The five of us are scattered around a large, round table at Dixon's Deli, a bustling lunch joint that caters more to townies than to Adams students. It's not the kind of place where the son of billionaire Josiah Conroy or any of his frat brothers would turn up. At least, I hope it isn't.
Aliyah looks at the menu and frowns. "Why does everything here come with mayo?" Aliyah is half Ethiopian, half Italian, and all vegan. She dresses in cruelty-free fibers and won't even kill mosquitoes.
"Just order coffee," grumbles Sasha, shaking out her long, pale blonde hair. She's from the Ukraine and models part time in New York City. Her face is all planes and angles, and she always looks hungry.
"We're not all starving ourselves," says Esther, a tiny brunette wearing giant, horn-rimmed glasses that make her look just slightly bug-eyed. "I'm going to have the apple pie with whipped cream." Both Sasha and Aliyah grimace in response.
While the others put in their orders at the counter, I focus on my phone. I check the text messages first and find a bogus offer for a free iPad and a quote for auto insurance. Then I check my Gmail and send a quick hello to Gran. Finally, I scroll through my Facebook feed. Laird's face is on my Friends toolbar, and there's a little green dot next to his name. He's online, and he still hasn't contacted me. I'm checking my text messages again when Darcy snatches the phone from my hands.
"Hey!" I yelp.
"Girls," says Darcy, holding up my phone, "this is why we're here. Amity has graciously given her V-pass to a young man who shall remain nameless. He's not calling or texting her, and she's getting a little obsessed."
"Did he know it was your first time?" asks Sasha with barest hint of an accent.
"I don't think so," I reply. "I didn't tell him. It never really came up."
Aliyah looks thoughtful. "Have you met any of his close friends?"
This one makes me think. I did meet some of the pledges when they grabbed Ethan. But I haven't met any of the other brothers I see him with at the Adams Apple. And he did sneak me up the stairs last night. "No," I say. "Not really."
Now it's Esther's turn. "Did you at least get breakfast together?"
"No."
"What about coffee?"
"No. I kind of snuck out while he was sleeping. I just freaked out. I didn't want to do the walk of shame in front of all his frat brothers." The girls exchange meaningful looks, and I die a little inside. Kappa Alpha Delta is the only frat with a house on campus. Now they could easily guess the guy I'm asking about is Laird.
"You know," says Esther in a soft, sympathetic voice, "it all depends on what you want. Do you want to be his friend, his booty call, or his girlfriend?"
I shake my head. Yes, I think, I'd like to be his girlfriend, but right now that seems like an impossible dream. "I don't know," I mumble, picking at the label on my bottle of water.
"She totally wants to be his girlfriend," stage whispers Darcy, smirking. I give her a gentle kick under the table.
Esther removes her glasses and looks at me with large, almond-shaped eyes. "It's like this," she explains. "Guys want girlfriends who are a little elusive and hard to get. If you text him now and make yourself available, he knows he doesn't have to work for you. You'll end up as his booty call or the friend he fools around with after studying for finals."
The other girls nod sagely, while I sink deeply into my plastic chair. I want to text him. In fact, I want it like I'd want a slice of orange after a hot, early-season cross country practice. But I'm not going to do it. Clearly, this is a battle of wills, and I'm going to win it.
Amity the Calamity would have accepted second place. The Amityville Horror would have been grateful to be Laird's booty call, just like she was grateful to Ethan when he wanted her to be his special friend.
Well, I tell myself, I'm not in high school any more. I'm not going to text Laird.
No. Matter. What.
/////////////////////////
I'm going for a run for the first time since my last cross country practice almost three years ago, and I'm totally out of shape. I run awkwardly along the bike paths leading through campus and try to capture the steady rhythm I used to find so calming. It doesn't work. All I can do is bump along and try to ignore the horrible burning in my throat and the tightness in my lungs. I curse the lone cigarette I smoke every other day before Mammalian Anatomy, colloquially known as the Dissection Horror Show.
