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A muscle ticks in Brendan’s jaw, and for a millisecond he seems angry, making me regret every word I just said. I’m sure he’s somehow turning this into one more piece of evidence that Rob should have dumped me long ago.
“Never mind.” I sigh, heading for the door.
“Erin.” His voice stops me just as my hand reaches the doorknob. “You should figure that out before Rob gets back.”
I shoot him the nastiest look I can muster. “Yes, Brendan, thank you. I’m well aware of all the ways you think I’m not good enough for Rob. I’ll add this to the list.”
“Who ever said I thought you weren’t good enough for him?” he asks.
“You did, every time you ever tried to talk him out of dating me.”
“Sometimes people just aren’t a good fit,” he says. “It doesn’t mean one of you isn’t good enough.”
I roll my eyes and reach for the door. “Give me a break, Brendan. You told him he was making a mistake a thousand times. It’s pretty clear why you said it.”
He starts to argue, but then his jaw snaps shut. “You understand a lot less than you think you do.”
I open the door and let it slam. I’ve heard enough of Brendan’s bullshit to last me the rest of my life.
12
Brendan
Four Years Earlier
It begins with a mosquito bite.
A bite on Erin’s ankle, one she bends over to scratch approximately once a minute, her shorts riding perilously high as she does it. There isn’t a tour leader or male client in this room who hasn’t noticed. If Mike were a better manager, he’d realize how unproductive this is and stop her. He doesn’t say a word, of course. Probably because he’s too busy enjoying the show. And I know, as I watch, that I’m going to be thinking about her bending over like that tonight, and the next night too.
“Leave that bite alone,” I finally snarl.
She looks up at me, wide-eyed with surprise and hurt. I feel like I’ve just slapped a young child, and for a moment I am desperate to fix it. It’s a relief when her hurt turns to anger. Anger is something I can handle.
“You need Prozac,” she says, glaring at me. “A bucket of it.”
“No can do,” I reply. “It causes sexual dysfunction.”
She smirks. “And you’ve already got enough sexual dysfunction.”
“I assure you, all my parts work just fine. I can prove it, if you’d like.”
“I’ll pass,” she replies. “If I’m going to have hate sex, it’ll be with someone less likely to carry disease.”
The moment she says it, I can see it—hate sex, not disease. I can imagine the thousand ways I’d like to punish her for being such a pain in the ass, for my making my summer so fucking endless in the worst possible way. I feel a shot of excitement that begins in my stomach and seems to pulse through my limbs, as if I’m suddenly electrified.
That night, with someone else, I picture it again and finish seconds later. There are no words for how much I hate that I’m thinking of Erin during sex now. And the fact that it seems like I always might.
13
Erin
Present
The phone calls from my dad are bad, but they’re not the worst calls I get. No, the worst are the ones from my mom, telling me my father never came home from work and won’t answer his phone. Those are the nights I spend driving to Denver, with every car accident I pass sending my heart rate into the red zone. It hasn’t been him yet, but one day it will be. It’s only a matter of time.
Tonight the call comes just after 2 AM. My mother, crying so hard she’s almost unintelligible.
“I don’t know what to do,” she says, again and again.
