*
"We're back," Bonnie sing-songs when she enters through the front door. For the past fifteen minutes, Curtis and I have sat at the kitchen table with stick-straight backs, avoiding eye contact. When we heard the car pull into the driveway, we jumped up to greet them in the hallway.
Behind Bonnie is Erin with her car keys around one finger, and Kennedy lugging the suitcase. Her gentle smile doesn't fade when she looks at Curtis. They're polite to each other, though not as friendly as usual.
"The house smells nice," Erin comments, taking off her shoes.
"That's all Curtis," I say. "He found some air freshener while we were cleaning. Doesn't this place smell even more like the beach?" I'm speaking faster than usual.
"You cleaned?" Kennedy asks.
I nod at Curtis. "His idea."
"That sounds like Curtis," Bonnie laughs. "He's the responsible one."
I also laugh, though I have to clasp my hands together to stop them from twitching. Curtis is the responsible one. The one who does the right thing. The mature one.
And who am I? The one who doesn't think. The coward.
Everyone heads back into the kitchen. Kennedy leaves the suitcase by the door, and the girls look through the fridge and pantry for food.
I look at Kennedy. She looks a little tired, a few wisps of hair framing her face, but there's a calmness to her. She catches me looking and raises a brow before turning to Bonnie and Erin and asking if they want a snack or a meal.
Seeing Kennedy in person makes everything harder. I look over at Curtis, and he glances at me before looking away. It makes me feel like shit.
Bonnie looks into the fridge and whistles, pulling out our leftover pasta from the night before last. "Wow, you've left this house in better than perfect condition."
"It's weird," Kennedy says with a smile, looking over at me. "Almost suspicious. You guys didn't get up to any trouble, did you?"
I almost choke. "Nope," I say. "Not at all."
23
Curtis: Fragile
I knock on the door of the master bedroom. "Hey," I say.
Kennedy, who's on the floor, folding her clothes, looks over her shoulder at me, brows up in surprise. She rearranges her face. "Hi."
I walk over to her but don't sit down.
Three hours have passed since the girls returned, and they're all pretty tired. The whole time, my body has felt tight. It's like the beginning of the holiday all over again, where I second guess everything I say, like I'm putting up a performance of the good, responsible Curtis.
When I don't say anything, Kennedy gestures to the bed. "Thanks for changing the sheets and making the bed, by the way. You didn't have to do that. I would have done it myself."
I look at the bed with a jolt. After I made the bed this morning, I wasn't satisfied and stripped it down and changed everything. It was part of the rush of cleaning I did this morning to distract myself from the night before.
The euphoric high I felt when Liam kissed me first, when I knew he felt the same way, the feeling of his body in my arms. And then, the guilty happiness when I could stay in his bed. And then, of course, the crushing low.
I swallow thickly. "How did you know I did that? This was Liam's room for the past two nights."
"I know how Liam makes beds, and it's not as neat as the way you do it." Her face changes. "Did you want the master bedroom? I understand if you do since everyone else has had it but you. I don't think anyone will mind if I share a bedroom with Liam."
Because he's gay. He likes me, and he kissed me, and I kissed him and I like him —
"No, no, no, it's fine." She's being so nice, and it's killing me. "You have it." I might not even be staying in this place any longer.
"Okay," she says, then chucks a pair of socks into a pile of clothes I'm guessing are to be washed. "So, what's up then?"