The girls all said working out is a great way to distract yourself from a guy who's gone dark. I suppose they had a point. Right now, my attention is entirely consumed by total physical misery. I slow my pace a little to see if that helps, and it does. I take a few long, slow breaths and begin to pay more attention to my surroundings.
The weather is sunny and warm, New England summer's last stand. The trees are green, deciduous, and gentle. They don't have the moist, rubbery look that characterizes so much of the plant life in central Florida. It's also nice to run without having to scan the ground periodically for baby gators, escaped pet cobras, cottonmouths, and other dangerous creatures that love the year-round heat as much as humans do.
My eyes sweep over the mix of stone and wooden buildings that make up the Adams campus. It's really a beautiful place and a world away from the strip malls of Triple Marsh. As the pavement under my feet changes from asphalt to cobblestones, I realize that I've reached the Row, the street where Laird and I walked arm in arm, totally absorbed in each other.
I slow my pace even more on the rough surface and try to remember what Laird and I talked about. A lot of it was just silly banter and the usual getting-to-know-you chatter. But we also talked about our families. And our missing mothers. I thought we had a real bond, but I suppose it was only a few transient moments of shared grief and lust. As I approach the end of the Row where Kappa Alpha Delta sits like a sentinel, I see a flash of blond hair and a V-shaped torso. Whoever he is, he reminds me of Laird.
He also reminds me that I'm probably too close to Kappa Alpha Delta for my own good. I turn around and run as fast as I can back to the relative safety of my dorm, each breath feeling like it's my last.
/////////////////////////
I open the door to my room and see that Darcy is on FaceTime with a dark-haired guy who looks vaguely like a thin, twentysomething Elvis. I'm about to duck back out and give her some privacy when she waves me in.
"Evan," she says to her web cam, "this is my roommate, Amity."
I wave hello, suddenly conscious of my red, sweaty face.
Evan grins at Darcy, and he looks less like Elvis and more like a friendly, dark-haired loaf of bread. "A roommate whose name means friendship? You lucked out. Talk soon, babe?"
"You know it," says Darcy as she shuts down the program and turns her full attention to me. "Did you have a good run?"
"Yeah, it was as good as it could have been, considering that I'm totally out of shape." I stare at her for a few moments, and ask the question I know I shouldn't.
"Did I get any messages?"
Darcy takes my phone out of her desk and taps on the screen a few times. "Sorry, girl. I got nothing. Do you want it back now?"
I think about it seriously. The phone is a gateway to Laird. I could take it and text him right now. We could arrange a secret meet up. I could be safe in his arms within hours, and nobody would have to know.
"No," I say quickly, before I can change my mind. "Keep it away from me. I can't be trusted."
Chapter 20: Laird
I'm back on the train, on my way into the city. Caspar backed the Maserati into a parking meter and left a big dent in the rear bumper. Now it's in the shop. Dad loves his cars, and he'd have a fit if he found out I returned one in less than pristine condition.
I compulsively check my Facebook feed and text messages. Damn it. There's nothing from Amity. I'm about to turn off my phone and try not to be such a pathetic little pussy, when I get a new text from Ember.
Thinking about you today. Waiting. Wanting. Needing.
She's attached
a photo of her cleavage. A golden, heart-shaped necklace nestles between her breasts. Since she's been going to school in New York City, her skin has faded from a warm tan to a pale peach. Amity has small breasts and olive-toned skin. I could feel her ribs and hip bones whenever we came together. It took time to maneuver her into a comfortable position, but when she got there, she melted against me in a rush of sighs. I miss her, but I keep telling myself that having feelings for the girl whose life I helped destroy is a perfect punishment.
My phone vibrates, sending a jolt of electricity through by body. Could it be Amity?
No. It's Ember again.
Where are you anyway? How long will I have to wait? Need, need, need. Want, want, want.
