Some Other Now

by Sarah Everett

  “Bye, Rouge,” I call back.

  One of Luke’s eyebrows goes up. I start to explain that her name is Ruby, so she goes by Rouge, but then I catch myself and shut my mouth.

  “Look,” he says, leaning against my taillights again. “Mom stopped treatment a couple of months ago. She doesn’t have that much longer. She misses having you around, and she’s never gotten why we didn’t end up together.”

  Heat floods my face, and I have to look away.

  “It made sense . . .” he said. “I thought it made sense, to just act like we were back on. She’d have something to be happy about. You’d be there. And then things could go back to the way they were.”

  Things will never go back to the way they were.

  “At least until she’s . . . not here,” he amends.

  I swallow.

  He holds my gaze, and it feels like a stranglehold. I can’t look away.

  “Please,” he says now. For one awful, desperate moment, he looks like he might cry. But he doesn’t.

  He waits for me to respond.

  I open my mouth to say no. I can’t—won’t—have never been good at lying to Mel. I miss her, yes, but it’s not fair. Not after everything that’s happened.

  I can’t say anything . . . we both know that I would sooner set myself on fire than to disappoint any of the Cohens.

  I will always have a hard time saying no to Luke, but I would never forgive myself for doing it to Mel.

  I don’t know what he sees, but Luke’s face relaxes after a moment.

  I think he knows before I say it, even before I admit to myself what my answer will be.

  He knows I will say yes.

  6

  THEN

  Mel always got her way.

  Correction: Mel almost always got her way.

  It wasn’t fair to say always, when her Big Bad went from being that she was a sugar fiend to something that was going to kill her eventually and leave her sons motherless.

  So, Mel mostly got her way. But as far as Ro was concerned, “mostly” was still entirely too much.

  “Rowan says I’m acting like a dictator,” Mel said with a laugh as I changed lanes. “Because I’m making us celebrate that he’s now in the top three in the state! The top three. I told him, if you’re not careful, I’m going to up the ante and we’ll start celebrating everything. Every win, every tournament, half birthdays, and half Christmases too.”

  I giggled and looked over at Mel in the passenger seat. She’d been letting me drive more and more since she’d started her treatment. She was probably too sick to get behind the wheel most days, but she’d never in a million years admit it.

  “I thought it would help,” I said, “that we were calling it a joint celebration for his ranking, plus Luke’s going away to college and my passing calculus.”

  Naomi, who was in the back, harrumphed. “You think boys his age are programmed to care about anything but their own—”

  “Nay!” Mel shouted before Naomi could finish her thought.

  “Interests. I was going to say interests,” Naomi said.

  Mel and I laughed.

  “Sure you were,” I said. I didn’t want to think about anything else she might have said, any more than Mel wanted to. Rowan was too . . . Rowan.

  We pulled up at the Continental Hotel, piled into the restaurant, and settled in the waiting area until our reserved table was free.

  “Those boys better not be late,” Mel said as we watched the hostess escort a party that had arrived before us. “I told them about three times this morning alone.”

  “They won’t,” I assured her. Well, Luke wouldn’t. “It’s still five to six.”

  Two minutes later Luke jogged in from the parking lot. He was fixing the collar of his dress shirt, the sleeves already rolled up to his elbows.

  “Sorry. Am I late?” he asked.

  “No,” the three of us said at once.

  I shifted closer to Naomi so Luke could sit next to me. His gaze flittered over me, over the sparkly emerald-green top I was wearing with my favorite white skinny jeans, and I pretended to be distracted with something outside. It was too awkward watching someone watch you.

  When I glanced back at him a second later, he was still staring at me, adjusting his collar again, and I wondered if he just needed something to do with his hands. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was swallowed up as Mel spoke over him.

  “Honey, do you need help with that collar?”

  “No, thanks,” he said quickly.

  “Well, you look spiffy,” she said, and smiled at him.

