“Well, which was it? Were you being honest, or were you drunk?” The look in his eyes was too serious.Jesus Christ, Coop. He always wanted so much.
It all rushed back. Caro and Coop’s engagement party. Everyone there—families, all our college friends, except Mint and Courtney, of course, off on some glamorous vacation. At first, the news that Coop was dating Caro had been a slash to my heart. As Caro’s friend, I had to hear every excruciating detail about how they’d reconnected. How Caro—who checked in on her old friends, no matter how much time had passed, because she was that kind of person—gave Coop a call one day out of the blue.
And apparently it was perfect timing. Coop, struggling with law school and full-time work, but also haunted by something—Caro had whispered it, like a secret between us,haunted. He’d needed a friend, and there she was. I’d acted puzzled, kept my voice light over the phone, even as my heart hammered, even as I wanted to scream that Iknewwhat haunted him, and it had its hold on me, too.
I’d borne their relationship silently, because I had to. Waited for the wound to heal, or for them to break up, which I told myself was inevitable.
But then the opposite happened. Caro said she was moving to Greenville to live with him. Then, too quick, the call came, the one where Caro was shrieking, and my knees were buckling. They were engaged. And something inside me crumbled, something important that had been there for years, holding me up, although I’d never realized it. I’d tried all my usual tricks to dull the pain, but the only thing that worked reliably was wine.
“Jess, I need you to be honest.” Coop tugged my arm, pulling me closer. “It’s been years since I could read you.”
Was I being honest, that night at the engagement party? Clutching him in the darkest corner of the bar, begging,Don’t marry her. You’re supposed to love me. Love me, love me, love me. Like an incantation, powerful if said enough times. Grabbing his hand.Leave with me right now, let’s go. Let’s run away and never come back.
His hands on my shoulders.You’re drunk, Jess. You don’t mean what you’re saying.His face stony.I know you don’t mean it. Because if you did, it would be the cruelest thing you’ve ever done.Stepping away, putting distance between us.And Caro is your friend.
Honest, or drunk?
I looked at Coop’s hand on my arm, his strong, graceful fingers. I followed the hard curves of his biceps, visible through his sweater, skimming the elegant swoop of his neck to his full lips, long lashes, shock of dark hair. Every inch of him familiar, beautiful, infuriating.
I felt alive in a way I hadn’t for a full year, maybe longer, and the feeling made the decision for me. I couldn’t let him disappear from my life again. From this moment on, I would play by the rules, take no risks, stick to friends only. Even if all I ever got was a sliver of Coop—a few friendly words, a hand on my arm—I would make do. No matter how much it hurt.
“I was drunk,” I whispered, the words like a door closing. “Of course.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, dark and burning. “Coward.”
Chapter 8
March, junior year
No matter what I did, the bills found me. If I avoided my mailbox in the student center, they were delivered to my door. If I buried them under books and papers on my desk, somehow they unearthed themselves, knocked over accidentally by Caro or Heather and scattered across the floor.
The same day I opened the red envelope and discovered, as a college junior, I was ten thousand dollars in debt—bolded words threateninglegal action for continued nonpayment—Heather’s parents surprised her with a brand-new BMW. It was the first day of Parents’ Weekend, which always turned campus into a cheery, buttoned-up version of itself. My own parents never came. Surely, they’d received the invitation from the school, gold-foiled and thick-weighted, but they’d never once mentioned it.
When I opened the door to our suite, bill in hand, I found not only Heather and Caro, but Heather’s and Caro’s parents, squealing and popping champagne in our tiny kitchen. Clinking slender, fizzy glasses, they made a beautiful, if confusing, tableau.
I stopped in the doorway. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a precelebration for Heather’s twenty-first birthday,” Dr. Shelby said fondly. Heather’s mother was a carbon copy of her, down to the too-big forehead. She was dressed in loose, roomy clothes and heavy jewelry, like the proprietor of a spa in Sedona. It was a style I’d grown familiar with at Duquette and taken to calling Rich Woman Over Fifty.
“They got me a newcar!” Heather tossed me a set of keys. “No more old Audi. I’m taking Jack and his parents for a ride later if you want to come.”
I caught the keys with the hand holding the red envelope, then jerked away quickly, lest they see it. The keys were large and heavy, inset with the blue-and-white BMW logo, that potent talisman of value. I swallowed and set them down. “Ah, regular old keys.” I smiled to show I was joking. “Thought they’d be gold-plated or something.”
I wondered what they’d do with Heather’s Audi, all of five years old.
“Let’s pour you a glass,” Mr. Shelby said. He was short, balding, and never without a smile. “It’s French. The real stuff.”
“Actually,” I said, clutching the bill, “I forgot I have an art lab.”
“Artlab?” Caro’s mom looked puzzled. “I thought you were an econ major.”
“She is,” Heather said, waving a hand. “Jess is a total brain. But she doesn’t actually like econ. Shelovespainting.”
“Econ is a much more practical choice.” Caro’s dad shot her a warning look, as if he was worried my impracticality was contagious. “Especially in the middle of a recession. Did you hear they’re saying the housing market—”
“I like having an artist friend, personally,” Heather interrupted. “Not everything in the world has to be about money.” She winked at me, raising her champagne glass. “To Jess, our very own Renoir.”
“Don’t worry,” I said to Caro’s dad, ignoring Heather’s theatrics. “It’s just a hobby.” I backed away to the door, catching a flash of Caro’s confused face as I waved over my shoulder. She memorized my schedule every semester, so she knew I was lying about the art lab. But I had to get out.
