Instead, I offered, “You can have it.”
She finally turned to face me, conflict written all over her face like a billboard to her thoughts. “I don’t want or need your charity.”
“At the very least, the things in this room are yours. You can take them or leave them here to retrieve whenever you want.”
The bag of peas hung loosely in my hands, brushing the side of my thigh. She focused on my eye, released a breath, and nodded.
In her room, she walked straight to the nightstand and pulled out a music box. The contents rustled when she shook it. Her relieved sigh piqued my curiosity. Setting it down, she disappeared into the closet.
I peered in the box, skimming over the tightly rolled papers. The corner-most one appeared loosest. Grabbing it, I unraveled the strip as if it were a fortune cookie.
You ever look to the stars and wonder if there's life out there? If there is, the aliens are probably pissed we keep crowning humans as Miss Universe.
I bet they’re floating in space with their superior technology, thinking—we could help them cure cancer if only those humans would stop considering themselves as the center of the universe.
Think that's why we've never met any aliens?
(Hey, Alien Supreme Leader, if you’re spying on me or Emery and read my note, take us with you. This place smells like sewage, and I caught Virginia forcing Em to eat with baby spoons to take smaller bites. By the way, I packed you an extra brownie, Tiger. I hope you eat it in front of Virginia and tell her it's laced with weed.)
Nash
I’d written that after a bullshit astrology breadth course lecture, taught by a philosophy adjunct in need of spare cash.
I opened another.
Reed said you’re obsessed with stars. I told him, if you’re obsessed with stars, you’d be obsessed with daylight, considering the sun is a star and we lose its light at night.
He said I’m wrong, that you stare at the night sky because it proves light peeks out of the darkness. (What in the actual poetic bullshit is that?)
Wanna know what I think?
It's the darkness you're after, Little Tiger.
Isn’t it?
Nash
And another.
One day, you’ll reread this, and it'll be like spying on your own memory. Hope it’s a happy memory.
Also, Virginia tossed the cottage, looking for weed. She thinks I'm dealing. I take it you ate the brownie. Worth it.
Nash
Emery's footsteps approached. I rolled the letters up, deposited them back into the tin box, and leaned against the vanity.
It dawned on me that we shared the same memories.
“Almost ready.” She exited the en suite in a dark dress so short, it would have been lewd if she didn't look so fucking pure in it. “I’ve grown a few inches since I wore it last, but Virginia hates this dress, so it is what it is. You think it’s too short?”
No.
Yes.
I didn’t answer, watching as she cocked her head and examined herself in the mirror. Satisfaction unfurled across her face at the sight of the dying roses printed on the dress. She reached behind me on the vanity and grabbed a tube of mascara at least four years old.
I snatched it from her. “You don't need it, and I’d rather avoid explaining to the press why my Fourth of July brunch date has pink eye.”
She hummed in the back of her throat. “There’s golfing involved, too. Neither of us are dressed for it, which will probably be the only fun part about it.”
Her hand found an ancient tube of Chapstick. She rubbed it across her lips, probably infecting them with some disease, but I’d still slam my mouth onto hers.
Her legs kicked at the four giant boxes beside the vanity, dress sneaking up her thigh. “Think I can fit these in the closet?”
“The closet?”
Her hand shot to her mouth. “Shit.”
“The closet?” I repeated, trying to figure out why she suddenly looked panicked. “Spill.”
“Nash—”
“I’ll find out.” I opened one of the boxes. Piles of Winthrop Textiles shirts filled it. I didn’t know what to think of it other than I needed her shirts, but I hated where they came from. “You know I’m persistent. It’s easier for both of us to tell me.”
“It's not a big deal.”
“Tell me.” I emphasized, “No lies.”
She caved at the word lie, guilt crossing her face for a fleeting second. “I’ve been living in a closet at the hotel.”
I blew up.
Fucking. Blew. Up.
She pissed me off.
Could she be any more self-sacrificial, infuriating, contradicting, confusing, generous, deviant, remarkable, or fucking goddamn consuming?
My body shook with the vigor of a pipeline drill. I needed to sprint a marathon, swim the entire Pacific, or trek the Amazon. Literally, anything to expend this energy, because mostly, I pissed myself off for not seeing any of this sooner.
I’d started this revenge quest with somewhat noble intentions, but I’d chosen the absolute last person I should have tormented.
“I’ll move.” Emery had the decency to look guilty, just about the wrong damn thing. “I swear, just give me some time to find a place.”
“You think that’s why I’m mad?!”
I shook my head, then shook it again, wondering if it’d rid me of this nightmare situation.
Nope. Still your fucking reality.
Piece of shit, meet your twin. Me.
Backing away from the vanity, my footsteps pounded against the carpet like artillery fire.
“Are you serious?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “You’re starving and homeless, but you’re giving some chick you don’t know over two grand a month for tuition? What the actual fuck, Emery?”
“You know about Demi?” She shook her head, as if it would wipe away the shock.
Nope, sweetheart. Tried that. Didn't work, and here I am, feeling like the biggest asshole in the history of Earth. Napoleon Bonaparte, Christopher Columbus, and Nash motherfucking Prescott.
“What about yourself?” I scrubbed my face. “When are you going to start taking care of yourself?”
“When the guilt fades!”
“What guilt?! Why are you guilty?!”
Fucking hell, this was it.
The moment she told me she’d been involved in the embezzlement.
The moment I learned she was guilty and, worse, wanted her anyway.
She glanced at the hickory clock on her nightstand. “We’re going to be late.”
“I don't care.”
“I have to be on time.”
“Still don't care.”
“Virginia is holding my trust fund over my head…”
Shit. Cocksucker. Dickface.
I folded my arms across my chest. “We’re talking about this later.”
“Sure,” she said, but I didn’t believe her. She didn’t comment on the frozen peas I'd left on the nightstand, tossing the bag to me. “I said to keep this on your eye. It’s already swelling and turning dark.”