“Well, that was awkward.”
“Um hmm.” Sitting back on the bed, I push my overnight bag out of the way and cross one ankle over the other.
“Nat?”
“Yeah?”
“Why did you ask him that question? I thought you guys were on the same page about being platonic.”
“We are.”
She doesn’t say anything, and I know she’s silent because she’s waiting for me to give her more to go on.
I sigh in a deep, annoyed, dramatic way. I don’t want to have this conversation because I don’t know what to say.Idon’t know why I asked the question, so how the hell am I supposed to explain it to someone else?
“I’m not sure why I asked him that. I really, truly do not know. One minute I was soaking in a bath and the next I was asking him the worst thing ever. And—”
“Wait. Back up. You were in a bath when you asked him?”
Oh. Right.I hadn’t mentioned that part before.
“After I threw up on myself, Aidan ran a bath for me. I was light-headed and didn’t want to be alone in the bath. He stayed, but turned around until I was safely under bubbles.”
“I’d say you crossed a line before you even asked that question.”
“Thanks, Sydney. That’s helpful.”
She laughs at my sarcasm. “I’m just saying, the lines were already blurring. It makes perfect sense why you asked him. You were drunk, vulnerable, and a line in your friendship was already starting to resemble a watercolor.”
I like her justification. In fact, I like it so much I’m going to go with it. “That sounds about right,” I tell her. “I believe you just won your case, Ms. Maxwell.”
She barks a laugh. “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with your other problem.”
“What’s that?” I ask, adjusting the pillows behind me.
“Mom. You’re going to have to take one for the team.”
“Thanks a lot.”
We talk for a few more minutes, then hang up. I climb off the bed and look down at my open overnight bag. There’s just enough room for one more thing, but I don’t know if I have the guts to do it.
12
Natalie
Despite all thenoise on the crowded street, I hear the roar of the engine before I see the car. I look down through the busy street crowded with cabs and regular vehicles, my eyes seeking out a small sports car. When Aidan drives out of the city, he always does it in a shiny black Porsche 911 Turbo. He generally denies himself the use of his trust fund but allows himself this one small pleasure.
In the lane closest to me, four cars back sits Aidan and his temporary toy. Traffic is at a standstill, but I can still hear the engine purring. Our eyes meet through the windshield, and Aidan guns the engine. The sound of it reverberates through my chest. Even from this distance, I can see the light in his eyes, the way his fingers grip the steering wheel. The light is red, but it won't be for long. With my heavy bag weighing me down on one side, I hurry down the sidewalk. Aidan gets out and moves to the back of the car, lifting the trunk. When I get there, he takes the bag from my shoulder. I must not have zipped one side all the way, because a few things spill out onto the dirty street.
“Shit,” I mutter, bending down to snatch my brick red and ivory striped pajamas from the ground.
The light must've turned green because the car behind us inches forward.
Aidan reaches for my pajamas and stuffs them into the bag. I spy my face cream under the car. Myreally expensiveface cream.
“Aidan, I need that!” The stress of the situation causes my voice to rise a few octaves. I point under the car and look up at Aidan. The car behind us honks, and it's not the short sound of a polite honk. No, it's a long, loud blast and it's so goddamn close that it sounds like a foghorn trumpeting right into my ears. Aidan glares at the driver and flips them off. The driver returns the motion and turns on his blinker, trying to move around us. He is still mouthing who knows what as he speeds past us.
“Happy Thanksgiving, asshole,” Aidan yells back. He walks to the driver side, opens the door and leans in, and suddenly the hazards are flashing near my head.
