by Mary Frame
I guess this is fun?
Fitz is talking to some guys in one corner of the yard. I watch him for a few minutes, remembering our brief accord earlier today.
He’s laughing with some other guys, enjoying himself. He no longer has that kicked-puppy look like he did immediately after the whole Abby thing. As a matter of fact, he’s seemed okay the past couple of days, except for the conversation I overheard with his momma. Is everything okay with his dad? Has he told his parents about Abby yet?
Not that it’s any of my business.
And then as if I’ve conjured her with my thoughts, Abby spills out from the house onto the back patio.
She looks . . . trashed.
Horrified fascination fills me as she stumbles into people, nearly yanking them down in an attempt to remain upright.
I want to hate her. I should hate her. She was terrible to me, and living with her was as easy as pissing up a rope. But seeing her here, now, like this? I feel nothing but pity.
She grabs on to a guy dancing near the DJ and yells, like she’s trying to get the attention of everyone in the yard.
Then like a switch has been flipped, her glassy-eyed glaze turns into a laser the exact moment she spots Fitz. The laughter abruptly ceases and her lip wobbles and her eyes fill.
Her mouth forms his name.
Then she’s stumbling in his direction.
9
Close the door on the past. You don’t try to forget the mistakes, but you don’t dwell on it. You don’t let it have any of your energy, or any of your time, or any of your space.
—Johnny Cash
Fitz
When Reese steps into the backyard, I’m almost immediately aware of her presence, despite the fact that there have got to be a hundred people milling around between us, and that’s just in the backyard.
Maybe it’s because she’s not like anyone else. She’s not dressed up, not calling attention to herself. She’s just wearing a plain blue T-shirt and jeans. She’s so clearly not trying to impress anyone.
In fact, it’s more like she wants to hide.
As I’m having that exact thought, she scurries like a rabbit into the dark shadows by the fence line and I try not to laugh, forcing myself to pay attention to the conversation with some guys from track.
It’s hard. I want to see what she’s going to do next.
My focus is split between the discussion and keeping tabs on Reese, so I don’t notice Abby until she’s latched on to my arm like a piranha.
“Fitz? Baby?” The words are slurred, her eyes glazed.
Immediately, I twist away, attempting to extricate my arm from her grasp without drawing too much attention.
“Now isn’t a great time.” I keep my voice low, which means I have to lean closer to her while also trying to pull away.
Never would be a great time.
“I really miss you.” Her eyes fill with tears and she stumbles into me, forcing my arm around her to keep us both upright.
I’m stuck like a duck in a dry pond.
Trying to keep my cursing on the inside, I offer an apologetic smile to the guys and pull Abby to the side of the yard, as far as we can get from the thumping bass and music and crowd.
“What do you want, Abby?”
“I want to talk.”
“Okay.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Talk.”
Her mouth opens and she flails like a fish for a few seconds before I help her out.
“We’re over. There isn’t anything to talk about.”
“Fitz, you’re my best friend.”
“Friends don’t treat each other the way you’ve been treating me.”
“But that’s the thing. Friends aren’t always sweethearts and it’s like we shouldn’t have done what we did but it’s my fault for always needing . . . needing something. I don’t remember.” She laughs, but the sound isn’t happy. It has sharp edges, hysteria threaded through the middle.
“What are you talking about? I tried to be your friend, Abby. You tried to manipulate me for . . . I don’t know, some kind of sick amusement?”
She winces. “You make it sound so cruel.”
“It was cruel!” And now I’m yelling. I stop and take a deep breath. “I can’t do this.” I start to walk away but Abby grabs my hand.
“Fitz, please. We need to talk.”
“Maybe when you’re sober.”
I pull my hand away and get a lucky break when one of Abby’s friends comes over to talk to her. Grabbing a play from one of Reese’s books, I hide behind the nearest bush, stepping between the hedges and into the shadows.
And of course, only a few feet away is Reese herself. I swear she was on the other side of the yard before. She must’ve been circling the perimeter.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing hiding in the bushes again? I figured you’d be luxuriating in your win. You know you can hide behind the locked door. No foliage needed.”
I think she laughs a little, but it’s too dark to see her face. “I was but . . .”
“But what?”
“I had to use the bathroom and when I came back, uh, there was . . .”
I groan. “Don’t tell me someone was doing it on the bed in there. Didn’t you lock it?”
“I did lock it. It’s not that. They weren’t inside the room, they were up against . . . They were,” her hands flitter like clumsy birds in the dim light, “using the door.”
A startled laugh escapes me. “And you couldn’t tell them to move?”
I can’t see her skin turn pink in the darkness of the yard, but I can imagine it, having witnessed her blush at least ten times an hour over the past few days.
“Fitz!” The call rings out too close for comfort. Abby is stumbling this way, one of her friends trailing behind her.
“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath as Reese watches the scene intently. “Got any ideas?”
