Elle brushed the mangled shreds of paper into a pile and pushed her empty beer glass to the right, clearing a space for her to rest her elbows. “Can I ask you a question?”
Darcy’s brows rose. “You can ask.”
The doesn’t mean I’ll answer was heavily implied.
“You and Brendon . . . sometimes you talk about him like you raised him.”
The corners of Darcy’s mouth pinched, her throat jerking as she swallowed. She dropped her gaze to the table and traced a gouge in the surface with her finger. “I— It’s nothing so extreme as that. I told you our parents divorced. It was the summer before my junior year of high school. Our mother was awarded custody; Dad didn’t ask for it since he traveled two weeks out of the month. But . . .” Her jaw shifted to the side, her finger pressing against the scraped table so hard her fingertip turned white. “My mother didn’t handle their split well at all. She was heartbroken by it and so, she sort of . . . checked out.”
What did that mean?
Darcy saved Elle the trouble of figuring out a polite way to ask. “She slept all day, stayed up till all hours of the night. Stopped leaving the house, hardly even left her room. Someone needed to step up, so I drove Brendon to school and picked him up and took him to his after-school activities. No one starved on my watch. But I wasn’t exactly thinking about paying the mortgage, and apparently neither was my mother, so a few months later the house was foreclosed on and we moved in with my grandmother.”
“Junior year of high school . . . you were—”
“Sixteen.” Darcy dipped her chin. “Brendon was twelve.”
Jesus. “Did your mom ever—”
Get better sounded stupid.
“Grandma helped her find a job. Forced her to, actually. If that’s what you mean. She was a photographer, did portraits, weddings, senior photos, that sort of thing, but when I was born, she quit working so she could take care of me and then, when I was a little older, so she could travel with my father. Later, after the divorce, she switched to travel photography, which lets her float wherever she wants whenever she wants, which she prefers.” Darcy shrugged, the strap of her camisole sliding off her shoulder. “We’ve never been close.”
“At least you’ve got Brendon.”
A waiter stopped beside their table holding a tray topped with two gargantuan burgers. “Two Mt. Fuji burgers?”
“What the fuck,” Darcy whispered once the waiter was gone. “Elle.”
Elle stared at her own triple-stacked burger with wide eyes. “I didn’t think they would be this big.”
“What is this?” Darcy poked the top bun of her burger, her nose scrunching adorably.
“Um, beef katsu, chicken katsu, pork katsu, egg, bacon, pickles, tomato, cabbage, wasabi mayo, and a few other sauces I can’t remember. I had them leave the cheese off yours.” Elle snagged a wad of napkins from the holder in the center of the table. She had a feeling she was going to need them.
“How do I even begin to eat this?” Darcy muttered. “Don’t we get silverware?”
Elle gasped. “Eating a burger with a fork and knife is a crime. You just have to dive in. Shove it in your face and hope most of it winds up in your mouth.”
“Do you have a lot of experience with that?”
“I usually order the Tokyo Classic, which is only one—” Darcy’s words caught up to her. “Wow.”
Darcy’s lips twitched into a grin that showed off her perfect teeth. “It was practically begging to be said. Come on.”
Elle snorted and wrapped her hands around the ginormous burger in front of her. She could barely get her mouth around it, wound up with an unbalanced bite of bun and cabbage, but she had to start somewhere.
Darcy, on the other hand, examined her burger with narrowed eyes before smushing the whole thing down with her palm until it was half its original size. She lifted it to her mouth and took an inelegant bite, wasabi mayo and tonkatsu sauce dripping down her chin as she groaned, eyes rolling back as the flavor combo hit her taste buds.
Elle buried her smile in her burger. “Scale of one to ten, what do you think?”
Darcy wiped her chin and looked thoughtful. “Solid nine point two. You?”
“An eleven, easy.”
“You said scale of one to ten.”
“It’s a hyperbole. Sometimes coloring inside the lines just doesn’t cut it. Like when you’re two hundred percent certain about something. Haven’t you ever felt that?”
Darcy stared for so long that Elle squirmed. “It’s a burger. I don’t think it’s that deep.”
