Augie felt upset thinking about it. “Do you feel okay now?” She dropped her hand.
“I do.” Chat swiveled on his stool. “It was a long road. Honestly, the worst part was not being able to listen to music because it made me dizzy. I finally found the right doctor, and he basically rebuilt my brain. No joke, by like having me play Ping-Pong while balancing on a skateboard. And then I started thinking about other ways I could get to Europeinsteadof hockey, and I was talking to my uncle Trey a lot when I was depressed—he lives in Latvia, played hockey there—and he helped me plan everything.” Chat suddenly froze, his face white.
For a second, Augie wondered if he was self-conscious about admitting he’d been depressed, but before she could reassure him, he started talking faster.
“I also have a friend in Germany, so that also got me excited, gave me something to look forward to. Like I said, it all worked out. Though I do still kind of regret college.” He held a smile, teasing. “But I really am glad I’m here this summer. That I met you.”
Augie felt flattered and tipsy as she tried to process everything—his injury, his outlook, his compliment.
“So what about you?” He shifted tones. “What’s your story? Youstill haven’t told me about New York. We can pretend this is a real networking event if you want, Ms. LinkedIn.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m sick of thinking about that.”
Augie turned out to the room, staring out the glass doors, noticing the outdoor fire circle, the rain pummeling the covered outdoor furniture.
“Wait a second, is that a pool?” she said, incredulous as she noticed another darkened, tarped expanse.
Chat nodded.
“Why go to the Club if you already have a pool?”
“These are answers we don’t have, my friend.”
Augie recoiled at the wordfriend.
“That’s insane. What a waste of money.” Augie tried to detect any flinch at the mention of their money, but he didn’t react.
“I know. This house is nuts. Even the boys’ rooms are crazy.”
Augie finished her drink and set it down hard. “I think I need the rest of the tour.”
Chat hopped off the stool. He extended his palm to her like Aladdin.
Augie knew, as they continued up to the second and third levels, that they were touching more and more. Despite the wordfriend, this flirting was not one-sided, nor in her mind. It was undeniable. When Chat showed her the gigantic, greenhouse-style playroom, he pulled her hips into him; when they sauntered into the formal dining room, they sat next to each other, feet skimming beneath the table; and when they walked up the last set of stairs, Augie stopped to look at a family photo, and while she was staring into Mrs. Crawley’s smile, Chat bumped into the back of her, his whole body cradling hers from behind, his breath on her neck.
When they got to his room, Augie stopped. It wasn’t a room—it was a whole apartment. There was a functional, single-walledkitchen, a high-top table with more barstools, a sitting room with a tan leather sofa and two fancy blue armchairs, a TV bigger than the one she had at home. She felt stunned.
“Where is your actual bedroom?”
He pointed to one of two doors.
Augie pictured her own room, her junk-filled studio in New York. Her face burned. Here he was, living like them. Living like a king.
“Trust me, I know this is a lot,” Chat said, as if reading her mind. “It’s definitely not what I’m used to. This is like half the size of my whole house back home.”
Augie ran her hand over the soft, leather couch.
“I’d ask if you wanted toseemy room”—he reached out, hooked his finger in one of her belt loops, and turned her around to face him—“but I don’t want to sound like I’m implying something...” His words were a contrast to the way he suddenly stepped toward her, closing the space between them, his legs on either side of hers.
Augie’s breath hitched as she looked up at him.
Chat leaned forward, lifted her chin, and as Augie closed her eyes and could practically feel his lips on hers—out of nowhere, his wrist chimed.
“Oh, shit.” He pulled away as Augie blinked. He studied his watch. “Damnit. The monitor. Max. He’s getting over a cold and—one second.” Chat sighed and backed away, turning fast as he adjusted his shorts. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
Alone, Augie felt rejected. She tried not to overthink the abrupt departure as she stood still, the silence ringing metallic in her mind. She felt strange being there by herself, as if the house knew she was an intruder. She didn’t move at all until she noticed the bookcases around the TV and squinted, recognizing two spines—two of herall-time favorites:The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-TimeandBel Canto. It made her lightheaded.
Augie sat down on the couch, staring out at the room and feeling more and more unsettled. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore: Chat living in a place like this, Mrs. Crawley reading her most cherished novels. Augie felt antsy then, and as she looked to the door, willing Chat to come back, she stood up.
