by Janna Watts
Libby full on belly laughs. “Didn’t someone get you coffee?”
I shake my head.
“Come on!” She grabs my hand and then Honor’s hand and leads us to Rob’s huge grandpa-sized Buick.
I have no idea how she got this guy to give us a ride back into the country at three a.m., but I guess I should be impressed.
Instead, I ache for Honor as she blinks back tears, allowing herself to be led without a word, and I want to scream some sense into Libby, but I do neither. I do as I’m told and sit in the back seat while we’re driven out to get Honor’s car.
For the second time since I got to school, I’m actually looking forward to the chaos that will be going home for Thanksgiving break.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Honor
“You know how models always look bored?” Libby asks as she sits cross-legged in the middle of the large bed that we haven’t taken apart, even though Toby moved back across the hall.
“I’m not really in the mood.” I don’t even snap. I’m too tired for that. My chest aches from missing Sawyer, but I don’t know if I have it in me to beg for him back. Being as angry with someone as I am at Libby is exhausting, and a week after our arrest, I’ve distanced myself as best I can, but she seems totally un-phased.
“Honor.” She grabs my shoulders. “I don’t get the modeling deal, but that’s cool. The thing is…” She almost huffs. “The thing is that you’re gorgeous enough and you need to get that into your head so you can go in there and be all relaxed. Since you’re not sure if you want it, you shouldn’t care, and that should make it easier.”
I sigh and lean against the side of the closet, not really ready to be okay around Libby again. I know she’ll make her way back in, but I want her to really work for it.
I shove a few more things into my suitcase to take home but still don’t look at her.
Libby half pounces on me and then gently rests her chin on my shoulder. “Honor. Please be happy with me.” She pushes her lip out in a full pout.
“That’s ridiculous.” I shake my head, but I can feel my resolve cracking.
“There you are.” She pushes her finger into my cheek. “I love how insecure you are for how amazing you are. Remember that. And if you want the Victoria’s Secret thing bad enough, you’ll get it.”
What I don’t say is that I’m terrified to want it, but for the first time, I think I could do it.
“Thanks, Libs.”
She grabs me in a tight hug as I try to close my case, and it takes a moment, but I finally give in and hold her as tight as I know she wants me to.
“Have a great break!” She sings brightly. “I’m off because I hate any kind of goodbyes, so see ya in a week!”
And just like that, two seconds after I may have forgiven her, Libby’s gone.
New York is as busy as I remember, and Mom’s thrilled to be here. I’m looking at the city in a totally different way than I ever have, because if I want the modeling thing, I’ll need to be here. Instead of watching the city, I’m wondering what it would be like to be a part of it.
Mom’s clutching her hands together as we sit in the back of the cab, and I’m trying to ignore the nervous energy pulsing off of her and trying to remember to be bored, like Libby said.
I get a text from Toby, even though I’m not sure he’s ready to utter Victoria’s Secret and my name in the same sentence yet.
Toby: Deep breaths. You’ll do great.
I push out a breath and type back.
Honor: Thanks. Hope you survive your siblings.
Toby: Me too.
I laugh a nervous little laugh at what I’m about to do, and because Toby thought to say something to me this morning. Of course I don’t hear from Libby. We hear from her when it’s convenient for her. At some point, will all the frustrating things outweigh all the good things? I sort of hope not, and that’s a big realization for me.
And then my brain goes to the last place it should be right now. What’s Sawyer doing this week? I’m sure he went home, but for how long? And how did such a talented artist come from such a normal background? What’s Libby’s background? Where is she from? Is Sawyer missing me as much as I’m missing him?
My nerves are ramping up so I take a deep breath and stare at the snow on the busy New York sidewalks.
I have to calm myself and not think about the people I can do nothing about—especially if they’re painters.
I’m standing in a bra and panties, having pictures taken of me in a room filled with feathers floating from the ceiling. I think about how personal Sawyer’s paintings are, how the people on his canvasses are so much more than objects. Maybe, right now, I’m that muse for my photographer. It’s an amazing, powerful feeling that I never expected to have in front of the camera. And even if it’s just in my head, it’s still working.
The whole thing feels sort of magical, even though we’re in a corner of what almost feels like a warehouse. I tilt my face up and stretch out my arms. There’s no way to constrain my smile as I reach out and catch feathers on my hands, and then blow them toward the camera and the man behind it. I tell myself again. He’s an artist. Like me. Like Sawyer. And in this moment, as the photographer smiles with almost every shot, I know I can do this.
When they ask for a few sexier poses, all I have to do is think about Sawyer, his hands, the way his body feels against mine, how badly I want to feel that again… The photographer continues to smile, and part of me thinks he’s just a smiling guy, and the other part of me hopes that I’m giving him a reason to smile. Even the two people behind the computer screens looking at the shots are nodding. I’m doing it. Well.
I wish Libby were here to see me now. She’d give me shit, but she’d also cheer. This is what I want. And I want it for me.
