by Piper Lennox
“I’d be his worst one yet.” He draws away, rolling onto his back with one arm behind his head, the other pinned under mine. “Not to sound paranoid as hell, but—”
“There’s nothing going on with us,” I finish quickly, knowing exactly where his mind was headed. “I broke up with him weeks ago, but he kept coming by, trying to get back together, making scenes....”
Behind my head, I feel his arm stiffen. “Is that what that was? When we stopped by your complex to get your stuff—you were worried he’d be there, or that he’d see me there with you?”
Yeah, the truth feels really good. But it’s damn hard to get out.
When I eventually tell him yes, Theo sighs through his nose, hard.
“How come this feels so fucking right, like we’ve known each other for years,” he says, “when we barely know a thing?”
“Me not giving you my full dating history right away doesn’t mean you barely know me,” I tell him. I guess I’m trying to convince myself of it, too. “Focus on the first part. How right it feels.”
He sighs again, but it gets swept into a groan when I disappear under the covers to make good on our deal.
“Wait.” He gathers my hair to pull me off, tender and rough at the same time. “Turn around this way.”
I watch his hand motions until it clicks, then laugh. “Sixty-nining always sounds more fun than it is.” I’ve tried it enough times to know.
Theo’s eyes flash, lightning through an emerald lens.
“Not when you sixty-nine me,” he promises.
“My turn? Uh...oh. I’m thankful for the cabin, obviously. And...” Isabella glances around the table, wine glass still poised for the toast, even though this whole “say what we’re grateful for” idea of Clara’s is taking so long, most of us are already drinking. “...the chocolate pie Georgia made, because I’m gonna eat it all.”
People chuckle and sound agreement. Clara goes, then Wes, before all eyes swing to me.
I clear my throat. My social meter’s approaching zero, so public speaking is the last thing I want to do.
The first thing? An encore performance of the spectacular display of filth Ruby and I just put on upstairs.
My brain clicks out of the Dirty Tab and into the Clean One when, in my useless silence, Wes elbows me.
“The cabin,” I say quickly, “and...new friends.”
“New friends,” Clara sings quietly from the other side of Wes, dragging out the word. Georgia does the exact same thing, at the exact same time, from her side of the table. But considerably louder.
“Yes,” I relent, motioning to Ruby. “And new friends.”
Everyone laughs again, then looks at Ruby, who’s last. Judging from her blush, my little gratitude speech put her brain into Dirty mode, too.
“New friends,” she nods, shifting in her seat to bump my hip. “And good food. If I wasn’t here right now, I’d be eating a Powerbar in my car’s backseat during a ten-minute break or something. This is a definite upgrade.”
With that, everyone lifts their glasses again, and we cheers.
Another no-phone rule was instated, but I’ve got mine out under the table. I open my Messages for the third time since I sat down. Empty.
When I look back up, Wes is watching me.
“Don’t tell Georgia. I don’t want to fish it out of the rain gutter.”
He gives me a pity laugh, then tongues his cheek. “Your dad still hasn’t texted or called?”
I shake my head. The family thread has messages from Uncle Sterling and Aunt Billie, plus responses from all us kids, but absolute silence from Dad.
“He forgot the holiday,” Wes whispers, hitting my leg with the back of his hand. “Not you.”
“Yeah.” I turn it off and slide it back under my thigh.
Wes is right. I just don’t know if that fact is better or worse.
And honestly, I don’t want Dad to acknowledge the holiday for my sake, at least not completely: I want to know whether or not he invited Kimberly to the winter house, or if he’s still chained to his desk right this minute, oblivious to the rest of the world.
Ruby passes me the sweet potatoes after putting a tiny portion on her plate, almost not worth having at all. When I pass it to Wes after serving myself, he does the same.
“Shit, guys, is there something wrong with the potatoes that you know but I don’t?” I look at the appropriately excessive mountain on my plate, and the tiny orange blobs on theirs.
“Saving my calories for dessert,” Wes says. Leaning back to see Ruby, he tells her, “I used to be fat.”
She laughs and motions to her potatoes. “Same.”
While Wes passes the dish on, I look at her. “You never told me that.”
“Well….” She drags her fork through some gravy. “Now I have.”
I blink and go back to my food, telling myself it’s crazy to feel slighted. We’ve been together for less than a weekend: of course we’re still learning new things about each other.
But it’s not what I’m learning that feels weird. It’s how she acts when she reveals those kinds of details. Like it’s not happening organically, but because she’s backed into a corner.
Don’t be stupid, I tell myself. The echo rings through my head in Wes’s voice, because he’d tell me the exact same thing. I’m overthinking. Overreacting. And of all the topics to use as a jumping-off point for this conversation, a girl’s weight definitely isn’t one of them.
I see a flash of something under the table; Ruby’s checking her phone, too. Her face is serious.
She angles the phone away from me as she types.
What the fuck?
I let out a breath, hoping some of this sudden jealousy will go with it. It’s not a good feeling, and I know showing it wouldn’t be a good look.
