When I grab it, I feel that envelope and it’s only then that I remember I even have it. I tuck the magazine in the seat pocket and stare at the envelope in my hands, my teeth grazing my bottom lip. I know I’m going to read it and I know that I should read it, and yet, I can’t bring myself to open it. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m afraid of what he’s written me or if it’s because I’m afraid of how I’ll react once I read what he’s written. But I think it’s probably a little bit of both.
Oh come on, Ronnie, a voice chides me. You went to Alcatraz Prison, for God’s sake. Do you know what they had to endure? And you’re afraid of a piece of paper?
I know it sounds silly, even to myself, and I have to refrain from reminding myself that I’m not some debonair criminal but a eighteen-year-old college girl who is trying to avoid any mention of a particular guy as much as she can. But I also know that that voice is right. It’s a piece of paper. And I think I should give Aiden the chance to say whatever it is he feels he should say. It’s surprising that he even felt he should write, and more than that, that he actually did. Whatever he has to say must be important, at least to him.
So I take a deep breath and open the envelope.
Dear Marion,
Before I begin this letter, I should probably reassure you that I’m not writing in order to try and win you over. You made your feelings regarding me quite clear and I have no intention to try and persuade you to change your mind. I have enough respect for you not to try that.
George and I were close friends back when we went to university together. We were roommates. I knew I was lucky that George was actually a decent person to live with; he always replaced the food he finished and he had no problem cleaning up after him. In fact, I introduced my girlfriend, Vespa, to him, and there would be evenings when the three of us would sit around and watch the telly or go to a movie.
A few months later, the three of us were planning to attend Aunt Judy’s second gallery opening in London and planned to meet at our dorm beforehand. My class let out early and when I got to my dorm, I found Vespa and George together in bed. Suffice it to say, I ended things with Vespa, attended the opening by myself, and immediately moved in my parents’ home. Only Hannah and the housekeeper, Mrs. Daniels, were living there so I still had the privacy I wanted. I simply could not fathom being around George at all, and from then, our friendship diminished. I didn’t want to prevent any of our shared acquaintances from maintaining a friendship with George so I did not speak of what happened, which is why Stephen is still friends with him. When people ask what happened between Vespa and me, I tell them that things did not work out the way I planned. What she says in response is something I don’t care to know.
When it comes to the matter of Stephen and your sister, I can only say that I acted as a friend. Maybe it was unnecessary, but I’ve seen Stephen with many women and relationships for him never end as well as he wants them to. I didn’t want to see him go through that again, and when I saw just how keen he was on Taylor, I felt I had to stop things before they got out of hand. I am not saying that your sister would hurt Stephen, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to. In saying this, I do hope your sister finds the happiness she deserves.
I believe there is nothing left to say, so I will conclude the letter. I hope it finds you as well as you can be.
Sincerely,
Aiden Shawe
It turns out that I don’t even need Cosmo since the whole flight is spent with me reading the letter over and over and over again. I’m not sure if his words make my pain worse or if it alleviates it, however slightly that might be.
By the time we land, I still haven’t figured it out. All I know is that George Thatcher is a big fat liar and Aiden only broke Taylor’s heart in order to protect Stephen. I would do the same for Taylor if our positions were reversed, I suppose. As much as I hate to admit it, the factor of substantial wealth in a relationship does prompt said wealthy person to be a tad bit suspicious of any romantic interludes he might engage in. In this instance, it was wealthy person’s friend.
I hate this.
I hate that I’m not as angry with Aiden as I want to be. I thought it would be easy, now, to get over him. And I’m still upset with how he presented his feelings for me. But I guess I can’t fault him for being protective of Stephen, nor can I blame him about George since George fabricated his entire relationship with Aiden.
No wonder Aiden’s not a romantic.
When I see Taylor waiting for me at baggage claim, my heart can breathe again. It’s nice to see a friendly, unthreatening face, and I don’t hold back my hug.
“Mom’s going nuts about you,” Taylor says when we part. “She’s afraid that you’re going to move upstate, transfer to Berkley, and become some kind of pot-smoking, freeloading hippie.”
“Please,” I say, shaking my head. “Just because I look like a hippie doesn’t mean I am one. And I’m not a fan of NorCal, or Berkley, or pot. Every time I told people where I’m from, they gave me these sympathetic stares and said, ‘I’m sorry.’ Like someone died or something. They really have it in for Orange County.”
“I wish both places weren’t so judgmental.”
Taylor spots my bag, which is a miracle unto itself because usually my bag is the very last bag on the carousel, and after we grab it, we start heading to the car. I know I have to tell her about Aiden because if I don’t, either Kelly or Hannah will. I won’t get into the details or anything, but she needs to know I saw him.
“So,” I say. “Did you know Judy Solomon, the woman Paul is working for, also happens to be Hannah’s aunt?”
“Really?” she asks, stopping at the familiar Civic. She pops the trunk and I throw my bag in there. “I didn’t know that.”
“Right. Well, I saw Aiden up there.”
I hold my breath. This is it. How would she respond?