I breathe in the winter air of New York after spending all morning at the Victoria’s Secret shoot. So much energy is buzzing through me that I start to wonder if this is how Libby feels all the time. I almost pull out my phone to call her as Mom and I continue up the sidewalk, but I want to leave school at school for the week and enjoy the city. Also I don’t think I could handle it if she didn’t pick up.
“Where are we headed?” Mom asks.
“I’m not sure.” I shrug. Part of me wonders if I’ve accidentally planned something but I haven’t. “I just wanted to wander the city, see if I might want to move here.”
“Really?” Mom doesn’t even try to hide the excitement in her voice. “You know we’ll help you however we can, sweetie.”
“I know.” My parents have been great. And it’s not like my dad makes loads, but he does pretty well because he’s been in the Navy for so long. The GI bill covers some of my tuition expenses, but not rent in New York so I can pursue modeling.
“I wonder when we’ll hear back?” she muses.
“I’m not sure.” I’m now distracted because we’ve passed three art stores on this single block, and I’m wondering where we are. I back up to the last one and look through the windows.
“Would you like to go in?” Mom asks.
I remember Sawyer talking about a gallery here who was maybe going to be showing his stuff. Nerves make a swipe through me as I think about walking into an art store when I’m so far from home and so far out of my league, but I’m still dressed from this morning. I have Victoria’s Secret hair and makeup. I’m not even recognizable as me.
I can be anybody here. I could live in New York and be a different person every day and no one would notice. Or not many people. How amazing would that be? And then I laugh because I’m pretty sure that’s how Libby feels almost every single day.
“Yes. Let’s.” We step inside and stop, like I did when I first went to Sawyer’s apartment. Emotion washes over me at the incredibleness of it all.
So many people with so much talent.
“I never got abstract art,” Mom whispers in the room that’s really trying to look bigger than it is, with simple white walls that don’t qui
te touch the ceiling and as much floor space available as possible.
“I love it.” My mouth pulls into a frown as I think about Sawyer and how broken he looked at the police station. How I totally understand why he can’t be with me now, even though he has no idea how badly I want it. Him.
Total silence from Libby since break started, and I’m not surprised. But I remember her talking about how people aren’t permanent in her life, and now I see why. Just like Sawyer wants to feel important to me, I want to feel important to her all the time, not just when she wants me to be.
“Where are you?” Mom asks quietly.
“I miss Sawyer.”
Mom has a very watered-down version of the story.
She wraps her arm around my waist and leads me back outside. “Sorry, honey. Why don’t you write him? Or just call?”
I blink when we step back outside, and a trail of cold down my cheek signals my failure at keeping my emotions in check. “It’s not that simple, Mom. We might still be okay. But he…” He doesn’t get my friendship with the two people that are keeping me sane this year. “We’re in different places.”
Mom chuckles. “Your dad and I have been in a different place for most of our marriage, and we still manage.”
“Not geographically different.” But Mom already knows that, and her play on words works. I’m smiling, even though I’m also wiping my cheeks. “But yeah…” I might try to talk to him when I get back, but I don’t even know how to start. How do I explain what Toby and Libby are to me when I’m not completely positive myself. “Maybe.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Toby
I didn’t think it would feel this good to be home, but the normal chaos of my house is just what I need. Mom picked me up from the train on her way from work. She’s still got her x-ray tech clothes on and smells a bit like latex gloves.
“Your brother moved into your room.” She says it like it’s a foregone thing. Like, of course he would, I left. And I guess it is and I did. “You can sleep in the basement.”
“The basement is freezing.”
She shrugs. “Okay. Then sleep with one of the boys. It’s just a long weekend. You’ll live.” It isn’t that my mom doesn’t love me or care. She’s practical. Three boys and two girls. Three bedrooms besides my parents’. Saving mine would be ridiculous.
But over the holidays I have five weeks off. Five weeks in the basement or with my brothers is worse than just about anything I can imagine. So now I’m thinking I’ll figure out how to get back on campus early because there’s no way I’ll be able to deal with all of January at home.
“You have mail from the Lake County police department.” She raises an eyebrow at me, but I don’t say anything. Court date. I love that my mom never opens my mail. “And I need you to clean the garage. Are you better?”
And I know this is all I’m going to get. Not coddling or fussing or anything. Just a quick confirmation that I can haul boxes.
“Yep.” I’m not. Not completely. But I can fake it. And I’m not about to get into the emotional crap that the attack has done to me. Mom wouldn’t get it. We get up, we dust ourselves off, we move on. That’s the Damer’s way.
“Good. The kids are excited to see you.” We’ll be the kids forever with my mom. A collective unit. Part of her team.
I grin. “Yeah. Me too.”
“I made pecan pie for tomorrow.”
And with that, my mom has told me she loves me and is worried about me all in one simple sentence. I smile at her.
“You’re awesome, Mom. I’ve missed you guys.”
“Us too, Toby. Your dad will say hi when he gets back from work.”
