by Tessa Blake
That was a huge step for me, and I thought it was magical and special.
My mom once told me that you need to love the people you sleep with, that it isn’t worth getting undressed unless you love them. She’d never been the sort to lecture about saving yourself for marriage or whatever, anyway, but the summer I turned fourteen, she figured it was time to give me some home truths, I guess.
We were out in the garden. Maine gets something like fifteen minutes of good weather for the summer, so we were enjoying that, just sitting in Adirondack chairs, drinking big glasses of iced tea and looking at the flowers my mom had once again managed to coax out of the fairly unforgiving ground of the side yard.
“Listen, honey,” she said, “I know we haven’t had that talk—”
“Oh, God, no, Mom!” I held up my hands in defense. “We don’t need to have the talk!”
She laughed. My mom has the best laugh—open and free, the kind of laugh that’s never mean, but just invites you to laugh along with her. “We do. You need to humor me. I won’t feel like a proper mother otherwise.” Her expression got sober. “Sex is wonderful—”
“Mom!”
She just steamrolled right over my objection. “And even if you don’t love the person you’re with,” she said, “it can be nice, because we’re programmed to enjoy it. No matter what my ancestors said.”
Her eyes twinkled. She could trace her lineage all the way back to the Puritans, and they weren’t exactly big public fans of the sexytimes.
“But I’ve always figured that it’s so damn wonderful when you’re with the person you love, why bother otherwise? To me, it’s just not even worth the effort of trying to get undressed. Because no matter what anyone says, wiggling out of jeans is not inherently sexy.” She laughed, and looked down, and when she looked up, her cheeks were pink. “It is, however, when you’re undressing to get naked with the one you love. So. That’s it.”
She reached over and patted my hand.
“There’s my big talk. Do what you want. Don’t do anything you don’t want to. Call the cops—and me—if someone tries to make you do something you don’t want to. And always consider if the person you’re thinking about getting naked with is worth the trouble of getting undressed for.”
Not your normal sex talk, but it’s always stayed with me. When I’d been dating Sam for about four months, I decided that if I wiggled out of jeans, he’d be in all sorts of awe.
And he was.
I shake my head and get up to pull my suitcase out of the closet. I don’t want to think about what happened next. I want to forget the whole thing, frankly, but I can’t. As I choose clothes and pack them, it runs through my head like a hamster on a wheel. Like a hamster on crack on a wheel. It’s never-fucking-ending.
About a month ago, I brought him home for a family weekend. My parents were getting together with their friends and having a big bash on Saturday night. Garrett was there with his family; he and Sam hadn’t met yet, and I was so excited for that. I proudly held Sam’s hand, and introduced him to all the people in my world, the people I loved—especially Garrett.
Sam was quiet when we got in the car Sunday morning, and I couldn’t get him to tell me what was bothering him. He dropped me off at my dorm, and even though I asked him to come in and talk to me, he said no. Said he had to “think about things,” whatever the hell that meant.
For a couple of weeks after that, we went through the motions, I guess you’d say. We went on our usual dates, I stayed at his off-campus apartment on the weekends, but everything was just off-kilter. He was quiet, reserved. Everything felt so precarious that I didn’t know whether it was safe to push him, so I didn’t.
We went through the motions of graduation, too, and I came home while he went back to his parents’ house in Lewiston. We kept in touch, somewhat, although it was weird that he didn’t come to visit me at all.
And then, just a few weeks ago, I got a series of texts from him that shattered my world. He told me it was over. He’d met someone else. He was sorry, but he was “sure I’d get over it fast.”
What the fuck? I called, no answer. Just more texts. He said I should stop lying and go be with the person I really loved.
Garrett. It was crazy town.
Garrett, my best friend. Garrett, who I’d never so much as kissed. Garrett, who can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a couple of months. As if.