  Finally, Luke sat beside me. “Thanks for driving Mom,” he said to me in a low voice. “I couldn’t get out of work earlier.”

  “No problem,” I said. As I spoke, I got my first inhale of the Luke scent for the night. I tried hard to hang on to my train of thought. “Plus, if I hadn’t, Naomi would have anyway.”

  “What do you want? I heard my name,” Naomi said grouchily.

  “We were talking about you, not to you,” I said.

  “Carry on, then,” she said, and I turned back to Luke.

  He grinned at me. “Congrats, by the way. Mom told me you crushed your final.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling my face warm. “Like a B is crushing it to you.”

  He frowned. “B is amazing. You get A’s in English and art, and basically anything that isn’t calculus. I wish I could do that.”

  I started to argue that he already did gets A’s in all those subjects, but then his knee was knocking mine lightly, and he said, “Just say thanks.”

  “Thanks,” I said lamely.

  He smiled. “So, anyway, I was going to say—”

  “We’re here! Let the party officially commence!” Ro said, pushing through the restaurant doors in a bright red polo and khaki pants. Eric hung back awkwardly, wearing a dress shirt instead of his usual athleisure style.

  “Uh, hey, Mrs. Cohen,” he said, nodding at Mel.

  Mel stood and walked over to Rowan. “Are you drunk?” she whispered, horrified.

  “What? No,” Rowan said entirely too quickly. Beside me, I heard Luke murmur something.

  “That’s it. Get in the car,” Mel said, grabbing Rowan’s arm and beginning to drag him back outside. Mel was cool in every way, but she did not approve of underage drinking. That, coupled with the fact that she detested nothing as much as lying, meant Ro was in for a rough night. “Jessi, give me my keys.”

  I stood, but Luke said, “Mom, wait. Why should he ruin everybody’s night?”

  “He’s drunk,” Mel repeated, dismayed. “Eric, please tell me you drove.”

  “I drove,” Eric confirmed.

  “Luke’s right,” Naomi said, and now we were all standing. “We have things to celebrate. Isn’t that what you said? So let’s celebrate.”

  Mel looked unsurely at our faces. “This is just . . .”

  “Not what you planned, I know,” Naomi said. “We’ll make the best of it. I mean, we’d have to anyway. How many stars is this place?” She looked around critically.

  Mel’s face broke into the smallest smile, and then she turned back to Ro. “I’m so upset with you.”

  “I—just had two drinks, Mom,” Ro slurred.

  “Are you actually brainless or just acting like it?” Luke hissed as he steered Rowan toward the waiting area where we’d been sitting.

  Mel, Ro, and Naomi had just sat down when our hostess appeared and led us to a table.

  I somehow found myself wedged between Naomi and Ro. Luke was on his brother’s other side, and Eric was next to Luke and Mel.

  After our drinks arrived, Mel held up her cup to make a toast (she had pointedly ordered a coffee and an extra glass of water for Ro). “Despite the untoward start to this evening,” she said, and we all looked at Rowan, who shifted in his seat, “I want to say that I’m really happy we’re all here. Here tonight, and here at all.”

  She swallowed, and I imagined Ro and
Luke stiffening the same way I had.

  “It’s been a rough couple of months, as you all know. I’m not gonna lie, it sucks being sick. But one thing the Big Bad has taught me is that every day—every moment—counts. I want to spend it as happy and grateful and well-dressed and brave as I possibly can. It’s hard, but you lot make it easier.”

  She blew a kiss around the table and took a sip of her water.

  I stood up and went around the table to hug her.

  “Love you, Jessi-girl,” she said into my hair, and I blinked hard. As I settled back into my seat, I noticed Ro giving me a strange look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Why do you look like that?” he asked me.

  “Look like what? This is how I always look,” I said, feeling self-conscious as everyone looked over at us. It wasn’t how I always looked. I had curled my hair and was wearing more makeup than I normally did. I’d felt pretty when I looked in the mirror, when Mel had complimented me, and when I’d caught Luke looking at me, but now I felt like the biggest idiot. Like an imposter.