“Yes. Come on.” Reese shocks me to hell by grabbing my hand and tugging me along the fence line, around the corner of the house, through a side door that leads into the garage and finally back into the house.
Once we’re in the hallway, she drops my hand. “You’re welcome.”
I use my suddenly cold hand to rub the back of my neck. “Thanks. And while we’re here.” I stalk past her to where, yes, there is a couple making out enthusiastically, thumping against the door.
Thump, thump, thump.
Christ. It’s like one bad flashback after another.
It makes it easy for me to walk up, pound heavily on the door right next to their heads. “Time to move on somewhere else, folks.”
They must hear me, though they don’t stop their make-out session. Instead, Romeo hoists Juliette up higher on his hips and they slide to the wall next to the door. But at least they aren’t blocking it anymore.
I bow, flourishing one hand toward the door. “Ma’am. Your humble abode awaits.”
Reese darts forward with the key, pushing the door open. “Thanks,” she murmurs as she passes, the word so quiet I nearly miss it with the raging party around us.
“No problem.”
She starts to shut the door but then hesitates on the threshold. Only an inch of space is open, and her eyes are wide and a little uncertain.
A shriek rings out above the music, coming from the living room. “Fitz!”
My shoulders tense.
Abby.
I can’t see her yet, but I don’t have much time before that inevitability.
Reese’s eyes meet mine, then the inch of space widens. “Escape hatch?”
Yes, please.
I step through the door and she closes it behind us, muting the pounding music and jumble of voices. It’s a whole different world in the small space, the Christmas lights casting a glow like early-morning rays of sun.
I sit on the corner of the bed and brace my elbows on my knees. “Sorry I’m ruining your night to have the room to yourself. She’ll e
ventually pass out or her friends will drag her off soon enough, then I’ll leave you to it.”
“It’s fine.”
So she says, but she’s still standing by the door, arms crossed over her chest, looking everywhere but at me.
When she finally speaks, her voice is tentative. “Are you . . . Never mind.”
“What is it?”
“It’s none of my business.” She uncrosses her arms, then crosses them again.
“Go ahead and ask. If I don’t want to answer, I won’t.”
Her chin lifts in a move I’m coming to recognize as the one she uses when she’s getting stubborn. “Are you gonna get back together with her?”
“If I were, do you think I’d be itching to run away?”
She shrugs. “People always do things that don’t make sense when it comes to relationships.”
“I guess that’s true but the answer is no. No, I’m not going to get back together with her. I don’t think there’s anything she could do to change my mind. It will be a struggle to stay friends.” The words roll off my tongue with surprising ease, startling me with the fact that they taste like truth.
Even though we’ve been over as a couple for a month, I always thought she would be there, in some part of my life, because she always has been.
Maybe she will be a friend again, but right now, that future looks hazy at best.
Reese sits on the bed near the pillow, as far from me as she can get. “You guys were together a long time.” The words are soft, tentative.
“Too long, maybe.” I laugh without humor.
“It’s a big change.”
“It is,” I agree. “But at the same time, it’s not. Not really. Things between Abby and me . . . they’ve been changing for a while. I didn’t want to accept it at first. I was living in la-la land and she was living in . . . well, anywhere-but-with-me land, that’s for sure. I hate to say Annabel was right, but she’s been telling me for longer than I care to mention to cut Abby loose.”
“Annabel doesn’t believe in romance in general though.”
“This is very true.”
“And you do?”
I shrug. “My parents have been together since they were both knee high to a grasshopper, over twenty years.”
“That’s sweet.”
“They have this epic love story. So do my grandparents. They were married for sixty years, had a load of kids together, always acted like newlyweds, the whole nine yards. I always thought I would have the same thing.”
We’re silent for a few seconds while the rest of the house pulses in energetic revelry. “If your family is full of great relationships, then why does Annabel have such negative views on love and romance?”
“I have no idea. She’s always been a pessimist about that stuff, or as she likes to say, a realist.”
She nods and sits back a little on the bed, her tense shoulders relaxing a smidge. “My parents have a grand romance too. I can see why Annabel might see it as a detriment.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because they put their own desires above all else.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s difficult to explain.” She bites her lip, considering me for a second before continuing. “My parents are artists.”
I nod. “The Jacksons. Everyone knows about them. Most famous people in town, with the exception of ol’ Roy.”
“Right. They met at a show in New York City when they were in their twenties. They connected immediately. Got married within weeks of meeting each other. They’re both very passionate people. Passionate about their art and about each other—to the exclusion of everyone and everything else, including their children. I barely saw them growing up. Granny came to live with us after Grandpappy died, when I was ten. Before that, my older sister, Scarlett, basically raised me.”
“Scarlett Jackson? I think I’ve heard of her. She’s a chef or something, right?” I settle back on the bed, following her lead so I can lean against the wall and stretch my legs out. I remember Momma telling me about some rumors involving Scarlett and Bruce Conway, a local businessman. A local married businessman. Not sure exactly what happened there, but Scarlett left town shortly after the rumors started. In a town as small as this, you can’t sneeze sideways without some detail of it getting around.
