Tangled Thoughts

by Cara Bertrand

  “They needed one more girl. At the meeting, Wendell came over to me and the other few looking for teams and said, ‘So, which one of you can jump serve?’ When I said I could, he laughed, and I realized he’d been joking.”

  “But you weren’t.” I grinned and he matched it. “Full of surprises, you are.” Glancing away, he said, “Pizza, volleyball ninja?” When he looked back at me, he cocked his head to the side, adorably.

  I opened my mouth, realized the word Yes was about to tumble out of it, and caught myself just in time. I bit my lip to keep my mouth from betraying me. Jack’s eyes darted to the movement, and lower, to where my fingers furiously slid my necklace back and forth. I dropped the necklace and he met my eyes again with his pretty brown ones. My resolve felt about as strong as wet paper.

  No, damn it. No. No TAs, and definitely no Sententia. Right?

  “I can’t,” I said finally.

  “Can’t?” he said. “Or won’t?”

  Damn him for knowing. But this was my choice and I was keeping it. I stood up a little straighter. “Won’t. I have homework, and also, boundaries. You’re my TA.”

  He nodded. “For now. But—just so you know—I looked in my handy TA handbook and there’s nothing in it that says we can’t be friends.”

  “Well, I looked in my Lainey Young handbook and it says no, we shouldn’t.” I threw on my sweatshirt and started walking toward the exit. Jack fell into step beside me. I should have told him not to follow me, but my willpower only went so far. It dawned on me then that I was flirting and I didn’t want to stop. That didn’t hurt, right, flirting? Just flirting. I hadn’t made any rule against that.

  “Okay, not friends then. Got it. Purely professional. So,” he drawled, “out of professional interest only, if someone, like a dedicated TA for example, wanted to obtain a copy of the Lainey Young Handbook, how would he go about that?”

  I looked at my feet to cover my stupid smile and muttered, “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He held the door open for me, and I stepped onto the sidewalk, only half prepared for the slap of cold air against my too-bare legs. It was late, and the autumn night had lost all the day’s warmth and then some. “Thanks,” I told him, fighting a chatter in my teeth. “So, see you in discussion.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and fell into step next to me again as I hurried down the street.

  “I thought you had somewhere to be?!”

  I could feel the cut of his eyes over to me and hear the amusement in his voice. “And it can’t be in this direction?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “The library,” I blurted, and I could see the flash of his grin in the streetlights.

  “Well, what do you know.” Jack hitched his bag higher and strode ahead of me like he’d been leading the whole time. Over his shoulder, he called, “Coming?”

  I shook my head, flustered and amused and wishing I was neither. “You are maddening,” I told him as soon as I caught up.

  He nodded, saying mildly, “So are you.”

  “Are you following me?”

  “I’m not,” he said and nudged me with his elbow. “I’m next to you.” I elbowed him back, harder, and he laughed while rubbing his arm. “Easy, killer.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He rubbed his chin with his hand, and I watched his fingers scrape across the light stubble there. For a single second, I allowed myself to imagine what it would feel like to have his rough cheek brush against my skin. I shivered at the same time as he said, “I know I have grading to do.”

  “Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but I wasn’t sure I didn’t either. I mean, I didn’t really think he was following me. Surely he had better things to do.

  We’d made it to the library, ugly as it was on the outside and tucked between campus and the river, much like my dorm. Inside though, it was bright and warm and had a few spots with surprisingly good views. As I pulled my bag off my shoulders to show the attendant, Jack spoke behind me, voice lower than before. “I know I’m not sorry I got to walk here with you either.”

  Maybe I was imagining it just like earlier, but I swore I’d felt his breath move my hair and the heat of his body close to mine. I resisted the terrible urge to lean back until whatever small space was left between us disappeared. Twice tonight, I’d wanted him to touch me, though I knew he shouldn’t, and I’d sworn not to let him. I was losing this battle so hard.

