by A. S. Green
Natalie and Rachel exchange another look that tells me there’s something they want to ask me. Something tells me I don’t want to know what it is.
“But, like I said, he didn’t ask me, and who’d want to miss all this?” I ask, surveying the kitchen, which right now looks like Persephone has done the interior decorating. It’s the kind of project Macie and I would have done together. Who would have thought I’d make real friends here?
“That’s right,” Natalie says, giving me a warm smile. “What’s the Coliseum next to March’s barn? And wait until we get through with it. It’s going to be rockin’. A wonder in its own right.”
“It’ll be great,” I say, wiping some surprising bits of moisture from the corners of my eyes. “I can’t wait.”
“Spoken like someone who’s never seen Principal Grundseth lose his toga,” says Rachel.
Natalie tosses an M&M that—thwap—hits Rachel squarely between the eyes.
“Careful!” Rachel gripes. “It’s only fun until someone loses an—”
Natalie tosses another that hits its target, too. Thwap.
“Eye,” Rachel says, smacking Natalie’s shoulder with an open hand. “Seriously?”
A couple hours later, the votives are decorated and repacked in the plastic tubs. Rachel heads out to her car, then returns carrying a cooler, her back arched against the weight. She sets it down on the floor with a thud.
“Now what?” I ask. “There’s not more, is there?”
“Nope,” she says. “At least, no more decorations.” She drops to her knees and flips open the top of the cooler, pulling out three long-stemmed glasses, a salt shaker, and a couple of limes. She sets it all on the coffee table, then rips open a bag of ice with her teeth.
“It’s margarita time,” she says, as if it wasn’t already obvious.
“I’m waiting for my twenty-first birthday,” I say, which sounds pathetic even to my ears. I should just tell them I’m not into it, period. It’s been hard enough to maintain my self-control around here. I don’t need any help from a bottle.
“Which is in a matter of weeks,” Natalie says.
“But what if I get busted by the—”
“Paranoia Police?” Natalie asks, interrupting me again. “Don’t worry. No one’s going to care what you’re doing in your own house, especially way up here. Besides, remember, my dad’s the postmaster.”
“Mail carriers and law enforcement aren’t exactly the same thing,” I say.
“Same enough. At least on Little Bear. The government signs both their paychecks.”
I roll my eyes, but when it comes down to it, my protest is now more of a habit than the product of any real conviction. My law-abiding, walk-the-line, über-orderly life has gotten me exactly nowhere. Besides, I’ve got nothing left to lose. Who cares if I give up my last vestiges of control? What’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like Bennet can leave me twice.
And speaking of Bennet, he’d wanted me to feel, to sense everything. Now that he’s removed himself from my life, maybe one night of total, utter numbness would be the perfect antidote to…him.
“Fine,” I say, giving in with a groan, though there’s a part of me that wishes Macie were here. She’d want to be with me for this.
“Yay!” Natalie says, shaking her fists as if they’re holding pompoms. It’s then that I decide every heartbreak should have a cheerleader.
Rachel pours the tequila into the three glasses, then tops it with a pale green mixer. I pick up my glass and toss it back, finishing half of it in one swallow. Might as well dive in with both feet, as it were, except that my whole face puckers around the lime juice and something else that tastes like licking the inside of a cedar closet.
Natalie catches my wrist and brings my glass back to vertical. My eyes are watering, and I brush the back of my other hand over my cheeks.
“Whoa there, hot shot. If you puke up tequila you’ll never drink it again, and a life without tequila is a life without sunshine.”
“You should write fortune cookies,” I say with a grimace, then, “Fill me up again,” because my insides are already warm and swimmy, and it’s the best I’ve felt in days. It makes me feel a little empathy for my mom. If someone’s going to cut your heart out, maybe the least you should do for yourself is dull the pain.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Katherine
Two hours later and I have a much better appreciation for the expression “shit-faced.”
