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Songbird_A Small-Town Romantic Comedy

Page 16

by Caroline Tate


  “Yeah, okay.”

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, something I've never been comfortable doing around another child. But I'm too preoccupied to let it affect me right now.

  “Are you Mason’s girlfriend?” she finally asks.

  “No,” I say, taking another long drag. But even as I say it, I realize that if Mason heard me say that, it’d probably hurt him. But why? I'm not his girlfriend, and that's the truth. We haven't even talked about a relationship with one another.

  Sure, we'd joked about girlfriend boyfriend stuff. But as far as an actual, legitimate relationship?

  "Was that your boyfriend on the phone then?" she asks, stopping me with my cigarette halfway to my mouth. Beth's gaze is sharp in the night, but she comes off as innocent. A child, yes. But a smarter one than I ever was at sixteen.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” I say.

  “Have you had a lot of boyfriends?”

  Feeling like I'm being interrogated here on the lawn, I want to ask her what's with all the questions. Sounding meaner than I intend, I answer. "No. Have you?"

  Beth laughs, her hair frizzing against the lawn chair.

  "No," she sighs. "There's a guy I like at school, but he's older than me so I probably can't have him."

  I shrug.”Your brother’s older than me.”

  “By how much?”

  “Seven years “

  "Ew," she sings, her voice ricocheting off the shed, echoing out over into the neighbor's yard.

  Laughing, I stub my cigarette out on a wet leaf that I pick up from the ground. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s better when you get older.”

  “Yeah, well it sounds awful.”

  “You know,” I say, hugging my knees tighter to my chest. “You’re a cool kid, Beth.” I see her eyes trace over me, lingering on Mason’s shirt.

  "He likes you a bunch," she says.

  My heart drops, and for a split second, I think she's talking about John. "Who does?" I ask, almost defensively.

  "Mason, duh." Her answer makes me feel instantly stupid in the way only a teenager can.

  “Really? What makes you say that?

  “Yeah, like a lot,” she says with wide, sparkling eyes.

  I narrow my gaze at her. “Did he say something?”

  Beth shakes her head. “He didn’t have to. He’s never brought a girl here before,” she smirks. “And he’s not sleeping on the couch.”

  Not being able to suppress it, I grin. “You should go to bed. Don’t you have school tomorrow?”

  "Yeah." She yawns, stretching her arms up to the nighttime sky. "I hate it though."

  "Well," I say, my tone empathetic. "If you don't hate school as a teenager, you're doing it wrong."

  "Thanks for a great birthday, Ellie. Will I ever see you again?" Her voice has a forlorn, hopeful type of ring to it as she asks me.

  The question catches me completely off-guard and makes my heart ache in an innocent way. "I'm sure you will," I nod with a hint of sadness underlying my answer. Because I'm not actually sure at all.

  "Okay, good." Standing, she turns back to me with a smirk. "I know Mason likes you. But I really like you, too."

  "Thanks, kiddo," I say right before she disappears into the house.

  Letting my head roll back onto the top of the chair, I stare up at the stars. Looking around at the house, this entire neighborhood, Mason's job, his put-together family, I think that no matter what Mason says now, I'm never going to be what he wants in the long run. I'm a chain-smoking barista with too many band T-shirts and not enough furniture. The white picket fence life is never going to be for me, regardless of how much he or his sister likes me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mason

  “You’re awfully quiet. Is everything all right?” I ask.

  Ellie lifts her head from the window and looks at me as we head out of Raleigh. I can't tell much. But I know she's been watching the early morning scenery roll by us.

  "Yes," she says, sniffing. She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. For a second, I think she might be crying.

  “You sure?”

  She doesn't answer me, and the silence between us is awkward. At first, I wonder if she's just not a morning person. But as we pick up the interstate to head toward Southport, I feel like I've done something wrong. Like she's playing distant just so I'll leave her alone.

  Which is odd only because we got along so well last night. During and after sex, she seemed totally satisfied with me— sexually and emotionally. Like I was finally enough for her.

