The separation didn't take. Of course, no one ever thought it would. No one ever intentionally spoke about it in front of me and I didn't ask, but I think Uncle Kelly might have been suspected of some impropriety—something about texts from a co-worker—and my Aunt Nikki wanted to teach him a lesson. She never really wanted to lose him, and he didn't want to leave her either. They're one of those couples that really loves each other, even through their issues.
It sucked to watch it happen, and Thea had been fucking devastated. She even came to stay with us for a couple of weeks last summer when it had all first gone down. But I'm glad they're reconciled now. They seem to have really moved past it, which works out pretty well for Thea and me, because now there's that sweet two bedroom apartment sitting empty on West 65th and Columbus.
It's a little closer to Columbia than NYU, but a reasonable commute to each, and it sure as hell beats freshman dorms.
After we see the place I'm going to meet with my father at his office. He agreed to look into Rory's case. To speak to some people. But he wanted me to agree to meet him in his office once he does, to go through everything. I don't know if he really needs me there as a client, or if he's using it as an excuse to see me.
If he is, it's surprising as fuck to me. He's certainly never made a modicum of effort to see me for the past five years. But he's paid every cent in alimony and child support, and my mother has never had to worry about money. And I thought that he felt that was sufficient a contribution to his children.
Not that I disagree. He's made contribution enough. His drunken fucking abuse has seeped into my psyche, mixing with his contribution to my genetic code. Who could blame me for having anger issues?
Either way, I agreed to be there. So the Thursday before Senior Sleep-In, I will meet with my estranged father and, if I fucking have to, beg him to help me save my girl... who's not my girl.
I arrive back home to find Tucker's car in my driveway. I find him seated at the kitchen island having coffee with my mom and sister. Not that there's anything strange about the scene. It's a fairly common one. Tuck spent practically half his childhood in this house, and the other half was spent with me at his house.
Tuck follows me down to the basement and I lay back on the bench press. Neither of us speak for the first couple of reps. That's the main thing I like about having a private gym. I realize it's an extreme luxury, and I'm grateful for it. I dislike gyms full of people talking about their strength, and regimens, and routines. Guys competing with each other about exercise? I don't know, it's weird to me.
Eventually Tuck says something about something cute that Carl did. It was funny. He's smitten. And I'm fucking ecstatic for him. I am. I'm just also jealous as shit. And I can admit it to myself. I feel guilty for it, too, but it doesn't change the fact that I wish things could have been that easy for Rory and me.
I do enjoy seeing my best friend like this, though. If he were a girl, I would almost call him giddy. Tucker's always been one to put on the charm to avoid talking about real shit and giving away his feelings. I'm one of the only people he really talks to, that he's really open with. And the same is true in reverse.
I wonder how close he and Carl really are. Considering how in love they seem, I bet she really knows him. Perhaps better than I do. I think about how well Rory knows me, how much I confided in her so quickly. And how I know her—her fears, her desires, and fuck, how she looks when she's coming apart at the seams.
Of course Carl knows Tuck better than I do by now. And that's fine with me. I just hope that she never changes her mind or moves on. I'm not sure I could stomach seeing Tucker, the jock-clown, as fucking desolate as I feel.
I ask him if Rory's coming before I realize that I just asked him like twenty minutes ago.
I can't see his face but I can sense him roll his eyes. Fucking Tucker.
"Yes, Cap." The sarcasm drips from his words. "Carl is driving her at eleven," he repeats.
"Right," I grunt as I push the dumbbell up and set it on its stand. "Let me spot you and then I'm going to shower," I say.
"Yup."
****
Thea and her older brother, my cousin Daniel, arrive with my Aunt Nikki around ten, and we all help my mom set up for brunch. It takes less than ten minutes, and then we're all sitting out on the patio, drinking coffee. Danny tells some story about how he got way too drunk, the night before his humanities final and almost didn't make it. My mom rolls her eyes and Thea elbows him, but he just gives her his trademark "what'd I say?" look that's so common for him. He's always been one of those people incapable of identifying his audience, who says whatever it is he's thinking regardless of who's around.
