by Grey, R. S.
Whitney and I stand alone. Across the kitchen—what feels like miles away—the two chefs continue working, but I get the sense they don’t even realize we’re here.
She makes no move to speak, and neither do I.
This back and forth between us has been confusing to say the least. I’ve been around her all week and technically we’ve communicated verbally, yet I don’t get the feeling I’ve actually talked to her at all except for the morning she admitted to her old crush on me.
She’s looking down at her drink, dragging her delicate pointer finger around the rim.
The warm light above the sink highlights the different hues of red in her hair. Her ivory skin is tinged with pink undertones.
I have a million things I want to say. Compliments could tumble out of me forever, but I don’t want to talk about how beautiful she looks. That much is obvious. I’m more curious about the thoughts she’s trying to hide away, namely her teenage crush on me.
“Seeing you here with Ryan is unexpected.”
She glances up, her eyes no less stunning than the last time I saw them.
“I thought it would be nice to have a friend by my side.”
“And Carrie?”
The corner of her mouth turns up. “All right then, two friends.”
“So you and Ryan are only friends?”
She nods, for once not looking away. “For now. Before you returned, I thought I had feelings for him.”
I latch onto the admission. My head tilts. “Before I returned?”
She catches her mistake. “No. That’s…I just meant I’ve been busy these last two weeks. I wanted to invite him tonight so I could spend time with him, figure things out.”
I hum, disappointed that she seems to be telling the truth.
“What about you?” she asks. “Did you bring a date?”
The idea of bringing someone else tonight hadn’t even crossed my mind. Now, I wonder if that was silly of me.
“No date.”
“What about back in London? Do you have a girlfriend there? Or a wife? I mean, you don’t wear a ring, but I don’t want to assume—”
“No girlfriend. No wife.”
She nods, finally stepping toward the kitchen island. I join her and we stand facing each other. There’s a charcuterie board between us, piled high. Once I steal a few grapes, she follows suit and we eat in silence for a moment.
“I’m sure you weren’t single for eight years,” she says, fishing for more information.
I smile. “No. I dated here and there.”
“What was your last relationship like?”
This isn’t what I want to be discussing with her, but for the first time since I’ve returned, she reminds me of her old self. Curious, bright-eyed.
“Oh, well…Laurie was fine. There’s not much to say. She was an attorney. Mostly litigation.”
She fights back her amusement. “Truly, I think I just nodded off there for a second.”
I smirk at her obvious teasing. “Laurie and I dated for a few months. It was fine. She fulfilled my needs at the time.”
“Fulfilled your needs? I can’t…I just—” She points at the food in front of us. “I feel like I could conjure up more feelings for that block of cheese than you just did for your ex-lover.”
“It’s not as if I’m going to go into lengthy detail with you about all the things I loved about Laurie.”
She immediately sobers.
“Did you? Love her, I mean?” She looks so earnest in that moment. No pretenses.
I shake my head quickly, for some reason desperate for her to know that. Why though? It’s not as if I didn’t love her because I loved Whitney.
“No. I’ve never been someone to fall in love very easily.”
She smiles again, her mood seeming lighter now. “Really? I feel like I fall in love all the time.” She must pick up on my skepticism because she clarifies. “Not just with people. With anything! A good book, a new flavor of ice cream. When I love something, I love it unabashedly. Take my job, for example. I’ve worked at the Knightley Company for over a decade. I’ve been in the same role as Princess Elena for over four years!”
“You were like that when you were younger too. Vivacious. Eager. Enthusiastic about any assignment I’d give you.”