Natalie, Rachel, and I have been laughing hysterically as we’ve taken turns telling our greatest accomplishments. I chose the engagement party I planned and produced for the Alpha Phi sorority president. Natalie picked two years ago when she won Aerosmith tickets over the radio. Rachel said hers was when she was twelve and won first prize at the county fair for her papier-mâché version of Michelangelo’s David.
“I had to make a Speedo for him because the fair director said it was a family event, so no penises.”
Now Natalie and Rachel are dissolving into tears. My sides hurt from laughing, too, and I’m wondering—if I try to stand up, can I make it to the bathroom safely? Somewhere along the line, my warm-and-swimmy stomach has turned to green-and-twisted.
When Natalie and Rachel stop laughing, I notice—in only a fuzzy kind of way—that they’re both looking at me like it’s time to finally get down to business.
“Well, if she’s not going to volunteer information, I’m going to put it out there,” Rachel loud-whispers to Natalie.
“Put what out where?” I give up on the idea of the bathroom and lean back on my hands. I’m still sitting on the floor. Rachel is perched at the edge of the couch cushions. Natalie is between us, also on the floor, her back resting up against the edge of the couch. Her dangly earrings are still swinging back and forth from when she was laughing. I can’t stop watching them. Then the whole room is swinging, too.
“The rest of the afternoon is dedicated to OFB,” Rachel says, pulling her dreads through her hands, then tying them back with a band she pulls from her wrist.
“Operation Ferry Boy,” Natalie explains.
I groan and close my eyes to keep the room from spinning. “Please don’t call him that.”
“Or possibly TF…B…TTC, depending on how this conversation goes,” Natalie says.
“TF…?” I ask, opening one eye.
“Toss Ferry Boy To The Curb. At least, if that’s what you’ve got a mind to do. Why are you and Bennet fighting?”
“Who says we’re filing…um, I mean”—I lean forward and lift my margarita from the coffee table to my lips—“fighting?” I take another sip of margarita to hide the fact that my heart is sinking—sinking because I am suddenly aware of who’s not here.
I have no doubt that sneaky-peaky Alli has heard about our fight, too. She’s probably making her play for Bennet even as we speak. How will he respond to that, I wonder? Poor Bennet, caught in her snare.
Or maybe it’s not poor Bennet. I mean, I’d be interested in Alli if I were him. I’d be interested in her if I was any man on the island, for that matter. That isn’t insecurity talking. Or tequila. That’s fact.
“I heard from Bruce that the two of you had a fight,” Rachel adds oh-so-helpfully. “He got it from Mooshy Moran, who heard it from Doyle.”
“We’re not fighting,” I say, hoping that message gets back to Alli. “I haven’t even seen him this week.”
Natalie nods. “That’s because he’s been in Muskegon.”
“Muskegon?” The word hits like a punch to the gut. How is it that Natalie knows more about what’s going on in Bennet’s life than I do? “You mean Michigan?”
Natalie is still nodding. It’s like she can’t stop. “Mmm-hmm. They all have to take turns going to some kind of ferryboat licensure training requirement thingy. Martin Tremblay flew him there in his Cessna. They got back a few hours ago. I think Alli picked Bennet up at the hangar.”
Alli picked him up? How did that happen? Before me, Ben
net didn’t have any friends on the island, save for maybe Doyle. He told me that himself. And now he’s apparently so pissed at me, and we’re so done and over, he can’t even ask me for a ride?
“Shit,” I mumble. We’re really over. I take another drink and close my eyes again.
“Don’t feel too bad about it,” Rachel says, her voice rasping. “It’s not like anyone’s surprised.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my eyes snapping open and my voice escalating.
“Just that you’re the summer girl. It never lasts. It’s not supposed to. Just enjoy the ride, girl. You’ve got this awesome house all to yourself.” Rachel waves her arms around as if I didn’t know what house she was talking about. There are flecks of clay dried to her arms as usual, but they seem like twice as many as normal because I’m seeing spots everywhere I look.