Elle snorted and took another bite.
“What about you?”
Elle finished chewing before she asked, “What about me?”
Darcy set her burger down and reached for another napkin. “Are you close with any of your siblings?”
That was . . . relative. “I’m closest with Daniel, probably. There’s only two years between us, which helps. But these days, he and Jane have the most in common.” Elle reached for her water and took a fortifying sip. “I don’t butt heads with Jane or anything, we’re just on entirely different wavelengths. But she lets me babysit my nephew, so she’s at least deemed me trustworthy enough to watch a toddler.”
Darcy smiled around her straw. “Why do I get the feeling you’re surprisingly good with kids?”
Elle scoffed. “Surprisingly? Excuse you, Ryland is lucky to have me as an aunt. Maybe I can’t cook, but I make mean macaroni art and I do voices for all the characters in his books.”
Last-minute requests to watch Ryland were the norm, because as far as Jane was concerned, since Elle worked from home, her schedule was flexible. The only reason she didn’t complain was because she enjoyed it.
“What about your other sister?”
“Lydia?” Elle shrugged. “We’re like oil and water. She idolizes Jane and figured out a long time ago that the easiest way to get our parents’ approval was to do everything by the book, but even then, it’s hard to compete with Jane and Daniel because anything you do? They did it first and they probably did it better. They were honor students, on ASB, Daniel was president of the GSA, both did a million sports, and now they’ve got great jobs and families of their own. Brace yourself for Lydia to be a bit of a brat because she has it in her head that the best way to make herself look good is to point out my flaws.”
Darcy frowned. “Your parents don’t approve of what you do?”
Approve. If only. “They’ve sort of stalled in the grudging acceptance phase where we mostly don’t talk about the fact that I don’t have a nice, stable job with a pension plan, not that those really exist anymore. Mom makes the occasional comment about what I do and how she wishes I would settle down with one of the nice, boring people they’ve set me up with. I’ll occasionally catch Jane looking at me like I’m some sort of weird puzzle from another planet she’s trying to solve, but mostly everyone just ignores me.” Shit. Elle grimaced. “I mean, they don’t ignore me. The things that matter to me don’t really rate for them.”
The furrow between Darcy’s brows deepened. “But you wish it did. Matter to them.”
“Well, sure.” Of course. “But, unlike Lydia, I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to change who I was just to suit someone else.”
“Where do I fit into all this? On Thanksgiving?”
Right. Thanksgiving. That was the reason they were here, not to get to know each other better just because.
“Act like you like me?” Elle gave an awkward laugh, avoiding Darcy’s eyes. “You’ve got the sort of job and vibe that screams I’ve got my shit together, so if my family thinks you’re into me and hears you talk about how awesome you think I am, maybe they’ll see me in a different light without me having to, you know, do anything.”
Darcy nodded. “I can do that.”
Elle’s chest squeezed, wishing Darcy didn’t have to act like she liked her.
“Anything else I should know, or is it more of a learn-as-you-go t
hing?”
Ha. Elle was still learning how to navigate the waters of formal family dinners.
“If it’s any consolation, you’ll probably fit in with my family better than me.”
* * *
Despite the conventional wisdom that said no one had any business eating something larger than their head, they both managed to polish off their burgers and a shared order of nori fries.
Back on the street, Elle crossed her arms against the chill and smiled at Darcy who’d been smart enough to wear a coat. Elle had been too caught off guard by Darcy’s unexpected visit to think to grab her jacket. “Well. This was fun.”
Darcy nodded. “It was. Thanks for the food. Are you sure you won’t let me pay for mine?”
Elle waved her off. “My treat.”
She wasn’t sure if they were standing there on the street corner because the light was red, or for some other reason. “All right. Well—”
“I’ll walk with you,” Darcy blurted. “It’s nice out.”
It was freezing, but okay. Elle wouldn’t argue. The company was nice.
Elle led them two blocks south, pausing at the corner of Pike and Broadway, waiting for the light. She peeked around the corner, checking for oncoming traffic. The neon sign hanging in the window on the next block caught her eye. She grabbed Darcy’s wrist and tugged her in the new direction.
