by Hawk, Maya
“Guess what?” I say, spitting my words at him as if he’s the intended target.
“I know,” he says. His face is sullen.
He knows?!
“Yeah, it means we can be together again.” His lips pull into a smart-ass grin, as if he thinks this situation is funny.
“You’re disgusting.” My arms fly across my chest, interlocking tightly. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?!”
Sut’s head cocks to the side, and he scratches just above his perfectly arched eyebrow. It’s dark and not too hairy like most guys. Perfectly manly without looking manicured. I hate that I’m concentrating on how good his brows look right now, but that’s what I do. I focus on irrelevant things when the real stuff is too difficult to deal with.
“I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.” He steps toward me, placing his hands on the sides of my crossed arms. He smells like a fresh shower and laundered scrubs. “Our parents are divorcing.”
“James is cheating on me.”
James cheating on me trumps our parents divorcing. I could give two shits about what my jackass father is doing. He’s a moron. He never should’ve left my mother, and he doesn’t deserve my sympathy. He doesn’t deserve for me to give a flying fuck about what’s going on in his life.
“Oh. Shit.” Sut exhales, but judging by the vague look on his face he’s not surprised. “Let me make you a drink before I go to work.”
I throw myself across his leather sofa, as if I’m suddenly comfortable and ready to make myself at home. Really, I just don’t care. I don’t care that I look like shit. I don’t care that I swore I’d never be friends with Sutton again. I don’t care about a damn thing.
I’m temporarily anesthetized by the tremendous amount of betrayal circulating my body. It hurts so much that it doesn’t hurt, if that makes sense.
My hand glides along the soft, buttery leather but my palm senses nothing. Sut’s fixing a drink for me in the kitchen, some clamoring and the sound of his ‘fridge opening and shutting sounds far away. Tinny almost. I’m out of my body and nothing feels real.
“Here we are.” He sits a martini glass filled with some light pink drink in front of me. “Vodka cranberry.”
I reach for it as if I’m dying of thirst, and I swallow it all in four generous gulps. I don’t taste it though, and judging by how smoothly it went down, it was definitely expensive stuff. For a second, I ask myself why he’d have martini glasses sitting around. He’s a beer kind of guy. Did they belong to an old girlfriend?
And does it even matter?!
I shake my head, my body feeling warm from the liquor coursing my veins. I welcome it like a warm blanket of superficial, momentary comfort.
“How long?” he asks, his face winced.
“I don’t know,” I mutter. “Judging by his emails, I’d say a good couple months.” I lift my empty glass. “Got anymore of this?”
He fixes me another drink, and I sit in silence, mourning the loss of my future. Just a few days ago it was all mapped out. I thought my heart was safe with James. I thought everything would fall into place. I thought he was my happily ever after.
“I’d ask what you’re thinking right now, but I don’t think I want to know.” Sut rests my fresh drink on a coaster, and I realize my face is so pinched it’s beginning to hurt. “Look like you’re about two seconds from needing something to punch.”
I lunge for my drink, bringing it to my lips before saying, “I’m done. I’m done with men.”
“Ah, now, Lauryn.” Sut chuckles. “Not all guys are pieces of shit who can’t keep their dicks in their pants.”
“I’ve yet to be proven wrong about a single one of them,” she insists.
“But there’s where you’re wrong.” He lowers himself back to the sofa, sitting next to me. Our hips are touching. He turns to me, his eyes focusing on my pained face, watching me intently. “I’ve never cheated on anyone. Ever. I never will.”
I fly into a standing position, rolling my eyes. “God, Sut, you can’t stop with the sales pitch for five minutes, can you?”
Now I look stupid for standing up. I’m not trying to leave yet. I don’t want to go back to my place, and I’m not quite ready to leave Sut’s.
“I’m not trying to sell myself. I’m stating a fact.” He stands, slipping his hand across my arm and turning me to face him. “Besides. I don’t need to sell myself to you Lauryn. You already care about me. I know that for a fact.”
