There was no pain more raw than hearing the person you loved say those three words to you only for them to be meant for a version of you that doesn’t exist. But I was delusional, and I convinced myself that the only lies in all this were my name and a few small details. She was still talking to me. This was still just Clover talking to Bennett. But without the bullshit of expectations and fear and shame.
So, when I typed out my response, I told her the truth. It was selfish and wrong and cowardly. All it would have taken was one message. One message to set the record straight. She could be mad at me for as long as she wanted, and I would let her. I deserved that. It would be okay, because I would have stopped this lie before it bled into our real lives. But I wasn’t the good guy. I hadn’t been for a very long time, and I doubted I ever would be again.
JOSH
I love you, too, Clover. I love you so much.
CHAPTER 24
Clover
I wake up on Sunday morning to an empty bed. I know I made a fool of myself last night, but if Bennett were just here, we could talk about it. Or at least mutually pretend that it never happened. But he’s not here and all I feel is embarrassed. It’s a familiar feeling in terms of Bennett.
He doesn’t get home until late that night and he’s too chatty. Like if he can just fill any silence, there won’t be room for us to discuss anything else. And this sets the tone for the rest of the week. On Tuesday, my mom drives down to campus and we go out for Chinese food. She’s so busy at work and fills me in on gossip. I inhale the familiar rose scent of her perfume, which I always find comforting.
“How’s my little overachiever coping with the course load?” she asks.
“A’s across the board,” I tell her. “Well, pottery is a close call.”
She guffaws. “Pottery? You didn’t even like making the Christmas ornaments your class would make every year when you were a kid.”
“Those arts and crafts projects were pandering.”
“Sure, sure, sure.”
“I don’t know. It’s nice to be bad at something that doesn’t matter.”
She seems happy to hear that. It’s a time every week when my brain has to actively concentrate and create and problem solve.
I do not tell her about Tate or how he missed Monday morning class, because that doesn’t seem unusual, until suddenly, he’s missed Wednesday and Friday too.
I guess it’s just as well, after I shut him down on Saturday night. He was persistent, which I didn’t find unusual at the time, but now in hindsight, I have that sinking feeling in my gut, like when you’ve just narrowly escaped a car accident.
Even though Bennett is mostly gone, I find small traces of him. A few bottles of my favorite conditioner on my desk. I’ve noticed too that my drawer of snacks is always magically full and so are my vitamins. I text him to thank him for the conditioner—which I shouldn’t accept but can’t make myself refuse. His only response is to like the text.
Pizza Tramp has been a Wexley mainstay since the eighties—at least that’s what the student guide said on the tour I took last spring. After working a few hours overtime last night, I didn’t get home until four in the morning, so when I wake up starving, I stumble over to Briar and Daisy’s room and drag them both off campus for an appropriately greasy meal. Damn the cost.
Outside, the wind is howling and the place is swarming with students bundled up in Wexley Bears merch on their way to the stadium. After I order our pizza (pepperoni and banana peppers), wewait for a table to clear and are lucky enough to snag a booth next to the pinball machines.
When my name is called, I run up to grab our pizza and practically collide with the person reaching for the tray next to mine. “I’m so sorry,” I say on instinct as I take our food and attempt to disappear.
“Not even a hello?” the person asks.
I spin back around, and Tate stands there, a peculiar expression on his face.
“You’rethe one who ghosted me this week,” I remind him, even if my stomach sinks at the sight of him. My drunken memory of Saturday night is full of feelings but lacking hard facts, so even though I feel gross standing so close to him, I can’t fully articulate that to him.
He dips his chin in acknowledgment. “Ahh, yeah, I should have warned you. I got an internship that I couldn’t turn down, so I had to get into the evening class.”
“Understandable,” I say, trying to hide my relief. “You’ll be glad to know I finished shaping my vase and it almost looks like something that resembles a receptacle.”
He laughs with that inviting grin that feels like a reward. God, he’s good. “Well, I’m glad to hear you’re surviving without me, even if my ego is just a little wounded.”
“Right,” I say with a stiff smile just as someone calls his name from the bar. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
His gaze flickers down to my hand, where my ring should be, and he nods before disappearing into the crowd.
I glance down at my naked finger. I’d misplaced the ring a few days ago. I hadn’t mentioned it to Bennett because I’d hardly seen him and I wasn’t in a hurry to admit that it could be missing.
