On the Corner of Love and Hate

by Nina Bocci

  “Touché,” she huffed as the waitress set down the glass. She raised it to her nude-colored lips.

  Emma 1, Whitney 0

  “Have you seen Cooper?” I asked, setting my phone to vibrate. I might have wanted to hit her with it, but I wasn’t rude enough to risk having it ring during our chat.

  “That’s why I was late.” She winked, smirking when my lip twitched.

  Ignoring the implication, I kept grinning, even though my stomach was in a knot. So I figured I’d get straight to why I’d wanted to meet her. “I would like to discuss the party at the Manor. With the election being only two weeks away, I feel like we still have some headway to make and not a lot of time to score points with the most influential voters.”

  “And?” she asked, clearly bored by my concerns.

  “You realize how important your role is, right?”

  “Of course I do,” she said, sounding offended. “I’ve been here for weeks, laying the groundwork all over town.” With another wink, she took a sip of her drink.

  “Is there any way to be here more consistently? You know, present a unified front? Right now it still looks a bit casual. I know you attend events with him, but it’s not enough.” I hated the wobble in my voice. “The governor knows you’re coming to the party and will have a photo taken with you, Cooper, and Mr. Endicott at the event.”

  “How is Sebastian?” she asked dramatically, resting her hand over her chest. “Good news as far as Cooper aging gracefully goes.”

  “Can we focus?” I snapped, taking the small calendar from my purse.

  “On what exactly?” she volleyed, draining her glass and motioning to the nearby waitress for another. “The miserable job you’ve done? I’m not surprised, of course, but I thought even you could have handled this. Cooper seems to think you’re capable. Why, I don’t know. It’s clear that you’re in over your head, Emma.”

  I hated the way she said my name. It was as if I were gum on her shoe sole or an unruly toddler. It made my skin crawl.

  Her phone buzzed with a text. Grabbing it, she smiled coolly as she scanned the screen. “It’s Cooper. Should I tell him you said hello? He wants to know if I’m behaving. I’ll just respond that I am for now—you and I both know I won’t be later.”

  Emma 1, Whitney 10

  My scoring system sucked, and my glass was empty. I wanted to get the bottle and a long straw and get the hell through dinner. Screw dinner, I just wanted to get the hell away from her.

  “What else do you need from me?” she asked, bored. “I have a conference call with our LA office in thirty.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’re late, you come in only wanting to argue. Why’d you even bother making an appearance at all?”

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Emma, really? I was curious. I had to see for myself how backed up you were with everything.”

  My irritation bubbled over. Unfortunately, it was in the form of what I was sure was a bright red, blotchy face. I steeled my nerves. Leaning over the table, I sent what I hoped was a home-run dig at Whitney. Look at me and my sportsball term!

  “Oh, I’ve heard you handle Cooper. It sounded quick and unenthusiastic from where I was sitting.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Emma. All these years later and still so easy to bait,” she said with a witchy cackle.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, shifting in my seat. My bravado was wearing off.

  “You’re still in the dark, I see.” She mock pouted. “I thought by now you’d have come to terms with it, but I guess not. Sad, really.”

  It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Enough with your word salad, Whitney, just spit it out.”

  It probably wasn’t the right time or the place for this to happen, but Whitney was like the bait at the end of a giant hook and I was the poor, naive fish who took a bite.

  She must have been waiting for me to acquiesce because she launched a verbal attack that sounded so rehearsed, it was as if she’d waited all these years to drop the truth bomb on me.

  “You’ve got feelings for Cooper,” she said, straight-faced. “If I had to guess, you’ve always had them and just denied, denied, denied it. I saw it day one in the dorms when he helped carry your stuff upstairs. You even told me in college that you were thinking that maybe this was a good time to explore the option with him since you two were finally away from home, all alone, without the other two barnacles attached to your hips. Maybe you could try out romance without the eyes of your sleepy little town watching. I remember it like it was yesterday. I still see it now how many years later.” Hearing her bring that up made my blood boil hotter.

