face. It was even still a little warm. Heaven.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled through my full mouth and Serena laughed. While I chewed, my friends continued to bond against me.

  “So you’re the genius I always hear about?” Serena asked.

  “Every fabulous inch of me.”

  “So you couldn’t, like, calculate the ratio of alcohol to food to body weight or whatever and not get drunk?”

  I snorted, and Amy pulled out one of her most dramatic sighs. “I could have, I suppose, but I was distracted by shirtless bass players and Lainey flirting with Mr. H.O.T., aka Hot Older TA.” Shit. If I’d been close enough, I’d have made Serena forget Amy just said that. Instead, I had to settle for smacking my best friend probably harder than I should have. “Ow.”

  Serena looked back and forth between the two of us, and before I finished swallowing to say something, she said, “A hot TA? Our TA? J. Kensington?”

  Amy positively glittered. “If the J. Stands for Jack, then yeah. Oh, yeah.”

  “I wasn’t flirting,” I finally got out.

  It was Amy’s turn to snort.
I glared daggers at her, but when did that ever do anything but encourage her? “You were Lainey-flirting so hard.”

  “I don’t even know what that means!”

  “I do,” Serena said. “I’ve seen you in class. You’re most deadly when you’re not flirting, doing your whole sweet-and-innocent thing.”

  “I’m not—it’s not a thing!” I interjected, but they were ignoring me now.

  Amy did her best—which was really good—impression of my voice. She flipped a piece of hair over her shoulder. “Hi helpless boy, I’m over here blushing and stammering atop my mile-long legs. Which do you want to do first: fall in love with me or buy me a beer?”

  “I still haven’t decided against killing you. Remember that.” I flicked my fingers at her before I got up to throw out my trash. I knew full well they were going to continue talking about this as soon as I stepped away. So I listened from the kitchen, curious yet hating myself for it at the same time.

  “Are you busting her balls or is this serious?” Serena asked. She’d lowered her voice, but I could still hear them just fine.

  “Both,” Amy admitted. I could hear her shifting on the couch, probably rolling over so she could better see Serena’s reaction.

  “You better tell me all of it! I thought he always seems a little extra into her in discussion. In a good way.”

  “Oh, he’s into her all right. I’m pretty sure—by which I mean entirely sure, because I am a genius—if it weren’t for the pesky TA thing, he’d have been taking her home by the end of the night. Or sooner.”

  I suppressed a squeak of outrage. I was not that kind of girl. Serena made this kind of hissing sound through her teeth that seemed like approval. “Hell, yes. This is perfect. Why does she seem freaked out about it?”

  “Because that’s how Lainey is. This is exactly what she needs, so she’ll completely try to avoid it. Plus, she has some…baggage. And an ex—that she made an ex—but I think…” Amy had been dropping her voice lower and lower, forcing me to creep closer to the living room door, so I had no trouble hearing when she shouted “…that she’s totally eavesdropping and might as well just come back and talk to us!”

  Busted.

  “This is not what I need,” I told them as I returned to the living room. I pushed Amy’s feet out of the way again so I could sit. When she tried to plop them back in my lap, I pushed them off then too.

  She huffed, but despite her renewed energy around the topic of my not-so-love life, she was still in no condition to fight back. Words always worked fine for her though. “Just by saying that,” she said, one arm back covering her eyes, “you’ve proved it true.”

  “It’s not!”

  “Lainey,” Serena soothed. “Tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

  I opened my mouth to lie and silence fell out. Amy snickered and I slapped her foot. “You need a bigger couch!” she grumbled. “And to get la—”

  “AMY! Jesus. Could you not? That’s not happening.”

  “Would you like it to?” Serena countered. Amy held out her fist and Serena tapped it.

  “God. The two of you. This was a mistake.”

  “On the contrary, Lane, I think this—and one H.O.T.—is just what you needed.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I like your friend,” Serena said, smiling with all her teeth.

  “I don’t. And,” I added, unable to let it go, “just for the record, I would not have gone home with him. I’m not that kind of girl.”

  Serena kind of snort-laughed, while Amy rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”

  “I do. And I’d like to stop talking about this, please.”

  Amy sighed. “So this is about to get boring? I’m going to take a nap. I’ve got to rally.” She poured herself over the edge of the couch and trudged toward her room. With a little wave, she called back to Serena, “Nice meeting you.”

  “You too,” Serena replied, before she turned earnest eyes on me. “Lainey, for real though, if he—”

  “Please let’s drop it.”

  “Just hear me out—if he’s into you, and you’re into him, what’s the problem? The TA thing will end soon enough. It’s not complicated.”

  Behind me, Amy froze a step before continuing on. I sucked in a breath and let it out, slowly. Amy had once said something so similar to me. About Carter. And I’d believed her at the time.

  But it had turned out to be complicated—so complicated. And no matter what Serena said, the Jack situation was already complicated. It wasn’t what I needed; it was everything I was trying to avoid.