  From my experience, the entire night was incredible. From the car ride, to the concert with Beth, to the pool underneath the stars. It all makes this morning's silence that much more gut-wrenching. Not what I expected at all. In fact, I can still hear her in the back of my mind. Her playful banter, the divinity measured in her voice, the way she let me kiss her last night deep in pleasure. God, take me back. And suddenly, it hits me what will make her feel better. "Do you want any music?"

  "No." Folding her arms over her chest, she yawns and pushes her cheek to the window again.

  “How about breakfast? We can stop for coffee or a doughnut? You didn’t eat anything at the house.”

  "No, thanks."

  A deep well of concern gathers at the base of my skull. "Is that all I'll get from you today? A handful of no's?"

  She doesn't answer me but shrugs and rubs her temple as if I'm giving her the world‘s worst headache.

  Alright. Understood.

  Unfortunately for both of us, traffic is slow this morning. Our car is silent besides the hum of the engine and the few sighs that Ellie lets escape her annoyed mouth.

  A few times, I consider trying to break the ice, giving it one more shot with her. But the miserable mood radiating off of her stops me in my tracks until I realize something. Maybe she's needing the humor. I revert back to our inside joke knowing that it'll, at the very least, garner a smirk. "So, I guess we'll get to have sex after this fight, right? I mean, since you are my girlfriend and all.”

  "I'm not your girlfriend," she says deadpan.

  I don't speak a word for at least five more miles, but my mind is going crazy. It was our joke, an inside one that she'd found amusing until about six minutes ago.

  And on the flip-side. Why will she not accept that we work well together? Why is she so adamant that we have nothing between us? When we reach the Wilmington exit, I can't hold it in any longer. "Why do you think we wouldn't work together? Is it me?"

  "Jesus, Mason." With a scoff, she shakes her head like I'm a monster.

  "Look, I'm sorry if I did something to offend you. I just am not sure why you're suddenly not good with things between us. Are you okay?" But before I can brace myself for a response, she snaps.

  "Stop, Mason! I am one-hundred-percent, so totally and completely okay with everything. Why do you always ask me that and assume I'm just—" she spurts in annoyance, her words sputtering out like she's run out of fuel. I don't understand her. Like we hadn't just spent the entire night tangled up in one another. Her standoffishness is something new to me this trip. And already, I find it deep and dangerous. An uncharted territory.

  But this mood. I don’t understand how. I’d felt her next to me all night craving my touch, her arm draped over my stomach, cheek pressed to my chest like she’d disappear if we weren’t touching one another. But somehow we woke up on completely different planes. Opposite pages of the same book.

  "Why do I always ask if you're okay?" I say, sounding harsher than I mean. "Oh, I don't know, Ellie. I guess because I really care about you."

  “Well, maybe you should stop.”

  My voice catching in my throat, I scoff to hide my irritation. "Are you serious?"

  “Yep,” she says simply.

  And all I’m hearing is arrogance. My palms grow sweaty against the steering wheel, and I can feel the heat rising in the back of my neck. “What’s your problem?” I ask knowing her response won’t fare w
ell.

  “Nothing. You.”

  "What the fuck, Ellie? I was inside you hours ago, and you can't even be honest with me?"

  "I was honest when I said I'm not interested in a relationship," she says through gritted teeth. "I'm not looking for anything serious, and I thought you understood that."

  "I've been nothing but good to you. But somehow that isn't enough. I brought you to meet my family for fuck's sake. What was I thinking?" I say more to myself than to her.

  “I never asked for any of it. You blackmailed me into going by holding my festival hostage with your stupid paper.”

  Her accusation makes me burst out into a mad sort of laughter, the thought of me blackmailing her actually absurd. "Is that what you think? You really think I wouldn't have written anything unless you promised to come with me? What kind of people do you surround yourself with for you to think that's normal?"

  She inhales sharply, and I feel like I might have just made her cry. “You really want me to answer that? The reason I don’t want a relationship? The reason why I see nothing but bad in most people?”

