His mouth twitches. Our eyes meet and there’s a half-second where I justforget. I forget every-fucking-thing that happened and I’m fourteen again, waiting for him to come around, and I’m twenty-four again, realizing he’s about to.
It’s only on the back half of that second that I remember I’m twenty-nine—and he once broke me in half. There should be no half-seconds in which I forget that fact. I don’t know how to maintain my distance when we’re going to be spending each day a foot apart, but I’ve got those advanced degrees. I’ll figure it out.
“I need to eat something,” he says. “You want to walk down the street?”
This is where shutting him out starts. “You go ahead,” I tell him. “I’m not hungry.”
He frowns, as if he wants to argue, but walks out with a shrug. Which is good. I’m no longer his problem—not that I ever was. But it would be better for everyone if he could stop this fiction in which he’s the wonderful protector who lives to keep me safe.
Once he’s gone, I take a book out to a terry-covered lounge chair on the shaded deck. Even this requires five minutes of careful sunscreen application plus a long-sleeved shirt, while the Easton of a decade ago would already be down in the water, too eager and careless to bother with sun protection at all. I’d follow it up with a greasy burger and fries—back before I knew I had this issue with iron and before I was dating someone who calls seed oils “the new smoking.”
I was so eager to be an adult, once upon a time, but I didn’t realize how much I’d need to give up in order to make it happen successfully.
Is it worth it? Absolutely. Thomas has helped me grow into a better version of myself—one who gets enough sleep and doesn’t drink and might be that first person to live to one hundred and fifty but will look eighty when she gets there. These are good things, accrued over the course of two fulfilling years. What did I get from Elijah, by contrast? He had me for a matter of hours and did enough damage for a lifetime.
I don’t know why I keep bringing it up, however.
Or maybe I do.
If I don’t remind myself what happened, if I don’t continue to pick at the scab so it can never heal, I might forget. And God only knows what would happen then.
Just after sunset,I shower, apply careful makeup and blow out my hair, then don the dress I brought for the rehearsal dinner—I don’t have much else to choose from, given that I’d thought I was going to be in Oak Bluff for the bulk of my break.
I look good. If Melissa should happen to take a photo of me and Elijah—I hope she does but I’m not sure how to subtly request it—Thomas will know I’ve made an effort, even if I have to endure the idiot Thomas groupies who will say something like “PhD in what? Giving blow jobs?” I block them, but they just come in with a new account to announce that I’m blocking people. If you want to despair of humanity, spend a little time in someone’s Instagram comments.
I walk into the living room, where Elijah waits. We went through a period of time—college or med school—where I’d catch him looking at me. One of those involuntary, head-to-toe glances, something a little predatory and possessive there before he blinked it away.
Now, however, the look is ten percent bafflement and ninety percent disgust.
“So, what exactly am I supposed to be doing here?” he asks, tossing his keys from one hand to the next. “What have you told this couple about us?”
“Nothing,” I reply, throwing my phone in my purse. “Just that we’re hanging out. Seeing how things go. Just be yourself, and keep our history, bad and good, to yourself.”
The night I’m not supposed to reference hangs there, between us.
“Got it,” he says, after a moment.
We reach the restaurant and manage to find parking on the street. The trim black type on the white sign and the gaslit lanterns warn this place is expensive. One more debt going on a credit card with a twenty percent interest rate.
I reach out to stop him before he exits the car.
“Look,” I say, my shoulders sagging, “can you just throw in your credit card for our half and I’ll pay you back? IfIpay, Melissa and James will definitely mention it to Thomas, and it doesn’t screamyou might be replaced.”
“You don’t have to pay,” he groans. “I’m not sure what your understanding is of my profession, but I actually do pretty well. And, obviously, I don’t pay rent.”
I laugh. “Did you just say that so I wouldn’t?”
He grins. “You can’t, remember? You’ve already thrown it in my face twice today.”
I’m giggling like a teenager as we walk inside. Melissa rises, all wide smiles, hugging me and then Elijah in turn, mouthing the word“wow”for my eyes only.
“James couldn’t make it,” she says. “Some family issues.”
My smile hangs stiffly on my face. “Oh, that’s too bad,” I say. “I hope everything’s okay.”
She waves her hand, not quite meeting my eye. “Something with his mom. I’m sure it will be fine.”
She’s lying.
