by Jamie Howard
“You got it.”
I’m just about to hang up when his voice buzzes through once more. “Wait. You know we’re at The Edge?”
“Yeah, I figured.”
A long moment stretches out between us. One where I hate that I can’t forget the ins and outs of his schedule, where I wish I could erase the seemingly endless amount of good memories we shared there. Luke may have rebuilt that place with all his heart and soul, but there are chunks of mine in it too.
I clear my throat. “Alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“See you then, Hales.”
My heart gets a quick pinch at his casual use of my nickname, and an unexpected sheen of tears washes over my eyes. I tip my head back and give them a hard blink, shooing them away. You’re moving on, remember?
I fight off any more thoughts of Luke and focus on Beth. I can’t even begin to imagine what made her search me out. I remember, down to the day, the last time I spoke to everyone. The last words I spoke: Fine, if that’s the way it has to be. More than four years of radio silence and suddenly she pops back up on the radar. There’s no way Mom has any idea she’s trying to find me.
Stuffing my phone back in my purse, I hurry over to Kyle. He hovers between the elevators, waiting for me, a crease worrying its way down the middle of his forehead.
“Listen, I have to go. Can you please tell Mr. March that I had a family emergency and had to run out?”
He steps toward me, reaching out a hand, but it’s like he’s not sure where to put it. So he draws it back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. The weight of my family drama is like an anvil on my chest. I so want to tell him about it, to let him share the burden so that it doesn’t crush me. But how could someone who loves their family so deeply ever understand what I did? If I tell him how selfish I was, he’ll never look at me the same way again. And I’m not ready for that.
His eyes search mine, trying to read me, trying to find answers. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need me to drive you somewhere? You really shouldn’t get behind the wheel if you’re upset. I could—”
I lay a hand on his arm and give it a squeeze. “I’ll be okay, but thanks for offering.”
“Will you…” He runs a hand over his hair and rolls his eyes. It’s not at me though, it’s like he’s frustrated with himself. “Will you text me when you get home? I just want to make sure everything’s okay and you got back safely.”
“Yeah. I can do that.” I smile up at him, and something inside me goes all warm and fuzzy at the thought that he cares enough to ask me to check in with him.
Before I see it coming, he wraps me up in a hug. I slip my arms around his middle and let my head rest against his chest. His heart thumps beneath my ear, and his shirt is soft and smells like his cologne. It feels good to be held, to feel like someone is looking out for me, protecting me. I hold on to him for just a little bit longer, trying to capture the feeling.
I take a step back and blow out a breath. “Alright, I’ve gotta run.”
“Drive safe.”
* * *
Gravel crunches under my tires as I pull into the parking lot of The Edge. I rest my head against the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. With my purse hooked over my shoulder, I brush a hand down my gray dress and comb my fingers through my hair. Luke and I may be incredibly over, but that doesn’t mean I want to look as frazzled on the outside as I feel on the inside.
Stepping carefully across the parking lot in my heels, I reach the door and my hand hesitates at the doorknob. I visualize what I’ll find behind the door, preparing myself for the confrontation with Beth, with coming face-to-face with Luke for the first time since I left him.
Before I can give myself a full-on pep talk, the door swings toward me and I have to take two hasty steps back to keep from getting smacked in the face with it.
“So sorry, dear! Didn’t see you standing there.” A woman in well-worn jeans and a sweatshirt smiles sweetly at me, holding the door open for me to come through.
“Thanks,” I tell her, my gaze immediately scanning for familiar faces.
I spot Luke behind the bar, and when he notices me he does a double take. From the way his eyes widen appreciatively, I can tell he approves of my new wardrobe. Then again, I bought these clothes with the intention of being less like me and more like Sloane, his girlfriend, so they should be right up his alley.
He gestures with his head to the far end of the restaurant, and I immediately spot Beth. Her light brown hair is like a curtain in front of her face as she tilts her head forward and spins her glass on the table.
My heels are a sharp, strange sound in comparison to everyone else’s flip-flops, and Beth finally peels her eyes off the tabletop to glance up at me. She does a similar double take to Luke’s, eyes raking over my face, down my dress, and stopping on my shoes.
“You look different,” she says.
I slide into the booth, setting my purse down next to me. “So do you.”
She was only thirteen the last time I saw her—all knobby elbows and knees, long scraggly hair, and a gap-toothed smile. Even then she looked like the spitting image of Mom, but now it’s even more pronounced. In the past four years she’s grown up, learned how to style her hair, how to wear makeup, and filled all her harsh angles in with womanly curves. A pang hits me square in my chest that I missed out on all of it.
“Does Mom know you’re here?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.” She pops her “p” like she’s snapping a piece of bubblegum.
I clench and unclench my hands underneath the table, trying to take out my nervous energy without letting on to her how freaked out I am. She doesn’t have the same issue. Plucking a napkin from the dispenser, she starts shredding it into tiny pieces.
I wait for her to say something else. To explain why she’s here at all, but she’ll barely even look at me. “Is something wrong with Mom? Is Dad having more problems with his back?”
“They’re fine.”
