Yes, that would be a novel way to learn bad news, Mom.
“Tommy and I are engaged.”
I feel curiously removed, unsurprised, as if I’ve been waiting for this moment. It’s always been as if I’m the parent and she’s the headstrong teenager, making one bad, impulsive decision after the next. I guess I should just be relieved it’s not cocaine addiction or pregnancy. James shoots me a questioning glance on his way to the shed.
“You’ve only dated him for two months, Mom,” I argue.
“When you know, you just know,” she sighs happily.
“You mean the way you just knew with Dad?”
“I was young when I met your father,” she insists. “I didn’t know who I was then.”
“It took you nine months to choose what color BMW you wanted, but you can pick a husband in two?”
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she says. “Or are you only happy when there’s a wedding in Grand Cayman you get to attend?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh,” she says uncomfortably. “Nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing, Mom,” I reply. “Who’s getting married in Grand Cayman?”
But I already know. I ask because I want her to tell me I’m wrong, something she does not do.
I sit there holding the phone in front of me when our call ends. There’s a sharp pain in my chest. I wish I could cry to blunt its edge, but nothing comes. What the hell is happening to my life? It’s as if the world has spun too hard, hard enough that I’ve been cut loose from every single thing I was tethered to. Some of those cords were thinner than others. Ryan, I’d known less than a year. But Ginny? My parents? I’ve known them the longest. And it seems as they’ve all decided, simultaneously, to set me free.
James climbs back up the steps with his golf bag.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yep,” I nod, but the word is vacant, a shell for all the things I really feel.
He pulls a chair up beside me and slides the phone out of my hand. “No it’s not. What did your mom say?”
“You should go,” I reply. “You’re going to miss your tee time.”
He reaches his arm out and his hand circles my arm. The pad of his thumb, just the tiniest bit rough, runs over the smooth skin of my wrist. “What did she say?”
“She’s getting married.”
“Wow,” he blinks. “That’s … fast.”
“My dad’s getting married too, apparently,” I say flatly. The words don’t seem real. “He didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
He looks at me blankly. “Jesus, Elle. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Me neither.”
“Let’s go do something today,” he suggests. “We could take the ferry to Cape May if you want. Have you ever been?”
“That’s sweet of you, James,” I say, with a smile that is small but real. “But you’ve already got plans.”
“Max will understand.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m working a double today anyhow.”
Max pokes his head out. “Dude. Let’s roll.”
James stands reluctantly. “You sure?”
I smile. “I’m fine.”
“Things aren’t always what they appear,” he says quietly. “Don’t start making interpretations about all this yet. Your parents love you. They just happen to be in a shitty place right now.”
What about you, though, James? I ask silently. Because you’re the one that hurts the most.
**
I generally hate working doubles, but today it’s a blessing, preventing me from dwelling on my mother’s impulsivity or the fact that my father seems to feel I’m a mistake he’s moving on from.
The house is dark when I get home. I assume that Max and James went out, which makes my stomach churn. The distress I felt this morning about my parents can’t begin to compare to what I will feel if James starts acting like Max: bringing girls home or just not coming home at all. I go to the kitchen, trying hard to talk myself off the ledge, just as the front door opens.
A moment later James stumbles in, his eyes unfocused. The relief I feel provokes a bizarre desire to burst into tears. I didn’t cry about my dad’s failure to invite me to his wedding, but this — James home alone — would be enough to make me weep for hours if I allowed it.
“Hi,” he says, bleary-eyed but still nervous. He’s as drunk as I’ve ever seen him, yet still remembers to be wary of me.
“You’re shit-faced,” I say, walking to the refrigerator.
”That’s possible,” he agrees.
“Where’s Max?”
“I left him,” says James, running a hand over his face. “I was worried about you. You were so sad earlier.”
I’m touched by this and I don’t want to be. “That’s sweet, James, but I’m fine.”
He walks forward and bangs his shoulder, then leans against the offending wall and stares at the ground.
“You need to go to bed,” I sigh. I set my water on the counter and go to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and attempting to pull him. A nearly impossible feat when he outweighs me by at least 80 pounds.
“Don’t,” he warns. He tries to shrug me off but staggers sideways instead, pulling me with him.
“Stand up straight. You’ve got to help me here. I can’t do this by myself.”
“I don’t want you to help me,” he argues.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say. “Come on.”
“Elle,” he grumbles. “I’m trying so hard … just don’t.”
“Trying so hard to do what?” I huff in exasperation, as I continue to tug him toward his room. “Because you’re sure not trying to walk.”
He leans sideways against the wall and closes his eyes. “You,” he says. “Trying to stay away from you.”
My heart is pounding thick and sluggish in my ears, and suddenly I am no more capable of propelling him forward than he is. “Why?”
He pulls me into him, his hands at my hips, resting his forehead against mine. “I can’t even think when you’re in the same room,” he sighs. “I want you so much I can’t even think.”
That airborne feeling I had when Max suggested James might like me? It’s nothing compared to this. This is a wave slamming into me so hard and so fast I don’t even have time to brace myself.
“You said you didn’t like me in that way,” I breathe.
He closes his eyes. “I lied,” he says quietly. “I don’t want to think about you that way because you’re too fucking young. But I do.”
His hands move to my face, long fingers resting against my jaw and cheekbones, holding me steady while his head lowers.
I should stop him. He has no idea what he’s doing. I should stop him.
He leans in and finds my mouth, softly at first. A sweet, unhurried kiss, his tongue opening my lips, his hands sliding back into my hair.
“God I love your mouth,” he groans. He sucks at my lower lip, wrenching a gasp from my throat that surprises even me.