But he always refused, which made me feel just a bit guilty. Still, it wasn't all bad, considering that I was saving nearly every penny, just in case he ever changed his mind about selling the house.
And now in the bedroom, I waited to hear what he'd say about my interview. Midland was only forty minutes away, definitely within commuting distance.
To me, this was good news. And yet, Brody said nothing.
I waited for a long, tense moment, thinking that he'd eventually say something. But he never did.
Was he even listening?
I tried again. "And the pay is pretty good, too."
With an obvious lack of enthusiasm, he said, "Good to know."
Was it?
I thought so. But Brody's reaction wasn't what I'd been hoping for. I asked, "Aren't you excited?"
With a wry laugh, he said, "Not at the moment."
I frowned in the darkness. "Why not?"
"Because I know what you're gonna say next."
"You do not."
"Sure I do," he said. "You're gonna make another play for the house."
Another play? With a sound of annoyance, I said, "What, like it's some sort of game?"
"Listen," he said. "Just let it go, alright?"
I didn't want to let it go. But I also realized that when it came to the house, Brody held all the cards. This had been true right from the beginning, and maybe I'd been naïve to think that anything had changed.
Still, I felt like hurling my pillow across the room. The whole thing was beyond frustrating, especially now, when I'd come up with an exciting new idea for paying the monthly mortgage – assuming that I ever got to that point.
My idea – and I still thought it was a good one – was to get a couple of roommates to share expenses. It was a decent plan, one I probably I should've come up with sooner.
The house was huge and located right on the beach. Soon, the place would have double the bathrooms, a brand-new kitchen, and loads of extra closet space.
With all of the new features, I'd have no trouble at all finding a couple of gals to move in and split expenses.
They could pay me a set monthly amount for rent, and I could use that rent to pay for a big chunk of the mortgage. The rest of it, I could cover on my own.
It wouldn’t even be that hard.
But I was getting ahead of myself, wasn't I?
Until I had an actual job – as opposed to merely an interview – I'd never qualify for a mortgage in the first place, even if Brody did agree to sell.
Reluctantly, I decided to table the house discussion for another time, after I had a job offer in-hand. Until that point, Brody and I would only be arguing for nothing.
But there was something I could get answers on. "So about your grandparents," I said, "you never did tell me. Why didn't you ever get to know them?"
With no trace of a smile, he said, "Trust me. You don't want to know."
Judging from the tone of his voice, he wasn't any happier with this subject than the last one. Or maybe he was still irritated about the house.
Buy hey, I was getting irritated, too. And my question was perfectly reasonable. Brody and I had been together for months now. Maybe it wasn't a huge amount of time, but it was certainly long enough to justify asking basic questions about his family.
I said, "But I do want to know. I wouldn't have asked otherwise."
"Alright," he said, not sounding too happy about it. "You wanna know why? It's because my parents were fuck-ups."
"Oh." Now, I hardly knew what to say. From watching the TV show, I already knew that both of his parents had died in separate accidents sometime within the last few years – his dad in a car crash and his mom in a house fire.
At the time, both of them had been living in different states – away from their children and from each other.
Brody never wanted to talk about it, and I could totally see why. But until just now, I hadn't realized that Brody harbored such hard feelings for them.
After a long moment, I said, "How so?"
"Let's just say, family wasn't important to them."
"But what about your grandparents?"
"Dead."
I winced. "All of them?"
His voice was quiet. "Yup."
"Gosh, I'm really sorry."
"Don't be. Like I said, I never knew them, so…" His words trailed off into silence – the kind that didn't welcome further discussion.
Still, I persisted, "So you're saying you never met them at all?"
"Never," he confirmed. "So hey, they could be fuck-ups, too, for all I know."
The more he talked, the less I liked what I was hearing. Did he seriously just call his dead grandparents fuck-ups?
And earlier, his parents, too?
I felt my eyebrows furrow. It was true that I had plenty of issues with my own parents, but I still loved them, even in spite of their flaws.
And, as far as Brody's grandparents, his pronouncement seemed terribly unfair.
Hoping to get him thinking, I said, "But about your grandparents, if you've never met them, how can you truly know anything?"
"I don't." His voice hardened. "And that's the point."
"I know," I said. "But I'm just saying, maybe they were wonderful people."
With a low scoff, he said, "And you think that's better?"
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe."
"Well it's not," he said.
"Why?"
With a new edge in his voice, he replied, "Because the way I see it, I'm better off if they weren't worth knowing."
I still didn't get it. "But why?"
"Because then I wasn't missing anything."
Finally, I saw what he meant. Still, the whole thing made me feel strange and sad – and even sadder when Brody announced, "I'm gonna head out, alright?"
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion. "Head out? What do you mean?"
"I’m gonna head back to my own room, maybe get some sleep."
Maybe get some sleep? I hesitated. "Oh. Okay."
He'd never done such a thing before. Normally, he stayed until just before sunrise, and left with obvious regret.
With no sign of regret now, he said, "And about the house. I meant what I said. Drop it, alright?"
