Delicate

by Stephanie Campbell

  “Good girl,” Grant reappears and says, pointing toward the empty dish.

  “Thank you for this. I really do feel a lot better now.”

  “Glad to hear it,” he beams. “Here, relax while I set everything up.” He’s suddenly behind me, wrapping a warm, ivory-colored blanket around my shoulders and leading me over to the small loveseat on the opposite side of the room. Being taken care of is a totally foreign feeling.

  I pipe in with my two-cents sporadically, but mostly, Grant does the majority of the work while I lay under the plush quilt. I’m not typically this at ease in other peoples’ homes, but things with Grant are easy. And I’m exhausted.

  I remember closing my eyes for just a split second. But now, I’m cradled in someone’s arms. I half crack my eyes to try to make sense of what’s happening. Who’s strong arms are these wrapped around me? Mmmm, who cares, I just want to stay like this. I finally open my eyes, and look up at Grant, carrying me down the winding staircase.

  I frantically try to maneuver my way out of his grip.

  “What’s going on? I fell asleep?” I say.

  “Shhh…” he whispers. “I’m going to drive you home, Syd. You’re exhausted.” I start to wriggle again, but he grips me tighter.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine to drive,” I say. I still fidget, but I’d be lying if I said I’m fighting as hard as I should be.

  “Sydney, seriously. Not open for debate. I’ll drive you home. Jules will follow in your car.” His face is so close to mine, I can now see the short stubble on his chin and cheeks. The small cleft in his chin that I hadn’t notice before. And the clean, soapy smell still lingers from his shower earlier. The way his arms feel around me is unreal. I give up my half-hearted attempt at a struggle and flop my head back down onto his chest. I know it’s wrong. I know I should argue. But the truth is, I really don’t feel up to driving home, and having someone take care of me feels flipping amazing. Especially someone that doesn’t have to.

  He effortlessly carries me through the house and out into the garage, then sets me down gently in the passenger seat of his car. The interior is impeccable, just like his room, and smells of rich leather. He starts the car and soft music that I don’t recognize drifts me back to sleep.

  -Six—

  I know immediately when I wake up that I’ve overslept for gym. And for the first time that I can remember, I just don’t care. I’m still so tired. I wonder what Grant told my dad about bringing me home. I stumble over to my window overlooking the driveway and my car is parked in its usual place. I can’t believe I slept that hard. How embarrassing.

  When I wander downstairs, I find the house deserted. The note on the counter from Dad says that he called Sam and the school. I’m off the hook for the day. Wow. I open the refrigerator and stare, uninterested at its contents. My stomach is grumbly, but nothing looks good, so I start back for the stairs.

  I’ve almost made it to the top step when I hear a soft knock on the front door. Trevor, most likely. I haven’t even checked my cell phone, but I’m willing to bet there are a dozen missed calls from him. I don’t check the peep-hole, and instead, fling the door open to find Grant standing on my porch, his messy brown hair blowing perfectly in the wind.

  “Um, hi,” I say. I pull my sleeves down over my hands and clutch them near my throat nervously. Each gust of wind blows his hair and makes my breath catch.

  “Hey. Sorry to come by without calling. I just wanted to make sure you were all right. You were pretty worn out last night,” he says.

  “I’m doing okay,” I say. “Thanks for bringing me home. I feel really stupid about everything.”

  I stare at a piece of chipped paint on the doorframe rather than make eye contact with him. I’ve discovered it’s increasingly difficult, both because he always seems to be looking directly at me, but also, because I really want to look at him.

  “Don’t. I was happy to do it,” he says.

  Another gust of wind. Another chance to try to catch my breath.

  “Do you want to come in?” I ask.

  “I’d better get back to school. I just wanted to bring this by.”

  He hands me a white paper bag with a small container inside.

  My brows pull together in curiosity.

  “It’s some of Jules soup. Hope it helps,” he explains. My stomach grumbles again, this time, in thanks. Nothing sounds better than more of this soup.