Natalie nods her head emphatically, and her head keeps on bobbing. If not a wallet, maybe a Mona Lisa bobblehead. Mobble head. Mobble bobble head.
Rachel’s still talking. “You had a summer fling with a hot guy. And now you’ve got us for the rest of the summer, plus an awesome party at the end of it all.”
“I guess you’re right,” I say, swallowing hard. My thoughts are water-colored and muddy. Is that all Bennet was, after all? A summer fling with a hot guy? I know summer is short, but it seemed like a hell of a lot more than a meaningless fling. And now he’s moving on with Alli?
That dick! I set my drink down hard on the floor, and it sloshes over the side.
“Whoa, careful there,” Natalie says, but I’m not listening.
Rachel’s right. All along, beautiful Bennet was thinking I was nothing more than a summer fling, and there I went, throwing my V-card away on a meaningless hookup!
“Oh my God. Ohmygod. Ohmygodohmygod,” I cry, covering my face with my hands. I am such an idiot. A first-class idiot!
“Is this the moment in the party where everything goes south?” Rachel whispers.
I don’t hear if Natalie responds because I’m freaking out, mumbling under my breath like a crazy person, Nononononononono, shaking my head back and forth, my face still hiding behind my hands.
“Kate, are you all right?” Natalie asks.
I slap my hands down on my knees, then grab my glass. “No! No, I am definitely not all right.”
“Why?” Rachel asks, narrowing her eyes. Her body lists a little to the left.
“Because we had sex! Lots of sex!” I am practically yelling, and Natalie is looking at my glass like she wants to take it away. I wrap my fingers around the stem before she gets any bright ideas.
“So what? He’s seriously hot,” Rachel says.
“I know that! I’m intimately acquainted with that fact. If you only knew—”
Natalie says, “Rock on,” just as Rachel holds up her hands saying, “No, no, no. Just because we’re in agreement doesn’t mean I want all the gory details.”
“Speak for yourself,” Natalie says, pulling up closer. “But what I really want to know is why the two of you are fighting.”
With a deep sigh, I recount the whole horrible scene. Natalie’s eyebrows shoot up when I tell them about Andrew’s picture on my nightstand and how Bennet stormed out.
“Andrew’s the same guy from on the phone before?” Rachel asks.
Natalie nods her head then says, “Y’know, Bennet does have a point. It’s not fair for you to keep two guys on the line. It’s not like this is a book or something. I had a friend like you once. Read a lot of paperback romances—the kind with those bare-chested, oily guys on the cover. She was super into love triangles, too.”
“This is not a freaking love triangle!” The words explode out of me, and Natalie leans back on her hands. My face burns.
“It’s not?” she asks, and it sounds like she’s challenging me to prove it.
“No!” Why can’t I keep my voice down? Control. Get control.
“Why not?” Rachel asks, looking either genuinely surprised or maybe slightly…victorious? What are they angling for?
“For one,” I say, raising an index finger, “Andrew is not actually my boyfriend.” I raise another finger. “And two—”
“Wait,” Natalie says at the same time that Rachel inches closer. “What?”
I’m shaking my head. “He’s not. He’s only ever seen me as a friend.”
“But…I don’t understand,” Natalie says, her eyebrows coming together.
“Does Bennet know this?” Rachel asks huskily. “Because if you told him—”
“He knows.”
“Then why are you fighting?” Natalie asks.
“Because Mr. I’ve-Got-All-My-Shit-Figured-Out-So-What’s-Your-Problem thinks I’m a sellout, and he thinks—regardless of how Andrew feels about me—that I’m in love with Andrew. And that’s the other thing…”
And then it hits me as I grab my second finger with my other hand.
The other reason this is not a love triangle is because I can’t even remember how it feels to be in love with Andrew. I can’t freaking remember. How is it that I can’t remember the single most important thing that has monopolized my thoughts for more than six years?
And how is it that I don’t even care?
I sit there, staring blankly ahead, as I pull my head out of my ass.