She chuckles and looks down. Her fingers tap against the countertop. She’s silent while she debates something. Then she looks up with those feline eyes and I’m riveted. “You know earlier tonight, I read through an old email I sent while you were my mentor. Call it morbid curiosity. A part of me wanted to see it with fresh eyes, judge it the way you probably did back then. I’ll admit, at first, I was embarrassed. God, did I want to impress you. I wasn’t even good at hiding it. For an instant, while I reread those words, it was like no time had passed at all. I was still that eighteen-year-old girl. It made me so angry to think I haven’t changed one bit. I immediately wanted to prove to myself that I have, so Carrie came over and dressed me like this.” She waves her hand down her body. “I wore fancy heels and took time to pick out the perfect shade of lipstick, as if that would do the trick. But now I’m standing here, realizing it was all for nothing.”
I open my mouth to cut her off. She’s just said so much that I want to address, but she doesn’t let me. She speaks again with a self-deprecating smile. “The truth is, Derek, I’m still that same silly girl. I’m passionate. Maybe that’s just it. I have a lot of passion and I fall in love so easily. And you’re—”
“Heartless?” I say with a raised brow, goading her.
She groans cheerfully. “No! Not at all. You’re reserved. Unflappable. A Greek statue, and I’m—”
“A Jackson Pollock.”
“Exactly!” She laughs. “It’s funny, really, how little we’ve changed since you’ve been away.” Her gaze narrows. “Well, that’s not quite right. If anything, you’re even slightly more intimidating to me now than you were back then. You give off such an air of confidence. I wish I could soak it up for myself.”
She shrugs and pushes off the island, rounding it so she can head back to the party. “I feel better, truly, now that you know the whole truth. All that pretense was getting to be too difficult to manage. So what? I used to have a crush on you and some immature part of me wanted you to come back and see me as this older sophisticated woman, poised and confident.” She shrugs. “I’m not. In a lot of ways, I’m still—”
My hand shoots out to catch her as she brushes by me. Her arm feels so delicate underneath her sweater, and I immediately loosen my grip.
“Shouldn’t I get a moment to speak now? To tell you how I see things?”
She smiles and it feels as intimate as a kiss. “I am tempted to stay and listen. I wonder if you could come up with anything more rousing than you did for Laurie, but Cal is waving us into the dining room. I think we’re holding everyone up.”
She’s right, of course. We’ve been in here for too long.
I have no choice but to let her go. The chefs are plating the first course. Guests are gathering in the dining room, looking for their names on the place cards. Cal loves playing the host. No sitting next to someone you know well—what would be the fun in that? We’re meant to mix and mingle, force ourselves out of our comfort zones. Whitney is assigned to a seat a football field away from me. Ryan sits across from her. Ava’s at the place of honor on Cal’s right. I’m positioned on her other side, near Carrie and Thomas.
Somehow, I’ve found myself in a dead zone.
Cal and Ava talk animatedly. Carrie and Thomas keep their heads bent together half the evening. I’m left to my own devices, namely mulling over everything Whitney just unpacked in the kitchen.
She’s been all over the board since my arrival from London. She wavers between holding me at arm’s length and clutching me in close, splaying the truth out between us like she’s handing me pages ripped straight from her diary. Except, I’m not sure if it’s all the pages. Sure, she’s trying hard to seem open and ho
nest, but it feels more like she’s feeding me fluff in the hopes that it will fill me up. It won’t.
In fact, I’m more desperate than ever to get the whole truth from her. I only need to pay attention to know there’s more to the story. Just like Pollock, subtlety isn’t in Whitney’s wheelhouse. Her expressions, her feelings, her real truths are splashed across her skin like paint across a canvas.
I feel her eyes on me half a dozen times throughout the night. I know if I glance over, I’ll catch her. Her cheeks will turn that rosy shade of red that drives me mad. So I don’t look. I ignore her like I’m actually taking a hint and giving her space.
In reality, I’m compiling a list of questions I want answers to. I want to know when she stopped having feelings for me. I want to know why every time I make contact with her skin, her lips part as if she’s expecting a kiss. She did it earlier when I caught her as she tripped in her gown, and she did it a moment ago in the kitchen. I want to know how she could possibly find me intimidating.
I don’t buy it.