My brows furrow, and I toss him a sarcastic, “Oh, really?”
“You used to love me, Lauryn. You loved me so much, that you pushed me away. And you continue to push me away because you still love me.”
He’s right. Even in my half-buzzed state, I know he’s right. I say nothing, choosing to neither confirm nor deny his allegations.
“James was an opportunist.” Sut’s mouth hardens into a straight line. “He knows you have a trust fund, right?”
I nod. “More or less.”
The day I met James at a national conference for pharmaceutical reps, he approached me asking if anyone had ever told me I looked like Diane Hudson.
“She’s my mother,” I told him, watching his eyes light up the way everyone’s always did when they found out I was the daughter of a famous movie star.
I should’ve known.
“Look. I met James in med school. The only reason that ass hat ever wanted to be a doctor was so he could make money, drive a flashy car, and convince the rest of the world that his dick isn’t three inches too small.”
He earns a snicker from me and a half smile.
“He failed out of med school and then proceeded to date every girl on campus with a seven figure trust fund. Let me guess, his mistress? She has money?”
I bite my lip and stare at the ground, offering a reluctant nod that seals the fact that Sutton is spot on about James.
“Fucking dick.” Sut says as he checks his timepiece. He steps away from me, and I immediately miss the coziness of his body heat. “Laur, I’m late for work.”
We walk to the door together, and my eyes fall to his ass. The scrubs hug his muscles, and for whatever reason I’m fixated on the way they shift when he walks. A man that attractive making a living as a doctor is a killer combination. I’m dying to know why he’s still single and how some cunning temptress with beauty queen good looks hasn’t swept him off his feet yet.
“You like being a doctor don’t you? Delivering babies?” I ask as we head to his hall. He’s locking his door and he stops, turning to me and smiling.
“I love it.” His phone rings, and his smile fades just as quickly as it had appeared. “Dr. Pierce…”
I give him a wave, not getting the chance to tell him I’ll see him Monday or to thank him for the drinks.
And then I realize for the last two minutes I haven’t had a single thought about James. Sutton made it all go away, if only temporarily.
FOURTEEN – LAURYN
11 years ago – senior year, Christmas break
I ring the doorbell of Sandra’s house – correction, Sandra and my dad’s house. It feels weird ringing it. I used to be able to just walk right in. It was a second home to me for as long as I could remember.
And then Sandra and dad married. Locks and key codes changed. Harsh words were spewed, and warm welcomes became awkward exchanges. It never felt right walking in after that.
“She’s here!” I hear my dad yell behind the door before it bursts open. He’s excited to see me. With a warm glass of buttered rum in his hand and Christmas music playing over the intercom system, it’s full-swing Christmas-mode at Sut’s house.
“Hey…dad.” I try to make myself smile, but my face is paralyzed into a permanent scowl. I fought tooth and nail not to come over for Christmas, but given the fact that I was only seventeen and my parents had a custody schedule, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was only a day. Less than that. It was only a dinner and a few hours. Then I could go back to hating my dad,
hating Sut and Sandra, and resenting the rest of the world.
“Come on in,” my dad says, grabbing my arm and leading me across the marble foyer and between two spiral staircases.
The scent of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie wafts through the kitchen, and just as I suspected, a team of white-coated personal chefs are whipping up a feast all for us. Sandra never could be bothered to cook.
“Sut’s playing video games in the family room,” my dad says, nodding his head in that direction. “You should go say hi to your stepbrother.”
I want to puke at the notion that Sut is my stepbrother. He doesn’t deserve the title, and it confuses the hell out of my teenage hormones, especially since we fucked all summer before all hell broke loose.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Sandra purrs with a smile on her face. Nothing about her has changed. I searched for a hint of remorse on her face but came up empty handed. To the rest of the world she comes across as lighthearted, giddy, and carefree. Ever since learning of the affair, I only know her as entitled, spoiled, and ruthless. “Go say hello to your brother. We’ll call you both when it’s time for dinner.”