In some ways it's admirable. You certainly get what you see with Danny. But on the other hand… let's just say his mouth is very familiar with the taste of his own foot, figuratively, I mean. He's Thea's opposite in everything but their looks. He's only a year and a half older than us, but he could be Thea's twin. They both have vibrant red hair, though his is cropped close to his scalp now while Thea's wild curls are as untamed as ever. These days her freckles are mostly camouflaged by what I assume is some kind of makeup powder, and while Danny's have faded somewhat since he was a kid, they still reign free in a pattern I used to play silent connect-the-dots with at boring family brunches and dinners as a child.
They grew up in Greenwich, Connecticut, which isn't more than an hour from here without traffic, though it could be a lifetime with, and our moms made sure we spent plenty of time together growing up. In fact, it was with their family that we used to rent the East Hampton house each summer before my parents' divorce.
Thea rolls her eyes again and I know Danny's just made another ridiculous comment, though I've all but completely stopped paying attention. Last night's dream is really messing with me. It's been so long that I've even thought about that house—the family meals, the beach bonfires, fishing with our dads…
Thea, who's seated between Danny and me, whispers something to me, ripping my attention from memories of summers past.
"Hmm?" I ask, and she smiles her warm Thea smile. She's like another sister, just one closer to my age, and she has a way of reading me that's almost annoying, in a sisterly way.
"I asked if you were okay," she repeats.
I nod, but I doubt she's convinced by the thin smile that wouldn't even fool Danny. She doesn't press me, though, and when the doorbell rings and I practically fall out of my chair, she barely stifles her giggle. I "accidentally" kick one of the legs of her chair in retaliation as I walk back through the house to the main foyer. I'm looking forward to introducing Rory and Thea. I think they'll get along. They both have that realness that I think they'll each appreciate in the other. And since they'll be going to NYU together and Rory doesn't know anyone else there, it's important to me that they get to know one another.
Bits is already answering the door, but it's only Chelsea and her mom. I quicken my pace to the door. Bits is not Chelsea's biggest fan, nor is she especially adept at hiding her feelings.
They each air kiss Bits before making their way through the foyer and greeting me. Chelsea kisses me on the cheek and I give her a pat on the back. The way she lingers makes me think she was looking for a hug, but after everything that's happened, I don't want to give her the wrong idea.
I've never given her an inkling of a reason to think I was interested in anything other than a friendship with her, and I was honestly stunned when Rory announced that Chel's actions in that bathroom were because of her feelings for me. Though I think her assertion that she was "in love" with me was an exaggeration. And while Chel's apology was followed—to my great relief—by her insistence that she was over her "crush", I'd like to help her keep it that way.
Bits lingers in the kitchen while I lead Chelsea and Chris outside to the rest of the group. My sister was never Chelsea's biggest fan. Chelsea has a particular personality, a bit of an acquired taste, and it isn't for everyone. But Bits says she doesn't like what
she calls Chelsea's need to constantly be the center of attention. In my sister's defense, it's fair assessment. Chelsea does like all eyes on her. But I think Bits has been more sensitive to it since my father left.
But Chelsea's attack on Rory was the last nail in the coffin as far as Bits was concerned. My sister connected with Rory immediately, not unlike myself, and from that first time she came to my house for dinner, I was sure she had a life-long fan. Well, maybe more than one.
When Bits heard about Chelsea's attempt at "looking out" for me by taking pictures of Rory changing and their subsequent brawl, she couldn't condemn Chelsea fast enough. And what could I say? She was right. And despite my encouragement of forgiveness, Bits seems about as inclined as Rory does. Maybe even less so.
I turn to head back inside and see if Bits is okay. She hasn't given me any reason to think otherwise, this has just become a habit of mine ever since her suicide attempt last summer. But as soon as I enter the kitchen, my eyes lock on her.