  “Rowan, can we not hear from you for the rest of the night?” Mel snapped.

  Ro shut his mouth and guzzled down his water.

  The rest of the evening was better. The food was delicious (Naomi said she was going to write a review saying their food managed to “overcome their stars”) and I laughed more than I had in ages. Being with the Cohens always made me feel good, and tonight, with the added relief of summer school being over, I was close to giddy.

  I kept thinking of Mel’s words from her toast.

  I want to spend it as happy and grateful and well-dressed and brave as I possibly can.

  I wanted a tattoo of those words somewhere on my body, but I knew I’d settle for scribbling it in my journal tonight, along with all the other Mel-isms and Cohen memories I had.

  I was still thinking of it when I stepped out of the restroom after dinner. I’d gotten up while Mel was asking for the bill, and I was absent-mindedly walking back to the dining room when I heard my name.

  I spun around to find Luke coming out of the men’s room across the hall.

  “Hey,” I said, slowing down so he could catch up with me. After a couple of steps, he stopped walking completely, so I stopped too. “What’s up?”

  “I hope you know to ignore him,” he said.

  “Ignore who?” I asked.

  “Ro. Idiot doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  Ro’s comment about how I looked came rushing back, and with it, all the embarrassment I’d felt.

  I shrugged. “He’s wasted, I guess. But also entitled to his own dumb opinion.”

  “Dumb being the key word,” Luke said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s . . . whatever. Everybody knows you’re beautiful.”

  My heart stopped at the word. Beautiful.

  According to Luke Cohen.

  When I recovered enough, I figured the only way forward was to make light of it. “That’s nice of . . . everybody to say.”

  A small smile crept across his face. “Everybody says you’re welcome.”

  I grinned at him and then realized, a minute later, that we were standing in a corner of the Continental smiling at each other.

  Also, that he thought I was beautiful.

  The next few moments were a string of things I should have done—and didn’t.

  Should have: taken three steps and closed the distance between us.

  Should have: taken his hand in mine.

  Should have: leaned up and kissed him, because he was leaving for college in a couple of weeks and there would never be a better chance.

  I stayed in the same spot.

  I clasped and unclasped my hands.

  I said, “How was karaoke?”

  He seemed dazed for a moment, and then he said, “Oh, yeah. Fine. I took your advice.”

  “The Henley?”

  “That, and the shoes, and singing a song everyone knew. All of it.”

  “And?”

  “Thanks,” he said, but did not elaborate on how things had gone for him after that. Was the girl who invited him impressed? Did she kiss him like her life depended on it and convince him to let her keep his shirt, like a normal lovestruck fool would have done?

  I didn’t ask, and Luke didn’t tell.

  We walked back to our table in silence.

  I drove Mel and Naomi home after that, beating myself up internally the entire way to Naomi’s place and then to Mel’s.

  Why, why, why hadn’t I been brave enough to kiss him?

  Why was I such an obsessed nut job?

  Why was I such an obsessed nut job with no balls to do the thing I most wanted to?

  I had said goodbye to everyone and was sitting in the driveway in Mel’s car when a light came on in my head.

  Mel had told me to drive myself home in her car, return it tomorrow, and get a ride home with one of the boys.

  I could do that.

  I could pull out of her driveway, go home, and forget this night ever happened.

  Or I could do something deserving of Mel’s words, the ones I wanted inscribed on my body someday.

  I want to spend it as happy and grateful and well-dressed and brave as I possibly can.

  I wanted to be brave, and though I was reasonably sure this hadn’t been what Mel had in mind when she’d said it, I used her words as motivation.

  I dug for my phone in my purse and texted Luke.

  Can you come out for a second?

  He responded unusually fast.

  Sure. Out where?

  I bit my lip. Your driveway?

  Okay, he wrote.