  “Let’s say you’re right. What kind of woman does that make you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It makes me willing to take what I want. Unapologetically and repeatedly.”

  I chuckled, but the laugh held no joy. “That’s just a nicer way of saying you’re a bitch. And you’re a crazy bitch, because the only feeling I have for Cooper is contempt.”

  She ignored me. “Who knows why, but you’re choosing to ignore your feelings or maybe you just won’t let yourself believe them. Either way, I still feel so badly for you. I always have. It’s pathetic, really. Unrequited love has got to be an awful feeling. Especially at our age.”

  I sputtered, hearing the words coming at me. “I’m not—” I couldn’t say the rest. “I don’t have . . . I’m not . . . you’re insane.”

  She stood, smoothing her skirt and scooping her Prada bag over her bent arm. “Whatever you say, dear. If it helps you sleep at night, all alone in your big bed, keep denying it. As far as Cooper goes, I’ll take good care of him. You worry about your little campaign, and I’ll handle him how I always have. People in this town won’t know what hit them when we show up on the scene like JFK and Jackie. Maybe I could be Marilyn instead. Far more interesting, don’t you think?” She drained her glass. “We’ve laid the bread crumbs out the past few weeks—he’ll have this in the bag. I don’t take on a client unless I know that I’m going to win. If you need anything more from me—anything that comes up on your little agenda—text me the details. Next time you call an in-person meeting, I’ll charge you what I charge everyone else.”

  She breezed out of the restaurant much the same way as she’d walked in. People turned to watch her walk out while I sat with my jaw sitting on the table. It wasn’t her dramatic exit that had shocked me—that was typical Whitney—but what she had accused me of. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  I did not have romantic feelings for Cooper. No matter what Whitney Andrews thought.

  • • •

  I GOT AS FAR AS Notte’s parking lot before I realized that not only hadn’t I paid the bill but I’d left my purse, phone, book, and keys sitting on a chair. I had been that thrown by my conversation with Whitney. But I didn’t have time to analyze my reaction to what she’d said. We had a campaign meeting at eight tonight at Dr. Bishop’s house, and I had to see Cooper.

  Shooting off a quick text, I asked him to meet me a bit early at Dr. Bishop’s. We’d be able to talk in her parlor without worrying about anyone overhearing us. My confirming what I already knew: that I didn’t have feelings for Cooper. A quick conversation. The more I thought about it, the more I felt confident in my thoughts. Whitney was just trying to goad me, and she’d just so happened to find a weak spot in my armor.

  It isn’t so much what she said that has me rankled, I thought. It’s what she implied.

  I haven’t burned that friendship bridge, I thought defensively. She had by screwing the guy I’d thought I might like. Might being the operative word.

  A word sandwich meant nothing if there wasn’t any beef between the buns, as Nick would sometimes say. “Great, now I’m applying Nick’s quotes to my life. It is the end of days,” I said to my bike.

  After heading back to collect my things and pay, I biked slowly toward Dr. Bishop’s house, figuring out along the way what exactly I was going to say when Cooper asked why I needed an early meeti
ng. Although, I thought as I pedaled down Main Street, I don’t necessarily have to say anything. I could just stand there, take one look at him, and realize that there wasn’t any truth to her comments. I’d been alone with Cooper a hundred times over the years and nothing had ever sparked to life.

  Then what happened at the bar? a small voice asked me.

  Nothing! another voice chimed in. Nothing happened at the bar. I thought I saw an attractive albeit blurry guy, and I made a move. It doesn’t matter that it turned out to be Cooper. I continued arguing with myself during the short ride over.

  When I finally turned onto Dr. Bishop and Mrs. Mancini’s street, I pulled over. Dr. Bishop’s driveway was already filled with cars, some of them spilling out onto the street or in Mrs. Mancini’s driveway. Ugh, why was everyone here so early? Of all days!

  I pulled off the road, tucking my bike into a patch of trees so that I could watch the people milling about on the porch before going inside. Cooper’s car wasn’t there yet. So much for our getting to talk.