Rory's here. Bit's is hugging her hello. The bell didn't ring, so she must have arrived just after Chelsea.
Warmth unfurls in my chest, only slightly alleviating the constant weight there. Something about seeing my sister's affection for Rory makes my feelings seem even more justified. Like I'm not crazy for having fallen so fucking deeply for her in such a short time.
Bits hugs Carl too, and Rory's gaze slides to mine. My breath catches for a split second, but I hide it. She's just so fucking beautiful. Her perfect lips quirk up into an uncertain smile, and in this moment, all I want is to offer her the reassurance to vanquish her uncertainty.
My grin tells her how happy I am to see her, though I suspect she might doubt my sincerity. She knows I'm trying to make her feel comfortable, and I hate that she doesn't know that my motivation doesn't mitigate my affection for her.
I grab the water pitcher from the counter so my hands are full when I greet them. It prevents me from touching her. Or from drawing attention to the fact that I'm carefully not touching her.
Because I can't fucking touch her.
I remind myself, again, that this beautiful girl with eyes that somehow shine despite their exhaustion, whose small smile makes my fucking heartbeat skitter, is nothing more than a friend. I tell myself, again, that I am okay with this. That we are okay. That despite the pungent air of hopelessness, everything is somehow going to be okay.
But if I touch her…
Even the slightest brush of our fingertips, and all bets would be off. My resolve is never more than tenuous at best, and just one touch and I know all I would be able to think about is touching her more… wrapping my arms around her, kissing her.
And then what would I do? Beg her to give us another shot? I pretty much begged her to give us the first shot, and I have no one to blame but myself for fucking it up. So yeah, no touching it is.
Bits and I lead Rory and Carl out to the patio, I set the water on the table, and we all sit down to eat. I make Rory a cup of coffee the way she likes it—light and loaded with real sugar, none of that sweetener garbage—and hand her the mug without a word. She smiles the first real smile she's shown in weeks and the weight lifts marginally.
I look at her too intently for too long a moment before I manage to pull my gaze away. But the point was made. Just friends or something more, I'll never stop looking out for her. And while I make every effort to fake this just friends bullshit, I won't let her forget that.
Thea draws the girls into a conversation about school since all but Carl are attending college in Manhattan, and Carl will be less than an hour away at Hofstra University here on Long Island.
Our moms chat about something or other down at the other end of the table, completely engrossed in their own conversation.
"I met my roommate," Chelsea says excitedly. "Well not met, but you know, Facebooked."
"You'll be at FIT, right?" Thea asks her. Chelsea's always been into fashion, so when she applied early to the Fashion Institute of Technology, no one was surprised. But right now, Rory looks as if she is. It hadn't occurred to me that Rory didn't know Chelsea would be in the city with us next year, and I blanche at my oversight.
But if she's taken off guard, she recovers quickly, and I can't help my swell of pride at her strength. Because I know she thinks what happened in Miami has undone all her progress. But I know better. I've known it all along—that she's stronger than she ever thought, and she's getting stronger still.
"That's right. We can choose our roommates or get one assigned. But I don't really like the only other girl I know going, so I met some people in some groups online, and this one girl seems really cool. So we requested each other." Chelsea explains.
"What if you hate her?" Danny asks.
"What if she hates you?" I hear Bits mutter under her breath, and I kick her under the table, grateful that no one else heard. I need this brunch to go smoothly. Fortunately my sister heeds my warning.
"Do you have a roommate yet, Rory?" she asks, but Rory just shakes her head vaguely, less than eager to partake too much in the group conversation.
"Too bad Thea and Cap are living together, or you could have roomed with her," Chelsea observes, and I give her an encouraging smile. We had a talk yesterday about how important it is to me that she make an effort with Rory. And though she seems to think she has done her part by apologizing in the first place, something that has never come easy to Chelsea, she agreed to do her best.