Before either of us enters the car, we stop. Taylor’s looking at the window and I’m looking at her over the roof. I’m not exactly sure what she’s feeling, but I can guess it’s kind of what I’m feeling.
“Oh.” Her voice is soft, and I know she’s trying to mask the hurt she feels. Because any mention of Aiden Shawe will no doubt bring up thoughts of Stephen Downey, thoughts she has been suppressing for four months. Thoughts she doesn’t want to get reacquainted with because if she does, she’ll also get reacquainted with the pain. “Any news?”
Though she doesn’t say it, I know that as much as Taylor wants to pretend that she’s over him, she’s asking about Stephen. And as much as I want to tell her, I find that I can’t. I can’t tell her that her dreams of being with Stephen were dashed not by his bitchtastic sister, but by his friend and the man I almost fell in love with. If Aiden could be protective over his friend and persuade him to drop Taylor, I can tell her a little white lie that will ensure her heart doesn’t re-break and the pain she’s been trying to avoid doesn’t come back. At least not right now.
“No,” I tell her. “No news.”
Chapter 15
The days go by.
I throw myself into my new classes rather than replaying that moment on Alcatraz with Aiden. One more time and I may be certifiable. I don’t talk over what happened with me and Aiden to Taylor or Hannah or even Kelly. I mean, Kelly knows that something happened but I just can’t bring myself to say anything about it. It’s like I’m denying that it even happened which is ridiculous, because it did and it was big. But I just don’t want to talk about it, let alone think about it. For the first time, I keep my mouth shut when it comes to a guy. Which sucks because my thoughts are constantly plagued by his face, his voice, those eyes, and that smile. Luckily, this quarter is distracting, and as the days pass, I think about him less and less. But at least once a day.
Taylor is doing fabulous. Even though I know she’s still a tad upset about the whole Stephen thing, she’s practically moved on. A couple of weeks after I returned from Frisco, she s
tarted dating again. It should be noted, however, that the most times she went on a date with any one guy was three, so while she’s dating, she’s not ready to get serious any time soon. And why should she? She’s about to graduate and go to graduate school. Plus, she’s only twenty-three years old. Taylor may be traditional with the whole courtship thing, but she’s modern enough to know that it wouldn’t be wise to settle down just yet.
This quarter, Hannah is only taking fifteen credits, but she’s also taking a driving class so she can get her driver’s license. The actual test is a couple of days after Taylor’s graduation and she’s freaking out over it. I tell her it’s the easiest thing in the world and that the United States driving test is nowhere near as scary as Europe’s. Surprisingly, this does little to reassure her, and it’s not an uncommon sight to see her studying, not art history or political science, but a driver’s manual. Hopefully her grades won’t suffer.
I wish I can ask about Aiden. I know it’s stupid and ridiculous and counteracting my desperate desire to get over him, but I still want to know how the whole UCLA Law School thing is going and how he is in general. You know, the usual stuff. But I don’t. I come close a couple of times. Hannah was right there in front of me, eating a bowl of Raisin Bran, flipping through Seventeen magazine, but instead of Aiden, I ask her about what the mag says about bathing suits. I don’t even care about bathing suits. Actually, that’s a lie, but still. So since I can’t ask her, I have to wait for her to share any information she has about him, and that’s not going to happen anytime soon because she thinks I can’t stand her brother and any mention of him might send me into a tizzy. If only she knew that no mention of him would do the same thing.
Life and irony seem to go hand in hand.
I still haven’t heard from George. I don’t think I will, and quite frankly, I don’t care. Ever since reading Aiden’s note—which I still have, by the way, still in the envelope, sitting in the top drawer of my nightstand—my entire opinion of him has changed. How could I have been so foolish as to have fallen for that phony story about Aiden sleeping with George’s girlfriend when it was the other way around?
I feel like I’ve wasted so much time. Maybe if I had known the truth about Aiden, I wouldn’t have thought he was a douchebag, and we could have potentially been friends or something along those lines. But instead, I took George’s story at face value even though I barely knew George and he climbed in my bedroom window in the early morning, and even though Aiden, while tightly wound, is Hannah’s brother. They may be completely different, but Aiden and Hannah are still siblings and I should have—
No. I have to stop this. What happened, happened and there’s no changing it. No more would have, should have, could have. I am going to have to deal with my mistakes, learn from them, and move on.
* * *
“Are you sure you can’t come to the party?” Taylor asks Hannah.
Taylor has just graduated and my parents are throwing a small bash at their house in order to celebrate.
“I can’t,” Hannah says, and she looks sorry. “Really, I would love to meet your family, but I have to practice driving at night, and I need to be up in LA in order to pick up Aiden since he happens to have a license, and Aiden needs a couple of hours to wrap his head around the fact that I’ll be driving on the wrong side of the road at forty-five miles an hour with him in the passenger seat.”
“Technically,” I say, forcing myself to ignore Hannah’s casual mention of her brother and the way my heart flutters at simply his name, “it’s the right side of the road since we’re literally driving on the right side of the road.”
“You’re a tosser, you know that?” Hannah says with a smile.
“And like I say every time you call me one, I have no idea what that means, so your insults don’t affect me.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a ride up there?” Taylor asks, her voice filled with concern. “We don’t mind being late.”