Her words are a command rather than a suggestion, and they leave me feeling as though I’m not welcomed to hang out with them in the kitchen. She spins around to instruct the chef’s staff as to how to set the dining table, and my father shuffles back to the mini bar to refill his drink.
Fuck my life.
I take baby steps toward the family room, trying to prolong seeing Sutton as if every second matters. When I arrive, I linger in the arched doorway, folding my arms and leaning against the wall behind him so he can’t see me.
“Gonna say anything?” he says, his eyes transfixed on the T.V. screen where he shoots at zombies like his life depends on it. “Or you just gonna stand there burning holes in the back of my head?”
I step in, taking a seat on the sofa furthest away from him. I cross my legs and my arms, taking a guarded stance. Rolling my eyes and exhaling loudly, I want him to be well aware that I’m not there by choice.
Nothing fills the space between us besides the clicking of his controller keys and the faint sound wafting from the surround sound. Bullets. Shooting. Thuds. Boy stuff. I think about my mom and how she must feel being alone on Christmas day while her only child hangs out with her asshole ex and the woman who stole him from her. We had breakfast together that morning, and my mother put on a good face, but she’s also an award-winning actress. She could’ve been in character for all I knew.
“You’re stewing,” Sut says, monotone. “Don’t you ever get tired of stewing about things you can’t change?”
“I beg your pardon?” It isn’t the way a normal seventeen year old speaks, but it feels appropriate for that moment. If we were in an old movie, I’d be splashing my drink in his face with my jaw hanging on the floor and adding a, “Well, I never!”
Sutton pauses his game and turns to look at me for the first time since I’ve arrived. I freeze under his stare, trying to read his expression. And then my eyes well up. I’m fifty thousand forms of emotion, and I haven’t the slightest clue as to how to deal with any of it.
“Stop caring so much,” he says. “People do shitty things. That’s life. You just have to move on.”
“Don’t you have at least a little bit of compassion?” I sneer at him. “Do you have any idea how horrible this has been on my mother? On me?”
My words grow silent as I think about reminding him that not only did I lose a father but I lost my best friend. I’m not about to give him the privilege of knowing I miss him though. Not now, not as angry as I still am about everything.
“Look, it bothers me too. I just keep it inside where no one can see it.” He resumes his game and takes his eyes off me, forcing me to realize I’d been holding my breath in response to his stare. Just months earlier, we’d spent the summer making out, screwing like rabbits, breaking into his mother’s liquor cabinet, and not giving a fuck about anything. We were a couple of privileged kids living the good life and navigating the waters of a budding, young love. I never imagined a life without Sutton in it, and now all I wanted was a life without him in it.
“Must be nice,” I huff. “Must be nice never worrying about how other people feel.”
He says nothing, which only infuriates me even more. I take in a long, hard Christmas-scented breath and clutch my bag before fishing for my keys. He whips his head around to face me just in time to see me storm out of the family room.
I stomp down the hallway, past the bullshit dinner Sandra is having made and past the silver and gold place settings and twelve foot Christmas tree. Fresh mistletoe hangs from the doorway leading into the foyer, and I reach up and smack it until it drops to the floor.
“Lauryn,” my dad calls with an extra stern boom in his voice.
But it’s too late. I burst out the front door and run down the circle drive to my car, starting it up as if I’m being chased my some sort of monster, as if I’m trying to escape a nightmare.
As far as I’m concerned, my life has become a living nightmare. How all those people could go on and pretend like nothing happened, like lives hadn’t been destroyed, how they could sit there and celebrate Christmas like we were some happy family, was nothing short of enraging.
I peel out of the driveway, catching a glimpse of my father standing in the front steps of the mansion, scratching his head.
Fucking assholes. All of you.
The second I get back to the house, I find my mother in a pool of vomit and blood in her bathtub, her wrists slit wide open. There are screams. Wild, animal-like shrieks. By the time I realize they’re coming from me, I’m already on the phone with 9-1-1.
She has a pulse, thank God.
