“What the hell is up with you?” Talia asks. “I just yelled freeze and you didn’t even notice.”
“Sorry,” I say. I look around the table and see that the kids are indeed frozen. I am super spacey today.
“Hey,” Botts says, coming up beside me.
“Hey,” I say back. And then I wonder. Does he know? Would Gavin have told him? No. Maybe?
“Are you coming to my cottage again this day off?” he asks.
“Oh. When are you taking off?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Is that okay?” I ask Talia.
“Totally,” she says. “You need a day off.”
“Great,” I say. “I’m in. Fun! Thank you for inviting me.”
I don’t ask if Gavin is coming too. But I am really, really hoping he is.
I don’t see Gavin the next day. When his table is empty at dinner, I realize he must be on his overnight.
We really need to talk about what happened. Don’t we?
I assume that I’ll get to talk to him at the cottage at least, but when I get to the office at six p.m., he’s not there. It’s just Botts and Priya and Smokin’ Hot Benji.
“I’ll drive,” Botts says.
“No Gavin?” I ask, trying to sound cucumber-cool.
“No, he’s taking tomorrow night instead. He has to go into the city.”
Why would he have to go into the city? Is he meeting someone? Who? Another girl? Or maybe it’s Kat? No, she’s still in Paris. I think. I hate that I’m even worrying about this. Why do I care? Why didn’t he tell me?
I sling my backpack over my shoulder. “I need sleep.”
“You are looking kind of tired,” Botts says.
“Hey!”
“I’m kidding. Kind of. Let’s go. You can go straight to sleep.”
I manage to stay up for a delicious dinner of steaks and baked potatoes and a dip in the hot tub.
“Who wants to watch a movie?” Botts asks.
“Me!” I say.
“Sure,” Priya says.
Smokin’ Hot Benji shrugs.
“Okay, meet me in the living room in twenty,” Botts says.
Botts turns off the outdoor lights, and the four of us go back inside.
I take a quick hot shower and put on my leggings, a bra, and a sweatshirt and head downstairs.
Botts is already making popcorn in the microwave. He’s wearing flannel pants and a Boston Red Sox T-shirt. “What do you want to watch?” he asks.
“Do you have the latest Star Wars?”
“Do I have the latest Star Wars?” he asks. “Are you kidding? I have every Star Wars! You like Star Wars?”
“Of course I do. I’m Rey for every Halloween. But I haven’t seen the latest.”
“And why were you not at the theater on opening night?”
I shrug. “Eli is not that into Star Wars.”
“So? He wouldn’t go with you?”
“He didn’t want to fight the crowd.”
“Nooooo! Opening night crowds are the best. You could have worn your Rey costume! Next time we’ll go together and I’ll dress up too.”
“As who? Darth Vader?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Han Solo. Obviously. I have the perfect vest.”
I laugh as he sets up the movie.
I look up toward the rooms. “Do you think they’re coming down? It’s been a while.”
“Um . . .” He looks toward the room and smiles. “Possibly not?”
My eyes widen. “Priya and Smokin’ Hot Benji? No way!”
“Maybe? I don’t know. I can see it.”
“Sure,” I say. “Why not?”
My eyes start to feel heavy about halfway through the movie, so I spread out on the couch, pulling a cashmere blanket over my legs. Priya and Smokin’ Hot Benji never show so I have a lot of room. It’s a fabulous couch. A super soft couch. A couch of marshmallows.
Maybe I’ll just take a little snooze.
When I wake up, the credits are rolling and the clock on the DVR says 11:02 p.m.
“Oops,” I say.
“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “I’ll watch it again with you tomorrow. Go to bed. I’ll close up the house.”
I blow him a kiss and climb into my super luxurious bed. I text Eli that I’ll call him in the a.m. and fall fast asleep.
The next morning I wake up at eleven. I scroll through my phone first and go to Instagram. Eli’s last picture was taken in Juan-les-Pins, France. He and his cousin are on the beach together. I scroll through the comments.
Love that place! Are you going to Barcelona?
Then there’s a, Great pic! Best night!
Posted by someone named Sydney.
Who’s Sydney?
I flip over to her profile, which is public.
Her latest post was today, and it’s also in Juan-les-Pins.
And Eli, my Eli, is in the photo!
Wait, what?
Five of them are standing on the beach together! And she—this Sydney chick—is wearing a bikini!
Who is this Sydney chick?!
I scroll a few photos down and right in front of me is another picture of her, some other girl, and my Eli’s face pressed together in a picture, smiling for the camera! In Switzerland!
What the hell? Didn’t he specifically tell me that it was raining in Switzerland and that he was so bored?
He doesn’t look so bored. He doesn’t look so bored at all. He’s smiling and drinking and he looks like he’s having a great old time being so not bored in Switzerland.
And now Sydney’s in France with him too? For real, who is this girl?
Fine. Whatever. It’s not like I have a right to get mad, even if something did happen.
I look up Gavin’s profile. It takes me a few minutes to find him, but there he is.
I scroll through his pictures. He doesn’t post a lot. Although he’s in camp, and we’re not supposed to be online. But still. He hasn’t posted once all summer. His last photo was in May. It’s the one Lis showed me of him and Kat.
Part of me hates that she’s so beautiful.
But on the other hand, now it makes me feel powerful.
Being with me is worth risking his relationship with this beautiful girl.
Wow, what a seriously messed up way of thinking.
I should call Eli. I really, really, really should. I press his name.
“Hey, stranger,” he says, answering.
“Hey, stranger to you,” I say, my voice cold.
“I miss you.”
“I . . . miss you too.” I do miss him. Kind of. I’m a little mad at him, though.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“At Botts’s place. Day off. I slept in. You?”
“You spend a lot of time with this Botts character,” he says.
Ha. Botts is the one he’s jealous of? “We’re friends,” I say. “And he has a really nice house.”
Maybe it’s a good thing that he’s jealous of Botts. He won’t realize what he should really be jealous about. “Where are you?” I ask.
“In my room, too. South of France. You’re alone? Can we FaceTime?”
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
Great, now he’s going to look at me. I shake the worry off. He can’t tell. It’s not like I have hickeys on my neck. And the stubble burn has worn off.