Of course, this is the exact moment that a blast of music from the Into the Woods musical hits my ears. We sit still, waiting for it to pass, but then it gets louder and closer. Astrid suddenly bursts into my room, iPod in hand, the song playing at full volume. She sings along with it, waving her hands in the air as she interprets the lyrics with her own dance. Levi sticks his leg out, trying to trip her, but she just flashes him a venomous look and keeps on dancing.
Astrid’s out of breath when the song comes to a clashing end. She bows like a performer and squeaks out, “We’re watching Into the Woods tonight after dinner if you want to join us.” Then she skitters out of the room and slams the door behind her. (I hear my mom yell, “Don’t shut the doors so hard! They’re too old for your abuse, Astrid!”)
Levi huffs out a long-held breath. “Was Astrid talking to me or you?”
I love that he doesn’t comment on Astrid’s ridiculous performance. “Um, both, I think.”
“Well. We’d better join the party, then.”
I feel a giggle escape my mouth. (I did not endorse the giggle, but that’s the way these things work, apparently. The boyfriend and the giggles are a package deal.) “You’re very nice to put up with her.”
“Astrid’s crazy, dude. I want to be just like her when I grow up.”
I wiggle out of his arms, pulling him up with me, but when he makes a move for the door, I stop him. This time, I’m the one who leans in close. He holds my arm just below the elbow, my own hand resting on his stomach. When he turns his head, just an inch, I plant a kiss right on the hollow of his cheek, my nose against his cheekbone, and feel the caged butterflies in my stomach flap their wild wings in the beautiful agony of our close proximity.
Chapter 26
Levi sits beside me at the dinner table that night. Millicent sits on his other side, batting her eyelashes. “Hi, Levi,” she says.
He pats her head. “What’s up, Millie?”
“Oh, nothing.” She giggles, observing, “You’re here a lot.”
(How dare she? Those are my giggles.) I roll my eyes and point to her plate. “Millie, just eat your food.”
“Of course I’m here a lot,” Levi says, ignoring me. But he squeezes my hand under the table as he leans close to Millie, whispering a little too loud, “I reeeeeeally like your sister.”
She makes a face, like pure disgust and discomfort, but not without a sprinkle of jealousy. “That’s disgusting.”
Levi nods. “Very.”
Dinner progresses as usual (with loud singing and arguing), and when my sisters get up to put the food away and the dishes in the sink, Levi turns to me in his chair. “Bee,” he says, and then stops. “You have something. On your face.”
I sit up straight. “Where on my face?”
“On the right side of your lip.” Levi smiles.
I wipe my lips with a napkin. “Better?”
“You missed it.”
“Levi, you’re not—”
He leans in…and kisses the spot. It’s more on my cheek, really, but it’s close enough to my lips that my breath hitches and I close my eyes in response.
“—helping,” I finish, when he leans away.
“Got it,” he says.
Then I realize something. My parents are across the able, glancing at us, slightly embarrassed (but apparently not enough to leave). They hurriedly look away, pretending they’ve been talking this whole time.
I know, for a fact, they have not. In my absolute mortification, I whisper, “My mother! My father!” I can’t get the words out right; I don’t know what I’m trying to say.
“What? They love me.” Levi shrugs.
“I know, but—”
“No, I mean, your dad likes me,” he says, quietly, standing up and pulling me with him. Only I can hear him because my parents aren’t paying attention to us now. (Thank God.) “But your mom loves me. Have you heard her talk about how gorgeous I am?”
My nervous giggle sounds incredibly high-pitched. My mom has talked about how gorgeous she thinks Levi is, numerous times, but I had no idea Levi heard her. “Yes. Yes I have.”
“Oh, come on,” he teases. “You’re not embarrassed, are you?”
“Me? Never!” I return, rolling my eyes, but I’m lying. I’m totally embarrassed.
“Well, good, because I’m not either. I think your mom has good taste.”
“Thank you, Levi,” my mom pipes in, because of course she heard him. OF COURSE SHE DID. And she kisses his cheek for effect as she passes.
Levi’s eyes are laughing at me. There’s so much laughter in them, like he’s caught a spark of magic inside.
Well, with this guy, I wouldn’t be surprised.
The sky is a deep and brilliant midnight blue, and I’m sitting beneath it. This feels like a privilege—not because of the sky, exactly, but because I’m sitting next to Levi. Our front porch steps creak a little every time one of us moves (to laugh or grab our root beers on the ground or when Levi kisses my cheek) but we are comfortable here.
“This was fun,” Levi says suddenly. He tips his head back to take a swig from his bottle. “You should have me over for all your family movie nights.”
Except it wasn’t just a movie night. We shared music and played card games, and I proudly schooled everybody during Dutch Blitz. I glance at him sideways and grin. “We seem to have them more often now. I think it’s a ploy to get you to come over.”
He smirks. “They don’t need ploys. Just you.”
“Well, if it starts to feel like you’re dating my family and not me, I’m sorry. I warned you.”
Levi’s smirk turns into a full-on grin. “You’re ridiculous. Did you know that?”
I toss my hair, making sure the ends hit him square in the face. “Who, me?”
