There’s a pregnant pause while Lilly just looks at me through the screen. After a few seconds, she exhales loudly.
Lilly:And?
Me:That’s it. But . . . I’d flip my shit if Julian kissed someone else.
More loud exhales and staring at me through bloodshot eyes.
Lilly:Look, Ev, I’m not telling you to lie to your boy, but college is . . . college. And Seth . . . kisses everybody. To be honest, I think it’s how the boy says hello.
It’s my turn to stare at her. I blink a few times, absorbing this college dynamic she described. Am I making a bigger deal of this than it is? Fuck my inexperienced life. I feel like a toddler trying to walk, fumbling around, crashing into shit. A knocking sound interrupts my mental spiral and sends my heart up into my throat. Julian’s here.Only he knows I’m here. A swarm of butterflies erupts in my stomach.
Me:I gotta jet. I think Julian’s here.
Lilly:Davis? It’s no big deal. Okay? Love you.
I nod because this logic calms my nervous system. I want it to be true.It can be true.
Me:Love you.
I hurry to the door ready to throw my arms around Julian and tell him I love him. Tell him that the past doesn’t matter. We matter. The two of us. I’m giving myself whiplash with the complete one-eighty. But ghosting my issues, my typical MO, would be so much easier. I ignore the way my brain wants to screamSELLOUT,that I’m betraying myself, and swing the door open and freeze mid-step. The past does matter, because it’s standing in my doorway. “Taya?” I don’t even conceal my shock.
It mirrors hers telling me she’s not here for me. “I . . . hi. Everly?” Her polite smile is meager, nervous. Points for finding her manners.
Mine are MIA when I reply, “Julian’s not here,” sans smile or emotion of any kind.
“Oh, okay. I just wanted to return these and tell him thanks.” She hands me a pair of sweats and a tee—mysweats and tee.
I look down at them like they’re a coiled snake about to strike.Thanks, Dad, for modeling compartmentalizing.“Great, I was just about to start some laundry.” I take the items from her and stand with my hand gripping the door handle. Manners dictate that I invite her in, offer her a drink. I do neither. I let the charged silence hang between us and wait, not breathing or blinking.
She finally speaks. “Sorry for just showing up like this.” Without the clothes in her hands, she’s fidgeting with her fingers, then shoves them into the pockets of her jeans. Her awkwardness penetrates my detachment.
“It’s fine. Come in. I can call him for you if you want.” I turn and move to the bag of clothes I dropped earlier, taking the worn ones out.Why the fuck did I offer to call him for her?
“No, I don’t want to intrude.” But she takes a step inside.
I can’t help the smirk.Don’t you, though?I can’t help my bitchy thought, but my manners win. “It’s fine,” I say again.But is it?“Want some coffee? I was just going to make some.”
“Okay. Yeah. Thanks.”
“Sure. Just, uh, follow me.” I move toward the kitchen and hear her close the door behind me. “Have a seat. Just gonna start this load.” I drop the clothes into the barrel of the washing machine like they’re toxic waste.Aren’t they?Moving back into the kitchen, I make myself look her in the face. She’s so pretty. My opposite, really. “Want me to text Juli—Julian for you?”Does she call him Julian now? Or Jayce.
“I . . . Can we talk? You and me? Without Jay?”
Or Jay. Fuck her just a little for using a pet name.“Okay.” I turn and busy myself making coffee. I opt for the quicker single cups over a whole pot. Within seconds of removing her from my line of vision, I find myself. The new me I was slowly becoming who isn’t afraid to say shit. “But, honestly, none of this is okay. It’s fucking weird and it’s got me spun. Just wanted you to know that. I’m not normally an asshole. But this is weird.”
Taya’s laugh is full-bodied and kinda hot, like her. I hate her a little more. But I feel guilty for it because, in our world, mine and Julian’s, she was dead until a couple of days ago.
Her reply has me retracting my claws. “Well, Iaman asshole, usually, so no offense taken. Thisisfucking weird. Until a few days ago, I thought Jay was an asshole too, who took a payout from mydad to disappear. Stayed pissed off through most of college, too, and angry-screwed my way through a few frat houses because of it.”
Hmm. Maybe thatisjust what you do in college—kiss everybody. Or in her case fuck everybody.The way Taya just overshared and nutshelled her side of things is refreshing. And endearing. Maybe it’s a girl thing. Except for me. I used to only have deep, stimulating conversations in my head or in my journal that never saw the light of day—until Julian. But I’ve read that statistically, women talk more than men. Maybe Julian’s stoicism about his past is more about his anatomy and less about hiding things. He doesn’t exactlynottalk about it, but only answers what’s asked. I give Taya a genuine smile when I hand her a mug of coffee. “Cream or sugar?”
“I’d love both if you have it.” She smiles back with her whole face.
Finding my irreverent sarcasm is easy when she’s so open. I don’t think twice before I say, “Did you off your dad when you found out what he did?”
But her smile disintegrates, and I realize instantly what she’s going to say. Asshole status reactivated.
“He died. Of a heart attack. That’s how I found out. About Jay. He had files.” She fidgets with her hands again, then wraps them around the coffee mug and looks at me with a tinge of anger, darkening the sea-glass green to emerald. “He was an asshole, too. My whole life.”