  Did it really matter whether or not Jack was Sententia, whether anyone was? I’d told myself I’d given up Carter to escape the Sententia, but Amy was right. I never could, not unless I could be free of myself. What I’d thought was my meager reward was starting to feel like penance. One I was choosing to make myself pay. Had I just been forcing myself into an equally limited box?

  The library attendant cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she said pointedly and I realized I was standing there, bag open, waiting for something that wasn’t coming.

  “Sorry,” I muttered, and moved through the gate, glancing at Jack as I went.

  “See you in discussion, Lainey,” he said, stepping past me into the library. “Chapter eight,” he called over his shoulder, giving me one more smile before he slipped around a corner and was gone.

  He didn’t look back.

  At the information desk, another girl in the ridiculous coats they made the staff wear was watching me watch him. She raised her eyebrows when I walked by and I looked away. And then I kept walking, past the elevators, past the stairs I usually took to the third floor, heading in the same direction as Jack.

  When I realized what I was doing, I stopped. I closed my eyes and took three yoga breaths but when I opened them, I still didn’t want to turn around. “Shit,” I muttered and kept going.

  I rounded the corner but didn’t see anywhere he would have gone. It was nothing but a few reference stacks and mostly display cases, housing the letters and artifacts of someone dead but interesting.

  “Boo,” came from right behind me and I screamed. I whirled around to find Jack leaning there between the last row of shelves and laughing softly. “Shhh,” he said, holding a finger to his lips.

  “You asshole,” I whispered, and he laughed more.

  “See, told you—you were following me.”

  “I was not,” I huffed. Lied. “I need to look at the Faulkner papers for my lit class.” I spun on my heel and headed in the direction of the display cases. I didn’t have to look to know he was next to me again. “What now? Do you need to look at them too?” I hissed. I pulled out a notebook and dropped my bag at the end of the row.

  “No,” he whispered. He leaned over the last case, propping his elbows on it. “And neither,” he added, “do you.”

  I glared. “What would you know about my assignment?”

  “Nothing,” he agreed. “Except I do know”—he tapped lightly on the case with one knuckle—“that this is a Marie Curie exhibit.”

  “Shit,” I muttered again and closed my eyes in a long blink. I could feel the case shake with Jack’s laughter. Why the hell did he know what this display was? Who even looked at these? Wait. I opened my eyes and peered at the case. “This stuff isn’t from Marie Curie!”

  He laughed out loud, loud enough that if there’d been anyone around it would have gotten us shushed. “No,” he admitted. “But it’s not Faulkner either.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed too. Leaning next to him on the case, I said, “So, what is it?”

  He squinted. “It’s…” He shrugged, smiling. “Who knows? I’m no historian. I didn’t even know these were over here.”

  Historian. I swallowed. It didn’t mean anything. Or did it? Either way, it was a reminder: I had to get away from him. As soon as he’d said the word, visions of another boy’s smile danced behind my eyes, kind of like sugarplums, except they tasted bitter, like baker’s chocolate or heartbreak.
/>   I took a deep breath, fortifying my crumbling wall of resolve. No Sententia. I’d had a moment of weakness tonight, okay, several moments, but it was over. Picking up my bag, I said, “I have to go.”

  His smile faltered. “Wait. Don’t you really have homework?”

  “Yes.”

  He straightened and gestured grandly back toward the main library, like a tux-clad maitre’d, not a TA in basketball shorts with sexy legs and messy hair. “So. You need to be here and, believe it or not, I need to be here. Want to share a table with me?”

  I want to share a lot more than that with you, I thought. And that is your whole problem, Young. “I have to go,” I repeated.

  “Okay.” He nodded, resigned, and I turned. “But Lainey?” I looked back at him. “What are you running away from?”

  “Trouble,” I told him, though that was only half the truth. The real answer was something more like the past. Like myself.

  His lips curved again into that crooked smile, the one that chipped so mercilessly at the bricks around my heart. “Oh, Lainey. You know trouble follows you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Carter

  It was no surprise the restaurant where my uncle asked me to meet him was posh and expensive.

  The surprise was finding Tessa Espinosa waiting alone at the bar.