  I hopped out of Mel’s car and walked back to the front door. A slight breeze had picked up, and I hugged my arms around myself, feeling cold and vulnerable in my halter top and bravado.

  A couple of nerve-destroying minutes passed before the front door opened. Luke slipped outside, forcing an unhappy Sydney to stay inside. He had already changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and a hoodie. I could have bet money he hadn’t been wearing the hoodie when I’d texted, but I still wasn’t sure about the pants.

  He looked at me, curious. Maybe he was surprised I was at the front door when I’d told him the driveway. Maybe he thought I’d be home already.

  Either way, I took a step toward him.

  “I’m sorry. I just needed to do something, or I’d have to figure out a way to physically kick my own butt and keep doing it for all of time,” I rambled.

  An amused grin lit up Luke’s face. “Okay,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said, taking another step toward him, my heart drumming wildly in my chest.

  Then I did it.

  I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him, saying everything I’d wanted to say for years.

  He was caught off-guard, for sure, but he recovered quickly enough and gently pried me off him.

  “Jessi,” he whispered, still close enough that our foreheads were touching, and he sounded so, so sorry. “I can’t.”

  NOW

  I need a time machine.

  I need a way to go back to this afternoon and my conversation with Luke, to tell him how batshit crazy the whole thing is. We’re going to pretend to be together to make Mel happy?

  There is no way we’ll be able to pull it off.

  Furthermore, there is no way Mel will buy it. We are just too . . . obviously not together.

  He can barely even look at me. And honestly, maybe things are better that way.

  He doesn’t have to be reminded constantly of how much he hates me now, and neither do I.

  I knock twice on Ernie’s door and call out to him. “Ernie, can I come in?”

  “You better. I’ve been talking to myself for fifty-seven years, and it’s getting strange,” he shouts back.

  I grin and go inside. He’s sitting in his favorite rocking chair, his glasses on his nose, as he reads the piece of paper in his hands.

  “I talk to myself all the time. That’s not strange,
” I say.

  “Well, I wouldn’t use you as my barometer for normal,” he quips. “Anyway, it’s not the talking to myself part I’m worried about. It’s the fact that I’m starting to talk back!”

  I laugh and settle into the couch beside him. “What are you reading?”

  “A letter from the great-grandson.” He shakes his head sadly. “Sweet boy, but I don’t know how he’s going to make it through school with that name. Eustace.”

  “Maybe he’ll go by a nickname,” I offer, but Ernie isn’t going for it.

  “What sort of nickname? Eu? Stace?” He folds the letter and gingerly sets it on the coffee table in front of him. “Ah, well. His mother says she labored with him for two and a half days, so he deserves it.”

  I smile. “When do I get to meet them all? Over the holidays?”

  Ernie shakes his head. “I’m hoping we’ll both be out of here by then. Especially you.”

  I know he’s mostly joking, but my heart sinks.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “Girls your age . . . boys your age . . . the things we got up to. Youth is wasted on the young.”

  “I get up to things,” I say defiantly.

  “Like what?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

  “I went to a party over the weekend. I went for a run. I work at a day camp on weekdays before I come here.”

  Ernie looks disappointed. “Sounds like a riot. You could live next door to me in one of these units with everything you have going on.”

  “That would be lovely. You’d be a great neighbor.”

  “I think so too, but Clarisse says that when my snoring isn’t keeping her up, my pounding around is.”

  “Your pounding?” I repeat. “That’s . . . weird. Do you walk around a lot at night?”

  “Not so much walking, but there is a tennis ball I like to throw at that wall,” he says, pointing to the wall that divides Ernie’s unit from his neighbor’s. “Physio says it’s good for the bum shoulder.”

  I sigh, and Ernie does a villain laugh.

  “I’m taking that tennis ball when I go.”

  “If you promise not to come back, you can have all six of them.”

  My stomach tightens. I’ve laughed off most of his comments over the eight months I’ve been coming here, but I’m starting to get worried. “Are you . . . tired of me coming around?”