  “Thank you!” I say. “Wow, you’re pretty perfect, aren’t you?” I can’t help but gush.

  “Eh, I’m all right. You deserve it, though.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and before I know it, he’s leaning in and kissing me lightly. It’s just a peck, before he turns around and walks away. The spot where his warm lips touched mine is tingling with delight as I stand there half-dazed. Did that really just happen? In the same moment I’m contemplating whether or not I’m still actually asleep, I see the familiar Range Rover pull into the now vacant spot in the driveway. And that’s when it dawns on me. Grant has no idea there’s a Trevor in my life. Have I been leading him on?

  I don’t really have time to think much on it, because my actual boyfriend is walking up the drive. I quickly turn and set the bag on the counter, then plaster a big smile on my face. It’s not phony. I am happy to see him. Just a little more conflicted than usual.

  “Hey, beauty,” Trevor says, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning in to kiss me. I pull back abruptly.

  “You don’t want to do that, I’m really sick,” I say, pulling farther away and covering my mouth.

  “I don’t care,” he says, reaching for me again.

  “Well, I do.” I frown. I pull a bar stool out and sit down. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I really do need to go back to bed.

  “What are you doing out of school?” I ask, already anticipating the answer.

  “What do you think?” he says. “You didn’t reply to any of my texts or calls. I came to check on you.”

  “That’s really sweet,” I say. I rest my head on the cool marble counter top. It feels like lidocaine on my throbbing skull.

  “So, since we’re alone, what do you want to do?” Trevor asks with a wink.

  “Don’t even finish the thought. I’m so ill, Trevor, that’s the last thing on my mind.” I shake my head and swat him on the arm.

  “You think maybe you should go to the doctor? You hear about those celebrities being treated for exhaustion. Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you.”

  “Maybe.” I shrug. “After Nationals I’ll have a break.”

  “Maybe you should think about dropping that reality show. You know, to give yourself a little break,” he says.

  “It’s a documentary, not a reality show. And I can’t. I signed a contract.”

  He pushes a loud breath out.

  “I love you,” I add.

  He starts rubbing my shoulders gently and I let myself relax and close my eyes.

  “Hey, what’s in the bag?” I open my eyes and he gestures to the white paper bag I’d tossed onto the counter. “Smells good.”

  My heart has lodged itself into my throat.

  “Oh, that? Just some soup. Want some?” I wrap my words in innocence before letting them escape my mouth. Why am I so nervous? It’s soup. Oh, and there was that mini-kiss from Grant.

  “No, thanks. You should probably eat some though. Did your dad bring it by for you? You must really be laying it on thick, Syd; he never takes a lunch, right?” Why, today of all days is Trevor so ultra observant?

  “No, not Dad.” I could tell him that Quinn made it. That’s believable. She’s always cooking something. But what if he’d already seen Quinn today at school? Would he know I was lying? Did I really need to lie? Would he even care if he knew Grant brought it to me?

  I take a deep breath.

  “Actually, my partner from Oceanography brought it by,” I say harmlessly.

  I stare at him, trying to gauge his reaction. His hand tightens on the back
of the bar stool. His knuckles turn white from the stiffness of his grip and an unfamiliar flash of anger crosses his eyes. I’ve never really seen Trevor angry. Irritated, yes. Disappointed, sure. He wasn’t a gracious loser when it came to his lacrosse games. He usually had a tough time dealing with it. He’d hold it in and stay quiet for a long time. I never knew what to say in those moments, and I feel the same way right now. He’s quiet. Motionless. For a long time.

  “He came here?” he asks calmly. His sudden break from the silence startles me.

  “Yeah, but just for a second. He didn’t even come in. Just dropped it off,” I say. It is the truth, but something in Trevor’s eyes has me doubting that honesty is going to make a difference.

  His eyes lock on mine. We don’t have an intense relationship. This side of him is new.

  “So, that was him leaving when I pulled up just now?” he asks. A sinister smirk fills his face.

