Tangled Thoughts

by Cara Bertrand

  But he nodded like this was unsurprising, even welcome news. He’d been a history major, after all. “Why not both?” he said. “If anyone’s capable, it’s you. And I’m sure the university will accommodate whatever schedule you want.”

  Yes, they probably would. They already had, really. “Maybe,” I conceded. “I’ll think about it over break.” It felt good, just talking like this. I wanted to keep doing it, so I said, “I’m going to New York, finally. For New Year’s. Did I tell you that?”

  He took another swallow of his drink, smiled. “Miss Morrow might have mentioned it the other night. I should have taken you to the city myself, when you were younger. I regret that. Alexis is growing up well,” he mused. “An unparalleled beauty. Her mother cried when she was born with brown hair, did you know?”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t, but it doesn’t surprise me.” Her name was Barbie, after all.

  “Much better this way, though. No one takes blondes seriously.” He smoothed a hand over his own fair hair and laughed. This was why people loved him.

  We both took another drink. I appreciated how he was waiting for me. He hadn’t asked what was wrong, hadn’t pushed me to get to the point. He hadn’t even commented on the card sitting in front of me on the bar, though surely he’d seen it. I took a step closer to the real issue and asked, “How’s Tessa?”

  “Healthy. Vibrant. Determined.” Uncle Dan made no effort to hide his proud grin. “She’s quite amazing, really. Anton thinks I should marry her, propose.”

  “I know.” Uncle’s campaign manager thought the public would love a White House Wedding, even more than a White House Baby. He was probably right. I wasn’t sure Tessa was on that page yet, but what did I know about women?

  “It’s a boy, Cartwright,” he said softly, meeting my eyes, and for some reason I had to look away. “I would like you to be his Godfather.”

  My head snapped up. “Sir, I—”

  “Don’t protest. Just say yes.”

  “I’m honored. I just…” What? What did I tell him? That I could barely manage myself without his guidance, so how could I take care of his son? That I couldn’t be Godfather because it would inevitably mean interacting with the girl who broke my heart? What kind of pussy was I? Instead of answering that, I took a huge slug of Scotch. Better. “Don’t you think Uncle Jeff would be a better choice?”

  He watched me while sipping from his drink, an excuse to give me the look I’d tried to emulate since I was a kid. To me, it always said more than he was saying. It was, I realized, a presidential look, one he turned on me now.

  “Nothing,” he said, “has pleased me more than having you join me here, Cartwright. I know it was your second choice, and a painful one, but I hope you’ve found it the right one. I know you’re the right choice to mentor my son. None better, even my brother.”

  I looked down, unable to hold his gaze. I really was transparent. Finally, I cleared my throat and met his eyes again. “Thank you. That’s high praise.”

  “And also true. So.” He set down his glass, the heavy bottom thudding on the glossy wood of the bar. When he nodded to the bartender for another round, I should have recognized I was in trouble. But I was already drowning tonight. Uncle Dan knew that, or why else would I have called him? “How are you?”

  I thought about my answer while I watched the amber fire rise in my glass. I nodded at the bartender as he left. “Confused,” I finally answered. Another slug of the Scotch made my voice raspy.

  “What’s happened?”

  I pushed Lainey’s card at him. Its edges were starting to wear from my fingers. He opened it and made a noise somewhere between a tongue cluck and an ah, though his face remained carefully neutral.

  “I see,” he said. He tapped a finger on one of the worn edges while I stumbled through figuring out what I wanted to say.

  “And I, I just want to know why? It’s been months and now this and I guess…I don’t understand what it means.”

  “I think that’s fairly clear. It means she’s cruel.”

  I stared at the card, frowning. Cruel. The word sounded harsh and whole, applied to Lainey in my uncle’s voice. I still wanted to defend her.

  “Don’t you think she maybe, because of the baby—”

  “I think, son, that she likes twisting the knife.”