I finish my plate before anyone else, despite being one of the last to start eating. Shoving food in my mouth keeps it from asking stupid shit.
So she wants privacy while texting. That’s not a crime.
Problem is, she still hasn’t recovered from whatever the exchange was. I see tension in her neck, her entire body, every time she stops eating and zones out.
By the time desserts make their rounds, I can’t help it anymore.
“Callum?” I say it while my mouth is getting scrubbed to death by my napkin. It’s mostly so she can’t hear the edge in my voice. I know it doesn’t belong there.
The flash of fear when she looks at me makes me suddenly unsure.
“Loose ends,” she says, forcing a smile and shrug. “He’s still got stuff at my place. Refused to take it with him for weeks, and now out of nowhere he swears he ‘needs it.’ You know how it goes.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, with a smile that looks even less convincing than hers.
29
“Shit, man. You sound like me.”
“I know.” I fall back against my wicker egg chair hard enough to send it spinning. The metal spring suspending it from the ceiling groans, until I plunk my feet down and stop to face Wes, who’s slumped in the other chair.
“Half of me feels like an asshole, and half feels totally justified. Am I out of line here, not wanting her to talk to him at all?”
Wes inhales through his teeth while he tunes his guitar. “You realize you’ve picked the worst person on earth to ask that question, right?”
“Your bias is also why you’re the only person I want to ask.” I motion to the door of the sunroom. “Anyone else would write me off as being insane.”
“The night is young.”
“I’m telling you, man, it’s not just jealousy or paranoia. This Callum guy…he’s not a normal ex. She told me he’s still trying to get with her, he shows up at her place uninvited, he’s left bruises on her—”
“Whoa.” Wes’s stare locks on me through the grid of his chair, even while he’s slowly spinning away. “For real?”
I nod, feeling less crazy when I see he’s just as pissed about that as I am. “She s
ays he didn’t mean to, but I don’t buy it. And guys who do that once, you know damn well they’ll do it again.”
Wes picks out a tune. It pings across the glass panels.
“In that case,” he says, “yeah, you’ve got the right to be feeling some kind of way about it. If they’re done, why’s she still in touch with him? Especially when he treated her like that?”
I relax. It doesn’t last long. “But I can’t even say anything to her about it.”
“Why not?”
“Are you kidding? We’re brand-new. We’ve been ‘dating’ for under a month, a couple for...” I check my watch. “…fourteen hours, max—”
“Look, I’m just saying: your whole ‘ultra chill, everything’s cool, man’ attitude isn’t going to swoop in and save you now. Welcome to real emotions. Usually a result of real shit finally happening in your life.” He strums louder. I halfway expect some riveting musical number on how dull my life pre-Ruby had become.
Close: he keeps playing as he adds, “You can’t isolate yourself forever.”
“I don’t....”
Wes laughs, throwing his head back for dramatic effect. “Oh, my God, don’t even try to finish that.”
I give him the finger and spin myself the other way.
“And I’m not talking about the burnout thing,” he continues. “Everyone gets like that, where being around other people gets old and you need a break. Though I will say your threshold is, like, the lowest I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised you’ve made it this far in the weekend.”
Reluctantly, I nod. If it weren’t for Ruby being here, I’d have gone antisocial sometime during the parade this morning.
“What I’m talking about,” he says, “is how you haven’t trusted anyone since....” He lets out a breath, almost whistling. “The hell if I can remember. High school, I know that much.”
“I have friends,” I mutter.
“Not close ones. Not ones you actually trust.” He pauses for a long time, either letting this verbal wake-up slap sink in, or just distracted by his guitar.
“You know how you always gave Van and me crap for being so angry? Getting in fights all the time?”
“You guys still give me hell for not doing that.”
“Because it’s fake.” He punctuates this with a slap on the guitar. “Yeah, you stay all calm and cool and fucking collected, but only because you keep your social circle two inches wide.”
“Excuse me for avoiding drama and fake ass friends.”
“That’s fine. By all means, cut out the toxic shit. But there’s a balance. To have zero drama, absolutely no problems, no conflict…you can’t keep anyone close. Humans come with baggage, dude.”
With one last jazzy rift, he adds pointedly, “Including shit-for-brains ex-boyfriends. So nut up and go talk to her.”
I sigh and stare at the ceiling. The sky’s growing dark; we’ve managed to catch the few minutes of sunset before nightfall. A pale orange streak stabs right through the middle, which reminds me of the sweet potatoes, which gets me pissed off and conflicted all over again.
Yeah, we’re new. There’s a lot of things we still don’t know, and that’s okay.
But Wes isn’t off-base, either. Some things just can’t stay hidden.
My phone pings. The sound shoves all my organs around at once.
Callum: Don’t be stupid about this babe. Let me help.
Talk about irony. I couldn’t feel more stupid. I’ve handled everything about this situation as poorly as possible, so far.
But letting Callum “help” would take the cake.
Ruby: I’ve got it.
I think about adding more—another reminder to stop fucking calling me “babe,” for instance—but decide short and sweet is the way to go. Callum needs to be told, point-blank, that his services aren’t needed.
