by Thea Dawson
22
Annabelle
I’m just waking up from my nap when Archer comes into our room. My smile at the sight of him starts to fade when I see the serious look in his eyes. He sits down on the bed and strokes my hair.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“Bad news,” he says. “When I got into town I had a bunch of messages from my roommate, and I need to get back to LA. It’s kind of an emergency.”
I sit up. “Oh no! What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”
He hesitates, and I can see him weighing how much detail he wants me to know. “Alex is going through some … personal issues,” he says. “It’s not really my place to share the details. Let’s just say right now there’s a lot of vodka involved, and I just think I should get back. Can you get a ride home with your family?”
“Yeah, sure.” I’m determined to be supportive, though I feel like a brick has just settled in my stomach. In just 48 hours, I’ve become accustomed to having Archer nearby—and I can’t deny I was looking forward to our last night at the lake together.
He kisses me gently on the forehead then holds me close. “I’m really sorry, Annabelle. I was looking forward to our last night together,” he says, echoing my thoughts, but hearing them spoken out loud makes me uneasy.
“Will … can I see you again in LA?” My words sound needy and insecure, and I kind of hate myself for asking, but I have to know where, if anywhere, this is going.
He pulls me down on the bed next to him so that I’m lying in his arms. It feels so comfortable here, so right. Our weekend together feels like a dream, but now I wonder if I’m going to have to wake up. Already forces from our real lives are pulling us apart, and I’m not convinced that our fragile new relationship will survive our return to the city.
“Absolutely,” he says, pulling me closer. “I’m looking forward to it. I want to get to know you better.” He sighs. “I’m really sorry. I’ve had an amazing time here with you and your family. I know you weren’t crazy about me coming here in the first place, but it worked out okay, didn’t it?”
“It worked out wonderfully,” I assure him.
He kisses me again, on the lips this time and strokes my face, smiling at me in a sad, unbearably sweet way, then gently pulls away. “I’d better get my things together and say goodbye to your parents.” He stands up and walks over to the weekend bag he brought with him and begins putting his things in it.
I nod, resigned. “I know we were leaving tomorrow anyway, but I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m going to miss you too,” he says. “But we’ll see each other again soon.” He winks at me. “You still owe me an ice cream.”
Archer takes his leave amidst much hugging. Carina, naturally, gets a little teary. Brianna manages a stiff hug and a pat on the back, which coming from her practically means she thinks of him as family already. My mother expresses concern over the roommate situation, but Archer doesn’t let on any more than he did with me. I’m curious about what’s going on, but I also recognize that it’s not my business and respect Archer for not gossiping about Alex’s personal life with a bunch of strangers.
My family discreetly disappears as I walk Archer to his car for our last goodbye, my bare feet getting dusty in the dirt driveway.
He throws his bag into the back of his car, then turns to me. In theory, we should be able to see each other again tomorrow, but he hasn’t suggested anything specific, and I’m too much of a coward to push it. Instead, I wish him a safe drive, and he pulls me into his arms for one long, last kiss.
It’s tender and sweet and passionate, and I wish it would never end … and at the same time, I hate it.
It feels too much like what it is: a goodbye.
After his little car drives away, kicking up dust behind it, Carina drags me out onto the Sunfish and tries to distract me with gossip about her job and her friends back in LA. She halfway succeeds, and I’m feeling a little better when we get back to the dock.
My mom then keeps me busy with a sudden need she’s discovered to organize the downstairs closet, which contains a collection of spare blankets, games, old hiking shoes, and knick-knacks. Then Bree asks me to give her a hand in the kitchen as she makes dinner.
Their efforts to distract me don’t mean as much to me as the fact that they care enough to try. As I’m cutting up carrots in the kitchen with Bree, my dad brings us cocktails and tells us about his latest contract to build a series of hotels in Hong Kong and Singapore. I half listen, but mostly I reflect once again on how lucky I am to have a family that cares for me. Even if I don’t sparkle the way the rest of them do, I’m lucky to be one of them. Archer, after all, has no family. It crosses my mind that that might be why he’s so loyal to his roommate. Maybe Alex is the person he’s closest to.
I’ve fallen for him harder than I should have, given how little we have in common and the fact that we’ve known each other only a few days. My family takes it for granted that I’ll be seeing him within a day, two at most, and I hope they’re right.
I shake off the nagging doubts and remind myself of the look on Archer’s face this afternoon when we made plans to go out for ice cream after dinner tonight. It was the look of a guy who wanted to spend time with me, was happy to. It wasn’t just the look of a guy who wanted to get laid—and let’s face it, Archer could have women at his beck and call; he didn’t need to suck up to me just to get sex—and it was beyond anything he needed to do to impress my family.
His words when he kissed me in the water beside the dock come back to me: This is just for us.
There’s a future for us, I assure myself. And I’m determined to see it happen.
It’s not until right before dinner that my mother discovers Archer’s wallet beside the bottles of wine he bought for us and left in the pantry.