“Alright.” I grit my teeth, trying to hold it together. I’ve waited forever for one of them to reach out to me, for this moment. And it’s nothing like I want it to be. It’s like the last thing she wants is to be sitting here, sharing the same air with me. “Well, are you going to tell me why you needed to see me?”
Her upper lip curls and she finally looks straight at me. “I knew you’d be like this.”
“Like what?”
“All judgey and up on some holier-than-thou pedestal.” She flops back against the back of the booth hard enough that the man on the other side tosses an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Mom always said you thought you were too good for us and she was so right.”
“Beth, how can I be judging you on anything when I don’t even know why you’re here?” I lean forward on my elbows, pleading her with my eyes. It kills me that Mom’s poisoned her thoughts with lies about me. Or not lies, but at least half-truths. She’s not even going to give me a chance to explain.
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. It was stupid of me to come here.” Grabbing her messenger bag, she slips the strap over her head and pushes to her feet.
I’m latching on to her wrist before I even realize I decided to do so. “Wait. Please, just give me a chance. I don’t understand—”
“I’m pregnant,” she yells at me, ripping her arm out of my grasp.
The entire place goes silent and I can feel a blush heat up my cheeks. My mind races for the appropriate response to teenage pregnancy. I can’t get a read on her. I don’t know whether to offer her congratulations or a shoulder to cry on. “O-okay. Congratulations.” I end my sentence halfheartedly, somewhere between a question and a statement.
She rolls her eyes at me, but this time keeps her voice at a normal decibel. “Yeah, right. I’m sure you’re super proud of your slutty little sister. I mean, this was always your worst ni
ghtmare, right?” Her hand drops to her abdomen, covering the almost invisible bump.
I bite back my response. How can I even answer that question? My answer is unequivocally yes. Yes, getting knocked up in high school was my worst nightmare. Yes, I wouldn’t even date anyone because I was so determined to break the cycle, so adamant that I’d get my grades high enough to get myself a scholarship. And yes, I’d seen how hard it was for my parents trying to raise me when they weren’t ready for it, how much it dragged them down. I wasn’t going to make the same mistakes they made.
I guess my nonresponse is as telling as anything I can say.
“That’s what I thought.” Beth scuffs the toe of her sneaker against the floor, tapping it against the wood. “Listen, I don’t want your pity.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Money.” She lifts her chin and stares down at me. “I know you’ve got some, and as much as I hate begging you for it, it’s not the worst thing I’d do to make sure my baby’s gonna be okay.”
I drop my head into my hands, and something halfway between a laugh and a sob gets stuck in my throat. She just wants money. How ironic is it that the reason they hate me is the same reason they need me?
I don’t even pull my head back up to answer her. “How much?”
“A thousand. I know a doc that’ll take me on even though I don’t have insurance, and that’s what he’s asking for. He’ll give me the vitamins, and some ultrasounds, keep check to make sure me and the baby are doing alright.”
Even though my mind is mentally calculating, drawing up the numbers of my checking and savings, tallying how much I still owe this month in rent, utilities, and student loans, my hand is already inside my purse pulling out my checkbook. I wasn’t there to help her with her homework, or to tell her that there was nothing wrong with waiting to have sex, but this? This I can do. Even if in the end it makes her hate me more because it feels like I’m paying her off.
I rip the check out and pass it to her, finally letting myself look at her again. “Is that all?”
The check crinkles as she shoves it in her pocket. She fidgets with the strap of her bag. “Yeah, that was it.” She takes two steps backward and then stops, her expression softening. “And, thank you.”
“One second.” I find a blank piece of paper and scribble down my number and address. Walking over to her, I hand her that as well. “In case you ever need anything else.”
She glances down at the paper and then back at me. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Everything inside me screams at me to hug her, to hold on to her before she’s gone again. But I know it’s the wrong move, that she wouldn’t want that. So, I cross my arms over my chest and watch as she leaves, not sure I’ll ever see her again. The bell chimes over the door and she’s gone.
A hand drops on my shoulder. “You alright?”
“No.” I shake my head and press my knuckles to my lips. The tears I’ve been holding at bay all day start to slowly leak from the corners of my eyes. It would be so easy to turn my head and cry into Luke’s T-shirt, but I force myself to step away. He’s not mine anymore. “I will be though.”
One half of his mouth curves into a smile and he gives his head a slow shake. “I never doubted it for a second.”
Chapter 10
Kyle
The hour hand creeps toward the nine and I’ve practically walked an entire mile with how many times I’ve paced back and forth in my tiny-ass apartment. She should be back by now, right? I mean, I don’t really know where Haley was going, but she did say she’d be back tonight, so it couldn’t be that far.
I check my phone for the seven thousandth time, but still no message. Hesitantly, I even check the Clark line, but there’s nothing there either.
When another minute later my phone starts ringing, I nearly trip on my rug trying to get to it. While I manage to keep myself from falling, I stub my toe on the end table and have to bite back a groan. “Hello?”
“Whoa, man. You’re not answering the phone while you’re taking a dump, are you? Because that’s nasty.”