  I saw her first. She was a woman who stood out, and not only because she was beautiful. She exuded a presence, a sense of being much larger than she was. Because she was tiny, except for her hair. The unmistakable tumble of deep brown waves spilled over the shoulders of a purple velvet jacket that was probably meant to be described as something like aubergine. I paused about halfway to where she sat, regarding her back while I took a few breaths. The smile I was trying to maintain felt brittle.

  She must have felt my eyes on her because she turned around. A warm and genuine smile brightened her face. Her eyes teared, growing shiny and wavering in the light from the small candles lined up on the bar. I didn’t know how to feel about that.

  “Carter!” she called and I raised my hand in greeting, pretending like I hadn’t just been staring at her. When I got close enough, she pulled me into a hug. It, too, felt genuine. Maybe even fierce. The high bar chair where she sat meant I didn’t even have to lean over.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she held me. There was a thickness to her voice that made me have to swallow before I could reply.

  “It’s good to see you, Tessa.” She released her grip on my shoulders, finishing with a kiss to my cheek before she pulled away. I smiled. “It’s actually a surprise. I thought I was meeting my uncle. Are you joining us?” She really did look beautiful, in the carefree way that was always so distinct from Lainey. I wondered if Lainey had grown so reserved in contrast. She and her adoptive mother were like complementary angles.

  “Yes, I’ll be joining you. If you don’t mind,” she added.

  “Of course not.”

  “Oh, good!” She cleared her throat, a feminine sound that only added to her sense of perpetual youth. I wondered if she wasn’t slightly nervous. I wondered, too, if my uncle had chosen this place just for her, with its walls covered in paintings. The dark tones of the art deco room were made to flatter her.

  I began to wonder if their relationship was more than friendly. Was Tessa the woman he’d met at the coffee shop? She was certainly beautiful. And she did have ties to Arizona. Her parents and brother still lived there.

  “Can I get you something? A beer?” Tessa asked, sipping her own glass of something clear with lime. It seemed out of place for her. She drank red wine, or dark things with more passion than coolness.

  I grinned. “Thank you, but the bar would probably rather I didn’t. Water will be fine.” She tilted her head and I said, “It’s still a couple months until I’m old enough. Legally.”

  She laughed. “I’m sorry. I forget how young you still are!”

  “It’s fine. I don’t really drink anyway.”

  “No,” she said. “I suppose you wouldn’t.” She looked at me like she saw deeper into my thoughts than I wanted her to. “You look, well, you look great, Carter.” She glanced at her drink, stirring it idly, before she looked back up at me. “I hope it’s okay for me to say that.

  I…I’ve missed you, but I thought it best if I kept my distance for a while. I hope you understand.”

  I nodded, grateful for the distraction of the bartender. I sipped my water to delay having to say anything else. I did understand. I did not want to talk about it. Tessa made a sound in the back of her throat, something frighteningly close to pity, and patted my hand before changing the subject.

  “Martin is on his way too.” I’d barely had the chance to get to know Martin Schearer before graduation and Lainey had… But I’d liked him—everyone did—and he was deeply involved in the Astor Arts charity now. It wasn’t unusual for him to dine with Uncle Dan, or probably both him and Tessa. Now I was wondering why I was here. My sense that this night was something, something serious, began to grow.

  “Tess!” Uncle Dan’s voice came from behind me and Tessa’s face lit up. I glanced over my shoulder to see my uncle weaving his way to the bar, Manny following a discreet distance behind. It was a particular skill of Manny’s that he could blend so seamlessly into a crowd, despite his watchful eyes and size forty-six jacket that covered more than one weapon. “And good, I see you’ve collected my nephew.”

  He kissed Tessa on the cheek in greeting. I glanced around to see if anyone else noticed. If someone was watching, would they see how she looked at him? Observe how his hand lingered on her back?

  Maybe my idea had merit.

  Uncle Dan clapped one hand on my shoulder. “Son, I hope you don’t mind, but Tessa and Martin will be joining us as well.”