We’re interrupted when Levi’s car pulls into the driveway, Keagan at the wheel. He waves to us, pointing to the headphones in his ears and the phone on the dash. He doesn’t make a move to get out, so Levi stands, patting his pockets. “I guess that’s my cue—” He puts his hands in his pockets, a quizzical expression on his face. “Hmm. I must have left my phone inside,” he mutters.
I jump up next to him. “I think I saw it on the computer desk.” We head back inside, motioning for Keagan to wait. The house has gone dark, with my sisters already in bed, so we tiptoe on the wood.
But in this quiet, I get the sense that something is wrong even before I get to the living room. My heart is beating too fast, and everything I’d thought was over, every fear I’d thought was gone, returns. I cower by the open doorway, not going in but not leaving.
It’s my mom. She’s sobbing, and I hear my dad talking to her with whispered words I can’t understand.
A knife in my gut: that’s what this feels like. They were faking it this whole time, hiding in smiles and false joy, while underneath—behind our backs—they were doing this. They waited, I think. They waited until they thought no one would hear.
I blink, tears clouding my vision. The happiness I’d felt a moment ago now seems like a daydream. All I want is to know, but the unknown already scares me. How much worse will it be when they tell me—us—what’s going on? Every possibility rushes through my mind: an affair, divorce, the house, his job. Was there been a death in the family? Will we have to move?
“Bee?” Levi whispers. I turn, and he’s standing by the table with his phone in his hands. “It was right here.” His voice is like porcelain.
I nod. “Okay.”
He holds out his hand, which I take, pretending like I wasn’t just about to cry. (We both know I was.) On the porch again, with the front door shut behind us, he puts his arms around me, squeezing tight. The pain almost starts to dissipate. Almost.
“You okay?” he whispers, chin resting on my head.
“
Sure,” I non-answer. My voice sounds brittle in the cool California night.
I hear his unspoken words: But your parents?
I don’t address this, because that’s exactly how I want to keep it: unspoken. At least for now. He respects this, of course, because he’s Levi and he’s always respectful.
So I just hug him. I soak in his embrace like the first sunny day of summer, even though he hasn’t quite warmed that cold spot, deep inside me, that doesn’t seem to want to thaw.
I sleep pitifully that night, or maybe I don’t sleep at all. I do my best not to cry, hoping that tomorrow I’ll wake up and it will all be a dream. But when I open my eyes in the morning (the last time I checked the time was at four o’clock), the sheets are twisted around my legs and my head is turned at an awkward angle.
My neck isn’t the only part of me that aches.
That morning is the start of a routine, one that lasts for a week—but it feels like a year. I put on a smile for my sisters and laugh with my mom and hug my dad and go out with Levi and conduct interviews at TCP. I talk to Gretchen, and even then I keep my smile. I tell myself I’m doing this because there’s nothing truly wrong and I’m reading into things, but I know that’s a lie.
I know it’s a lie because sometimes my mom still cries. Sometimes, my dad sits with her.
Sometimes, he cries, too.
They don’t know that I know, and I’m terrified to tell them. What if everything I know about them, their marriage, our lives, is turning on its head? What if I’m standing in a house made of stilts, and asking the unaskable will kick it out from under me?
So I don’t ask. I don’t tell them I know they’re hiding something. I don’t ask questions.
I find out by accident.
Chapter 27
Levi
Hi beautiful. It’s Friday and we’re both off work and I have a hankering for the beach. Come with?
Bee
I love being called beautiful so early in the morning.
Levi
It’s not early.
Bee
Here I should introduce you to my stance on mornings: they shouldn’t exist before 9:00.
Levi
I’d be okay with that, actually.
Bee
Also, in answer to your beach question – I’d love that.
Levi
Ten?
Bee
Yes please! I’ll get ready now.
I add a smiley and, like, a million hearts—just because. Then I’m up and pulling on my pink sundress. I know my hair is going to get whipped around, so I brush through it once and leave it. (Some days, it’s too long to take seriously.)
Levi finds me thirty minutes later, painting my nails at my desk. I never do my nails, but it’s a nice day. I’m inspired. (I blame The Boy.)
Levi notices, of course. “Nails, huh?”
“Like the color? I borrowed it from Astrid.” I wave the bright pink in front of his eyes.
“You could wear dull brown on your nails and I’d still think it’s pretty.”
“Oooh,” I say, batting my lashes as he kisses my forehead. “Good answer. Ten points for Gryffindor.”
He grins. “Those are great movies.”
My smile quickly dulls to a frown. “But they’re even greater books.”
He looks very worried, very suddenly. I immediately grasp what he’s not telling me.
“You haven’t read them, have you? Have you?!” I gasp.
His expression immediately grows wary. “Nooooo?” he lilts, and I have to admit it’s kind of cute. (Despite feeling like he’s violated everything sacred in this world.)
I turn my back to him, grabbing the first book in the series off my shelf. “Looks like you have some catching up to do.”
He raises one eyebrow, accepting the book that I’ve thrust against his chest, and looks down at it. “You want me to read? At the beach?”
“I want to read at the beach. You might as well join me.”
