“I know.” Her mouth quavers and her hand is outstretched. “I just … I was hoping we could sit down and—”
“It’s been three years, and now you want to sit down and talk?” I laugh at her audacity. “Little late for that. Not that I’d ever entertain the idea of talking to you about anything.”
Her green eyes glass over and she looks away, arms hugging her sides.
Poor thing.
The last time I saw her, she was on her knees, blowing one of my piercers (whom I wasted no time firing). The image of smeared red lipstick around her mouth and his short, chubby cock thrusting between her lips is one I’d pay good money to forget if I could.
But alas. It’s there forever. Ingrained. Etched. Burned for all eternity.
Veronica’s the only woman I’ve ever dated in the traditional sense. And at one point in time, I was almost certain I was beginning to fall in love with her. I say almost certain because honestly, I wouldn’t know what love was if it smacked me over the head with a two by four. I only have ideas, notions.
“Get the hell out of here,” I tell her as I walk to the door and hold it open for her. “And don’t you ever darken my doorstep again.”
She leaves in tears.
I do that to people. Make them cry. Tell them things they don’t want to hear. Hurt their feelings. Break their hearts. But this one’s all on her.
Fifteen
Brighton
* * *
Friday night at the Iron Castle is so quiet my footsteps echo in the hall.
All the staff left hours ago, shortly after dinner cleanup. I pass the living room, where my mother is drinking a glass of chardonnay, lost in a book, her mother of pearl reading glasses perched on her aquiline nose. She’s so engrossed she doesn’t so much as look up, so I keep going until I pass my father’s study, where the light from his laptop glows blue against the strong lines of his face.
I make my way to the kitchen for a glass of water and then head back to my room, passing the stairs to the basement on the way. Eben and Laurel are staying the night tonight and last I knew, they were downstairs in the theater watching Bird Box and “canoodling” as my mother would say.
The smallest hint of their laughter trails up the stairs—I’m guessing they’re not paying that much attention to the movie.
When I get upstairs to my room, I find a text message notification on my phone. All of my friends from college are scattered across the country with their respective families for the summer, but I know some of my friends from high school are now home from college, and a few of them have already contacted me about meeting up again.
Only this text isn’t from any of my old friends.
It’s from Devanie.
* * *
DEVANIE: so sorry 2 bother u but am at a party and need some1 2 come get me asap! madden will kill me if i ask him. :(
* * *
ME: What’s the address? I’ll be there as soon as I can.
* * *
I change from pajamas into cuffed jeans and a white scoop neck t-shirt and twist my hair into a messy top knot before locating a pair of red Chucks in the back of my closet. Grabbing my keys, phone, and purse, I bolt downstairs, popping my head into the living room where my mother is still lost in her book, which I now see is a Nancy Reagan biography.
“Hey,” I say, breathless.
She looks up, sliding her glasses off her face. Her eyes scan the length of me. “Brighton. Why are you dressed like you’re going somewhere at ...” glancing at her gold Michele wristwatch she adds, “nearly ten-thirty at night?”
My phone vibrates with a text from Devanie—an address.
I’m not normally in the habit of lying, but if my mom knew where I was really going, she might feel the need to lecture me about boundaries and simply stated, I don’t have time for that right now.
“Just going over to Honor’s,” I lie.
“This late?” She sits straighter, almost scoffing at me. I know she disapproves.
“She just got in from Portland and we haven’t seen each other since spring break.”
My mother stares ahead, silent for a moment, and then she places her glasses back on. It’s a good thing she loves Honor.
“All right. Don’t be out too late.” She licks her index finger and flips to a new page in her book.
I head out through the back door, dashing to my car and plugging the address into my GPS. The house is in Olwine, which means it’s going to be at least thirty minutes until I get there.
I shoot Devanie a text, letting her know I’m on my way, and then I head out.
The house at 1352 Vernon Street is a yellow split-level with a sprawling oak tree in the middle of the front yard and a basketball hoop attached to the two-car garage. Every light is on inside and I see an abundance of teenage-sized shadows moving around behind the curtains.
It’s definitely a house party. I suspect someone’s parents are out of town.
I text Devanie, letting her know I’m outside, and a second later she comes out from behind the garage, emerging from the shadows.
She practically runs to my car, wasting no time climbing in, and when the dome light flicks on, I see dried tear tracks on her cheeks.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “What happened?”
She’s shaking. I place my hand over hers.
“Can you just drive, please?” she asks. “I want to get out of here.”
“Of course.” I shift into reverse. “You want me to take you home?”
She dabs at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand and sniffs. “Yeah. Turn left at the next stop sign.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” I ask as we drive. “You’re so shaken up.” She’s quiet. “I won’t tell your brother, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Dragging in a ragged breath, she brushes her palms against the tops of her thighs. I realize now she’s wearing one of the dresses I’d given her—the pretty pink Lilly Pulitzer with turquoise flowers and little gold pineapples.
“I was texting my friend Kyler,” she says, “from school.”
“Okay.”
“And he asked if I wanted to hang out tonight with him and a few friends.” She glances out the window. “You need to turn left at the light up there. Anyway, I showed up and it was him and, like, three other people, and they were watching a movie and there was pizza and I thought we were just going to chill or whatever. And then more people started showing up and more and more and some of them were older. I didn’t recognize them. And then one of them pulled out this little baggie with a bunch of little white sticks in them. They lit them and started passing them out. Kyler took a hit and then he tried to get me to take one. That’s when I locked myself in the bathroom and texted you.” She buries her face in her hands. “He probably thinks I’m so freaking lame now.”
“No, no. Sweetie. God. No,” I pat the top of her hand. “You did the right thing. And honestly, I’m so proud of you for texting me.”
“Madd’s going to kill me if he finds out I went to Kyler’s.”