by Minka Kent
“What are you talking about?” She seems legitimately confused. And I almost buy it.
“You just seem a little distant lately,” I say, glancing down at my plate like I’m sad. “Maybe I’m imagining it.”
Tessa laughs, reaching across the table to swat my hand. “Oh my god. Meadow, you had me so nervous for a second.”
I laugh, shadowing her body language. “So, I didn’t do anything?”
“Of course not.” She sits up straighter. “I had mid-terms and a paper to write and …”
She rattles on. One excuse after another. They seem convincing, but that isn’t hard to do.
“I miss your memes,” I say. We share a giggle. “Did you ever ask that guy out from your chem class?”
The air is lighter, the mood lifted.
This is what girls do.
We stab each other, we dress our wounds when we’re done, and we ignore the scars that remain.
“I didn’t ask him out,” she says, as if her lack of courage is embarrassing. “Guess I’m still hung up on Eli.” Tessa reaches for her water, silent for a few beats. “I just want what Lauren and Thayer have, you know?”
I lift my drink. “Amen.”
“They’re just perfect together.”
“Aren’t they?” I sip. “How long have they been together now?”
The longer I can keep her talking about them, the more likely she’ll be to let something slip.
Her brows meet. “I have no idea. A year? Maybe more? You’ll have to ask her.”
“Can I ask you something?” I lean in closer. She follows suit. “Lauren always says he’s possessive, but I think he seems nice. He doesn’t … do anything to her, does he? I know sometimes people can act one way when they’re around someone new and then act a certain way around other people. Didn’t know if maybe he’s always on his best behavior around me?”
Tessa’s face hardens and then relaxes. “He likes her a lot. I think sometimes he can be intense, but she’s a big girl. If he ever crossed a line, she’d kick him to the curb. Don’t think for one second Lauren isn’t in the driver’s seat of that relationship.”
“Okay.” I smile, as if I’m relieved. “I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t … doing anything to her. As a friend, you know? I worry sometimes.”
“Of course. We all do.” She takes a drink of water. Her tempura chicken is half gone. “I’d be the first to kick his ass if he pulled anything with her. I’d make my brothers drive all the way here from South Dakota, baseball bats in hand.”
She chuckles, but I read between the lines. She’s affirming her position as #1 friend. But lucky for her, I’m not bidding for that position. I just want answers.
“How did they meet? Lauren and Thayer?” I sense that we’re running out of steam here. She’s yet to so much as hint that there might be a load of dirty laundry between those two.
“Mickey’s maybe?” She lifts a brow. “We met him one night when we went out. That’s all I remember. We were probably doing a pub crawl. Yeah. Last St. Patrick’s Day I think?” Tessa pushes her plate a few inches forward. She’s already finished eating. Or maybe she’s done with this conversation. “Why are you asking me so many questions about them? Why not just ask Lauren?”
Oh, my astute little South Dakotan princess.
The way she’s looking at me, one eye half pinched, makes me think her assumptions are headed in the wrong direction. She probably thinks I like Thayer and that is not where I want this conversation to veer.
Shrugging, I place my chopsticks on my plate. “Just making conversation.”
Tessa nods, arms folded across her lap as she chews her inner lip. “Okay, if I tell you something, do you swear not to repeat it?”
Now we’re talking.
“Absolutely,” I say. “I swear.”
“Thayer …” she sucks in a deep breath. “I mean, he’s never hurt her. He’s never laid a hand on her.” Wrinkling a napkin in her hands, she closes her eyes. “But …”
She’s taking way too fucking long to get to the point.
“He has all of her passwords. He knows her schedule. Sometimes he’ll drive by barre to make sure she’s there,” Tessa says. “Like I said, he’s intense. But when it’s good, it’s really good. That’s what Lauren says. And she seems happy, so I don’t say much. But I mean it, if he ever hurt her …”
So, Thayer’s a prick.
That’s all the dirty laundry she has?
Talk about a waste of a forty-dollar lunch.
“Is there a reason you think Lauren stays with him? Besides it’s ‘good’ sometimes?” I ask. This is like squeezing blood from a stone.
Tessa shakes her head. “No clue. She says she loves him. It’s not for me to question.”
Of course it isn’t. Tessa’s afraid if she speaks up, she’ll lose Lauren’s friendship.
“You two tell each other everything, right?” I ask. She nods. “Then you should tell her how you feel.”
She smirks. “Lauren doesn’t always like to hear the truth.”
“What?” I pretend I didn’t hear her in hopes she’ll elaborate.
“Nobody likes to hear the truth when they’re in love,” she says. The phrasing changes, painting Lauren in a more flattering, generalized light. It’s completely intentional. “Anyway, I’m meeting a study group in twenty minutes. Care if I bail?”
Shit.
I didn’t want to end on this note—talking about Lauren. I wanted to veer away from this, have a bit of casual conversation, and end on something neutral.
If she saw through any of this, I’m fucked.
“Of course not,” I say, watching her rise and fish around in her Louis until she hands over two crisp twenties.
Tessa slips her coat over her shoulders and fastens the toggle buttons before checking her phone. Her fingers tap the glass in record speed, and I worry she’s texting Lauren about me and I hate that I care if only for a fraction of a second.