She hands it to me. “He seemed pretty distracted with the news about his roommate. I hope he doesn’t get pulled over or anything on the way home. Maybe you can get this back to him tomorrow.”
I run my fingers across the worn brown leather, a tangible reminder that he was here, that I didn’t just imagine our magical weekend together. It’s older and shabbier than what I would have expected, given that Archer has so far been impeccably dressed every time I’ve seen him—except for those times he’s been impeccably undressed.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. “Maybe I’ll go into town after dinner so I can call him.”
“Good idea, sweetheart,” she says with an encouraging smile. “We really enjoyed having him here, you know. Maybe we can get him up here again in July.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say again. “I really hope so, too.”
After dinner, I take my parents’ car and drive down to the end of the driveway and check my phone. No calls or texts from Archer, but he’s probably still on the road, and it may well take longer than usual given the traffic that’s probably snarling up the freeway at this time of day. I text him nonetheless to tell him I have his wallet, then drive into town and waste time wandering around the grocery store, hoping that I’ll hear back from him before I head back to the lake.
I don’t, so eventually I turn around and drive back. I tell my family I’m tired and go to bed early, curling up in the bed that two nights ago felt too crowded and now feels too empty.
The next morning, I’m faced with a choice: I can stay and hang out with Brianna and Carina until they leave later in the afternoon, or I can head back in the morning with my parents, who have to be at a function that evening in the city. I’m torn between wanting to head back to the city and get back in touch with Archer as soon as possible, and the desire to stay at the lake, where I can enjoy my new-found closeness with my sisters and postpone dealing with reality for a few more hours.
In the end, I elect to go with my parents. I still need to sort out my car situation, after all, and my parents’ house is out of Carina’s and Brianna’s way. I ride home in the backseat. Once we’re on the main roads, I surreptitiousl
y check my phone several times, but Archer has not gotten back in touch with me, even to acknowledge my text about his wallet. Eventually, I put my phone in airplane mode in an effort not to obsess, and spend the rest of the time in sporadic conversation with my parents or trying to read.
We get home mid-afternoon. I call Triple A to have them tow my car to the nearest shop. I tell my parents I’m going to rent another one until it’s fixed, and my dad insists that I take one of theirs. They have three, so it’s no hardship. My parents would love to have me stay another night, but I’ll be on my own once they go out, and I’d rather spend the evening with my roommates than by myself.
Actually, I’d rather spend it with Archer, but he still hasn’t called me back, and I’m starting to get a bad feeling about the whole thing. He could just still be distracted with whatever it is that’s going on with his roommate, but his lack of communication is calling up all my insecurities.
Maybe I was just a passing fancy? After all, I’m nothing like the kind of girl he probably gets involved with normally. I remind myself of the kiss in the lake, of that amazing night we spent together, of the deep look in his eyes, the one that said this was more than a one-night stand … and then I remember that he’s a professional actor.
I collect my things and put them in the car that my parents are lending me, then go to say my goodbyes.
“And tell Archer good luck with Zac,” my mother says, releasing me from her third and final hug.
“What?”
“Didn’t he tell you?” my dad asks. “Your mom set him up with an audition with Zac on Wednesday morning.” His eyes narrow. He looks a bit taken aback that I don’t know about this.
I blink. “Uh, no,” I say, too surprised to come up with a lie. “He didn’t say anything. When did that happen?”
“It was right before he got that call about his roommate,” my mom says. “He probably got distracted. So be sure to remind him—you know what Zac’s like.”
I don’t know Zac all that well—he and my dad are old friends, but Zac is on location shooting most of the year so they don’t see each other much—but I know about Zac’s notorious insistence on punctuality and follow through. He’s not big on second chances.
I nod, suddenly desperate to get away from my parents so I can think clearly. “I’ll make sure to remind him,” I promise. I give them each one more hug and flee to the car.
I drive home, the later afternoon sun almost blinding me and leaving me with a headache. A sick sense of dread settles over me.
Could Archer have known about my parents’ friendship with Zac? Zac himself hadn’t been at the party this year, but there were dozens of people there who knew they were friends. Could that be why he’d insisted on going up to the lake with us? Had he hoped to charm my parents into introducing him to Zac?
It’s a nasty thought.
But even nastier is the thought that he left to go back to LA almost as soon as the deal was struck. Did he decide that now that he didn’t need me, it was time for him to leave?
I’ve been trying to brace myself for the possibility that our relationship might not survive going back to our regular lives … but I hadn’t anticipated the possibility that the entire weekend might have been an elaborate transaction.
Had he felt obligated to sleep with me? Was I on one side of his cosmic balance sheet, a chance to make good on the debt he’d accrued with my family?
The fact that he left so quickly and that he hasn’t yet texted or called weighs heavily on me, as does the fact that I knew what a smooth and believable actor he was. I pull into the parking lot of my apartment feeling both sick to my stomach and shaky with adrenaline.
Has he just been using me the entire time?
I pull his wallet out of my purse and flip it open. A cream colored card flutters out and I pick it up.