  Whatever bomb she’s about to drop on me, I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to force her to explode with it.

  Taking a deep breath, she balls her fists up in her lap. "Three months ago, I thought I was pregnant. My boyfriend left me while I was working a shift at the Bean. I dealt with the fallout on my own. So yeah, I'm not perfect, okay? I get angry and scared talking about things like relationships. I use humor so I don't have to deal with the hurtful shit. I don't have a family I can run to when things get tough or lonely. I don't have anything except what I've given myself since high school," she says, swiping at her cheek. "So don't sit there and tell me that there's something wrong with the way I look at the world. This is the only world I've known. And if you're going to be pissed off at me for accepting that, then you're part of the problem." Sighing, she crosses her arms and leans back against the window.

  My heart drops. I want nothing more than to pull over this car, reach over, and hug her. Searching my mind for something that'll remedy the situation, I dig back to how we met. How our paths crossed. "You chose me, Ellie. Of all the people at that concert, you gave that ticket to me." I clear my throat trying to push away the emotion. "I don't know why or how I ended up with that ticket. But we were brought together. Doesn't that count for something?"

  Shaking her head, she tilts her chin to her chest. "You were the closest person to me the moment I decided to throw it away. It could've been anyone."

  We're silent for the rest of the drive until I take the Southport exit. One complete hour of radio silence. Something I can't shake with her.

  "Do you want to come over tonight?" I ask quietly. I can't tell if my words are more out of desperation or kindness. "Or if you're tired, I can take you to my house. I have to go into the office for a bit, but if you want to get some sleep."

  She smiles sadly and wipes something from her eyes. “Please quit trying to turn me into your girl or whatever,” she whispers, her voice wavering. “I will never fit right with you.”

  Fit right? I cannot lose her like this. "We're not walking around like some mismatched puzzle pieces," I say. "This is me wanting to spend time with you, Ellie. Wanting to make you comfortable."

  Sniffling, she wipes her eye again as a tear rolls down her cheek. "Life isn't supposed to be comfortable or fair for everyone. Life is screwed up. And your kind isn't supposed to mix with my kind."

  “My kind?” The phrase tightens my chest with a sharp sort of sadness.

  "Your rich, white-picket-fence neighborhood. Where everything is cookie cutter sameness. And that's not me. I don't fit in with everyone else." She lowers her voice. "The only reason your sister thinks I'm cool is that I'm completely different than the people she's grown up around. I just— I don't fit in."

  Pulling into her driveway, I throw the car into park. "Ellie, I don't want you to fit in with everyone else. That's what I love about you," I say, meaning the word in every single sense. Reaching over, I put my hand on her bare knee. "Will you please look at me?"

  Ignoring me, she continues. “You’ll grow tired of me eventually, just like every other guy. I’m a commodity at first until I’m not. You’ll grow tired of my differences soon.”

  I let out a puff of air when she throws the car door open. Not having a chance to open the door for her, I walk her to the stoop. As she fiddles with her keys, I stand there awkwardly wanting to kiss her goodbye.

  "You can't come in," she says her voice raspy, lacking emotion.

  With my ego completely shattered, there's not much left for me to say. "Okay."

  After she gets the door open, she reaches out for a quick, cold hug. "Thanks for the trip," she says with another tear streaming down her cheek. Trying to smile at me, she bobs her head. "It was a lot of fun."

  When I turn back to my car, the realization hits me that maybe she just wanted me for a lay. Or to promote her music festival. Either way, Ellie has won. And a huge part of me feels like this might be the last time I ever see her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ellie

  My cell phone buzzes from the counter of the cafe as I wipe down the glass of the refrigerated drink case up front. I sigh. My week has been a blur, a pre-festival haze of confusion that I can’t quite keep straight. My phone has been constantly ringing off the hook with people needing me to field questions from Charlie and the rest of the gang at the drop of a dime. The bands are all seeking unnecessary third and fourth confirmations of hotel and transportation arrangements, vendors are emailing and calling with last-minute requests for their booths, and, of course, John.