Eight years ago? Maybe. She was meek. She would have sat quietly at this table, too afraid to speak up around so many of her colleagues. Now, she enchants us all. She’s the light we’re drawn to.
Me most of all.
Chapter Ten
Whitney
Honesty should come with a sigh of relief. I should feel like I just threw a boulder off my shoulders. Everything I said in the kitchen was the truth, but now instead of feeling weightless, I feel more tethered to Derek than ever before. I can’t go five minutes without glancing back over in his direction. I wish I’d stayed to listen to him before walking out of the kitchen. In truth, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
I can’t believe how much I revealed.
Around him, I almost can’t help myself.
It’s his eyes. They’re the truest dark brown, a shade that doesn’t parade around with pomp and circumstance. There’s a quiet tug in their depths. Tell me your secrets and I’ll never tell a soul, they promise. And I listen. I down a truth serum each time our gazes meet.
I want you to like me.
I dressed up just for you.
I wish I wasn’t the same silly girl you used to know, but I am.
I think I’m as in love with you now as I was back then and how am I going to survive?
Tell me, brown eyes—how?
Thank God I stopped before I said that.
After dinner, I throw my attention toward Ryan. It’s easy enough to do. He’s charming tonight, excited to be here with so many influential people. Cal serves drinks and dessert in the living room. Someone’s encouraged him to tell the story of the day the park opened. I’ve heard it a million times, but I love listening. We’re spread around the room, giving him our attention. Derek stands to his right, one hand holding a thick glass tumbler, the other tucked casually in his pocket. It’s a good thing I know Cal’s story by heart because I don’t absorb one word of it tonight. Even without making eye contact, I can feel the weight of Derek’s presence in the room. My body refuses to ignore it. It makes me squirm and fidget. Once, our eyes lock and my thighs clench together. I feel too hot in my sweater, sweltering as he keeps ahold of my gaze for so long it feels like the entire room should take notice. As if we’re behaving indecently in the middle of a classy dinner party.
Eventually—painfully—I force my gaze down to my drink, and then another guest wants to sit on the couch, so Ryan has to scoot closer to me. Our legs brush and there should be a spark, or butterflies, or a low hum of…something. I even look at where we touch, searching for more—like a victim who doesn’t realize the true extent of their wound until they see the blood—but that changes nothing. Sure, my stomach is in knots, but not over Ryan.
At the end of Cal’s story, Derek disappears into the kitchen and returns empty-handed. I watch as he walks over to Ava and bends down to kiss her cheek.
He’s leaving.
I feel panicked by the idea.
Ryan leans close and asks if I’d like another drink.
I shake my head and wait for Derek to turn and walk toward me, to give me a kiss on the cheek just like he did with Ava. My chin even lifts to give him better access, but he doesn’t look in my direction as he says goodbye to Cal and a few others.
Then he’s gone, disappearing down the hallway.
My body sways forward as if physically compelled to follow him.
I feel deflated in his absence.
At the end of the night, Ryan walks Carrie and me back to her apartment. At the door, Carrie heads in, but I linger on the doormat as Ryan thanks me for inviting him. I meet his easy gaze and smile. When he boldly leans in to kiss me, I let him. His lips move on mine and I hold perfectly still as my gut twists. After only a few seconds, I step back and try not to crack into pieces.
What’s wrong with me!?
Ryan just kissed me! I should be jumping for joy!
He laughs and shakes his head, dragging his thumb along his bottom lip.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
I have no response, so I change the subject. “I’m glad you came.”
He toes the concrete between us and tousles his light brown hair. “Yeah, it was really fun. Maybe we could do it again next week? Just you and me? I won’t wear a suit, promise.”
I laugh as a bubble of relief bursts inside of me.
He doesn’t wait for a response, just steps back and dips his head. “See you Monday, Whit.”
Carrie is brushing her teeth when I join her in the bathroom. Without a word, I step behind her and let my face fall in the concave slope between her shoulder blades.
