“I still think cell phones are the root of all evil,” he jokes.
I breathe out a laugh and nod toward the dresser, where his phone is charging.
“Pot, kettle.” I wink.
“I didn’t say I’m not a little bit evil.” He pulls his phone free from the cord and flips through his video app. “I swear, it’s the cat videos. I can’t get enough of them.”
I laugh again, half-heartedly. He takes a seat on the bed next to me and turns his phone over, resting it on his hairy knee. He’s almost attractive. I find myself constantly trying to talk myself into feeling something when I’m with him. I don’t, though. And while I’d like to say it’s the hairy legs and the man bun and the gold-rimmed glasses and gauzy shirts, it’s not. It’s that his skin isn’t scorched from working under a car out in the sun, his body doesn’t smell like motor oil, and his eyes are light brown, not hazel. I favor one type—one singular type—and I forbid myself from having him.
“We’ll survive Thanksgiving, you know? This week will be fine.” Jorge leans into me and I smile, barely.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just . . . my best friend got engaged, and I had no idea any of it was happening.” I shudder once, failing to hold back the prick of tears. Jorge rubs my back with his palm but keeps the appropriate distance between us. This is it for me—a platonic love and a lie.
“Maybe you should spend some time together while you’re here. Might be good for you.” His suggestion seems so easy on the surface.
I nod.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Bailey and I have tried. She was the first call I made when I shared the news that I was pregnant. I told her when I was three months along, but as far as she knew the news was fresh. My best friend doesn’t know my baby girl’s actual birthday, which is two days before my own. Nobody knows except me and Jorge. And he doesn’t know why I twist so many lies. He only knows it’s important.
His eyes linger on me and I feel that tug that accompanies the guilt. The last time he asked me to give him a chance is still burned into my memory.
We could be great together, if you’d just let me in.
He told me I was his one.
He isn’t mine.
I had mine, and he broke us into infinite pieces with his lies. Then I added to them.
“I’m pretty tired.” I fake a yawn, something I do often, and I know Jorge can tell. He lets me fake them anyhow. It’s probably easier than hearing someone say again how they don’t want you.
“I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll keep the nightshirt on for breakfast, just for laughs.” He pulls my hand into his and kisses the top, such a formal goodnight. It’s sweet, and that’s it.
“Good night,” I say, feeling for my pajamas in our suitcase then turning off the small lamp on my nightstand. I slip out my door and head to the bathroom, glad to not run into anyone in the hallway on my way.
Bailey’s at her parents’ house. My brother’s outside talking with Dustin. He’ll take off for his place soon and Dustin will be on his way to Vegas. For a business meeting. A required meeting, per his arrangement with Alex. My brother insists Dustin isn’t laundering money, but anything he does with Alex Offerman can’t be good. I know all too well how intimidating that man is and how hard it is to say no to his requests. When Alex came to see me two days after I found out I was pregnant, I got a glimpse into just how dangerous he can be. It was enough for me to cut Dustin out of my life completely, for the sake of our daughter. I have to let Dustin take care of himself and decide where his moral line is drawn. It still hurts to see it so damn blurry.
I hover in the dark hallway of the home I grew up in, holding my breath and listening for any sound from outside. The timbre of Dustin’s laugh infiltrates the walls and windows, the cold air making it crisp. It pierces my heart, just like the moment his voice hit my ears when he stepped out of the closet while videoing Tommy’s proposal. That laughter of his has spilled in my driveway so many times over the years, usually from Tommy and Dustin trash-talking one another. A smile plays at my lips as I close my eyes and imagine them messing around right now. A second later, the Supra roars to life. I didn’t see it when I pulled up to the house originally, probably because Dustin had it hidden in the garage while filming Tommy’s big moment. I’m not sure what I would have done if I had advance warning that he was here. I’d like to think I wouldn’t let it alter my plans, but if I’m being honest with myself, I think maybe I would have run back to Omaha.
I count the seconds it takes before the familiar squeak of the chassis dipping from driveway to road, and imagine the last few words exchanged between Tommy and Dustin before he rolled up the window and zipped away. The sound of the motor fades and so does my smile. I open my eyes in time to catch my brother taking the steps two at a time. I should slip away into the bathroom, but I miss my brother and I can’t seem to get my legs to move.
“He’s gone, if that’s what you were out here wondering,” Tommy whispers. He steps up on his toes and peers over my head into his old room where Bristol is fast asleep. “I wanted to say good night, but if it’s too late—”
“She’s knocked out, yeah.” My chest hurts that there’s this distance between us despite how close we’re standing. “I’m happy for you and Bailey, Tommy. Like . . . really happy.”
My eyes tear up.
“Yeah. I did pretty good, huh?” My brother grins on one side of his mouth and hooks his thumbs in his pockets as he looks down.
“I always knew you had the hots for my best friend,” I tease.
“Shut up,” he jokes back, rolling his eyes. Our exchange lasts seconds, and the following silence seems to go on forever.
“I should take off. Lots of prep tomorrow. Dad wants to decorate since Bristol’s here, treat her to a real Judge family holiday. He’s been working on replacing bulbs in the Christmas lights.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to just buy new strands?” I ask.
My brother chuckles softly and shakes his head.
“Probably, but that man is a hoarder. He likes the ones he has. Mom keeps—”
“Telling him to have a garage sale,” I finish. We both laugh, and for a slim moment, everything fits together as it’s supposed to. The silence takes over again quickly.
“Well . . . congratulations.” I open my arms to give my brother a hug. He hesitates, his lips forming a tight smile, but eventually gives in. Our embrace feels methodical. Obligatory, perhaps. He steps back before I’m done, and I’m caught awkwardly clinging to him. I hide it by dropping my pajamas and floundering around the floor.
“See ya tomorrow, Han.”
“Yeah, see ya,” I say, wishing he’d call me Banana just this once.
I toe my way into the bathroom as soon as the front door closes behind him, and sit at the edge of the tub garnished with my mom’s decorative soaps and rolled up towels only put out for guests. Guests like me. Who don’t live here anymore. And never will again.
2
I want to hate her. For half my drive to Vegas, I pretended I do. It felt good, but also dirty. That’s because it’s a lie, and the man I’ve become can’t stand them. It doesn’t mean I don’t commit them left and right. I only wish I could live a life that isn’t bound by them. Unfortunately, there are things I have to do that I can’t share with anyone, not even Tommy. It’s better that way.