“What?!” Maren asks in shock. Then she catches sight of my face and tightens her arms across her chest in defiance. “Oh, yes. Sure. I’m excited.”
I slam the door and round the back of the car to take my seat, wondering if her words are even partly true. I start my engine and study her for a moment in the rearview mirror, but when she catches me, she throws up her eyebrows and prods me to get going. “Did you yank me out of that bar just to keep me here all night?”
Tori laughs under her breath, and I tell myself to focus on driving.
On the way to drop Tori off, she chats enough to cover up the fact that Maren continues stewing in the back seat. I don’t register a single thing she says, but I become aware of her absence as soon as she’s gone. After she hops out of the car and wishes us both a good night, the silence looms heavy and Maren doesn’t seem anxious to fill it.
“Do you want to move up here?” I ask, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.
She’s made herself small in the corner of the back seat, as far away from me as possible.
“No thank you.”
I sigh and turn back out onto Bellevue Avenue to head toward Rosethorn. The drive only takes a few minutes and then we’re pulling into my parking space. Maren undoes her seatbelt and I’m about to get out when my hand hesitates on the door.
“Tell me why you’re so angry with me.”
“I’m tired,” she says stiffly. “I don’t have it in me.”
“Maren.”
She lets her forehead smack against the back of the passenger seat.
“Are you going to keep me prisoner in here until I tell you?”
The ludicrous idea makes me smile. “If I need to.”
She doesn’t share my humor. She sighs and sits back against her seat, staring out the window.
I turn back to face the front, unsure of what we’re doing here. If she’s not going to talk, I can’t force her to sit here all night. I glance up and watch her in the mirror again, trying to determine how close she is to giving in.
Time passes and the silence in the car continues.
Neither one of us moves, and the minutes stretch on. I’m about to open my door and surrender even though I don’t want to. I want to press her for the truth at all costs, but I know it’s not right. I don’t want to make her even more upset.
Then she speaks.
“Do you even realize how cruel you can be sometimes?” she asks me, turning her head to meet my eyes in the rearview mirror. Her words feel like a rare bird that will startle at the smallest motion. Left alone, however…what then?
I don’t respond, and a few moments later, she continues.
“I was so happy in Paris, so free and confident. I wanted to bring those feelings home with me, but then you arrived today and in a matter of seconds, you wiped all that confidence away.”
“How?”
She shakes her head. “You don’t even remember, do you?” She turns away and speaks softly, repeating my words back to me. “You’ll never be like everybody else.”
“That was meant as a compliment, Maren.”
“Oh really?” She grunts sarcastically. “Then I guess you don’t really know me at all. I’m a girl who’s spent her whole life feeling distinctly apart from the world around her, never truly blending in, never a part of anything. Those words weren’t a compliment to me.”
“I’m sorry.”
She leans forward, searching in vain for the mechanism she needs to pull so she can push the front seat up and out of her way. After a moment, she groans in defeat. “Please let me out of the car.”
I don’t listen. I’m too struck by what she just said, too angry that she might not understand where I was coming from.
“If you feel apart from the rest of us, Maren, it’s not because you can’t measure up—it’s because you float above us. You’re the most…” I frown as my sentence trails off, unsure of how to continue. “You’re so much—” I sigh, angry with my inability to articulate my feelings to her. “You’re different in the best way. Don’t you see? It was a compliment.”
“Please,” she says, her voice close to breaking.
I open my door without a moment’s hesitation and round the car to let her out. I pop the seat forward and hold out my hand for her to take, but she ignores it as she awkwardly climbs out of the car on her own.
I slam the door closed and watch her walk toward the house, paralyzed by competing voices in my head. Go after her! Give her space.
Ultimately, I let her walk away, and I hate myself for it.
21
Maren
Last night comes back to me with an accompanying flood of shame when I wake up in my bed in the morning. Ordering drinks at the bar with Tori and Barrett…stewing over my hatred for Nicholas…drinking…more drinking…agreeing to be Barrett’s date for a gala next weekend…acting like a brat when Nicholas arrived at the bar…fighting with him in his car.
To say I could have handled myself better is an understatement. I should find Nicholas immediately and apologize, but I don’t. I stay tucked beneath my comforter, staring up at the beautifully painted ceiling and praying my life will work itself out without me having to do anything.
Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m remembering? Maybe I didn’t make a complete fool of myself?
That luxurious thought carries me on a cloud for a few minutes, and then I remember the first thing I said to him in the bar.
“Look who’s here! The asshole himself!”
My cheeks are on fire as I roll over and stuff my head under my pillow.
I have no clue what time it is.
Time to get up, that’s for sure. Sunlight pours into my room and sounds from the house filter past my bedroom door: Louis’ bark, Cornelia’s laugh, someone’s footsteps approaching then pausing before continuing down the hall.
I want to put off the inevitable, but I also can’t just laze around in here all day; I’m already hungry.
I dress slowly in jeans and a white blouse. I throw my hair in a braid and creak my door open, glancing both ways down the hall. The coast is clear, so I pad on light feet down the stairs and toward the kitchen. That’s my first stop.
“Where have you been?” Cornelia asks from behind me once I make it to the threshold.
I leap out of my skin and whirl around to face her. “Jesus! You could have given me a heart attack.”
She laughs. “I wasn’t the one being sneaky. I was merely turning a corner. You were the one tiptoeing around like a mouse.”
“I was just trying to be quiet.”
“You were trying to be silent—there’s a difference. Who are you hiding from?” she asks me with a curious smile.
“No one.”
“Nicholas?”
I act like the idea is totally preposterous. “Why would I hide from Nicholas?”
“Oh, just a guess. Not a very good one, apparently. Anyway, if you’re curious, he went sailing with Rhett. He’ll be gone all day.”
I simultaneously want to jump for joy and sit down to sulk. Such is my life where Nicholas is concerned.