The EMTs tell me I’d gotten there just in time.
As I ride in the back of the ambulance toward Cedars-Sinai, I vow never to leave her side ever again, at least in the emotional sense. My dad left her, but I wouldn’t do that to her. Custody-agreement or not, I was never going to have anything to do with my father ever again. Or Sandra. Or Sutton.
They are dead to me.
FIFTEEN – LAURYN
Present
I leave Sutton’s apartment feeling oddly renewed, but how or why? I don’t know. I walk home, buzzing in the figurative and literal sense, and stop short when I reach my apartment door.
I don’t want to go inside.
Brushing off my gut feeling, I turn the handle, chiding myself for forgetting to lock it on my way out the first time. I guess when you don’t remember leaving the apartment, it’s only natural that you probably forgot to lock it on your way out.
“Hey, babe.” My eyes snap to the sofa, where James is laying sprawled out with a remote in one hand and ESPN blasting on the T.V. He has a key. Maybe I did lock the door on my way out. At least it’s not a crazy murderer making himself at home in my living room.
My eyes burn red like two hot, black coals. The nerve he has, just sitting there like everything is fine, like he didn’t just get done fucking Colette all week.
“I didn’t know you were coming to town this weekend?” I’m determined to beat him at his own game.
“Thought I’d surprise you.” He hops up, plasters a smile on his face, and walks over to me, kissing my forehead. I shudder in response to his touch.
“You’re doing that a lot lately. Surprising me.” I don’t smile. I don’t pretend like everything’s fine because I can’t. I wear my thoughts on my face like I always have.
“You like it, right?” he laughs, brushing past me and heading to the kitchen to grab a beer. I hear the ch-tiss of the bottle cap and stand frozen, watching him take a swallow. His body is relaxed, his shoulders slightly hunched.
“So you just flew in on a Saturday? Even though you have to work Monday? In New York?”
James shakes his head, scrunching his brows. “I have Monday off.”
“For no reason?” I’m trying to catch him in a lie. All
I can think about is his email from Colette, about the new place. I bet they’re moving in on Monday.
“What’s with all the questions?” he asks, working over to the sofa and plopping down. He flips the channels. “I feel like I should be admitting to a crime or something? Can’t I mix things up a little bit, babe? We’ve been stuck in a routine lately. Trying to make things interesting.”
“By not communicating with me and coming and going as you please?”
He turns away from the T.V., confusion written all over his smug face. “Is that a problem for you?”
He’s trying to turn it all around, to make me feel like I’m crazy. I’ve read before that that’s what manipulative people do, but I just never thought James would be one of those people.
“Maybe I had something planned? Something special? You know what tomorrow is, right?” he asks. The corner of his mouth lifts. Tomorrow is our anniversary.
Shit. I’d completely forgotten.
“I was going to ask you to marry me, Lauryn, but now? With all the questions? And you know, the last few times I’ve come over, you don’t act like you’re happy to see me. Your mind is somewhere else. Ever since you started working that that, that fucking doctor, what’s his name? Pierce?”
“Sutton Pierce.” I say his name like I’m sticking up for him. I suppose I am. I’m suddenly protective of Sut.
“Yeah, Sutton Pierce.” He’s a terrible actor, pretending like he didn’t remember his name. “You, uh, sneaking around on me, Laur?”
A full-bodied, heavy laugh builds in my belly and escapes through my lips. “No, James. I’m not a cheater. You know how I am about that.”
His face is obviously unsettled. He squints, and I don’t think he knows he’s doing it.
“My dad cheated on my mom,” I said. “Remember? Remember all those stories I told you?”
He nods. “Of course I do, babe.”
“Cheating is unforgiveable,” I say. My eyes fall to the Rolex adorning his left wrist. It’s covered in diamonds and cost a pretty penny. I think about the furniture in his Manhattan apartment, and how I came out to help him decorate one weekend and somehow got conned into buying most of it. “I don’t do second chances. You break my trust one, you lose it for life.”