  I coughed. Hearing him say it hurt as much as anything. I took another drink. Then another, rolling the tumbler in my hands. When it started to feel weightless, imaginary in my fingers, I set it down. “I miss her,” I admitted. “Love her, still.” After a pause, and the last of the liquid in my glass disappeared, I asked the eternal question: “What did I do wrong?”

  He set down his own glass and put a hand on my shoulder. “You loved a girl before you knew her. Loved a girl more than she could love you. We don’t choose those things. I was heartbroken when Angela left me, but I was at fault. I’ve been atoning for it for sixteen years. You, on the other hand, are blameless. The only thing you’ve done wrong is let her keep doing this to you.”

  “I don’t know how to stop.”

  “You stop by doing. Your life is full. Embrace what you have. Change your major if you’d like. Enjoy your holiday in New York.” He slipped the card from under my fingers and into his coat pocket. “And you let go of things like this.”

  For a long time I stared at the empty space on the bar where it had been. Let go. Was it that simple? Was the problem that I was holding on? Finally, I met his eyes. “You’re right.”

  He nodded. “I’ve made all your mistakes and more, son.”

  “Thank you. For this. For coming here and…understanding.”

  “I should have done this sooner. Another regret.” He stood, and when I tried to join him, I swayed and had to catch myself on the bar. Uncle embraced me. “Manny will see you home.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll be fine. Good night, son.” Before he left me to Manny’s care, he rested his hand on my shoulder one last time. “Remember, she’s not the end. Only the beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lainey

  Unlike I imagined most apartments of graduate assistants, Jack’s was beautiful, with exposed brick walls, gleaming hardwood floors, and enough windows to offer peeks of the nearby waterfront. The place was small, but open, with high ceilings and a decently appointed kitchen that looked too shiny to be used often. Though not as nice as mine, Jack’s apartment was pretty nice. I said as much.

  “Compliments of the III at the end of my name. Turns out grandchildren are a decent tax shelter. Not that I’m complaining. But don’t worry,” he said, settling next to me on his expensive couch and handing me a drink. “I do work for it.”

  “I’m the last person to judge you if you didn’t.”

  He clinked his glass against mine. I didn’t really want it, but I took a sip anyway. “Another thing I like about you.”

  I laughed. “That I’m rich?”

  Over the rim of his glass, I watched his lips as they smiled. He shook his head. “No.” He shifted in his seat, so that our legs were touching. “That you don’t care that I am, through the sheer dumb luck of my last name.”

  “To last names and luck,” I said, touching my glass to his again. “I doubt anyone’s ever called you dumb.”

  He chuckled. “More times than I care to remember. I’d tell you stories, but they’re all family failures or involve girls, neither of which I want to bore you with.” He set his glass, half finished, on the coffee table.

  “Girls, eh?”

  “What can I say?” There. The crooked smile I dreamed about appeared. “You’re the only one I’ve brought here, though.”

  I laughed again. “Sure I am.” After another sip from my drink, I traced shapes in the condensation on the outside of the glass.

  “Scout’s honor,” he said, letting his fingers graze my thigh as he brought them up in the salute. Softer, leaning closer, he said, “You’re the only one I’ve even wanted to. And
that’s the truth.”

  At that moment, a drop of water from my glass fell from my finger tip. I gasped. It landed near my collar bone and slid down. Jack’s eyes followed it, and then, slowly and light as breath, his finger. His eyes came back to meet mine, but his finger kept going, and I gasped again. He followed the drop’s path, dipping into the V of my shirt and tracing between my breasts before reaching up to pluck the glass from my hand.

  And then he kissed me.

  His lips were soft, so freaking soft, as they pressed against mine. He lingered there, tasting like sweet tonic and lime, until I leaned into him. When my lips finally parted and his tongue slipped between them, I was sure I’d already known how perfect it would feel. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.

  Good God, he knew how to kiss. I’d been waiting for this. Since I stepped out of the cab a few hours ago or, honestly, a lot longer than that. When his lips trailed across my cheek, I whispered, “That was worth the wait.”