“Oh, real quick,” I say before she turns to leave. This may be one of the last times I get Tessa alone, and I have to ask. “Do you know Emily Waterford?”
Her nose wrinkles. “Who?”
“Emily Waterford.” I don’t elaborate.
“Never heard of her.” Tessa adjusts her bag over her shoulder. “Why do you ask?”
My lips part and I’m seconds from coming up with some kind of bullshit excuse, but I stop myself. If Emily lived with Lauren last year, Tessa would’ve met her at some point and she wouldn’t be staring at me with this baffled look on her face.
“Forget it,” I say, forcing a tight smile. “You should get going.”
Something isn’t adding up, and until I figure out why, I’m keeping my cards close to my chest.
Nineteen
Today marks the first time I’ve ever called in sick to Sparkle Shine Cleaning Co. It’s Monday. And I couldn’t bear to see Elisabeth, not after knowing what I know. Looking into her eyes and pretending like I don’t know the fate of her future is something I couldn’t bring myself to do, so at six AM, I called the shift supervisor and left a message saying I woke up with a terrible cold, hanging my head upside down off my bed so I sounded nasally.
I’m not proud.
I simply did what I had to do.
Dressed in shades of brown and cream, clean-faced and hair tucked beneath an army green knit cap, I’ve been trudging around the snowy campus all day, following Lauren and keeping my distance.
I’ve followed her from English class to English class, watched her duck into the library between classes, and stop at the Hub to meet a friend for lunch. She checks her phone constantly, another little quirk of hers that used to not annoy me. Now I want to smack the stupid thing out of her manicured little hands.
Around three o’clock, she leaves her last class of the day, straightening her hat and trekking toward the bus stop.
Again, I stay back. Watching.
Only she gets on the blue bus instead of the green.
> There are eleven stops on the green bus, all of them on the north route. Our stop is on the south route.
Bristowe’s office—the English department’s building—is off the blue route.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, or maybe for once I want to prove myself wrong, but I head in that direction, looking like a maniac in my snow gear, running across campus. But at least I’m an invisible maniac. No one’s checking me out today.
Slipping and sliding, my breath clouding the air around me, I manage to make it there in under ten minutes, just as Lauren is entering the main doors.
Holy shit. I was right.
I wait a few minutes before going in, and then I take the stairs to the fourth floor. Lauren never takes the stairs. Less of a risk of her seeing me.
When I arrive, I wait around the corner, taking cover behind the noisy Coca-Cola machine with a perfect view of Bristowe’s office.
She shouldn’t be here—not for school reasons. Her capstone meetings are on Fridays. This is a Monday. Lauren should be on the green bus, going home.
Their voices fill the quiet hallway, tones pleasant and laced with excitement. I peek around the vending machine in time to see him usher her in.
He closes the door softly before drawing the blinds to the window looking into the hall.
My eyes squeeze, burning then watering. I imagine him sitting his picture of Elisabeth face down. I imagine her reaching for his belt, him slipping his fingers in her hair. Two wicked smiles. A shared secret.
It isn’t right.
Lauren has no right to ruin Elisabeth’s happiness.
Perhaps, then, it’s only fair that I ruin hers?
Twenty
Thayer gave me his number the night we first met. At the time, I thought he was just being polite … like an “any friend of Lauren’s is a friend of mine” sort of thing. Now I know he wanted to create that connection in case he ever needed it or if ever he couldn’t locate his beloved. As her roommate, I was a link to her. A way of tracking her down.
But I’m flipping the tables.
My phone trembles in my unsteady hands but I manage to tap out a coherent text. With a hovering thumb, I read it over and over again. Once I send this, it can’t be undone. It’ll be there, forever.
The message is simple, unassuming, but the intention is nothing short of nefarious.
DO YOU KNOW WHERE LAUREN IS?
Pacing, I draw in a cold breath that freezes my lungs and hit send.
Within seconds, its delivered and subsequently read. Three bouncing dots fill the screen and then disappear.
My palms sweat. I’ve never done this before. Never interfered like this in anyone’s relationship—not even my own mother’s, and believe me I had ample opportunity to take some of those sons of bitches down.
The ring of my phone sends a shock down my spine despite the fact that I fully expected this.
He’s calling.
“What are you talking about? I thought she was at home?” he asks before I get a chance to say “hello.” His words are rushed, breathy. Sprinkled in anxiety. He doesn’t like to be left in the lurch.
You and me both, Thayer.
“She’s usually home by now,” I say. “I texted her earlier but she didn’t respond.”
It’s a dangerous lie to tell, especially when I could so easily be proven wrong, but I don’t want to lose my momentum just yet. I’m so close I can taste it.
“Jesus.” He’s panicking. I’m imagining his palm dragging the length of his handsome face. His shoulders slumping. His breath growing heavy. “I haven’t heard from her in hours now that I think about it.”
“It’s probably nothing. I just didn’t know if she was with you.”
“She texted me after class. Said she was on her way home.”
So the bitch flat out lied to her own boyfriend. At least I’m not the only one she’s keeping secrets from.
