Okay

by Danielle Pearl

  I don't say a word. I just listen, trying to understand.

  Chip sighs again. "It's not like he talked about it. It was just obvious to most of us. In the way he treated her, the way he talked about her. He spent most of his time with her… He was my best friend, but she was his best friend. We were all close, but he just… he lived for her. That's the best way to explain it.

  "Cam was the shit, too. He was good at sports, ridiculous at football, he just wasn't as into it as he should have been. He liked writing shit, had a journal. Never let me near the thing… And Rory loved him, too…"

  My heart stills. I hold my breath. I hate hearing about her feeling for another guy the way she's supposed to feel only for me. I know it isn't fair to be upset over her past. But it's not like I'm angry with her. I'm just jealous that another man had her heart before I did, when she's the only one to have ever even come anywhere near mine.

  "But not like he loved her… She was also naïve. You know, she was friends with all guys, and we were talkin' about her tits before she even realized we'd noticed she'd grown them."

  He stops talking abruptly when he realizes I'm barely holding myself back from clocking him. I know how twelve year old boys talk about girls, and the thought of him talking about Rory like that makes my already doubly pissed off mood land straight into fucking mad.

  I notice Chip swallow nervously, and though I'm trying my damnedest not to show my feelings about that last fucking comment he made about Rory, I'm not sure I succeed.

  "We were guys, and we didn't talk about this stuff in front of her, so no one did. Until she started hanging out with these bitchy chicks junior year. That includes her dickhead ex's extra-bitchy sister. So Rory kinda went from innocent late bloomer to thrown to the fuckin' wolves in a matter of months."

  Fuck.

  When he lays it all out there for me it fucking guts me all over again. But my brewing rage subsides, because as painful as it is to listen to, I'm glad he's not sugarcoating it. I'm glad he's telling me exactly how it all went down. Because Rory's told me her side, but there are points of view she doesn't understand. After all, she doesn't always see herself clearly. But I do. And I think maybe this Chip character does as well, and I soften marginally toward him.

  "But we didn't know that at the time. Honestly? At first they seemed real happy together. Forbes seemed to treat her like a princess. And Cam, Cam loved her. He wasn't selfish. And he wasn't going to fuck with her relationship if she was happy.

  "It was difficult to watch, man, to be honest. Especially because he wouldn't talk about it, and he's kind of like you—not the kind of guy you want to push," he says.

  That earns him the vaguest of half-smiles, but it's impressive nonetheless.

  "And look, as soon as that ended, Cam was gone, so… I don't know what would have happened, and I suppose most of this conflict you're obviously dealin' with over it is because she doesn't either. But I know Rory Pine, and you can't let her go on feelin' guilty over a future that won't happen. Because you would've been somewhere else, maybe with someone else, if that all didn't go down and she didn't move here to meet you, either. She ain't gonna get mad at you for a future you won't have, and she should know you won't either."

  He trails off, taking a deep, settling breath. I'm not surprised he picked up on my insecurities, but I wonder how he knows about Rory's guilt. I knew she blamed herself for Cam's death, but I only suspected she's been having a hard time reconciling it—and the complicated way they left things—with our relationship.

  Either way, I don't bother telling him that if I never met Rory I may very well be fucking someone else, but I wouldn't be with someone else. There never was anyone for me before Rory. Most of me wants to tell him to mind his own goddamned business, but then, I'm the one who brought it up. And the truth is he's vaguely amusing to me. He's gotten himself worked up. All protective over Rory. He doesn't want me to let her continue to feel guilty. But I want to laugh at him.

  Silly idiot, if I knew how to erase all of her undeserved guilt, the right words to say to make her see sense, I would have done it long ago. Still, I stay silent, waiting for him to continue, if he will continue.

  Finally he sighs. "I know he was in love with her. I know she loved him, but… I don't think she was in love with him. I think when it's like that for you, you know it. But she didn't even realize what Cam was harborin' for her, until maybe at the very end, though I ain't even sure about that. And it wasn't exactly the town's best-kept secret, if you get my drift. And I think if she felt like that for him, then she would've noticed. It would've been on her radar. No one knew her better than Cam did. If she was in love with him, he'd have known it, and he woulda done somethin' about it," he says.

  I like his logic, but then, I have reason to like it. I want to believe in it.

  But there's still that missing piece. The one I can't make sense of. "What about that— I mean, Forbes? She says she hates him…" I don't tell him my concerns, I just lead him in and wait to see his response.

  His eyebrows raise in surprise. "I would say that's probably an understatement."

  "You don't think there's anything lingering there?" I ask when he doesn't give me anything more than the obvious.