  As if my front tire were going to answer me, I continued arguing with myself. “Cooper is an attractive guy,” I said out loud. “I’d be blind not to notice and lying if I said he wasn’t.” There, see, I was feeling better about this already. I just needed to talk it out.

  “There’s a difference between finding someone attractive and being attracted to him,” I said confidently. “Hell, you can even argue that there’s a third difference, that being whether or not you’d ever act on feeling attracted to someone or finding someone attractive.”

  While I was ranting to myself, Cooper’s SUV pulled in front of the Bishop house. He slid from the seat and looked across the street to where my bike was hidden among the trees. To confirm my very scientific findings I repeated, “Cooper is attractive. I’m not attracted to him, and even if that were the case, which it’s totally not, I’d never act on it, because, reasons.”

  I smacked my lips together because out of nowhere my mouth felt dry and itchy. It’s because I’m sitting here like a crazy person talking to myself about being attracted to someone.

  A liar’s mouth always itches when he’s talking. Another Nick-ism.

  “Oh, please. It’s not because I’m lying,” I said, laughing to myself. Or was I laughing at myself? At that point, I didn’t know or care. “I’m not lying.”

  This campaign really was wearing on my last nerve. I made a mental note to take several personal days after it was all over.

  Rant over, my attention was drawn to Cooper. He had jogged over to Mrs. Mancini’s property to help her across the grass once she got out of her car. His arm was slung around her shoulders, and she was laughing at something he was saying. As they walked, I watched him look around the area. Was he looking for me since we were supposed to talk?

  Yet again, Cooper was dressed casually. It made me happy that he was continuing to take my advice and look more approachable. The jeans he was wearing looked similar to what he’d had on at the bar the night before—dark and tailored—but there wasn’t a snug sweater to appreciate. Instead he wore an untucked flannel shirt and boots.

  Just as I was about to walk toward the house, Whitney’s car rolled up. She parked haphazardly in the driveway, half-hanging onto the road. Not that it mattered, since this road had only two homes and it was a dead end. Looked like those two double gin and tonics had been a bad idea.

  As she got out of the car, I noticed she’d changed her clothes since dinner. Now she was wearing a pair of superskinny black jeans, paired with the heels and a cropped black leather jacket. She looked more relaxed than earlier, with her long hair released from the bun and swinging freely against her back.

  She must have changed at his house. No wonder she looks relaxed.

  I guessed he was having her formally meet the group tonight. Henry and Nick knew her, of course, but the rest would be getting their first introduction. Lucky them.

  She marched up to Cooper, who had safely delivered Mrs. Mancini to the front porch, and she slid her arm around his waist, resting her head briefly on his shoulder as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. It looked like the frigid bitch exterior from earlier had melted. Cooper turned to Mrs. Mancini just as Whitney stretched her hand out. Mrs. Mancini isn’t a hand shaker, I thought smugly. She thought it was impersonal. So imagine my surprise when Whitney was enveloped in a crushing hug that practically lifted her from her heels.

  Cooper looked around the yard again as Mrs. Mancini let Whitney go, and then, with me nowhere in sight, he turned back to Whitney and smiled. It lasted only a second because Mrs. Mancini pulled her toward the house, but I caught Whitney smiling back.

  They looked happy. She was happy when she looked at him.

  He pulled out his phone. The rectangular screen illuminated his face, and I could see his frown. I wonder.

  Grabbing my own phone from my pocket, I tapped out a quick message.

  ME: I’m not coming

  JACKASS: What? Why? We need you here to run the show

  We. Not I.

  I pretended that the difference didn’t bother me. I ignored the itch on the inside of my cheek.

  ME: I’m sending along the talking points to Nick and Henry. They’ll manage the crowd. You’re almost to the finish line, Cooper. You’ve got this.

  JACKASS: Is it because of Whitney? She said you guys argued. Don’t listen to anything she says to you. She just likes to rile you up. You know that.