I don’t tell him I saw her take the blue bus and stop off at Bristowe’s office. I’ll let him piece this puzzle together himself.
“Let me call her,” he says, working himself into a frenzied, frantic state.
I kind of feel bad for him now. He’s nothing more than a pawn. But it’s for the best. She doesn’t deserve him. She doesn’t deserve a man who adores her so much he worries about her when he hasn’t heard from her in a couple of hours.
I may not be the most experienced woman in the relationship department, but I’m pretty sure that’s love.
“If I don’t hear from her, I’m coming over,” he says.
I lift a brow. What good will it do if he comes over? It won’t make her instantly appear.
“I want to be there when she comes home,” he says, tone lower.
Oh. I get it. He wants to catch her in her lie. That’s what this is about.
“Of course,” I say, biting the shit-eating grin on my face. In my mind’s eye, they’re screaming at each other, embroiled in a lover’s quarrel that can only end in one way. And I’ll be locked in my room, listening from the other side and waiting until he says those three little words…
“We are done.”
“See you in a bit, Thayer.” I hang up and pray he gets here before she does.
This is going to be good.
Twenty-One
For four hours, Lauren’s been MIA.
She doesn’t answer her cell, doesn’t reply to text messages. If I didn’t know precisely where she was, I might be concerned for her safety, but instead I’m sitting here, sipping a glass of cabernet (and pretending I like it), watching Thayer stand by the living room window, surveying the driveway for the glowing Xenon headlights of Lauren’s Lexus.
When he isn’t staring out the window like a puppy waiting for their master to come home from work (or a jealous boyfriend waiting to catch his cheating girlfriend in a lie), he’s pacing the house.
Also, he’s on his third beer in an hour.
I figured it wouldn’t hurt to add a little fuel to the fire by way of alcohol. I know from eyewitness experience that drunk fights are the most destructive … emotionally and otherwise.
“You should sit down,” I tell him, reaching for the remote that controls Lauren’s sound system. One of her favorite bands come on and I tune it to another disc immediately. One of mine. An eighties mix.
Thayer exhales and takes a seat in Lauren’s chair, which makes me think he must not be that mad at her if he’s willing to sit there. Then again, maybe he isn’t petty like girls are. Maybe he doesn’t overthink and overanalyze like we do. Maybe he wears his emotions on his sleeve and that’s what gets him in trouble most of the time.
Lauren thinks he’s possessive because he’s insecure.
I think it’s just because he loves her.
And why wouldn’t he? She’s practically perfect in every way … if you know nothing about her secret dealings.
“You like Velvet Underground?” he asks, pointing to the speakers. “Turn this up.”
Angry Thayer is now Distracted Thayer.
“I don’t like Velvet Underground,” I say. “I love them.”
He cracks a slow smile. His teeth are big and white but they fit his face perfectly, balancing his square jaw. Dragging his hand through his dark hair, he leans toward me.
“Thanks for letting me know about Lauren,” he says. “It’s nice she has someone who worries about her as much as I do.”
I don’t know if I’d put it that way …
“I probably worry about her too much.” His tone is self-deprecating and he glances at his hands. How someone so low-maintenance could wind up with someone as high-maintenance as Lauren is beyond me.
Thayer pulls his phone from his pocket for the millionth time, checking his screen, darkening his screen, sliding it back in.
“Has this happened before?” I ask.
He glances up. “What?”
“Lauren disappearing,” I say with a smile, rolling my eyes. “She’s so oblivious most of the time. You know how sh
e is. I just wonder if maybe she changed her plans and her phone died or something.”
His brows meet. “Every once in a while, yeah.”
“Oh. So this isn’t the first time?”
His lips flatten. He doesn’t respond.
“Do you think … do you think she’s with someone else?” I plant the seed that’s probably already there, but at this point, the more the merrier.
Germinate, little seeds.
Grow.
“I probably shouldn’t say this.” I keep my voice down and garner his full attention. “I mean, she’s my friend and all. It just seems like you two are constantly fighting, and clearly you don’t trust her.”
Thayer’s elbows dig into his knees and he buries his head in his hands, exhaling through his fingers.
Have I struck a chord? A nerve? Anything?
We share a silent moment, and I’m desperately hoping he’s letting my words sink into the deepest parts of him. I barely know Thayer and yet I know one thing: he deserves better than her.
“Lauren is—” he begins to speak when the front door flings open and a gush of cool night air chills the living room.
Speak of the devil.
“Where have you been?” Thayer goes to her side without hesitation. And his tone is more worried than angry.
I don’t understand.
“I thought you were coming home after class today,” he says.
Lauren’s gaze passes between us as she unwraps the Burberry scarf from around her neck. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t answer your phone. We’ve been trying to reach you all afternoon,” he says.
Shit. She knows damn well I didn’t try to get a hold of her once.
“My ringer must be off.” Lauren unzips her coat before placing it in the closet by the front door. “Were you worried about me or something?”
Thayer exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t have come here if I weren’t.”
She lifts a brow. I think she’s still confused. Rising on her toes, she kisses him, playing it off like it’s nothing and quashing any chance they had of fighting.