My parents have worked opposite schedules for as long as they’ve had kids. It’s sort of a miracle that they even had time to have sex enough to produce five kids. But a day/night schedule was really the only practical thing for them to do with no money for day care and both of them working in the medical field. Dad’s an ER nurse and has worked the night shift for so long, I don’t even think he’d remember how to go to bed at ten o’clock, even if he wanted to.
We ride in comfortable silence before pulling into the driveway next to my house. My two sisters are throwing the football on the front lawn. Kelly and Katherine. The unexpected twins. My jocky sisters who could run circles around all of us. I slide out of the car and am greeted by tackle hugs that hurt my ribs, but I don’t really care. The hugs are real and this ordinariness is exactly what I need for the next four days.
I pull my phone out to text Honor. Her catalog audition is today. I know she’s nervous. And I know that Libby thinks it goes against what Honor’s about. But it’s hard to say if Libby decided that because she gets Honor so well, or if she’s decided it because she doesn’t want to lose Honor to that world.
Libby was weirdly quiet when I left and had buzzy, plotting eyes. I have literally no idea what her Thanksgiving plans were. And it made me realize as I walked out the door, knowing so much more about what the next four days would look life for Honor, Libby has told us next to nothing about her family. Still. Three months in. With me having spent almost a month in their bed. I know nothing.
Honor’s “good luck” text sent, I drop my bags in my old room, which is now occupied by my youngest brother who undoubtedly pulled out the “I have the longest time until I turn eighteen” card to scheme his way into it. Luckily, he mostly plays Xbox and hangs out with his idiot friends. I drop onto my bed and stare at the ceiling for a few minutes.
I’m tired. More tired than I ever thought I would be in college. And part of me wonders if it’s from holding everything in after the attack, or if it’s from how much energy is required of me to constantly be out of my comfort zone with two very different girls.
I spend the next four days wrapped in the normal of my family, clearing boxes from the garage, eating an obscene amount of food, and texting Honor and Libby. Of course, I only hear back from Honor. My gut churns at Libby’s radio silence, but I know enough to expect her to go dark. Worry for Libby is exhausting, so I choose to ignore it and pretend everything will be normal when we get back to school.
When I get back on campus, I check my mailbox and there’s a note from Dr. Simms.
Newspaper still looking for a few writers. Hope you’ve considered it. There’s a staff meeting Monday at 6pm if you’re interested.
Seeing his words on the paper makes me want it so much that my hands actually shake. And at the same time, I think about my D in Business 101 and how I need to spend all my extra time studying for the final in that class, not writing articles for the paper. Because being a business major is practical, and I need practical. Everything else about college has been unexpected. Good, but unexpected. I need to have something solid.
I read his note again and I hate that I’m not going to go. I think about what Libby would say and ignore the layer of cowardice that wraps itself around me. Business 101 final. My head needs to wrap itself around that. I tuck the letter into my bag and head for the coffeehouse.
“We’ve sort of put you in an impossible position, haven’t we?” Honor asks, staring at me too closely like she sometimes does. She’s sucking on another one of her green teas, and I’m working on a pumpkin spice latte while we wait for Libby.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean there’s no way for you to date. It’s not like you can date one of us, because it would shift the circle, and Libby has declared it off limits, and if you tried to be with someone else…” Pain flashes across Honor’s face. “Well. We all saw how well that worked for me.”
I shrug. “Neither of you would date someone like me anyway.” The words are out before I have time to consider the implications of what I’m putting out there. I know Honor’s seen me watching Libby, and I’m not confident enough to think it bothers her, but at the same time, I think it would definitely be weird.
“Wait. What do you mean, like you?”
“Someone like you would never da
te someone like me.” I sit back in my chair, something I can finally do after how long it’s taken my ribs to heal up.
“I would… You know what? There’s no way to tell. You and I might not have even been friends if it weren’t for Libby. I’m too quiet. You’re too quiet. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t fall for you. Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t for a second think I’m any better than you.”
For some reason, none of this seems like a loaded conversation. There isn’t the what if factor that there used to be. I don’t know if it’s because of Libby or if it’s because of Honor’s Victoria’s Secret audition, but somehow, it doesn’t feel complicated with her anymore. “You have a painter.”
“I don’t think I do.” She sighs. “He said he needs space. He’s trying to protect himself, and I get it because I’m not at all a safe bet. I never thought he’d actually like me. It’s all just an awful situation, and I’m not sure if it’s fixable.”
“But.” I swallow hard, her admission rolling through my head. I ache for Honor and feel guilty for the part I played in making this so shitty for her. “You want to fix it.”
She blinks a few times and looks away. I’m an asshole. Making her think about this just because Libby isn’t around and I’m not totally sure how to be with Honor without her. She deserves better.
“I gotta go study.” And without a look back, Honor’s gone.
Not two minutes later, and just when I’m starting to relax and convince myself that Honor will be fine, the chorus of yells from behind the counter signals the arrival of Libby.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Honor
I drop Libby’s requested chocolate shake next to her camera equipment on the desk and I take my tea to sit cross-legged on our patched together bed.