“What? Where are we going? Your apartment’s that way.”
“Change of plans,” she said, stopping in front of a store with the sign ONE MAN’S TRASH. The T in trash was burned out, turning the store into ONE MAN’S RASH, which made Elle chuckle under her breath. “This is my favorite thrift store.”
“And we’re here because . . . ?” Darcy goggled at the window display of half-dressed mannequins posed to look as if they were having an orgy.
“I forgot about my favorite Thanksgiving tradition. It’s the only thing my family does that’s odd, if you can even call it that.” Elle reached for the handle on the front door, eager to step inside out of the cold. “We all wear the tackiest ugly Christmas sweaters we can find. We’ve been doing it for years. You have to wear one.”
Darcy didn’t argue, though she did pull a face, lips twisting like she was beginning to regret this whole plan, if she didn’t already.
The inside of the store smelled like fabric softener and Lysol, and beneath that, mothballs and body odor, which Elle tried hard to ignore. Detouring past the front display of puffer jackets, Elle tugged Darcy deeper into the store where they kept their funkier offerings.
“Jesus.” Darcy tugged on a poofy, crinoline prom dress shoved between an old D.A.R.E shirt and a leather motorcycle jacket. “There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this. How do you find anything in here?”
“You don’t. Not really. Stuff tends to find you.”
“Like that doesn’t sound ominous.” Darcy set the dress back on the rack. The bar holding the hangers made a low creak before the entire rack collapsed in on itself. “Shit.”
Darcy bent down, reaching to clean up the mess. Something green and sparkly in the pile caught Elle’s eye. “Wait, hold up.”
She grabbed the item in question, sure enough, a sweater. And not just any sweater, but a delightfully hideous knitted monstrosity with a sequined Grinch.
Darcy recoiled, elbow knocking into the rack of shoes. “Ow. No. Absolutely not. Not even if you paid me.”
Elle gave her what she hoped was a convincing pout, pulling out all the stops, widening her eyes and jutting out her bottom lip. “I told you—things find you in here.”
“Nope.” Darcy shook her head. “That is odious.”
“All the better! It’s supposed to be ugly.”
“Ugly is an understatement, Elle. It offends me.”
Elle thrust the sweater at Darcy, who shrieked and backed away. “Just try it on.”
Darcy paled. “Try it on? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t know where that’s been or who wore it. I’m not buying it, but if I did, you bet your ass I’d wash it first.”
“Gah.” Elle dropped her head back and groaned. “Oh my god. Don’t be such a grinch about it. You can wear your camisole. You’ll be fine.”
With a huff, Darcy snatched the sweater from Elle and stomped off in the direction of the dressing room, grumbling nonsense under her breath.
Lingering outside the curtain of the dressing stall, Elle waited, snickering as Darcy muttered to herself about fucking sweaters and how she better not get bedbugs or something and Elle better be happy.
Happy was an understatement. When Darcy flung the curtain aside and stepped out of the dressing room, Elle doubled over. Darcy was drowning in the three-sizes-too-big sweater that nearly hung down to her knees. When she lifted her arm to flip Elle off, the sweater slipped over her hand and the excess fabric made it look like she had wings. That didn’t even account for the atrocity that was the sparkling Grinch whose eyes lined up rather perfectly with Darcy’s chest.
Darcy scratched the base of her throat, her expression twisting, eyes going wide. “I’m itching. Why am I itching?”
“It’s probably psychological.” Elle shrugged. “Or you’ve gotten so used to wearing fancy fabrics that polyblend gives you hives?”
“Ugh.” Darcy whipped the sweater over her head, her hair sticking up from the static. The strap of camisole slipped down her arm again, the strap of her bra following it down. Elle swallowed thickly. “You happy?” Darcy asked.
“Hmm. Oh!” Elle nodded. “I will be if you buy it.”
Darcy threw the sweater on the floor and reached for her blouse. “It’s awful.”
“It’s amazing. You have to wear it.”