“I’m not making you late to your own party,” Hannah says. “And anyway, Aiden’s driver, Barkley, is supposed to pick me up in an hour. Apparently I’m supposed to practice my driving with Barkley as well. It’ll be my first time on the freeway without a driving instructor.”
“Good luck,” Taylor says.
“To Barkley, she means,” I add.
After another few minutes of teasing and congratulations, Hannah heads off, leaving Taylor and me to ourselves. Our family has already come and gone. Mom wanted to leave early in order to make sure everything is in perfect place. She considers herself a bonafide Martha Stewart in a Victoria’s Secret tracksuit.
“So,” Taylor says as we slowly make our way to the parking lot. “Who’s going to be coming to this party, anyway? I hope it’ll just be the family. You know, Mom, Dad, you, me, Kat, Erin, and Megan.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I tell her. “You know how Mom is, and you know that when she actually has the energy to throw a party, everyone she thinks needs to be there will be invited, whether or not the party is intended for her.” I glance at my cell phone before slipping it back in my pocket. “We have an hour before they’re expecting us. That gives us a good half an hour to get home and change.”
“Can I tell you something private?” Taylor asks, and her question throws me off-guard. But I quickly nod my head in order to show support. “I really wish we didn’t have to go to this thing. To be honest, I just really want to be alone right now.”
I could tell her that we don’t have to go, but I know Taylor better than that. No matter what I say and no matter what she knows, she’ll go, because the party is being thrown for her, despite the fact that my mother has probably invited a horde of strangers. Taylor would go even if the party wasn’t for her.
I don’t know what to say to that, so I reach out and squeeze her hand.
* * *
“Thank God you two have arrived,” my father says at the door. “Your mother’s had one too many Flirtinis or whatever those drinks are called, and if I’m forced to endure one more debate about who is hotter between that chaste vampire and that barely legal werewolf, I’m going to scream.”
“Wow, Dad,” I say as we step in. “I haven’t seen you this riled up since Brett Farve came out of retirement.”
“If he was going to retire, he needs to just do it already or shut up about it.” He follows us inside. “Now listen,” he whispers, tilting his head down towards me. “Your mother expects me to make all the necessary introductions, but I really have no idea who these people here are. Oh, and Uncle Walker and Aunt Janie are here too, say make sure you say hello.”
“Will do, Dad,” I tell him and clap him on the shoulder.
The ever-proper Taylor has left in order to start thanking the guests for being there even though I highly doubt the guests even know what they’re celebrating in the first place. I take a quick glance around the room, and besides my sisters, my laughing mother, and my aunt and uncle, I know no one.
“Do we need to talk about anything, Ronnie?” my dad asks me. I jump, not expecting him to be standing there. “You know,” he continues once I turn to look at him. “Any boys I have to threaten? Any school stuff I should know about? Money problems?”
“No, Dad, to all your questions,” I tell him. “I’m going to go mingle.”
“I’m going to hide in my study.” He bends his head down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t tell your mother. And if you need to escape, I have enough chips for two.”
I grin and decide to go say hello to my mother. She’s still not over the fact that I hopped on a plane to Frisco without telling her beforehand and, okay, I probably should have, but that was two months ago. I really don’t need her holding a grudge against me, nor do I need her to tell all of her friends about said grudge in a tipsy stupor.
Note: avoid Mother at all costs.
The safest people I know now are my younger sisters who happen to be upstairs on the computer. Kat and Megan are in the computer ro
om and judging by the music coming from Erin’s room, I gather Erin is playing her keyboard. Piano, I mean.
“What are you guys doing?” I ask, stepping inside the dimly lit room.
“Chatting with this guy on Facebook,” Kat explains with a girlish smile.
Chatting, in the sense that Kat is using it, means flirting, and Megan seems to agree.
“Really?” I take a seat nearby and give them a teasing smile. “And who’s the guy? Is he in your class or is he older? When I was your age, I was totally into either seniors or college guys. High school boys just didn’t do it for me.”
“We don’t need to hear about how old you are or the old guys you’re into,” Kat says as she types.
“This guy says he knows you,” Megan adds. “He’s out of college, so that’s your age range, right?”
Oh my God, Aiden has a Facebook. I would never expect Aiden, someone clearly antisocial, to jump on the social networking bandwagon. Although it would make sense if Hannah talked him into it. I’m pretty sure Hannah could talk the guy into it. Plus, since he’s so into keeping in touch with her, it doesn’t surprise me that he has a Facebook. It’s as convenient as a phone, really.
“His name is George Thatcher, and he’s from England,” Megan says with a dreamy sigh. “Do you know what that means? He’s like my own real-life Edward.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, my voice flat.
“George,” Kat says as though that’s supposed to explain everything. “George Thatcher. He says he met you at some party.”
“How did he get you guys on Facebook?” I ask. “And why would you add him when you don’t even know him?”
“He said he was trying to get a hold of you,” Megan says. “But you never responded to his friend request.”
Four Sides of an Attitude: A Cufflinks & Austen Novel Page 14