  “No, sir. Not at all. Tessa even offered to get me a drink. So I’m starting to wonder what you have to tell me.”

  When Daniel Astor laughed, people noticed. People noticed now. He laughed like someone whose life was perfectly in control, because it was. I hadn’t laughed like that since I was thirteen years old and I envied it. Next to him, Tessa was grinning. “Then we shouldn’t keep you in suspense. Let’s sit down.” He caught the eye of the hostess, who lingered just outside Manny’s shadow, before meeting my own. “I hope you’re going to like it.”

  WE WERE SEATED in another room of the restaurant, one I imagined was called The Federal Room. The walls were still covered in art, but it was brighter and more Americana. Except for the huge fireplace warming my back and reminding me of home, I liked the dark bar better. In this room it would be harder to keep lying to myself that this was fine.

  Martin arrived a few minutes later, as our waiter poured the bottle of wine Uncle Dan had ordered ahead. It was expensive. Extravagant, actually. I’d gotten a glance at the wine list when I returned it to the hostess. This was a celebration wine.

  The server filled my glass without asking, but Tessa gave a slight shake of her head when he moved to hers. He skipped on to Martin’s glass without a pause, but Martin was not looking at him or the wine. He was staring at Tessa in a way that made me stare too.

  “Tess?” he said. “You’re not having any?” There was something in his voice, something barely contained.

  “No, Martin, I’m not,” she answered. That was all she said, but she was smiling, darting glances at my uncle, and her eyes filled with tears again. Martin made this noise, a shocked-gasp-hiccup, and clapped his hands together like her not-drinking a glass of wine was the greatest thing in the world. He, too, seemed ready to cry.

  And just like that, it hit me: she’s pregnant.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I was standing, I realized, looking back and forth between Tessa and my uncle. But everyone else was standing too, Martin hugging Tess, saying words like congratulations and dreamed of this and perfect, just perfect.

  Was this perfect? I wasn’t sure.

  Uncle Dan was smiling, but he was watching me with
a guarded expression. He put a hand on my shoulder and I became very aware of the fact that I hadn’t said anything yet.

  I cleared my throat and held out my hand. “Congratulations, sir.” I sounded so formal, like we were still in the office, in senator and intern mode.

  He grasped my hand and pulled me toward him, throwing his arm around my shoulder like he did so often when I was younger. He was barely taller than me now, and my shoulders were broader than his, but next to him, I still felt small.

  “Surprise,” he said. “That wasn’t exactly how we wanted this to go. I should have anticipated the wine better.”

  “It’s been a while since you had to think about those kind of logistics.”

  He chuckled. “Sixteen years. How do you feel about the news?”

  “Surprised,” I admitted.

  “Pleased?”

  “Of course,” I said automatically, and then repeated it, deciding it was true. “Yeah, of course.” He nodded when our eyes met.

  “I’m glad,” Uncle said. “And relieved. I know this might be a bit awkward for you.”

  Rather than lie, I said, “The media’s going to go crazy, you know. I didn’t even know you were…” I gestured to Tessa. “Though I probably should have suspected.”

  He smiled and steered me back toward my chair. “We weren’t, not exactly. Let’s sit down and explain.”

  THE MEDIA WAS going to go crazy. They would fucking love this. I’d almost have suspected Anton Williams, Uncle Dan’s campaign manager, of orchestrating the whole thing, but Tessa would never have agreed to that. I tried to keep my face neutral while she talked about asking my uncle to father her baby—through in vitro fertilization.

  “Needless to say, I was surprised—and immensely flattered,” Uncle Dan said.

  “I was already in the process,” Tessa explained. “Actually, I’d prepared for it some years ago, but decided to wait. And I kept waiting, thinking, I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t need it.”

  “You’re forever romantic, Tess,” Martin said and she chuckled.

  “I do like surprises, and I guess Dan was one.” They beamed at each other and I had to look at my hands. “But my doctor told me I’d waited long enough—much more and I’d be practically fifty years old with a toddler and my first baby would be graduated from college.”