I sigh loudly enough that the businesswoman across the aisle turns and scowls at me. I mouth, "Sorry." This time Ember sent a close up of her lips, slick with red gloss and waiting to be kissed. I want her, and I hate myself for wanting her. I text her back.
I'll be there soon.
/////////////////////////
My lawyer's office is dark and claustrophobic, like a sick womb. The windows are obscured by chocolate brown curtains, and the walls are paneled in some kind of deep brown wood. The furniture is all overstuffed leather. I want to run out of this meeting and into the sun, but I force myself to stay still. I came here for a very good reason.
Clancy Donovan, my lawyer, looks at me with world-weary eyes. He used to be my father's lawyer, until Dad switched to a younger, more obedient man who doesn't trouble him with so much legal advice.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, sounding at least a thousand years old.
"Yes. I think it will bring me peace."
Clancy shakes his blocky, distinguished head, causing his jowls to wobble slightly. "For the record, I have to advise you against this."
I nod. This is what lawyers are supposed to do. "I appreciate your honesty, but I still want to do it." I wiggle my toes inside my loafers. I really want to get out of here. Ember is waiting for me and, if the constant vibration of my phone is any indication, she's getting impatient.
But Clancy isn't ready to give up yet. "Have you really thought this through?" he asks. "Your father is going to hit the roof when he finds out, and I have no idea what he's going to do. For all I know, he might cut you off entirely, and then you could find yourself in a very difficult position. You can't access the bulk of your trust until you turn thirty."
I shrug off his objections. "My father's given me a generous allowance for years, and I've been saving for a rainy day. If it ever gets too rainy, I'll do what everybody else does. I'll get a job."
Clancy frowns, and the deep folds leading from his nose to the corners of his mouth make him look oddly simian. "Don't delude yourself," he says gruffly. "You're not like everybody else. You don't understand how to survive in the real world. I've seen this scenario play out countless times. Without your daddy's money or your trust fund, you'll burn through your savings in about three months. Then you'll start drinking or drugging and end up in rehab."
Rage burns through me like a wildfire. "You work for me, right?" I ask Clancy.
"Yes, but..."
"No buts. I want you to disperse the first portion of my trust to Annabel Grant, and I want you to do it through a blind corporate entity so she can't trace it back to me."
Amity's grandmother doesn't know it yet, but she's about to win the lottery.
/////////////////////////
When I arrive at Ember's apartment, the door is unlocked. I shake my head. She's getting more and more reckless. I lock the door behind me and follow a trail of silky underthings to the bedroom. She's lying nude on the bed, all smooth peachy curves. She arches her back like a contented cat and beckons to me.
I go to her, but I don't feel good about it.
/////////////////////////
Ember and I lie in bed tangled in her sheets. We're each covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She snuggles into the crook of my arm, and I think back to high school, when she was my first girlfriend and then my first everything. It's hard to believe how innocent we were. Those first fragile weeks with Ember before Mom was diagnosed were the last time I felt happy and whole.
Through some sixth sense, Ember senses I'm drifting and pulls me back to the present. "Laird," she says, wriggling against me. "Earth to Laird."
"I'm here. I'm just thinking of high school. When we first got together. Before my mom got sick."
I can hear the smile in her voice. "Yeah, we had some great times. Before your mom died, the accident happened, and everything got weird."
"I know," I say, stroking her fine, blonde hair that feels so different from Amity's long, thick curls. "I know."
Ember shifts position so she's lying across from me. She rests her head on a pillow and looks into my eyes. "I have something to ask you," she says softly. "Why are you messing with that girl from the accident? You're writing on her Wall all the time, almost like you're flirting with her. You know how sick that is, right?"
"I agree. It is pretty sick, considering that we basically killed her mother. But we actually have a lot in common. Losing a parent in high school is really tough. She gets it." I tell Ember about meeting Amity at the cemetery and later at Adams, and about the touching conversations we've had since we reconnected. Of course, I leave out our electric physical connection.
Ember sighs. It's a girlish, musical sound. "How do you think she'd react if you told her the truth?"