Rory is obviously less than thrilled to be socializing with Chelsea. Or at least it's obvious to me. And I wait to see if she'll even respond, since the last time Chelsea spoke to her she didn't exactly take the bait. I hope that our talk had some effect on her, but if it didn't, I don't want to push her further. I made my case at Andrew's and now it's up to her what she wants to do.
"Yeah, I guess," she replies quietly. It's a vague, barely-there response, but it's something, and my chest lightens a bit more.
She is making an effort for me. I feel a whisper of that heady feeling she elicits whenever she grants me something, whether small or significant, that she wouldn't give anyone else. Her confidence, her trust, her touch, even just her smile. It's a dangerous thing though, a bit like a drug, because even with just this small taste, I already want more.
"Thea, maybe you know someone else going to NYU rooming in the dorms? You know, that you could introduce Rory to?" I ask. I want to do something for her right now. Anything. It's a visceral need I can't control. And so I find myself seeking her a college roommate.
Thea thinks a moment, her lips pursed in the way they always are when she's thinking.
"I don't think so. I mean, I know a couple of other girls who are going, but I don't know that you'd like them. They can be kinda bitchy," Thea explains.
"Uh—" Rory begins to respond, but I interrupt without even meaning to open my mouth.
"She doesn't need to room with mean girls, Thea." My voice comes out a bit reproachful, and I know it's ridiculous since she hadn't actually suggested she room with them. The opposite, in fact.
Thea narrows her eyes at me, but doesn't respond to my tone. Instead, she addresses Rory.
"Did you join any of the incoming freshman groups on Facebook?" she asks.
Rory shakes her head. "I don't have Facebook… or any social media accounts," she adds before anyone can ask. I know this, of course. I know she had to delete all of her accounts after she accused that motherfucking bastard of abusing her last year. After all of her friends turned on her, and harassed her to the point where she had to fucking move across the country. "But… I don't need a roommate. I've requested a single."
Of course she did. Her nightmares. I feel myself getting riled up. It's a familiar feeling. I get angry any time I think about what she went through. But I keep my temper in check and take a long sip of orange juice to calm myself.
I hate that Rory lost so much of herself because of him. Her family was destroyed, her friendships. She lost her connection to her hometown, to he
r childhood, and it just seems so fucking unfair that she lost this connection too. I'm not especially active on social networking sites, but I do find some of them useful, and in this day and age, for our generation, it's used for almost everything. Case in point: meeting college classmates.
"Maybe you should join Facebook," I suggest. "Even if you don't need a roommate, it couldn't hurt to meet some people."
Rory glares at me, and part of me withers at her ire. But if there's anything I can help fix for her, I have to do it.
She once accused me of trying to fix her. But that's ridiculous. Rory is fucking perfect. But some aspects of her life, they could use some fixing. And it's not like she's adverse to social media on principle, or because she doesn't like it—she's just afraid.
She has every right to be, of course. After her past experiences. But I hate it when she lets fear make her decisions. And though I don't know if it's even my place to get involved anymore, I'm not sure I can help myself. I just care about her so damn much.
"Just to meet people for school, you know? You could keep the account private. No one would see it except for people you wanted to meet," I suggest. "I could help you with it."
Rory sighs. I think she knows I'm right. Being digitally antisocial has kept her from doing the things the rest of us are all doing in preparation for college, and I can tell this isn't the first time it's been a concern for her.
"Maybe." It's a concession. For her, anyway. And I'll take it.
Thea starts asking Rory about majors and courses and I watch her fall into her element. She wants to study courses related to pre-law. She wants to help underprivileged families like her mother used to do before she moved here and had to join a big firm to support them on one income. But Rory wants to focus on helping women, she says shyly, and I just sit back and smile to myself.
She thinks she's regressed because of what happened in Miami, but I see something different. I see a girl planning her future. And an admirable one at that.
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