  He turns and glares at me, and again I wish he would keep a better eye on the damn road. But his glare seems to ask me if I'm out of my mind. Maybe I am. But…

  "She had his tee shirt next to her bed. It doesn't make sense," I tell him finally, hoping he'll be able to offer some unfathomable explanation for why Rory would have the keepsake of someone she despises, someone who abused her horribly, next to her goddamn bed.

  "How do you know it was his?" Chip asks.

  "It was his football tee. Number twenty two." God knows I'll never forget that.

  Chip lets out a short laugh and shakes his head, muttering something to himself I can't make out, though I'm sure it's safe to assume it's at my expense. "That ain't Forbes's," he says simply.

  He's finally looking at the road while I stare at the side of his face, waiting for an elaboration. He takes his fucking time.

  "Forbes was number twelve. Twenty two was Cam."

  It's such an obvious explanation that it slaps me in the face. But it doesn't make me feel any better. In fact, it all but undoes the vague relief his earlier logic provided. Of course, Cam was her best friend, so I have no right to be jealous that she held on to something of his. I just wish it wasn't kept so intimately next to her bed. Or that he was a chick.

  "She would have been happy with him," I murmur, almost to myself. It's not a question, but then, it also is.

  Chip chews on his lip. "If Cam had just told her, things would have turned out differently. But I think he was afraid to mess with what they had. And I get it, it was special. Who wouldn't want to have something like that? But if he had just manned the fuck up years ago... they could have been happy," he confirms.

  I don't know why it matters. He's gone. She's mine. She loves me.

  "Sure, I suppose you and her never would've happened. But she also never would've started seein' Forbes. Cam wouldn't have been driving out that mornin'… everything would've been just different, like I said," Chip says all this like it's not ripping me the fuck apart to hear it.

  I glare at him, hating the knowledge that Rory could have been happy with another man, that she could have loved him more than she does me. Maybe she just never had the chance. I can't help but wonder if I'm the consolation prize, and if maybe she would have been better off with him.

  "They were supposed to be together."

  Okay, now he's just being a dick. "Fuck you," I tell him.

  He shakes his head, but there's no jest to him. If anything, he's the most serious I've seen him. "No. You miss my point. They were supposed to be together. It was the will of the universe—fate, God, whatever you believe in. And them not getting together, it fucked everything up. It made Rory vulnerable to that piece 'a shit Forbes, it put Cam in that car…"

 
I rake my fingers through my hair and grit my teeth.

  "It wasn't easy to watch unfold, ya know. My best friend lovin' his best friend, having to put up with their super bond like a constant third wheel. Then watchin' him watch her with another guy, see her slowly withdraw from both of us. And how Cam suffered through it all—screwin' around twice as much and drinking twice that. I can't even imagine what it was like for him to find out what'd been happenin' to his Rory girl. It fuckin' killed me, and—shit…" He trails off, overwhelmed at some memory.

  I've heard Rory and Cam's super best friendship described what feels like a hundred goddamned times by now, and it never fails to make me insanely jealous and insecure. But right now I pity him. I know how I felt when she'd told me about the hell that motherfucking bastard put her through. I can't imagine having been right there, and then knowing I could have done something to stop it… that's a fucking lot to live with.

  "Yeah," I exhale.

  Chip pulls off the exit to head back to our hotel and doesn't say another word until we're stopped at a red light. He looks at me intently then.

  "What's done is done, though," he says.

  I blink at him.

  "Things are different now. I didn't expect to find her like this. I mean, she's still dealin' with a lot, obviously."

  Obviously.

  "But she's happy. You make her happy."

  I stare at him, unable to find words, not when his are so close to what I want to hear.

  "You're supposed to be together now. That much is clear," he says, then turns left as the light changes again like he didn't just give me the validation I'd been pitifully desperate for.

  He pulls into the circular drive and hands the keys to his dirty pickup to the valet, and we walk together to the elevator in silence. It stops on his floor first, and before I can think of the right thing to say, he murmurs "Don't fuck it up," and exits the car.

  I repeat the same words to myself. Don't fuck it up.

  ****

  The flight home is far better than my last flight home from Miami. Instead of running my fingers over the note that ripped my heart out, I run them over the exposed skin of Rory’s shoulder, which my arm is wrapped tightly around. I pretend to watch the movie on the screen in front of me while she reads some novel on her tablet, but mostly I just watch her.

  She seems different. Unburdened. And it makes me feel the same. I watched her say goodbye to Chip yesterday, watched her hug him and smile at him, and I couldn't have felt more proud. I know how she handled his presence the last time she saw him and I wonder if she realizes just how far she's come. My little badass. I also saw the hope in her eyes. This friendship means a lot to her, and so it means a lot to me.

  I like knowing he'll be in New York in a few short months. That she'll have another guy here looking out for her. One who cares about her for the right reasons.

  Rory peeks over at me out of the corner of her eye, catching me staring at her, but I don't bother looking away. She should just get used to it.