Her comforting presence triggers a slow trickle of embarrassing tears. They’re probably soaking through her dress.
“What’s wrong? Did Ryan do something?”
“It’s not about Ryan.”
“Tell me then.”
“It’s…I…”
She leans down to rinse her mouth, drops her toothbrush into a cup, and turns back to hold me at arm’s length. I’m a mess. I’m glad she’s blocking my reflection in the mirror.
“Derek,” she says knowingly.
The name churns my stomach.
“I hate him.” I say it viciously. Angrily. “What is it about him that I can’t shake? I mean, GOD, I was friends with him for a few months eight years ago! That’s nothing. A blip! Teenage girls have crushes. Unrequited love is not unique!”
“Making your feelings small won’t make them disappear,” she says calmly, as if channeling Oprah.
She’s right, of course. I’ve tried that unsuccessfully for the last eight years.
Derek has always sat heavy in my heart like a jagged piece of shrapnel, the cost of removal always outweighing the pain of letting him stay.
I want to be rid of him once and for all.
“It’s like he’s an addiction I can’t conquer.”
“Maybe you should stop trying to conquer it?”
I’ve been down that road before. I won’t do it a second time.
I’m done talking about this. I need to get it together.
I heave in a shaky breath, turn, and yank my sweater off over my head. My skirt follows. I turn her shower on the hottest setting it’ll go. Carrie tells me she’s going to go make us some hot chocolate before she closes the door and leaves me in peace. I finish stripping before stepping under the hot stream then I wash off the night, wiping the lipstick and Ryan’s kiss from my mouth. I close my eyes and shudder when an image of Derek comes to mind. I’ve imagined him so much over the years. When I’m alone in my dorm, tucked in bed, he’s the man I picture when my hand slides under my nightgown. It’s never a specific scene as much as a feeling, a warmth—no, scalding heat.
Tonight, I have something new to imagine: his hand wrapped around my forearm in that kitchen. I could feel his strength. I could feel him catch and restrain himself so he wouldn’t hurt me.
I wonder if he ever thinks about me, if he i
magines me like this. Me in the shower. Me in his bed. Me pinned underneath him. I wonder how far he lets himself get carried away.
These new thoughts make my stomach flutter, and my hand covers it as if I can will it to stop with just a touch.
I want to slide my hand lower, but I won’t. Not in Carrie’s bathroom. Not when I can still feel Ryan’s kiss on my lips.
I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a towel. Carrie’s left me an oversized t-shirt, folded on the counter. I slip it on and join her in the living room.
I know my face is probably splotchy from my tears, but I don’t think any new ones will spring up now that I’ve settled my emotions.
Besides, I’m done thinking about myself for the night. I’m eager to hear what she and Thomas discussed all through dinner.
* * *
On Monday, I feel lighter. Friday’s shower cry-fest means I probably lost half my body weight in tears, but the rest of the weekend wasn’t spent moping around. I took a group of freshman girls from the dorm out to a movie on Saturday and then we spent the evening decorating our floor for fall. We went a little overboard. Bats hang from the ceiling, poking unsuspecting eyes. Pumpkins and fake skulls litter the ground. There’s a good chance I will trip over a seasonal gourd before the week is out.
Carrie and I spent Sunday reading at the park. Autumn has settled here, and though it’s still warm in the afternoons, in the shade and in the evenings, temperatures drop low enough that it’s actually tolerable to be outside for more than five-minute stretches.
It’s my favorite time of year.
The air isn’t quite as heavy, which means I’m not either.
Ryan and I texted back and forth a few times.
I think I’m even prepared to face Derek again during my shift, especially with Ryan there as a buffer, but when I arrive in the great hall, it’s to news that Ryan has been relocated to another section of the park. The information comes straight from Julie’s mouth, so I know it’s accurate. Still, I’m half-convinced it’s a rumor.