I replied and told him he was nuts, but it was no use. The next day, he dropped off the few things I kept at his house. He refused to discuss things with me. I haven’t seen him since. I’ve replayed his words over and over in my head. I deleted his texts from my phone shortly after he sent them, but the words are burned in my brain.
Brianna said he was just making excuses—that he met someone else and needed a reason to paint himself as the victim rather than a cheating asshole—and that I should just forget everything he said, because it was ridiculous.
And of course Brianna’s right. Sam’s an asshole—a crazy asshole. I don’t love Garrett—not like that.
Ridiculous.
I zip my suitcase shut and drag it behind me as I head out to meet my friends.
Chapter 2
Rebecca
I try not to squeal, but it’s hard. “Oh my God, I didn’t know we were coming here!”
We’ve just pulled up in front of the Monroe Plaza Hotel, which is all kinds of chi-chi, and way fancier than I’m used to. Even hanging around with the Crawfords, I don’t spend a lot of time at five-star hotels.
Garrett grins at me in the rearview mirror. “I told you we’re going to have a hell of a weekend. That starts with staying at the best.”
He and Levi are in the front; Brianna sits with me in the back. It might seem weird, the four of us hanging out even though none of us are a couple, but we’ve been friends our entire lives. We all grew up together—Garrett and I since practically infancy, and then Levi and Brianna joined the circle when I was in first grade and they were all in second. Levi and Brianna suffer from the same helicopter-mom thing Garrett has, on account of my leukemia, but they aren’t quite as bad as he is. They don’t have the same ridiculously overdeveloped sense of responsibility.
Frankly, it annoys the hell out of me, but I put up with it because I know it comes from a good place—and as we’ve gotten older, and I’ve managed not to … you know, die or anything, they’ve gotten better about it.
Even Garrett. A little.
Anyway, this weekend is going to be so fun. Garrett’s right. I needed to get out of my room, out of my own head.
The valet takes the car and we head inside to check in. Brianna and I have side-by-side rooms on the eleventh floor. Garrett and Levi are on the ninth floor. That’s good. Close, but not too close. That way, if anyone meets someone and wants to get frisky, there’s some privacy.
Not that I’m going to be frisky in any way. Nope. Not me. I’m done, for a while.
In my room, I’m staring at myself in the giant three-way mirror, trying to decide yes or no on this wrap, when I hear my phone ding.
It’s Garrett. You almost ready or still doing the girly bits?
Nevermind about my girly bits
We have reservations at 7. S-e-v-e-n on the dot
I’m ready. Let me get Bri
Hurry! Foooooood! We’re in Levis room
I laugh and, deciding yes on the wrap, go out to knock on Bri’s door. “Bri? You ready? The guys are starting to send out starvation cries.”
The door opens, and she gestures me in with a hand holding a fat, red lip liner pencil. “I’m almost ready—just need to do my face.”
“That’s ‘almost ready?’” I ask. And anyway, her face looks pretty much done.
“Just finishing touches!”
I walk to the window on the opposite side of the room and nudge the heavy drapes aside, looking out at the Boston skyline. “Thanks for dragging me out, Bri.”
“You only get so long to mope,” she says, “and it’s g
ood to be around your friends.” She outlines and fills her lips with quick, precise movements, then rummages around in her makeup bag. “And anyway, it was mostly down to Garrett. Like I could afford the Monroe.”
“I know,” I say, “but still. Thank you.”
She finds her lip gloss, swipes it across her lips so they shine, then comes over to rest her chin on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Beck.”
I sigh. “I know. I’m sorry I’m such a self-absorbed jerk.”
“You’re not. But there’s such a thing as too much sulking, and because I am the bestest of awesomest friends, it’s my job to drag your ass out of it. Consider yourself dragged.” She laughs. “Come on. They’ll be pounding on the door if we’re up here much longer.”
We take the elevator down to the ninth floor.
Levi opens his door at our knock. “Thank Christ. I’m dying in here.”
Brianna laughs up at all six-feet-one-inch of him. “Yeah, you look it.”
