Nico drops his hands to his sides. Chuckles. “You need a second,” he tells me, and he’s right. “I’m gonna go get you a soda in the meantime. The high fructose corn syrup will activate your dopamine receptors and make you feel better,” he says, and then he walks away.
I sink down to the ground and watch him walk away. Inexplicably, the first and only thing I think is that he has a really nice butt. Then I rest my head in my hands and let myself disassociate.
His sneakers eventually enter my line of vision. I look up, and his hand is outstretched. I take it, and he hauls me up and shoves me back into the car. He walks around and gets in, hands me the soda, then wordlessly pulls back onto the highway.
We pull into an almost-mansion in Richmond in the evening. This one has a pool and a separate pool house.
We haven’t said a word to one another since the rest stop, but my brain has been a whirlpool of anxiety and overthinking and thinking in circles and then thinking some more.
I recognize it now. Sister Annie reached the frayed edge of her rope, the knot slipping, the fibers splitting. I was triggered, unraveled, ashamed, lashed out. I wanted to go out and do all the things and was upset that I’d fuck something up while doing it. And then I made another ridiculously reckless choice.
But that’s why Sister Annie took her vows. No indulgence, no temptation, no slipping into the arms of bad choices disguised as good nights. But something in me is starting to wonder—maybe this isn’t discipline. Maybe this is just another way to disappear. I can’t be a problem if I’m not there.
I think about the response I got from Chef right after we pulled out of the rest stop, the one that almost had me bursting into tears and then feeling horny all over again.
From: [email protected]
I don’t think you’re mean. You’ve been nothing but kind. Why do you think you’re mean? Maybe you’re scared? Defending yourself against something? Or someone? Also, “impulsive” doesn’t bother me. Impulsive is fun. Gets me [Redacted for Work Email], like I said. Miserable, I can work with. Maybe that means you’re fighting for something better. But don’t act like everyone’s given up on you—I haven’t and never will. I’m on your side.
You’re writing our book, after all.
Could he be right?
It forces me to think about what Nico did at the rest stop. Because he saw right through the mean and the scared, saw mewhile I tried to disappear and yanked me clear out. But I hate Nico. I’ve always hated Nico. But maybe just not right now?
I take one look at the pool house and decide I’ll be hiding in it until tomorrow morning. I’m not ready to learn to hang out and be cool tonight at the fancy restaurant with all the cool restaurant people and cocktails. Maybe I’ll try in the next city. Maybe I’ll relax tonight.
Maybe I’ll watch some old Chef videos toreallyrelax.Don’t even start with me right now, Sister Annie.
Nico turns off the car, and the small space fills with the buzzing, relentless energy of silence as we both stare ahead.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
He looks over at me, nods once.
“I’m…” I look towards the pool house. “I’m exhausted. I’m gonna hide in there until we leave in the morning. I’ll just get some food delivered for dinner.”
“Okay.”
“Please don’t help me with my luggage. I’ve got it.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Have fun tonight.” I get out of the car and take my luggage out of the back and start moving towards the front door of the pool house.
“Annie.”
I stop and look back towards the car. At Nico, my worst enemy and award-winning hugger, with his arm hanging out his open window, handsome face shrouded in the warm, sepia and lavender toned shadow of the sunset.
“You good?”
“Trying,” I answer truthfully.
NINE
Nico