  He paused, tickling me with his nose as he met my eyes and I drowned in the warm brown depths of his. “If I was a gentleman, I’d have asked first.”

  “It would have ruined the surprise.”

  Jack leaned forward, closer, until I thought he was going to kiss me again without permission. But he turned to the side, lips grazing my ear as he said, “I know.” He held there, fingers tickling my side until I giggled. Then, on an impulse that seemed to surprise us both, I slipped my shirt over my head and dropped it over the side of the couch.

  I wasn’t sure why I did that. I wasn’t drunk. I hadn’t planned on removing clothing, not tonight, but in the heat of the moment, I realized I didn’t care. I wanted to, and wasn’t that reason enough?

  Jack surveyed the new development with delight, grinning like he’d gotten away with something. “May I?” he asked.

  “Please.”

  His kiss was deeper this time, confident and eager. He pulled me onto his lap, crushing me to him, and I didn’t resist. My arms twined around his neck as his hand slid up my stomach, fingers brushing my breast first over, then under, my bra until my breathing was ragged. He unhooked it neatly and I tossed it away.

  I was desperate for this, for heat and closeness and touch. It had been so long, months, since I’d been with anyone—with Carter—and the only person I’d really wanted to kiss since then was kissing me now.

  I kept kissing him until kissing wasn’t enough. I shifted my hips, pressing against him, and he groaned. His lips broke from mine, traveling down my neck, and lower, while his hands made the rest of me feel like I was on fire.

  I did not want to put it out.

  So I didn’t.

  Instead, I tugged on his shirt, unbuttoning it as quickly as I could between his kisses, and then his jeans, too. He stilled, just for a second, when my fingers found the button and undid it. He pulled back, looking in my eyes before slowly, so slowly, leaning forward until I was pressed into the couch and his solid body hovered over mine.

  Jack cleared his throat lightly, one finger tracing under the edge of my waistband, as he asked, “Would you like to see my bedroom?”

  “Yes,” I told him. “Please.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Carter

  Hangovers were worse than the fucking flu.

  I woke early the next morning at my usual time, barely knowing where I was. I didn’t remember getting there. I didn’t get up and run. I didn’t answer the phone. I didn’t text Alexis. I didn’t move from my bed until eventually I threw up.

  After that, I found coffee and a few bottles of water and moved to the couch, watching the sky lighten outside. It was still early to most people. I felt not better, but less like I’d rather be dead. It was a different feeling, laying on the couch hating myself for something I understood. This was concrete. I drank too much, too fast. Lesson learned.

  I did, however, remember seeing my uncle.

  Thinking hurt, but it hurt less than moving. I could obsess in relative stillness. For once, though, it wasn’t Lainey’s words on replay in my head. That alone was a miracle. Not the end, only the beginning. Not the end.

  Not. The. End.

  I laid there longer than I should have, past the point where it was time to go. But I’d been past that point for a long time, hadn’t I? I’d wasted seven months on something I couldn’t change, spent too many hours trying to understand when it would never make sense to me. I thought I’d lost The One, when she was only The Beginning.

  I’d let myself become my father.

  It was time to let go.

  I used to send her signs all the time when we were together, to let her know I was thinking of her. Push her pen onto the floor in class. Move the pages of her notebook. Knock a favorite book off her shelf in her room. Maybe it was stupid, but I thought she liked it, this secret communication only we understood. Having this damned Thought Mover gift was probably going to get me killed one day, so I might as well get a little enjoyment out of it.

  I wasn’t sure if it would matter now, if she’d ever know. But she’d been wearing the necklace the last time I saw her and maybe she was still. I closed my eyes and pictured it, the perfect diamond resting against her smooth skin. In my mind, I followed the delicate chain up over her clavicle, under her heavy dark hair. Then to the sturdy clasp at the back of her neck, I Thought: open.

  Finished, I let the necklace slip from my thoughts and disappear into the past.