“You wear it if you love it so much.”
Elle already had a sweater. “It found you, Darcy. It’s fate.”
Darcy sighed. “Everyone’s going to be wearing one?”
“You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t.”
Darcy’s eyes flickered between Elle’s pouting face and the sweater pooled on the floor.
“Please. It’s a tradition.”
Her shoulders dropped. “Fine. But I’m washing it first.”
Elle couldn’t help it. She stepped forward and threw her arms around Darcy, hugging her tight. “Thank you.”
Like the first time she hugged her, Darcy stiffened. But this time, she relaxed into the embrace sooner, her own arms wrapping around Elle’s waist. She had to have felt the forceful thud of Elle’s heart, kicking against her chest, their bodies pressed together.
Darcy was the first to pull away, leaning back, her hands slipping, fingers brushing the small of Elle’s back as she dropped her arms. Their faces were close, so close Elle could’ve leaned in and pressed her lips to Darcy’s. She teetered on her feet, knees faltering at the soft smile Darcy sent her. “It’s . . . it’s fine. It’s just a sweater.”
It wasn’t just about the sweater, but Elle didn’t say that for fear of saying too much. Instead she stepped back and pointed at the rack of recent arrivals. “I’m going to look around for a minute, if you don’t mind?”
Darcy nodded and began doing up the row of tiny pearl buttons on her blouse.
Elle’s favorite thing about One Man’s Trash was that they offered a little bit of everything. Looking for antique silverware? Suits that looked like they were straight out of Saturday Night Fever? They had housewares, costumes, knickknacks, a little something for everyone.
Darcy caught up with Elle just as she was salivating over a letterman-style jacket, only instead of being for a school or team, it had a gigantic embroidered cartoon Samantha from Bewitched on the back.
“Brendon and I used to watch that when we were little.” Darcy bit her lip. “When we spent summers at Grandma’s, she’d let us build pillow forts in the living room and stay up late to watch Bewitched and I Dream of Jeannie on TV Land until we crashed on the floor.”
Elle traced the stitching and smiled. “When I was a kid, I was convinced I was a witch and
that the rest of my family were mere mortals and that was why I was different. Never could wiggle my nose like Samantha.” Elle smiled. “You’ve got a very Samantha-ish nose, you know that?”
Darcy cupped her fingers around the tip of her nose, forehead wrinkling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Why do you always think what I say has some double meaning? It’s a compliment. It means I—” Like your face. “I think you’ve got a cute nose.”
It felt like someone had cranked the heat in the store up to a million degrees, like Elle was standing on the surface of the sun instead of wearing an impractical T-shirt in the middle of November. She ignored the flush climbing up the sides of her throat and stared at Darcy from the corner of her eye, watching as an identical blush crept up Darcy’s jaw.
“Oh.” Darcy cleared her throat. “Thanks.”
Elle bit the inside of her cheek and hummed, flipping the tag on the jacket so she could see the price. Her brows rocketed to her hairline. Never mind.
Moving down the aisle, Elle stopped in front of a case of creepy dolls that Darcy refused to look at because she’d seen enough horror movies to know how that goes, thank you very much. When Elle paused to peruse the vintage hair accessories, Darcy slipped off to buy her sweater.
Casting one last forlorn glance to the back of the store where the Bewitched jacket was tucked away, Elle made her way to the front of the store, meeting Darcy by the door.
Bracing herself for the cold, Elle crossed her arms tight across her body and ducked her chin as she stepped onto the sidewalk. Warm fingers gently seized her by the elbow, keeping her from going far.
“Here.” Darcy shoved a bundle of fabric at her, pressing it to her chest.
It was the jacket, the one she’d wanted terribly, the one that cost ninety dollars. Too much. Elle’s heart climbed its way up her chest, settling inside her throat, an immovable lump that made it hard to swallow. “Darcy—”
“You’re always forgetting to wear a jacket. I start to wonder if you even own one.” Darcy stared at a spot over Elle’s shoulder.
She clutched the jacket to her chest reverently, words failing her.
Written in the Stars Page 13