“I don’t want to be trapped anymore.”
I frown, moving even closer. “How are you trapped, Landon?”
“Some days it just feels like…too much,” he mumbles, and there’s a note of pain in his voice that cuts straight through my chest. A note of pain I’ve never heard before in Landon. I reach up to brush the dark hair off his forehead, my fingers lingering in the soft strands.
“Landon,” I breathe. “What’s too much?”
I wait for him to respond, but instead, his breathing evens out, and his body relaxes into the couch. I never get an answer.
TWENTY-FIVE
When I made the decision to stay with Landon, it slipped my mind that Mel still had to officially move out. I’d conveniently forgotten that part of the arrangement until a text from Landon late last week.
Landon:Where are you staying on Saturday?
I stared at the question in confusion.
Me:Sorry? Are you hosting a party I’m not invited to? I promise not to get wasted like the last one.
Landon:Melanie’s moving her stuff out on Saturday.
Me:Oh.
That made me immediately tense.
Me:I can stay with friends from work, I guess.
He sent a thumbs up, and that was the last we talked about it. To be fair, Landon’s been particularly avoidant of Eli and me, probably because every time Eli sees him, he brings up the Ambien. And okay, I might have mentioned it once or twice as well. Not the part where he cuddled me like a stuffed animal or said I smelled nice or that I was pretty, of course, but Idefinitelyteased him about his giddy smile and his drunk girl balance.
He probably doesn’t remember those other things anyway.
Right?
Most of Mel’s belongings are still in the house, along with her minimalist furniture, muted decorations, and abstract art. When I asked Landon if she’d bought all those pieces herself, he laughed humorlessly and told me that even though she hadn’t paid for them with her own money, Landon didn’t want them in the house. He’d never wanted them in the house or had a say on the design, style, or aesthetic to begin with.
While Landon boxed up most of the things he anticipated she’d collect, I made sure to clear out my small amount of belongings from the guest room and bathroom, loading them into my trunk. I feel guilty about the lie, especially the lengths I’m going to in order to keep it up, and so, sitting in my car, preparing myself to spend the day at Brit and Sienna’s, I send my sister a text.
Me:Hey, would you want to grab dinner sometime soon…if you’re in town?
If she agrees, I can break the news to her then. If she agrees, I can face her reaction head-on. If she agrees, I can rid myself of the guilt that’s been gnawing at my conscience. Setting my phone in the cup holder, I drive, listening for the vibration signaling her response.
It never comes. Not after five minutes. Not after five hours. By then I’ve sunk into a deep hole of despair, my mind twisting itself in circles as I debate right from wrong, good from bad.
My moral compass is quite finicky these days.
All I want to do is curl up on the couch and watch a movie, but Sienna and Brit have other ideas. It’s not long before we’re all crammed into the bathroom, curling hair that will flatten and applying makeup that’ll dissolve by the end of the night—hopefully from sweat after dancing and not from our tears.
The shots are poured, and once Ollie and Jake show up for the pre-game at ten, we waste no time getting drunk. You can learn a lot about someone’s personality by the way they throw back a shot. Brit does it swiftly and straight-faced, while Sienna immediately chugs her Diet Coke chaser. Jake whoops, pounding on his chest like a gorilla, while Ollie grimaces and gags.
“God, that burns,” he says. “Remind me why we still do shots?”
“High impact, low calories?” offers Sienna.
Jake nods. “Fair.”
“So let me get this whole saga straight,” Ollie says to me, still coughing. “Your estranged sister is the now ex-girlfriend of the high and mighty Blair prodigy, and she’s moving out of his million-dollar mansion today while you’re here drinking rot-gut tequila with us?”
“Something like that,” I say, my head buzzing from the liquor.