Drop it?
Like it was so easy.
I refused to lie. "I can't promise you that."
"Yeah, well that makes two of us."
I wasn't even sure what he meant. But judging from his tone, it wasn't anything good.
Before I could even think of something to say, he was already out of bed and pulling on his clothes. In the shadows, I could see only his silhouette, but that didn't make it any less painful to watch as he prepared to leave.
And me? I didn't try to stop him.
I mean, hey, if he wanted to go, I wasn't going to beg him to stay – even if there was a pathetic part of me that was sorely tempted.
But all too soon, he was heading out. He didn't even leave through the window, but rather through the bedroom door, slipping out into the hall and shutting my door firmly behind him.
Alone in the quiet bedroom, I closed my eyes and tried to block out whatever had just happened.
My bed wasn't terribly huge, just a basic double. Still, it felt too big and empty after his sudden departure.
The whole thing was incredibly strange – and even stranger the next morning when I learned something that I should've heard directly from him.
But I hadn't. And I didn't like it.
Chapter 48
Arden
I stared at Waverly. "What do you mean he's gone?"
With a smirk, she replied, "I mean exactly what I said. He's gone. G.O.N.E, gone."
I gave her an annoyed look. Thanks ever so much for the spelling lesson.
We were standing in the crew house kitchen, and she was talking about Brody.
I asked, "Gone where?"
"To California, of course."
I shook my head. "Californi
a? But why?"
"Because, he was supposed to be there weeks ago."
He was? If so, this was the first I'd heard of it.
It was just past seven o'clock in the morning, and my day was off to a bitter start. After Brody's sudden departure from my bedroom last night, I'd slept fitfully at best and woke way too early feeling disgruntled and upset.
Still, I tried not to let our argument – or whatever it was – get me down. During my morning shower, I'd comforted myself with the fact that I'd be seeing Brody over breakfast, which would give us the chance to try to figure things out.
Instead, I'd emerged from my bedroom to see Waverly smirking in the kitchen like she knew something I didn't.
Turns out, this was true.
Looking obscenely delighted, she'd greeted me not with a "good morning," but with the news that Brody had left for the airport long before sunrise.
And now, she was saying, "We are restoring other houses, you know."
Oh, I knew alright. There was that long-neglected estate in California wine country along with that three-bedroom bungalow in Nashville, plus a farm house in Iowa.
Even though I'd never seen the houses personally, I'd seen plenty of pictures and video footage, too. Over the past couple of months, I'd helped Brody with some of the advance planning – brainstorming bathroom and kitchen layouts, along with countless other details.
I'd loved every minute of it, even when we disagreed, which wasn't as often as you'd think. But now, his sudden departure made me wonder what exactly I'd been missing.
Yes, I had realized that Brody would eventually need to travel to the new sites. But I'd always figured that I'd have some advance warning when that actually happened.
And yes, there was a part of me that had hoped to be included, not with the actual show, but as Brody's, well, I didn't know what.
Girlfriend?
Lover?
Friend?
Colleague?
I was still trying to figure it out when Waverly announced, "And I'm leaving for California tonight."
I stiffened. "What?"
"Well, I am the show's producer," she said.
It was funny. These days, I never thought of her as the producer, mostly because she didn't do much producing. Instead, she spent most of her time talking on her cell phone, shopping on-line, or complaining that no one ever listened to her ideas.
I stood in stunned disbelief as she went on to imply that Brody might be gone for a while.
With growing concern, I asked, "Do you know when he'll be back?"
With another smirk, she replied, "Sure."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to tell me?"
She paused, as if thinking. "Why should I?" she finally said. "You never tell me anything."
By now, I felt like screaming. "I have no idea what you mean."
"Sure you do," she said. "You're fucking him, aren't you?"
I tensed. Crap.
My face grew uncomfortably warm, even as I coldly informed her, "That's none of your business."
"I'll take that as a yes," she said, looking decidedly displeased. "I knew I shouldn’t have told you that."
"Told me what?"
"To hate-fuck him."
Good grief. That was months ago. But apparently, she hadn't forgotten.
I replied, "Not that it's any of your business, but I didn't 'hate fuck' him."
This was technically true.
Even though I'd started out hating Brody, our encounters had not been hate-filled, not even in the beginning.
Her lips pursed. "Oh, please. I saw him come out of your bedroom last night."
At this, I almost groaned out loud. Damn it.
Now I didn't know what to say.
Into my silence, Waverly said, "That's why he suddenly left town, wasn't it?" With a brittle laugh, she said, "What'd you do? Get all clingy? Guys really hate that, you know."
By now, my head was swimming so hard, I could hardly keep up with my own thoughts. I didn't think I was clingy. It was true that Brody and I had been spending a lot of time together. But it hadn't felt like I'd been chasing him, much less crowding him.
And besides, I reminded myself, Brody had been sneaking into my bedroom, not the other way around.
Still, a little voice in my head whispered that he'd left awful quickly when I'd broached the subject of his family.