I've asked myself this question many times over the past few days, and I already know the answer. "I don't think she'd be very happy with me," I say in a small, tired voice. "And the guilt—for the accident and now for not telling her what I did—is already making me sick. It's always there, like a constant whisper in the back of my mind. Sometimes I feel like I can't breathe."
Ember rubs my shoulders, and a painful knot begins to unravel. If Amity is the only one who understands my loss, Ember is the only one who knows my guilt. As I feel more and more relaxed, I find the words flowing out of me. Maybe Ember will be glad to hear how I'm helping Amity.
I tell her about the arrangements I've made to give away part of my trust fund, so Amity can start her life after college unencumbered by debt—something Ember and I take for granted. I tell her about my lawyer's concerns—that I will end up broke and broken—and all the uncertainties that have taken root in my mind since I signed the papers. I worry that Amity's grandmother isn't as selfless as she sounds, and that Amity will somehow figure out that her grandmother's lottery winnings are actually blood money.
When I'm done, Ember is quiet, and her face is a calm, placid mask. I wonder if she thinks I'm some kind of obsessive, self-destructive freak. Then she squeezes my hand and smiles, tears springing to her eyes. "You are such a good person," she says. "It just makes me want you even more."
Ember reaches for me, and I close my eyes. We come together in equal parts passion and regret.
/////////////////////////
I sneak into Ab Psych late, just as the professor is shooing everyone into their seats. It's been four days since my night with Amity, and we haven't exchanged so much as a one-line Facebook message. We've somehow become solidly estranged.
I hurry up the stairs to the back of the auditorium and take a seat on the aisle. I quickly set up my computer to take notes and watch as Professor Carmichael writes Narcissistic Personality Disorder on the blackboard. In smaller letters, he writes God Complex. The words sting me, even though I know they're just the topic for today's lecture. I ask myself if I've just played God with Amity's life, not truly to make amends, but because there's something deeply wrong with me.
I'm wondering if Dad's insatiable need for the adoration of young women is also some kind of narcissism when I see her. Amity is sitting across the auditorium, flanked by her roommate and a tiny, bespectacled brunette. My heart slows and then lurches into an uncontrolled acceleration. You can't do this, I tell myself. You've made your decision. Stop playing w
ith her life.
I force myself to focus on my computer screen and on the professor, and keep it up for the full forty-five-minute class.
When I finally look up again, she's gone, and I'm devastated.
Chapter 21: Amity
It's Saturday night. Everyone's at parties or having fun with their friends. There's another beer bash at Laird's frat. Darcy, Aliyah, and Esther are watching Sasha play the world's most glamorous homeless woman ever in a student-written play. Even Kendall has a date.
I'm here at the Adams Apple, working the shift no one else wanted, cleaning the backup espresso maker, and feeling really sorry for myself. Ever since that night with Laird, there's been an empty space in my life. We could talk to each other about our broken family trees without fear of judgment. He also seemed to really like me, despite my minor factory defects. I wish he was still my friend.
"Any questions about closing up?"
I turn and see Kendall looking surprisingly human in a little black dress. "Nope. I'm supposed to steal all the money from the register and flee the country, right?"
Kendall frowns, and I feel stupid. Something about her stiff manner and devotion to rules makes me want to joke around. The problem is that I'm not very funny.
"Sorry, Kendall. Closing up should be no problem." I smile brightly, hoping to inspire her confidence, but it seems to do the opposite.
"Don't forget to lock the cash drawer and leave the key in my desk drawer. See you Monday!" Kendall flashes me a tight, nervous smile and ducks out the door.
As I put the espresso maker back together, I watch the Saturday night crowd sip coffee and pore through books. Even these ostensible nerdlings are mostly coupled up. I recognize a few people from my organic chemistry class and feel a stab of guilt. I got a perfect score on the first quiz, but that won't happen again if I don't spend more time studying and less time obsessing over a guy who's obviously done with me.
Amends: A Love Story Page 13