“Shut up, jackass. I’m just waiting on an important call.” Luckily Brian can’t see me hopping up and down on one foot as I try to get my toe to stop throbbing.
“Oh,” he replies, drawing the word out like it’s actually got twelve “h”s. “A call from a lady friend?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” I flop down on my leather sofa and turn on the TV, giving my foot one last flex.
“This isn’t the chick you’ve been texting with, is it?”
I pull the phone away from my ear as he chomps down on what sounds like a chip. Or maybe it’s a nacho. “Well … kinda.” I haven’t exactly gotten around to admitting to him that the girl I’ve been texting ended up being the same girl from work who I’m crazy about. Honestly, I’ve been hoping he’ll forget about the entire thing. It’s not completely unrealistic; he has been known to forget entire conversations in the afterhaze of his parties and sexcapades.
“Hold on a sec.” He presses the phone into something—his shirt maybe?—but I can still hear him say, “Yeah, we should do it again sometime. Alright, yeah. Give me a call.”
When he’s back I say, “Are you seriously calling me while there’s still a girl in your bed?”
“She was in the bathroom.”
Right, that’s better.
“Stop trying to throw me off track. I’m still waiting to hear whose call you’re waiting on. How can it kinda be the girl you’re texting?”
I knew I never should have mentioned it, but at the time, that drunk-text conversation had been too good not to share. Things like that never happen to me.
I settle back into the soft leather cushion. “So, you remember the new girl at work I was telling you about?”
“The one who was over your place last weekend? I remember.”
“So yeah, it turns out that the new girl at work is actually the girl who’s been texting me.”
The only response I get back is laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. Maybe a little wheezing too. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I’m pretty sure he’s crying he’s laughing so hard. I’d probably punch him in the face the next time I saw him if I didn’t remember all the other times he sat on the phone, giving me advice. Or all those nights he spent on my couch after everything went down with Stacy and he was worried sick about me. “Only you would have that bad of luck, man,” he adds.
If he only knew the half of it.
I scratch a hand through my hair and give it a tug. “I have to tell her, right?”
“The douchebag part of me says, hell no. You’ve got an insight into a woman’s mind; do you know how rare that is? You could find out, easily if I might add, whether or not she’s into you. Just one text and boom, you’ve got your answer.” He blows out a breath. “But the nondouchebag part of me says, you need to tell her like, yesterday. If she tells you personal, private things and then finds out you were lying to her? You’re done for.”
The couch groans as I lean back into it. “That’s pretty much what I’ve been telling myself. Things were great when she was here last weekend, and I actually think she might be interested in me, but I can’t start something with her unless it’s all out in the open. And the worst part is: I’ve been acting weird with her ever since because I keep trying to figure out how to tell her and keep chickening out. So now she probably thinks I’m not interested in her. Which is insane, but still.”
“Hold on to your hat because there’s some mushy brother stuff coming your way. Kyle, you are a great guy. Any girl who can’t see that doesn’t deserve you. You get me?”
My response gets stuck in my throat when my work cell lights up on the coffee table. For a few seconds I stare at it without making a move toward it. It’s the answer I’ve been waiting for all night, it’s just coming to the wrong person.
“Brian, I’m gonna have to call you back.”
“Alright man, I’ll catch up with
you later. But hey, chin up. Your luck’ll turn around at some point.”
Unfortunately, that point is not tonight.
Hanging up with Brian, I stretch over and grab my other phone. I unlock it to read my new message.
Lois: Today has been one of the worst days I’ve had in a very long time.
My chest tightens, like I’m trying to breathe when it’s bitterly cold outside. Of the choice between the two of us, Haley chose him. Not the guy who eats lunch with her every day, or the guy who saved her ass last weekend, or the guy she let hold her hand. No, she picks the stranger. The guy she doesn’t know, but who she apparently trusts more.
A part of me doesn’t even want to answer her. If I don’t, would she eventually end up texting the real me? But as much as I might consider it, I can’t leave her hanging. Sometimes I really hate being a nice guy.
Me: Don’t tell me. Another bad date?
Lois: I wish.
Her next message takes a little longer to pop up, and if it weren’t for the little bubble that shows me she’s typing I might think the conversation was over after that.
Lois: Bear with me on the long text. I got a call from my ex this afternoon letting me know my sister dropped by his restaurant and was looking for me. It’s the first time I’ve heard from him since we broke up almost seven months ago. That would have been bad enough, just hearing his voice, but I haven’t spoken to my sister in even longer. It’s been more than four years since that happened. I wish I could tell you it was good news that made her reach out me, but it’s not. She’s pregnant. She’s only seventeen.
I read it twice. It’s awful. The entire thing. The selfish part of me is angry that she’s willing to spill her guts to Clark. That she’s making herself open and vulnerable to a guy she doesn’t know the first thing about. What’s wrong with me? The real me. If nothing else, I thought we were at least friends.
It takes me a minute to get my thoughts in order and type out a reply. It dawns on me that if I’d just admitted to her this week that I was Clark I wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. What’s that expression? “Hindsight is always twenty-twenty”? Yeah, well hindsight’s also a bitch.