“Does this mean no more girly bits?” Garrett asks. “Can we leave now?”
“Yes,” I say. “You may take us to dinner.”
“Absolutely,” Brianna agrees. “Why are we still here?”
We talk and laugh as we walk to the restaurant. Garrett has gone all out, reserving a table for us at 12 Charles. I try not to think about the cost of the tasting menu he insists we all have, each course with a wine pairing. The waiter’s name is Sean, and he’s got the kind of smoldering movie-star looks that I don’t see nearly enough of in my actual real life.
We start with some kind of bisque with peekytoe crab and scallops—and frankly, I don’t get enough of this kind of thing in my actual real life, either. It’s almost too good to eat.
Not that that stops me.
“So,” Brianna asks me, “what’s going on with grad school?”
“It’ll depend on money,” I say, shrugging. “Whoever offers me the biggest package.”
Levi leers at me across the table, and I throw a napkin at him.
“Come to USM,” he says, tossing it back. “You can room with me. I’ll show you a package.” He’s just finished year one of his master’s in statistics—boring—at the University of Southern Maine.
Brianna laughs. “Gross. Room with me, Beck. At least I won’t sexually harass you.” She takes a drink. “No, wait, that would be death on my social life.”
Bri’s also just finished her first year of grad school, getting her master’s in occupational therapy. She’s at USM, too, though she did her undergrad at Colby. We weren’t roommates, though. I’ve had a single every year, which, given the condition of her dorm room whenever I did see it, was for the best. Brianna is the most disorganized person I’ve ever known. I’d kill her if I lived with her.
“What makes you think I’d even want to room with you, Pigpen?”
The whole table laughs.
“It’s not that bad!” she protests.
“Oh, it is. You’re like one step away from being on Hoarders. I’d be in jail for homicide. That is” —I raise my eyebrows at her— “if I could find you in all the crap.”
Everyone laughs again, even Brianna.
“It’s really not that bad,” she says. “But you know I’d be willing to clean out a couple square feet for you.”
“You’re such a good BFF.”
“You have no idea.” Brianna sniffs, taking a drink of her wine.
A busboy snags our empty bowls, and Sean sets new plates in front of us. “Pears and parsnip butter,” he says, lingering next to my chair for a moment, “with lobster.”
It sounds a bit weird, but it tastes amazing.
“How’s law school treating you?” Brianna asks Garrett as I’m shoveling lobster into my face.
“It was good—not all that different from before. A lot of the same people from undergrad.”
“Still dating Val?” she asks.
Levi makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort, and Garrett gives him the stink-eye.
“What?” Levi asks, feigning innocence. “It’s not my fault your girlfriends all have four to six weeks till expiration, dude.”
It’s harsh, but it’s not inaccurate. Garrett goes through girls like … I can’t really think of an analogy. Let’s just say he gets around. Not in a mean way, or a sleazy way—he just doesn’t want to settle down and he tends to choose women who feel the same way.
I narrow my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you guys broke up?”
“It didn’t come up,” he says, sounding aggravated. “Why are you so interested in my love life?”
“I’m not,” I say. Honestly, if he’s in a mood, I’d rather just change the subject. “I’m too busy thinking about grad school—at least, until you barged in and dragged me out of my house—”
He snorts. “Yeah, barged in and dragged you off to an amazing weekend in Boston, you poor thing.”
“Fair point, but still, there was barging and dragging.” I finish off my wine. I feel like I’ve been drinking an awful lot of wine. “Anyway, I had just finished another app when you showed up. I swear, they all say the same thing, but just different enough that you have to write each one individually.”
Our plates go away again, and the Sean deposits new plates on the table: lamb lollipops and pureed celery root. I smile up at him. He smiles back with a lot of very straight, white teeth. He’s really extraordinarily handsome.
“I remember,” Levi says. “It sucks.”
“I remember, too,” Bri adds. “I was so tired of staring at my screen trying to think of a different way to word the same damn thing.”