I never wanted to be a lawyer. Worse, I never wanted any of it. I only wanted the idea of it, and that includes the idea of Andrew. That thought drops from my head to my heart, much like a stone being dropped into a very deep pool of water. Ker-plunk.
Macie was right. How in the hell did I let this happen?
By the way Natalie is looking at me all smug and triumphant, I have to assume my realization is written all over my face. I’ve never really been in love with Andrew.
I’ve never really been in love with Andrew.
I’m such an idiot. That’s why I could never define how I felt about Bennet. It was because I was working with the wrong definition of love all along. Affection, caring, respect…these are all good things. This is what I felt for Andrew. Feel for Andrew. But Bennet is something…more. So much more. This more, this is where love lives.
“You’re welcome,” Natalie says knowingly. “We didn’t get to this point the way I thought we would, but we got here all the same. Everyone needs a daily life-changing realization. I always try to get mine in before noon.”
“I’m calling Bennet,” I say, jumping to my feet.
“No!” Natalie cries. Her hand slips across my ankle as she tries to stop me, but I’m already gone.
“Wait!” Rachel says as she sets her drink down quickly and follows me into the kitchen.
The room sways as I make my way to the phone. I catch myself on a kitchen chair, and it skids a few inches across the floor. Rachel reaches me at the same time my fingers wrap around the receiver.
“Give me that,” she says, as we struggle for control.
The receiver drops to the floor, but I grab the curly cord and fish it up and back into my hands, coming out the winner. I hold the receiver high over my head while my finger dials the numbers on the phone.
“I need to talk to Bennet.”
“You do,” Natalie says, as she joins us in the kitchen. “Honey, you absolutely do. But not now. Now is not a good time.”
A male voice comes over the receiver, and Natalie and Rachel both let out a low groan. I hold out my arm stiffly so they can’t get close enough to disconnect the call.
“Whadju say?” I ask, slurring a little.
“I asked if you’re okay.”
“Silly. I’m perrrfect. More than perfect.”
“Are you… D’Arcy, are you drunk?” Bennet asks, and I can hear the incredulity in his voice.
“No. Nuh-uh.”
“You’re drunk dialing me?” He sounds disapproving.
I frown at the phone. Where does he get off being so judgmental? I’m a grown-up. If I want to have a few…several…margaritas in my own home, I should be able to d
o that.
“Are you alone?” he asks.
“What do you care?” I snap, because if I was alone it would only be because he made me this way.
I hear him sigh as if he’s really very, very tired. Of this? Of me? “D’Arcy,” he says with exasperation, drawing my name out.
“Bennnnn-et,” I respond, imitating his tone and making it official; I have lost all self control. “We’re deep into OFB over here, and if you don’t want it to turn into TF…TF… What was it, Rachel? TF something?” Rachel shakes her head and sits down hard in one of the chairs. “Never mind. Let me tell you a thing or two about my friend Andrew Mason, Mr. Ferry Man.”
“I don’t want to hear it,” he says, which is completely douchey if you ask me. “Just promise me you’ll stay where you are. Do not get in your car, all right? Do you hear me?”
I roll my eyes, and Natalie nods her head, so apparently everyone in the room can hear him. “Yes, I hear you.”
“Good. I gotta go now. I’m exhausted. Promise me you’ll be safe. No driving, okay? Stay where you are.”
My chest does a little squeeze at hearing his voice go soft and sweet. It’s like a million years since I heard it. He still cares. Even with things all messed up, he still cares. “Yeah, okay.”
“Okay. Bye, D’Arcy.”
“Bye, Bennet.”
There’s a click. I pull the receiver away from my head and stare at it for a second before setting it gently back on the phone. I never said what I called to say. I should have led with it. You were right, smarty-pants. I am so freaking in love with you.
Chapter Forty
Katherine
You’d think after you drunk dial someone that they might call the next day to check up on you. Or at least call to give you shit about it. Bennet does neither. This is why I resolve to plant myself, unapologetically, in his path. We are going to talk. Really talk. He can’t avoid me forever.