It was a bad sign, for sure. After all, true intimacy didn't come from sex so much as sharing secrets and what-not.
Maybe he did think I was clingy.
Throughout the day, I texted him several times – and even called him, too – but I never did get ahold of him, or receive any response whatsoever.
And, as if this weren't bad enough, I had a surprise visitor late that very same night.
Probably I should've been happy to see him. But I wasn't, not after I heard what he'd come to tell me.
Chapter 49
Arden
Waverly – along with all of her luggage – had left for the airport nearly four hours ago, and I was sitting alone in the crew house living room.
Apparently, I'd be staying here on my own. But for how long, I had no idea.
After Waverly's departure, I'd poked my head into Brody's bedroom in search of some clue on how long he might be gone, or if he planned to return at all.
What I saw gave me at least some hope. The way it looked, some of his stuff was still there, which suggested that he'd return eventually.
But until I actually talked to him, I had too many questions and no answers whatsoever.
As the hours passed, one question loomed larger than the rest. Were we broken up?
But maybe that didn't even apply. Maybe we'd never truly been together. After all, our relationship had been a total secret, except to Cami, who now wanted to kill him, thanks to me crying on her virtual shoulder just an hour ago.
As for my calls to Brody, they remained unanswered. With every passing minute, I grew more and more angry. Already in my head, I'd told him off at least a dozen times.
While I stewed on the couch, I was working on yet another way to tell him exactly what I thought of his recent behavior when a knock sounded at the front door.
Startled by the sudden noise, I gave the door a perplexed look. It was nearly ten o'clock at night, late for visitors, especially when I wasn't expecting anyone.
Across the street, the film and construction crews had stopped working hours ago, leaving me utterly alone for the first time in months.
Reluctantly, I stood and made my way toward the door.
Before answering it, I peered out through the front window blinds, trying to get some sense of who might be visiting at such an odd hour.
I saw no vehicle in the driveway – here or across the street. But there was someone standing on the front porch.
It was someone I instantly recognized, someone who'd been avoiding me for way too long.
But it wasn't Brody.
It was my cousin Jason.
Finally.
When I flung open the door, he greeted me with a sheepish grin. "So, how's it going?"
I stared, dumbfounded. "Is that a serious question?"
Jason was tall and thin with wavy brown hair. Tonight, he was wearing gray slacks and a white button-down dress-shirt. He looked slightly rumpled and sleepy-eyed.
Ignoring my attitude, he said, "So, can I come in?"
With a sound of annoyance, I opened the door wider and stepped out of his way, figuring it was better to kill him in the living room rather than outside on the front porch, where there might be witnesses.
As he shuffled inside, I said, "And just where have you been, anyway?"
Without meeting my gaze, he mumbled, "Around."
I shut the door and got straight to the point. "So what happened with the house?"
"Uh…." He shifted from foot to foot. "Which house?"
Oh, for God's sake. "You know which one." Still, I jerke
d a thumb vaguely toward the house across the street. "That one. Remember?" I made air quotes. "The ol' family homestead?"
He frowned. "I don't suppose you've got any snacks?"
Already I felt like throttling him. "Snacks? Seriously?"
"Sorry, but I'm starving," he said. "I've been sitting in the car for hours."
I didn't get it. "What car?"
He jerked his head toward the left side of the house. "I parked down the street."
"Why?" I asked.
"So I wouldn't get caught."
"By who?"
"Anyone," he said. "Do you know I've been driving by here for weeks now?"
"Here? You mean this place?"
He nodded. "Oh yeah. Sometimes I'd even park down the street and wait. One night, I fell asleep in my car." With a grimace, he reached up and rubbed at his shoulder. "Woke up with one hell of crick in my neck. The thing's still sore."
Maybe I should've felt bad for him. But I didn't. I couldn’t, not after that stunt with the house.
I gave him an annoyed look. "If you want me to feel sorry for you, forget it. You totally screwed me over. You know that, right?"
At this, he had the nerve to look insulted. "I did not."
"You did, too," I said. "You took my money and then sold the house out from under me. How is that not screwing me over?"
"Hey, I told you I'd make it right."
During our phone conversation months ago, he had said such a thing. And I might've been inclined to believe him, if only he hadn't been avoiding me ever since.
I crossed my arms. "Oh yeah? How?"
He stood just a little bit straighter. "I brought you something."
When my only reply was a stony look, he reached into the front pocket of his shirt and pulled out a folded check. With a little flourish, he held it out between us. "Here."
Silently, I snatched the check and lifted it for a closer look. It was a personal check made out from Jason to me. The total was for forty-one thousand, two-hundred dollars, and twenty-two cents.
As I tried to process what I was seeing, Jason announced, "It's all of your money. I'm paying you back." Sounding annoyingly smug, he added, "With a nice bonus, too."
I was still staring at the check. A couple of weeks ago, in a fit of pique, I'd actually added up all the money that I'd sent Jason during the past three years. The total came to forty-one thousand, one hundred dollars and twenty-two cents, exactly.
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