Mila Winter Corcoran
There’s a cell phone number and an email address as well. My eyes narrow as I study the card. What would he be doing with Aunt Mila’s contact information? Then I remember that she was talking to him at the party. She must have given him the card then. I make a face at the thought of my aunt making a pass at my date—he’s half her age, for crying out loud—but it’s the fact that he’s kept the card that makes my stomach squirm. I remember what he told me about Elsie and his other relationships. He wouldn’t consider something like that with Mila … would he?
I stuff the card back in the wallet and find his driver’s license, with his address. I’ll give him until tomorrow to get in touch with me, and then—I swallow hard—I'll get to the bottom of this.
23
Archer
The drive back to Los Angeles feels much longer than the drive up to the lake did. The weather is just as nice, the scenery just as pretty, but without Annabelle in the seat next to me, chatting about her family and her research and asking me questions about my life, I’m bored and grouchy. I try listening to the radio, to my favorite podcast, to an audiobook … but none of it makes up for the fact that Annabelle isn’t there.
Logically, my mood is unreasonable. Annabelle and I only had one more night at the lake anyway, and there’s no reason we can’t get together again in a day or two. Really, I should be grateful: not only have I met a great girl, but I also have my meeting with Zac to look forward to—and that was, after all, the point of this crazy trip.
But something about the situation nags at me. I feel as if I’ve missed an opportunity or forgotten to do something important, and it leaves me feeling edgy and restless.
The sun slowly slides down the sky to my right as the scenery gradually changes from tall pines to concrete, and the traffic gets heavier and heavier … along with my mood.
It's a long, bad night when I get back.
My mood gets even darker when I get home to find that Alex isn’t even there. I grit my teeth—if I’ve given up my last night at the lake for nothing …
Eventually, after a series of texts, I track her down.
She has not sobered up since I talked to her. She poured the vodka down the drain like I asked her to, then called in some girlfriends who, thinking they were being supportive, took her to a bar, where she proceeded to get drunk all over again.
By the time I get to the bar, I’m angry at her, at her friends, and at myself, but when she sloppily throws herself into my arms and bursts into tears, I know I did the right thing in coming back. Alex may be a drama queen and walking disaster on several levels, but she’s still my best friend and the closest thing I have to family.
I drag her home and she spends the night alternating between crying, throwing up, and telling me what a failure she is. Alex has always had a flair for the dramatic—I’ve often told her she should have been an actress, not a writer—but I’ve never seen her as self-destructive as this.
It takes a long time to get the entire story out of her, but in the end, I piece it together. While Trevor was in the shower that morning, she snuck a look at his driver’s license, determined to find out more about him—more, I think, to prove to me that he wasn’t married than because she actually thought she’d find anything amiss.
Turns out his name wasn’t Trevor, but Thomas, and when she looked him up, she found a Facebook account full of photos of himself and his wife and two young kids. When she confronted him, he started off telling her that he and his wife were separated. When Alex told him that she wouldn’t see him again until he was actually divorced, he got pissy and told her not to ruin the “good thing” they had going. When she pressed him, he said she was an idiot not to have figured it out sooner, and eventually admitted that no, he wasn’t actually planning on leaving his wife—at least, not for a woman as messy and unsuccessful as Alex.
Alex sobs in my arms until my shirt is soaked with her tears, while I tell her over and over again that it isn’t her fault, she isn’t a loser, that things will get better. I help her to the bathroom and hold her hair back every time she needs to throw up, I manage to get a few glasses of w
ater and some ibuprofen into her, and finally she falls asleep.
I crawl into bed around four in the morning, exhausted but unable to sleep. I’m filled with adrenaline-fueled rage at Trevor/Thomas, and also some anger at Alex herself, who—although I would never say it to her face—really has been stupid about letting him into her life. I’ve given up my last night at the lake with Annabelle, and although I know that coming back was the right thing to do, I can’t help resenting Alex and her drama a little.
I long to have Annabelle here, to curl myself around her, to hear the soft sounds of her breathing, to feel her snuggle in closer to me. Even at this hour, I’d be tempted to call her, but I know she’s still at the lake and won’t get the message until she leaves. But the doubts that I felt as I drove away from the lake are actually fading, rather than getting stronger as I’d feared.
How could this girl, of all the girls in LA, break down my barriers so completely?
In large part, I admit, it’s the lack of drama. Having grown up around constant drama, first with my sick mother, then my alcoholic father, then the various intrigues of my relationships with older women, it’s refreshing to be with a woman who deals with things at face value. I love Alex, but she lives and breathes drama. And of course, being an actor, I’m surrounded by other actors; not surprisingly they tend to be people who look for drama both on and off the screen. It exhausts me.
Annabelle, though, is like a cool drink of water on a hot day, or a warm blanket on a cold one. I’m comfortable with her; I can relax and be myself. Yeah, she’s a little insecure, but she knows it and she’s dealing with it … and I’m looking forward to helping her realize that she has absolutely nothing to be insecure about.
She’s amazing all the way through.
I finally fall asleep sometime around dawn, and sleep like the dead most of the next day.