I nibble at the lamb, which is exquisite. “I don’t even know if I want to go—and I sure as hell don’t want to take out a bunch of loans—but what else am I going to do? I loved my majors, but trying to put both of them to work is more challenging than I realized.”
“You working at KidFUN again?” Garrett asks.
“Oh, yeah.” I nod. “I love working there. It would be the perfect job if it weren’t for only three months of the stupid year. I can’t just live with my parents forever.”
“I don’t see why not,” Levi says. “The alternative seems to be dragging your laundry to the laundromat at weird hours so the drunk people leave your stuff alone.”
Brianna laughs and pokes him with her elbow. “That’s because they’re in awe of your rainbow coalition of boxers.”
“Always mocking me,” he protests, “just because I’m adventurous with my undergarments.”
We all howl with laughter. Garrett leans over and asks me, “Are you having fun?”
His breath tickles my ear, and I pull back to look at him. Our gazes lock and hold for a moment longer than is entirely comfortable and … wow. Yeah, I’ve had a lot to drink. And Garrett has amazing, amazing eyes.
I’ve spent so much time not thinking about how handsome he was that it blindsides me a little. I feel caught, unable to look away.
“Hey, hello?” Brianna waves at me from across the table. “Dessert, Beck.”
“What? Oh, thank you.” I smile at Sean again as he slides a two-bite portion of chocolate torte in front of each of us.
He puts mine down last, and his hand touches my shoulder so swiftly that I almost don’t feel it. “Are you celebrating anything in particular tonight?”
I definitely think the waiter wants to get with me. Or I’m drunk. Or both. He’s definitely way too old for me, but he’s putting out the signals. I’m not interested, but hey, it’s nice to be appreciated.
“It’s my birthday,” I say brightly. “Or it will be in a few days, anyhow.”
“Happy birthday, then,” he says, and flashes that smile again. He is very nice to look at. No Garrett, but—
But Garrett’s practically my brother, so I’ve got no business looking at him. “Thanks,” I say, and then, for lack of anything better: “I’m going to be twenty-two.”
“I know,” he says. “I checked your ID, remember?”
Garrett slings his arm around my shoulder and pulls me a bit closer to him. “I didn’t realize you were paying such close attention,” he says to Sean, and there’s a weird edge in his voice.
Sean steps away and nods, a little formally, before turning and walking away.
I feel my cheeks flush. Something weird is happening, and I’m in the middle of it. I don’t like being the center of attention—too much of that shit growing up, with every person in my life looking at me intently all the time, as if they could somehow see it if my cancer had come back. As I’ve gotten older, and not kicked the bucket, I’ve gotten comfortable being anywhere other than the spotlight—any kind of spotlight.
I feel a draft, like the air’s been turned on, and pull my wrap tighter around me. I’m glad I decided to wear it; my top has spaghetti straps, and the material is really thin, and I get chilly easily.
“You okay?” Brianna asks.
“I’m fine. They turned the air on.”
She nods.
I sneak a glance at Garrett. He’s looking down at his dessert, scowling like it’s pissed him off somehow.
Sean comes back and sets the check down in front of Garrett. Garrett hands over his credit card, and while they handle that whole thing, the rest of us discuss where to go next.
“Club Havana,” Brianna declares. “They do salsa lessons in the lounge.”
Levi groans.
“Hey, you guys could both stand to learn a few moves,” Brianna says. “No bitching.”
Levi rolls his eyes. “I’ve got moves.”
“Being capable of movement does not mean you’ve ‘got moves,’” she replies, pertly. “I want to go to Club Havana.”
“Happy birthday again, Rebecca,” Sean says. I look up to find him smiling at me, while Garrett glares big holes in him.
Then Garrett takes me by the elbow and pulls me up. We’re hustling out the door before I even fully realize what’s happening, with Garrett practically towing me behind him.
“Is there some kind of rush I don’t know about?” I ask, pulling my arm away.