  Wasn’t it?

  BY THE TIME Serena and I were wrapping up, Amy was back and looking more human. And I, well, I’d done a good job for a while of ignoring a familiar twist in my stomach.

  “I think you’ll get an A,” Amy said.

  “I hope so.” I closed my laptop along with my eyes and leaned my head back on the couch. I was exhausted.

  “We will,” Serena said, not in a way that sounded like convincing yourself, but like she believed it. I envied her confidence. “You know,” she added, giving the living room again an appraising eye. “For all you want to do all our projects on antiques, this place doesn’t look like it’s full of old things. Except for that.” She pointed at my armoire, which did happen to be the oldest piece in the apartment, though not the oldest I owned. “And that.” She indicated the early 1900s copy of Modern Poetry on one of the end tables.

  “Oh, God,” Amy said. She set her mug of tea on the coffee table rather dramatically and covered her ears. “Please don’t get her going.”

  “You can go any time, you know.” She stuck her tongue out at me and made no moves to leave. “They’re not all strictly antiques,” I told Serena, “though you’re right, that one is old. It’s French, early 1800s.” It was beautiful and gleaming, with a color so deep it was almost black.

  “It cost more than a car,” Amy interjected and Serena’s eyes went a little wide.

  “It didn’t,” I said, but after a look from Amy, I conceded, “it didn’t cost more than a new”—Amy narrowed her eyes—“most new cars. But anyway, the rest of the living room is mostly fifties. Because antique couches aren’t always comfortable or practical.”

  “Because white is practical?” Serena slid her fingers over the creamy leather.

  “It washes we—” I started to say before I recognized she was grinning at me and Amy couldn’t stifle a giggle. “Oh, the two of you! Jesus. I should not have introduced you. Leave my furniture alone.”

  “Aw,” Serena soothed. “Don’t get upset.”

  “We kid because we care, Lane.” Amy yawned and stretched, but still made no moves to get up even while Serena was packing her things.

  “It’s cute,” Serena continued. “I like your…well, it’s more than a hobby.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It is.”

  “How did you even get into it?”

  “Skills of a misspent youth,” Amy piped in. “This is what happens when you don’t go to school.”

  “I went to school.” I stood, ready to see Serena out, but she was looking slightly confused. “You know about my aunt, and how we traveled a lot. She always liked to go to antique stores, flea markets, things like that, for inspiration. Salvage yards too. I’ve seen so many rusted out and cool old cars, I should have taken up photography. Anyway, I liked them too, the shops, with all the old pretty things. I had tutors and school work goes a lot faster when you’re the only student.”

  “So you spent your free time studying antiques?”

  “Some of it, yeah. It’s hard to have friends when you’re constantly on the move…but everywhere we went, there were new antique stores.”

  Serena threw her bag over her shoulder, saying, “You know, now that I see this place and everything…I get you more. That’s a compliment,” she added quickly. “You’re interesting. I get why your homework is always done early. I get why”—she cut her eyes to a still-lounging Amy—“what did you call him
again?”

  “H.O.T.?”

  “Yeah,” Serena said. “I get why Mr. H.O.T is into you, too.”

  “He’s not—” I started, but Amy made a noise in the back of her throat, and Serena cut me off before I could say anything more.

  “He is.” I kept my mouth closed, because that twist in my stomach was rolling again, and I was half hoping, half hating that what she said might be true. “I get it,” she repeated. “And thanks for letting me come over. I get why you don’t invite people here too.”

  She gave me a quick hug as we said goodbye, and I closed the door behind her feeling like I—finally—had another friend.

  My old friend was still waiting for me in the living room. I settled back onto my end of the couch and put my feet up on the coffee table.

  “What’re you doing tonight?” Amy asked as I sat down.

  “I think you’re looking at it.” I glanced over at her. Maybe this was what she wanted to talk about. “Did you want to just stay here? Get takeout and watch a movie?”

  She shook her head. “I mean, I do, but I should go. I have a date later.”

  “A what?”

  She grinned. “A phone date.”

  “On Saturday night?”

  Amy wrapped one of her curls around her finger. “It’s the only time Caleb’s roommate isn’t around.”

  “What difference does—” I started to say, but I figured it out by the way Amy’s grin had spread. I felt my cheeks light up and I put my hands over them. “Ew. Okay. Well, have fun then.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, then paused. Instead of whatever she really wanted to talk about, she nodded toward the door and said, “She was cool.”

  “She is,” I agreed. “She’s…kind of like you; I wondered if you’d get along.”

  Amy cut me a look. “You doubted me? I get along with everyone.”

  “Oh yeah?” I laughed. “Since when? You tolerate your roommate, you hate your lab partner, and let’s not even mention a few names from high school.”

  Bingo. A look passed over Amy’s face, like I’d just opened a door she’d been locked on the other side of. She cleared her throat delicately. “Speaking of high school—”