I just wish I didn’t have to do it a hundred times for it to get through his skull.
More than once during our texting today, I’ve considered telling him the revenge thing is off, or blocking him altogether with no response. It’d certainly salvage what’s left of my mini-vacation, not having to deal with his crap anymore.
But I know, the second I get back to the Hamptons, I’d be facing a worse mess than when I left. He’d also bug Frankie nonstop about it, and I’m not doing that to her.
Better to play along for now, keeping things at a simmer, until I’m ready to face it in-person.
Callum: Where are you?
Ruby: Work.
Callum: Funny, because I drove by the office. Shane said you’re off.
Ruby: Private client. Gotta stop texting. Bye.
I let my phone tumble into my bag at the foot of the bed. I think about shutting it down completely, just to get a break, but I don’t want to miss any calls from Aunt Thalia or Mom in case something happens.
Lately, it feels like my whole life’s turned into that: waiting for something bad, from any and all directions.
“There you are.” Theo smiles when he steps into the room and sees me, but it’s tense.
“Here I am.” I shrug, letting my hands slap my sides.
“Can we talk?”
I sit on the bed and nod, ready to slog through. The only thing more exhausting than waiting for bad things is trying to dodge them 24-7. Might as well get one thing over with.
“Let me guess.” My socked feet nudge my bag, drowning my phone in a sea of sweaters. “It’s about Callum, right?”
Theo sits, too. “How’d you know?”
Maybe I’m getting better at ignoring those reflexive urges to lie to him. Or maybe Callum’s texts have just drained me of all creativity. Either way, I tell him the truth without even having to think.
“I heard you and Wes talking.”
The mattress shifts. He straightens his back, cracking his neck. “How much?”
“A lot.” I turn my head just enough to keep him in my periphery, the way he’s doing to me. “Enough to know how you’re feeling, and that you don’t want to feel like that.”
“That makes this talk a lot easier, then.”
The air in the room unwinds. Breathing doesn’t feel half as hard, anymore.
“Callum and I are done, Theo. I promise.”
“Then why is he still texting you?” I see his shoulders flinch. He hates how jealous he sounds, which makes getting mad at him over it downright impossible.
It’s not his fault. It’s not even Callum’s. It’s mine.
“I’ve set really piss-poor precedents with him, over the years.”
He gives a quiet laugh. The tension eases up a little more.
“But that’s over, too. The only reason I’m humoring him today—and trust me, it’s not much; I’m just texting back, like, the bare minimum—is because I’m not in town, and I don’t want him to know I’m not in town.”
“He’d really go to your place if you ignore him?”
“Yeah. Or bother my friend Frankie, or other people from my work...it’s just not worth the hassle, right now. I know that’s not the answer you want—”
“The answer I want,” he says, catching his volume and quieting with a sigh, “isn’t exactly fair for me to ask of you.”
“And what’s that?”
I already know. Any sane person would want it.
“That you’ll be completely done with him.” He leans with his forearms on his knees and stares at his hands. “That he’ll be out of your life for good, starting now.”
“That is fair for you to ask of me.” I stretch out behind him. “I’ve been trying to do it slowly, for his sake...but for mine, and ours? I know I need to just cut all contact.”
I trace the strong peaks in his spine with my finger. He shivers, back arching involuntarily.
“Just not today,” I add softly.
Theo bites the inside of his cheek, then nods.
“Feel better?” I ask, when we’ve folded ourselves against each other under the covers, steadily losing clothes as the house grows q
uieter around us.
“Yes. It helped, getting it off my chest and hearing your side.” He leans his head into my palm, when I push back his hair. “But something’s still bothering me. And I don’t want you to take it how it’ll sound.”
I promise him I won’t. This honesty thing gives me a kind of high, like when you finally get to set down a heavy backpack or take off tendon-snapping heels. You don’t realize the burden until you give it up.
I’m even thinking I can tell him the truth about us, now. After a few days for this Callum stuff to die down, I can cook Theo dinner at my place, pour some wine....
“Sometimes,” he starts, then stops and shakes his head at himself.
One tiny trickle at a time, I feel the tension fill the room again.
“What?” I whisper.
Theo scrubs his mouth with his hand. “I get this feeling you’re hiding things from me. I don’t know how to explain it. Some of it, I get. Like your mom being sick—that felt like...like you were telling me at your own pace. You had to be comfortable with it.
“But then other stuff, like how you used to be overweight, or a ‘loser?’ Those things feel like you blurted them without meaning to.” His eyes travel between mine a moment, then blink as he seems to snap to. “God, I sound so fucking crazy right now.”
No truth-high is strong enough to fix the guilt tearing through me. I should have known it wouldn’t stay away for good.
“I’m sorry.” He kisses my forehead. “Forget I said anything, I’m being paranoid. It’s just....”
“You have a hard time trusting people.” I nod, my voice sounding too high-pitched to my own ears. “I know.”
I know his mother and so-called friends left Theo just as untrusting as he and all my childhood bullies left me. The only difference is that he didn’t grow jaded and remake himself in response. He turned himself into an island.