  I started typing something a few times before I just stopped. The dots would blink on his side, and I didn’t want him to know that in truth, I didn’t know what to say. I shouldn’t have let her rock me. Someone who didn’t really know me or my feelings for Cooper.

  About Cooper, I mentally corrected, but it didn’t matter. That seed had been planted, roots had taken hold, and its branches kept growing the longer I thought about everything.

  Finally, just before I pulled away, I hit Send.

  ME: It’s not her, it’s me.

  23

  * * *

  In the time that had passed since the event at Dr. Bishop’s house, I had actively avoided Cooper. He’d call; I’d beg off, saying I’d return it later and then not. He’d text; I’d ignore it or pretend that I was driving with Do Not Disturb on.

  Ignoring him was putting me under a great deal of stress. Again. This was beginning to become a habit when something I didn’t like happened. It was how I’d handled the whole Whitney and Cooper situation the first time: I’d avoided it. I knew I couldn’t keep up with the act much longer, but I intended to do so for as long as possible. So much for handling it head-on.

  Before I could face him—and Whitney’s still unsettling accusation—I had another problem to deal with: I’d agreed to take my mother shopping for the election party.

  “How are things going?” she asked as I drove us to Barreton.

  Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  I smiled. “The numbers are good but not great. What if there’s a fire that needs to be put out? Things are improving, but I’m still worried. A fast pitch can come out of left field.” Sportsball lingo is my favorite. Another Nick-ism.

  My mother looked confused but shrugged. “Then someone else will carry an extinguisher,” she rationalized. “So many of us will be there. We know the drill.”

  I nodded gratefully. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered bowing out so I wouldn’t have to face the Cooper-and-Whitney music, but I couldn’t quit now.

  As I turned off Clinton Lane, I realized that we would be passing Cooper’s house in a minute. I hadn’t intentionally been trying to drive by, but they’d been paving the other entrance to the main road out of town and taking this was easier than waiting in traffic.

  Or so I told myself.

  I could feel my mother’s eyes on me as I rolled to a halt at the stop sign in front of his house. I wouldn’t look. I refused to look.

  Hint: I looked.

  EMMA THOUGHT: Try harder next time.

/>   Cooper lived on the corner of a quiet street, in an unassuming house. Unlike the mansion he’d grown up in, his house was a simple two-story brick home with black shutters and a stamp-size front yard.

  His Range Rover was in the driveway, the front door of his home open. At the curb was Whitney’s BMW.

  Whitney was there. Whitney was inside his house.

  When she knocked, did he greet her at the door, or did she have a key and just let herself in? Would he lean down to give her a hug when he saw her, or did she reach up to kiss him?

  Whitney’s tall—she wouldn’t have to reach up on her tippy toes like I would.

  The thought came before I could stop myself.

  Oh, shit. I’d just veered off the I Might Find Cooper Attractive Highway and onto the wrong side of the road that crashed into I Am Attracted to Cooper Town.

  “Emma, honey,” my mother said, pinching my arm.

  “Ow, what the hell?” I shouted, rubbing at the spot where it was smarting. “What’d you do that for?”

  Then I heard it. The beeping horn behind me. I didn’t even realize that I had stopped in front of his house and was staring inside his front door like a crazy person. To the right of the front door was a pair of windows that I knew led into his living room, with the curtains drawn. From where I was, I could see his hand resting on the curtain to pull it open.

  I gunned it, blowing through the stop sign that I’d probably spent a solid two minutes at while I was glaring into Cooper’s house.

  Thankfully, I didn’t cause an accident.

  I did, however, get pulled over.

  After getting my traffic ticket from Chief Birdy, I made a mental note to pay closer attention to where my mind was wandering.

  The rest of the way to Barreton, my mother was surprisingly quiet. I could always tell when she was biting her tongue, which wasn’t often. She was usually the first to tell you what she thought, consequences be damned.

  “Just say it,” I blurted out as we pulled into the mall parking lot.

  “Remember when we talked the other night about Cooper and your feelings about Whitney being the one to help him?”