“Yep. An amazing one. She moved to New York City last year, chasing her dreams. She’s starting her own business, mingling with celebrities, the whole thing.”
A shout outside the door startles her into her formerly tense posture.
I ignore the noise and gesture for her to continue.
“Anyway, I guess my point is that they are happy, but it had a price. For Scarlett and me, anyway.”
“What price?”
She fidgets with the edge of her T-shirt, not meeting my eyes. “The price of being normal.”
“What do you mean? You are normal.”
She laughs and watches me out of the corner of her eyes. “Says the man who no less than five days ago thought I had special needs.”
Heat fills my face along with a healthy dose of shame. “I never said that. And I was an ass.”
“I won’t argue with you.”
“I’ve been proven wrong, Reese. It’s not an excuse, but I was in a bad place and wanting to lash out at someone. You happened to be convenient. I know better now. You’re smart. Like, really smart.”
Now it’s her turn to flush and look away. “I’m above average maybe, but so are a lot of people.”
“You’re being modest. I’ve seen your physics book. And you killed me at trivia. Wait. The math problem, during the scavenger hunt. Did you write it?”
Her head ducks. “Yes.”
“That was not a simple theorem.”
“It was for me.”
She won’t look at me. My eyes trace over her jawline, her lips curved in a bow, her hands clasped in her lap, and a tendril of attraction wraps around me, along with a whisper of intimidation. “You’re lucky. I wish I were so smart.” Maybe then I could graduate early and help my parents that much sooner.
“Except I can’t even decide on a major.”
“Why not?
She blinks. “It’s hard to explain. I’m . . .” She glances away and then back. “I’m a polymath.”
“A what now?”
“It’s a person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning. Someone whose expertise spans a significant number of subject areas. The term itself is a derivative of poly, meaning many, and manthanein, a Greek verb meaning to learn.”
I stare at her. “Reese, this is amazing.”
She won’t meet my eyes. Instead, she picks up the pillow and holds it in her lap, fidgeting with the fabric at the corner.
“You can literally do anything.”
“But don’t you see?” Her eyes meet mine, flashing in frustration. “It’s impossible to pick only one thing. Our current global economy is hyperspecialized, while I’m a student of all things but a master of none. My parents are brilliant artists. Scarlett is a brilliant chef. I am more of a jack-of-all-trades. I can’t find any one specific thing I want to learn or excel at above all others.”
“Huh. I still can’t see this as a disadvantage. You’re so smart that the sky is the limit.”
“But the whole point of college and picking a career is to find that limit. Isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.” I never thought about it that way. “I think it’s more than that. It’s about doing something you enjoy, something you feel passionate about.”
“Passionate?” Her head tips to one side.
“You know, isolate the things that make you inordinately happy. Or even angry. Anything that excites you. You could even create a separate list for each subject, listing the pros and cons.”
Her brows furrow. “I’ve been struggling with this for more than a year, and yet you make it sound so easy.”
“It is. You’re already doing the hard part.”
“What do you mea
n?”
I shift closer to her. “That day, in the housing office, when I took the flyer and ran. You didn’t give up or stay behind. You followed me. When we had to jump in the kiddie pool full of whipped cream, you were green around the gills and pale as a ghost. But you still did it.”
Her mouth pops open and she’s staring at me like I’ve sprouted three heads. But I keep talking. “You’ll be okay. You’ll find your path. Maybe you’ll pick the wrong major, or maybe you won’t. Maybe it will be the best thing you’ve ever done.”
She blinks at me, still processing my words. “Maybe. Either way, I have to pick soon. I’m running out of time.”
Her eyes are dark and there’s a crease between her brows. I want to console her somehow, but I have no more words. I’m about to lay a reassuring hand over hers when Abby’s shrill voice rings out over the din outside. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“She’s still out there.” Reese’s words are ominous, as if we’re speaking of the grim reaper.
“Sounds like it.” I heave a sigh and drop my head back against the wall. “She wasn’t always like this, you know.”
“I would hope so, since you stayed together for so long. But then, you wouldn’t be so quick to give her up, would you? You’re not one to give up on anything you set your mind to.”
I smile. “My momma always says I’m stubborn as a blue-nosed mule.”
She laughs. “Not me.”
“Really? I wouldn’t have thought so.”
“I’m changeable. Or maybe . . . I’m changing.”
She really is. Despite the huddling in the bushes.
A loud bang hits the door.
“Fitz! I know you’re in there!”
We share a look. Abby. Again.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to Reese. I open my mouth to yell something, tell Abby to get lost or whatever but then suddenly Reese’s hand is there, covering my mouth.
Our eyes meet and she shakes her head before whispering, “Better to let her think she’s wrong and lose interest. If you speak, she’ll dig in her heels. She wants your attention.”
I blink at her and then she removes her hand from over my mouth.
