“I’m not that guy,” he says.Liar.“So if you wanna tell her, go ahead. I’ll deny it, and you’ll lose a friend.”
“Wow,” Paige says. “You sure about that?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do here. I said no to this whole thing that night when you drove me home, and you still come back, all up to something the other night at the party. I don’t trust you,” he says, punctuating the last few words like he’s made a good point.
“Me? I came back? I had sex with myself in that bathroom? I’m sorry. You’re the one who doesn’t trustme? Ha!” Her voice is high and pinched. This combative facade of his should signal danger and make her let it go, but she does not.
“You have no proof, so...”
“How do you know that?” she says, and he stands and shoves his phone in his pocket.
“I think we’re done here,” he says. He turns and walks out of the café to his car.
That’s cute. He thinks we’re done.
14
CORA
I almost wonder if I’m imagining it, but Finn seems so attentive the last couple days. No, I decide. It’s me. I’ve been so busy thinking the worst, I haven’t appreciated him or noticed how hard he tries.
I stand at the stove and stir up a skillet of Hamburger Helper. Finn is lying on the couch watching the news. I like the muffled sound of reporters’ voices as it gets dusky outside, and the house smells like browning onions and garlic. I go to the arched opening to the family room and watch Finn a moment. I take it all in. Our family, our home. I can free myself of this paranoia and torture I put myself through. He has done nothing wrong. It’s been me. And I can just stop. There is an overwhelming relief that rushes over me with this realization. I go to the fridge and pop the tops off two bottles. I sit at the end of the couch, handing him his and sipping mine. He looks quite surprised.
“Uh, thanks,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“Cheers.” I clink bottles.
“You’re having a beer?” he asks, looking around like it’s a joke and something else crazy is about to happen.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Because you...hate beer?” he says.
“Well, this one tastes like my Apple Brown Betty,” I say, pleased about the sugary hard cider I found at the market. I’m making an effort, too. “We should watch that movie you’ve been talking about. The Bigfoot thing,” I say.
“The documentary?” he asks, looking paranoid like I’m up to something, which is slightly annoying, I have to admit.
“Yeah, that. I can make popcorn.”
“Okay,” he says and watches me walk back to the kitchen and spoon Hamburger Helper and salad greens onto plates. I look back at him with a questioning expression and he turns away.
When I call Mia for dinner, she slinks into the room in oversize flannel pants and a clashing sweatshirt. It’s like she’s trying to look homeless. She has her earbuds in, and when she sits, she looks down at the plate and rolls her eyes and takes them out.
“Problem?” I say.
“Uh, no, just that I’m vegan, and I don’t know why you keep trying to force me to eat tumors and hormones is all, and how is this carb fest on your Weight Watchers?”
“It’s five points,” I say, defensively. She picks at the salad.
“I hope you taste the animal’s pain when you eat its dead body, because it’s barbaric,” she says.
“Please, we’re eating,” Finn says.
“Oh, my God! That’s literally... Can I please just take a snack to my room?” she asks, grabbing a cereal bar out of the pantry and heading down the hall before waiting for an answer. I have to admit I’m now a bit put off by the ground turkey and push it around my plate.
“I feel like I’m losing her,” I say.
“Nah, she’s just being a teenager,” he says, looking past me to the football-game highlights on the TV across the room.