Levi isn’t convinced. “I guess I can try…”
I nod. “You’ll love it. I’m full of great ideas.”
He takes the bait. “Obviously.”
Another good answer. I blush.
He sees.
The blush deepens.
Levi grabs my hand, laughing, and yanks me out of the room. “Let’s go, crazy,” he says, and I pretend I don’t hear “Let’s go crazy,” because that would make me burn.
As it turns out, I don’t have to do anything to convince Levi of his folly. He lies in the sand beside me, book in hand, open to the seventh chapter, his shirt mercilessly thrown aside as he tans. I say mercilessly because, oh my GOSH, my boyfriend has very, erm, nice, um, muscles. And now I’m not at all focused on my book, of course, because his profile is distracting me. I read a sentence, glance over, read, glance, read, glance. It’s never-ending. (And, I repeat, merciless.)
Eventually, I nudge his side. “Levi?”
He grunts, turning the page. The skin where I elbowed him turns white, reminding me that we’ve been in the sun for hours with no reapplication.
“You’re going to burn, Levi.” God, I sound like a mother. I don’t want to sound like a mother. (Shut your face, Bernice.)
He doesn’t answer in words and instead grabs the sunscreen at his side and hands it to me, not once taking his eyes from the page. I resist the urge to laugh maniacally as I squirt sunscreen into my hands.
“Enjoying that, much?” I ask, and look down at his back.
Now I’m going to have to touch him.
I squirm. I’m not nervous—I’m squirming because I want to touch him.
…okay. Maybe I’m a little nervous.
(Merciless, merciless, merciless.)
“Shh,” he says, and is quiet for the next several moments while I whip up the courage to lather the sunscreen all over him. But as soon as I actually do it, the rest comes easy. It’s nice, actually; as nice as I imagined it would be. Soothing, as if someone were doing it to me. I like being this close to him, and I like that he wants me to do this.
Or maybe it’s the book. (Damn Harry Potter for making me doubt.)
Finally, I lie down next to him on my stomach, elbows propping me up. I lean my head against his shoulder, and he leans his head on mine. “I’m going to pretend,” he says, “like that wasn’t the best thing I’ve felt in a while.”
My heart thrums like crazy. He’s so cute, it’s killing me.
I tell him this.
“Gee, thanks. I always wanted to be a lady killer.”
I roll over onto my back, squinting into the bright yellow sun. “Didn’t you though?” But he doesn’t answer because he’s back in the book. I grunt. “Levi, what part are you at?”
He turns the page and grunts in reply. I wait a minute before asking again. He finally shouts, “The sorting hat!” and smashes his lips closed, as if to tell me he’s not going to speak again.
I laugh so hard that I roll back into him. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve kissed the side of his mouth, my lips puckered.
This gets his attention, and he raises an eyebrow at me, very slowly. “What are you asking for?”
“Your attention.”
His eyebrow goes up a little further. “You give me a good—nay, great—book, yell at me to read it, and then as soon as we sit down you want my attention?”
“One,” I count, “I didn’t yell. Two, we’ve been here for hours. Three, you’ve read over one hundred pages. Four, if you’re going to leave me for Harry, you should do it now, instead of leading me on and breaking my heart.”
Levi blinks at me. Then he tosses the book into the sand (I’ll admit it—I cringe) and grabs me. I have no idea what he’s going to do, so I wait. But he just holds me clos
e to his chest, our warm bodies practically molding together. After a moment he says, quite dramatically, “I could never leave you for Harry.”
I laugh. “Good to know.”
“I could never leave you for anyone, Bambi.”
“Ugh,” I say. But it’s quiet, hardly a noise at all, and he smiles slowly. Then I whisper, “Good,” and let him tuck me against him, my bare cheek against his bare chest, our fingers entwined on his stomach.
We’re both a tad burnt and completely exhausted when we get home, but I’m still smiling. I haven’t stopped smiling since The Sorting Hat Incident. Levi’s quiet, his hand tucked into mine the entire drive back. His silence is contemplative. I have a feeling he’s thinking about exactly what I’m thinking about: today and our relationship and the way our hands are pressed together. His fingers are so much longer than my stubby ones (my fingers match my height and my hips), but they still fit in the best possible way.
He lets go once when we get out of the car—only to snatch it up again right away.
We stand on the front porch for a moment, faces close, bracing for my loud family inside, the people who will shut off any sort of lingering glances or laced fingers or caressing of knees and wrists and necks. The moment grows between us, cinching us together, making me hyper-aware of his smooth palm and his slight smirk and his hair that clings to the nape of his neck with sweat and salt water and sunscreen, and the way his eyes are so obviously on my lips.
Before he forgets where we are, before I forget who I am, I break contact and slide the key into the lock.
When it clicks open, I find the house surprisingly empty. “Hello?” I call.
The first thing I hear is my dad’s phone ringing, somewhere in the kitchen. I go toward the noise, thinking I will find him. Instead I find his phone, alone on the counter, the number unfamiliar but the area code from San Diego. “Dad! Your phone!” I yell.
There’s no sign of Papa anywhere, so I click on the green answer button. When a woman’s voice responds to my hello, my stomach immediately grows queasy.
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