  Of course.

  I'd blocked his number right before Mason's sister found me in the middle of the backyard after four in the morning last week. But earlier today, I had acquired six missed calls from a different Wilmington number on my phone. It wasn't until I listened to yet another rambling, drunken voicemail that I realized it was John calling me from a different number. As I move on to wipe down the sweet tea shelf, my first thought is that John must've resorted to day-drinking. My second thought? I may not be good enough for Mason. But I’m better than this.

  Marching back over to my vibrating phone, I drop the rag into the sink, and with a swift tap of my phone screen, I block John’s second number. It feels good to take a stand for myself, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief when my phone finally falls silent for the first time in a few days.

  The only people I haven't heard from are the Boxley Brothers and Mason— the only two calls I've actually been hoping for. I texted Mason last week after I'd gotten some sleep and asked if we could meet up to talk. But he told me he was busy, that he'd call me over the weekend. Now Tuesday morning, still not having heard from him, I'm worried that I screwed things up for good. I know I was a bitch on Thursday, but my side of the argument is understandable, right? I am way too different to fit in with his life.

  The bell on the front door rings. Looking up, I'm not expecting a crowd since Tuesday mornings aren't usually busy past nine, so I'm pleasantly surprised to see Brooke crossing the wide-planked floor wearing some sort of a short linen romper. She's waving a white piece of paper in the air like a white flag, and her grin is so wide, something almost feels wrong.

  “I got in!” she shrieks, handing me the piece of paper. It’s a printed email, and I start to read it, but barely get past the word ‘Congratulations’ before Brooke is talking my ear off.

  “These people loved my portfolio. They say I have ‘real talent for design and a creative eye for the unique and unexpected’. Isn’t that amazing?”

  Laughing, I give her a hard time. "That's wonderful, Brooke. I am so happy for you. I knew you'd get in though. Did you print this just so you could wave it in my face?"

  "They said my design has a real flair for the dramatic, too," she says, not hearing me.

  "Oh, really?" I laugh. I begin making her usual latte, except decaf today because any more
energy, and she'll start draining me of my own.

  "Sorry, I'm just incredibly happy. I feel like the genie in that golden lamp in Aladdin. How he finally gets free after years." She spreads her arms wide and hops toward the counter. "I'm outta here," she sings in imitation.

  “Are you not working today?”

  "Are you kidding me? I quit as soon as I got the email. No more ‘sugar tits' and ‘sweet ass' for this girl."

  I laugh and push Brooke’s mug across the counter.

  “So how was Raleigh?” she asks, running a hand through her curls.

  “Tell me more about SCAD,” I say without missing a beat.

  "It was that bad?"

  “No. I mean, the show was great. And Mason gave me a good idea to replace Monsoon with the Boxley Brothers, but we left things in a weird place and—”

  “Code for you slept together, right?” she asks, and I pause a second too long. “I knew it! How was it? He looks like one of those strong, silent types that reads a lot but is a total freak in the sack.”

  “Oh my God, shut up,” I say, feeling my cheeks go red.

  "So what happened?" She sips from her latte.

  "It was—" I shrug and shake my head. "It was entirely great. The whole day with him was perfect. And I accidentally told him I loved him, I think?"

  Brooke gasps, throwing an echo down the shop. "No!"

  Nodding, I study the counter suddenly embarrassed. "I don't think he heard me though, because it was during everything. And he was like— grunting."

  Giggling, Brooke shakes her head. "God, Ellie."

  "But after he fell asleep, I kept thinking about how bad things could turn out if we were to take it to any other level than casual. Mason and I are not made from the same fabric."

  “Cloth,” Brooke says.

  “What?”

  “The saying is you’re not cut from the same cloth.”

  "Whatever. Must be a SCAD thing. Anyway, I just— I mean, it would work out fine, probably, at least short-term. But long-term, there's too much pain there. Too many things that can go wrong in a relationship."

 

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