It looks just like the manilla folders we rifled through that day in his office, but this one’s crisper and has Sloane’s name drawn across it in thick sharpie. Freshly compiled, I think. My jaw flexes of its own accord and my father’s lips spread a grin before he tosses me the file, leaving me to catch it.
“Look at it. Decide for yourself if you should waste your time with her.”
I chuck the file back at him and he doesn’t even try. Her photo slides into a small puddle as he laughs.
“I could give two fucks what’s in the folder,” I tell him, trying to not to look down.
“Suit yourself,” he says, scanning my face. “Let’s hope William’s in the mood to listen to you, then.” Pulling the door open, he drops into the seat of the town car. No driver in sight, because this must’ve been unexpected. My defiance surprised him.
“Wait—” I stop the door from slamming with the palmof my hand. “I’ll convince him. But you need to fix Carmen’s scholarship.”
His tsk grates against my skin, and I drag a breath through my nostrils as he shakes his head. “You deliver Chapman. I’ll fix that girl’s scholarship.”
“Carmen.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs, and I bite my tongue. “Better get going,son.” He peels out of the spot, icy water spraying up the sides of his wheels and all over the now soggy manila folder.
I grab it, clutching it by the open ended side, like I can stop her secrets from spilling out.
The noise of someone travels through the door after only a few knocks. Will opens it, dipping his head at me like I’ve broken some unspoken rule. Like I’ve popped his bubble.
“Spellman,” he says, eye crinkling as he squints and smiles. “You missed me. Of course you did. Come in.” He nods, inviting me into the fiery warmth of his grandfather’s townhome, and I glance around looking for the old man. “He’s at the farm in Penn. Annual shareholder’s meeting, with my parents.”
“Dan’s a shareholder?” The Cabot’s dairy is an empire. Theyaredairy, actually; their role in the milk lobby was mentioned in my freshman year marketing seminar. Being family owned and operated, boasting about their puritanical lines of succession, is part of the brand.
“My dad?” he scoffs as I trail him toward the back of the town home where he asks a woman in an apron to make two cappuccinos. I begin to lift my hand, tell her I can do it myself, but gravity has me dropping it. “No. I mean, he is through my mom. He only gets his shares once I come of age, or whatever.”
He settles into an oversized chair, upholstered in deep emerald velvet, and I take the identical one next to it, across from a roaring fireplace. I’m relieved when the woman brings us the coffee and disappears, because middle aged servers always make me think of my mom.
“We pay herverywell,” Will laughs, taking a sip of the frothy drink. “And Georgia makes the best coffee. Literally poached her from a coffee shop. Well, Pops did. He’s picky about his caffeine.”
I swallow past the discomfort, but believe him. A wage is a wage. “You’ve been okay?”
“Me?” he asks like the question’s out of left field, and my eyes flare in confusion before he laughs. “Yeah. I’m fine,” he shrugs, taking another sip before focusing on the fire.
“Will?” His brows raise as he flicks his gaze towards me. “It’s just me. You can tell me if you’ve been…”
“If I’ve been what?” he says, irritated. “I don’t really know what everyone expects of me right now. Just plaster a smile on my face and move the fuck on?”
“Woah.” I throw my hands up, readjusting my focus on him. The fire plays in his grey green gaze. “I’d be concerned if that’s what you were doing. But if you said ‘hey Andy, I actually feel like someone ran over my guts twenty times,’ I’d say that makes sense.” Will didn’t know me when Luis died, so he doesn’t know that I did hold it together. That I moved on because Carmen needed to heal more than I did.
I know there are fracture wounds, though; that because I didn’t do it the right way, I’m constantly afraid of what will happen if I lose anyone else. There’s this naivety you have before loss that convinces you you’d survive it if it happened—I don’t know if I would now. I didn’t do it right the first time and nowlook at me.
Will didn’t do it at all, which feels like a work around. He’s only really diving into the wreck of Lily’s loss for the first time.
“Well, that’s how I feel,” he says, his jaw twitching as he pulls in a deep breath. “I feel okay sometimes. Like Gen’s show. I almost went.” His voice dips when he says her name, like it’s trying to skip across the open wound. “I thought I was okay to go. But I wasn’t. And that wouldn’t have been fair to her, you know? She’s happy, and shit. Isn’t she?” He looks up at me, and all I can bear to do is nod. “Of course she is. Good,” he says, jaw twitching.
He loved Gen. Loves her, probably. God, he is an emotional ravine, and here I am, knowing what I know now about my dad and Dan and…Lily. Fuck.
“And Lily?” I have to ask, because Ian’s suspicion has made everything about her death feel that much heavier. Because I know hereallyloved her, and I can’t imagine Sloane not existing at all.
But I can’tactuallyhave Sloane, I realize, throat bobbing as I wait for Will to tell me something, anything to distract from reality outside of this brownstone. Lying to her, aftereverything, at this point—I can’t. It’s so fucking heavy, and there’s this small voice that is telling me I should’ve known I couldn’t have her.
She will exist, though. Just not with me. I don’t even want to think about the alternative, but Will’s had to live with that feeling everyday, so I concentrate on him. “Tell me you’ve been talking to someone about that because I can’t imagine it, Will. I don’t know how you were okay after that.”
“Well I wasn’t, was I?” he shrugs, his jaw working as he gazes back into the fire. “I have a therapist that Pops insisted I see.”
“Not your parents?” I think about what Sloane said about his mother, a subject we’ve skirted around since I’ve knownhim. Will’s gaze slides to mine, a cynical smirk curving on his face.