  “Yes,” I nod.

  In one quick movement, he spins the barstool I’m sitting in toward him, so that we are face to face, his fierce eyes boring into mine.

  “What the hell is going on, Sydney?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask. I jerk back away from his face. “I just told you.”

  “I mean, do you have feelings for this asshole, or what?”

  “Are you joking?” I let out a nervous chuckle.

  He continues to stare back at me. So, not joking?

  “Trevor,” I say firmly, cocking my head to the side. His penetrating stare is seriously starting to make me uncomfortable now. I straighten up and give him a quick kiss on his lips. Nothing.

  “No. No. No,” I say. “If that’s what you’re waiting to hear, the answer is no. Of course I don’t have any feelings for him. Or anyone other than you. You know how much I love you.”

  He finally blinks and breaks the stare.

  “Seriously.” I pull his face back toward me, but apparently he’s going to be stubborn, because now he’s refusing to make eye contact with me at all.

  Gripes, how frustrating.

  He walks around to the other side of the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry, Syd. But how would you feel if some girl was stopping by my house to bring me things?” His tone is filled with spite.

  My head is pounding. I just want the argument to be over so that I can go to bed. Besides, he does have a point. I’m more than a little insecure in our relationship already. I can’t imagine if the situation were reversed.

  “You’re right,” I concede. “I’m sorry. But please believe that it was completely innocent. Grant was just trying to be nice.” I wonder if he can hear the bit of untruth in my voice.

  “I understand,” Trevor says. He takes the container out of the bag. “It’s just that it’s my job to take care of you. Not his.” He walks to the sink, and before I can protest, he dumps the soup down the garbage disposal. “Do you understand, Sydney?”

  His warm smile doesn’t match his vengeful actions, so I just nod.

  -Seven—

  When I get to school the next morning, though I’m feeling much better physically, I can’t shake the uneasiness from the day before. Trevor’s lack of trust in me stung, but his anger was what really bothered me. I park in my usual spot and pass Trevor’s car on my way onto campus. Not surprisingly, he beat me to school. I walk to the quad contemplating what I’ll say to break the ice. He left a few minutes after washing my lunch down the drain without saying much, and I can’t help but feel nervous that I don’t see him anywhere. He always waits for me. Always.

  I stalk across campus alone toward Oceanography. While practicing pirouettes on beam this morning, I resolved to tell Grant about Trevor. I mean, he’s never professed any interest in me, but I’m tired of feeling awkward that I haven’t been straightforward with him. Just in case he does feel that way about me. Not that he does.

  I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to start this conversation. But it’s the right thing. The mature thing. Right?

  “There you are.” I hear Trevor’s voice behind me at the same time his muscular arms wrap around my waist. I spin toward him in confusion.

  “There I am? You weren’t waiting for me,” I say.

  He smiles apprehensively and kisses the tip of my nose.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I had something to take care of really quick. How are you feeling?”

  “Much better.” I’m still wondering what he’s been up to, but decide against pressing him after our argument yesterday.

  “Good. Don’t want you sick and changing your mind about things,” he says suggestively.

  “Changing my mind about what things?” I laugh.

  “Oh, you know, with prom coming up, I just want to make sure you’re feeling up to par,” he says with a smirk.

  “All right, all right,” I say. I smack his shoulder. He doesn’t even flinch. “Get your mind out of the gutter and get to class,” I order.

  He smiles broadly and then leans in and kisses me.

  “Love you, Syd,” he says.

  “Love you.”

  I pause in the doorway to Oceanography. Grant is already at our table, with his head down and a book on his lap.

  When I get to the table and set my things down, he doesn’t look up. Weird. Yesterday he brings me soup, today, he isn’t going to acknowledge I exist. Maybe he’s just engrossed in his book? I take out my text book and binder and organize them. He still hasn’t acknowledged my presence.

  “Morning,” I say quietly. He doesn’t respond.