  Happy birthday to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lainey

  Later, I stared at the high ceiling of Jack’s bedroom and imagined constellations in the pattern of its cracks. The noises of a waking city filtered in, mingling with the gentle sound of Jack’s breathing. He looked younger when he slept. Maybe everyone did. I wished I could sleep, too.

  I had, for a while, when I’d been warm and snuggled against Jack’s even warmer skin after…just after, before my brain woke up. Now it would not shut up.

  What had I done?

  I mean, I knew what I—what we had done. I’d been thinking about it for weeks. Looking at Jack there, tousled and content in sleep, I wanted to wake him and do it again. I also wanted to rewind this night and make sure it didn’t happen.

  What happened to my mind-heart-body alliance? The one I’d been so faithfully devoted to in the past? My mind was punishing me now, and my heart was thumping strange, erratic beats that sounded suspiciously like Cart-er, Jack, Cart-er, Jack.

  I wanted so many things, and suddenly they all felt wrong. Everything felt wrong, except the weight of Jack’s arm across my stomach, and I felt guilty that that didn’t feel wrong. I still wanted Carter, and that felt the most wrong, wanting two men at the same time. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t wrong. It was human. I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  But I had, hadn’t I? I’d done one thing wrong. I thought about the card I’d sent Carter and how I shouldn’t have done it. I really, really shouldn’t have done it. But much like visiting him at the end of the summer, I couldn’t seem to stop myself, no matter how suspect my motivations. I wondered if he’d gotten it and hoped it had been lost.

  Jack’s room grew lighter by pale gray degrees. A slow turn of my head and I could see the clock, which told me it was still early, barely nine o’clock. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep probably at all anymore, but definitely not in Jack’s bed. Carefully, I slipped from under his arm and padded to the bathroom.

  I was leaning over the sink, looking in the mirror and trying to figure myself out, when my necklace fell off.

  I caught it easily, a reflex. It landed in my fingers and I stared at it. I shouldn’t have been wearing it tonight, when I was with another man. Which was a joke. I shouldn’t have been wearing it at all. Maybe the necklace knew that.

  Inspecting it, I found it wasn’t actually broken. The chain was intact and the clasp worked perfectly fine. I pinched it a few times between my fingers. Odd. It must have just opened, accidentally let go.

  And that’s when it
hit me: Carter.

  I knew it was him. I felt it, a zinging in my veins and cracking in my heart. It was a sign, the first one he’d tried to send me in months, the way he used to make books fall off my shelves. Carter had gotten the card I shouldn’t have sent and this was his answer. And I heard it, loud and clear.

  Let go.

  Numbly and quiet as a ninja, I dressed in the living room and fled. Just as I was closing the door behind me, I heard a groggy call of, “Lainey?” I tugged on my boots and ran down the stairs.

  I barely made it to a bus stop bench before the sobs burst out of me, choking my throat and squeezing the breath from my lungs. My heart pounded, hard, beating my ribs as the tears clogged my eyes and flooded over. I dropped my face into my hands and cried the ocean onto the sidewalk below.

  I WAS HOME at my apartment, trying and failing not to think about two men at once, when Amy finally called me. It dawned on me then that I was leaving for Mexico in less than twenty-four hours and Jack didn’t even have my phone number.

  “That text was pretttty early this morning,” she said by way of hello.

  What could I say? “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

  “So. Is it still a Walk of Shame if no one sees you, or if you didn’t do it? Discuss.” I chuckled, but it sounded forced even to me. “Oh,” she said. “Um, so did you? Do it?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “We did.”

  She paused. “Did he… pressure you?”

  “What? No. Not at all.”

  “Heh. So, I guess you are that kind of girl.” I could picture her, in her big, white bedroom on the third floor of her parents’ house, leaning forward and smiling like I was the canary she’d just caught in her polished cat claws. “So then the question is, why don’t you sound more excited about it?! Wasn’t it good? Tell me it was good.”

  Was it good? It was fantastic. It made me sorry I’d had to wait an entire semester for it to be possible. It wasn’t better than being with Carter, or worse, or the same. It was new, and—Jesus. I should not be comparing them.