  “What are you reading?” I ask. I’m hoping to start some form of conversation so I can slip in, FYI, I have a serious boyfriend.

  “Morning, Sydney,” he says without glancing up. He flips his book closed, holding his place with his index finger to show me the cover.

  “Spoon River Anthology?” I ask. “Any good?”

  “Yep.” Is all that he offers.

  “What’s it about?”

  “The short version? It’s about people’s lives and their losses.” His voice is uncharacteristically standoffish.

  “Oh. Well, maybe I’ll give it a shot,” I say. He nods and looks back down at his book. “Listen, Grant. I just wanted to thank you again for bringing me home.”

  He finally closes the book and turns toward me with a soft sigh. His lips curve into their typical, charming smile. But there’s something else. Something more behind it. I can’t tell if it’s a good thing, or a bad thing.

  “And I’ll tell you again, Sydney, it was my pleasure. Anytime.”

  “Well, see, that’s the thing,” I say. I twist a lock of hair around my pencil nervously. “I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I, um, I have a boyfriend.” I pause, waiting for him to respond.

  “Nope, you didn’t mention it,” he says flatly. Crap. I’d been wrong. He was interested in me…

  “Look, I’m really sorry for not mentioning it before—”

  “Sydney, it’s fine. I’m up for a little friendly competition,” he says with a confident smile.

  Chills run up my arms, my back and my neck. Did he really just say that?

  “It won’t be friendly,” I mumble softly.

  “Eh, I can handle it.”

  I can’t.

  I’m not sure what else to say. I glance up at him from under the protection of my hair, waiting for him to speak. He takes a deep breath as if he’s thoughtfully weighing his words.

  “Listen, Sydney. You didn’t tell me that you were seeing someone. But he, Trevor, I guess is his name, he did let me know.”

  My eyes bulge.

  I had something to take care of really quick.

  Trevor had confronted him. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.

  Grant shrugs his shoulders coolly.

  “I’m so sorry,” is all I can eke out.

  “It’s fine. Really. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other day.”

  “No. It’s not that. I appreciate you bringing me home, and the soup and everythi
ng… I just don’t want you to think that I put him up to this,” I say.

  “I believe you. He said you had nothing to do with it.”

  “Really? What else did he say?” I ask. I want every single detail, but judging by Grant’s cool demeanor, I’m not going to get much else.

  “Eh, not much. Just that he wanted to introduce himself and let me know that you two are exclusive. And that I shouldn’t cross any boundaries. That’s it.” He really doesn’t seem bothered by any of it.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say, Sydney. I don’t want to complicate your life, or your relationships. And honestly, you may get upset with me for saying this, but you deserve much better than him,” Grant says. He flips his book back open, abruptly ending our conversation.

  I immediately feel myself get defensive. Who the hell is he to say who and what I deserve? He barely knows me.

  “Grant, that’s not fair. You don’t know anything.”

  He looks up from his book again and smiles. Toothy and cocky.

  “I know that every time I’m around you I want to kiss you again,” he says matter-of-factly.

  Heat fills my face. I’ve never been so glad to hear Mrs. Drez’s raspy throat clearing. If she hadn’t interrupted this moment with Grant, I would have had to leave class.

  When I finally get to English later that day, I can’t wait to fill Quinn in on what happened.

  “You’re not going to believe this,” I say.

  Quinn smirks. “Uh-oh, what’d the douche-nozzle do this time?”

  “Quinn, seriously, just listen.”

  She listens wide-eyed as I air my Trevor-Grant drama. Omitting the teeny-tiny kiss, so small, it isn’t even worth mentioning. Or Grant’s comment about wanting to do it again. My stomach flops remembering that detail of our conversation.

  When I finish, Quinn smirks.

  “You should totally break up with Trevor and go for Grant!”

  “Come on! I’m upset here!”

  “I know you are. And I so wish that I had your problems!” she snickers. “But seriously, Syd. What the hell? Possessive much? Why did Trevor do that?