  "Good movie?" she teases.

  "Best thing I've ever seen," I tell her.

  Rory's mom picks us up from the airport and asks us about our weekend. Rory's words are vague, but her blush isn't. I say nothing, just sit here and fight the smirk trying to give away my thoughts. We spent most of the weekend in our suite making up for lost time. Though Rory did drag me down to the beach once or twice. That's the part she tells her mom about.

  I'm dropped off at home where I catch up with my mom and Bits. They accompany me to the Athletics Awards Dinner the following night, where I'm presented with several awards, and where I have to give a speech about Coach Tead and present him with a plaque.

  I head straight to Rory's afterwards. We never even made plans; I just drove here automatically as if I couldn't stay away.

  I end up sleeping over, though we're respectful enough not to have sex with her mother in the next room, and though Rory insists there's no reason for me to sneak out before dawn, we do get up early to have breakfast—well, coffee—with her. Amy doesn't bat an eyelash. I guess there's no point in pretending. After all, she knows we just spent the weekend in Miami and she must know we're sleeping together.

  The truth is I think she knows I help Rory's nightmares. I'm pretty sure Rory told her.

  I love how excited Amy gets when Rory asks her to take her shopping for a prom dress. So excited, in fact, that she doesn't even blink when we get to the part about spending the weekend in the Hamptons with our friends. She does, however, give us a short, but sufficiently awkward speech about safety and respect, and I find I can't quite meet her eyes again for the remainder of the morning. But despite the awkwardness, I find the whole thing pretty heartening.

  It's incredibly gratifying to me. Humbling. The trust Rory's mother is placing in me, especially after everything she's been through. It means the fucking world to me.

  The next few nights are much the same and by the time prom rolls around, Rory has gone more than a week without a nightmare and she's looking rested and radiant.

  The actual event is exactly as I predicted. Tedious and pretentious. But the sight of her in her skin-tone colored dress, the way the color brings out her light Miami-tan—it does something to me. Her hair has been pulled away from her face, but still spills over her shoulders and back in loose waves, and Carl has obviously done her makeup, though it's not as heavy as the last time she did it. She is a vision, and one that makes each of the seemingly thousand photos we pose for in the eighty-five degree weather worth every second.

  It's while we're standing around taking these photos, just after Rory wipes the sheen of sweat from my lip with a tissue, that I have the most trite thought I never imagined I would have. I stand there thinking that one day we'll show these pictures to our grandchildren. And though the thought startles me, it doesn't scare me. On the contrary, I find the idea rather thrilling.

  Suddenly the missing pieces of the vision of my future are utterly clear. Not just the professional part. The part where I come home to the beautiful, badass lawyer. To however many of my kids she's willing to have. It doesn't matter where—an apartment in the city, a house in the suburbs. It only matters that she's there. And as I watch her twist her lips into another forced photo-smile, then break out into giggles when Carl whispers something in her ear, I finally believe she will be.

  She does great during the dance, bouncing around with her friends for a few songs before we wind up sitting around and talking just like I said we would, no triggers in sight. Almost everyone sips from a flask, but I refrain. When a Journey ballad comes on and Rory starts humming absentmindedly, I take her hand and drag her back to the dance floor. She smiles sweetly up at me as she slides her hands up around my neck and starts playing with the hair at my nape while we sway slowly to the music.

  I pull her tighter against my body as I fight to keep my hands above the curve of her tight, round ass. God she makes me crazy. I bring my lips down to hers and kiss her right there on the dance floor. It doesn't matter. There's no one else here. I only see Rory.

  Around midnight we all pile into the party bus, most of our friends pretty tipsy by now, but I'm drunk on Rory's mood. She's relaxed, living in the moment. Not loud or giggly like some of the other girls, just enjoying the night. Every now and then she peeks up at me with this look—like I'm her whole fucking world, and it makes my chest feel so full it could explode.

  We get to East Hampton in a little over an hour. We've all changed into comfortable clothes, Rory in leggings and my varsity shirt, and the satisfaction I feel seeing my last name written across her back is unreal.

  The after-party is tamer than one might expect. There's more drinking, a few joints, and I'm pretty sure Marshall and Luke have been sneaking lines in the bathroom with their dates, but mostly we sit around and do more talking while Dave curates the playlist on the house's sound system.

  There are eight couples and only six bedrooms, but not everyone is exactly planning to sle
ep. Either way, I secured the master, which is in its own wing of the house.

  Rory excuses herself to go to sleep around three a.m., insisting that I stay up and hang out with my friends. I last another five minutes before I make my way upstairs to join her. In those five minutes Rory has passed out on the bedspread. I climb behind her, tug her back against my chest, and close my eyes.

  A few months ago this isn't how I would have imagined my prom night. Now it's how I imagine every night.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Everyone leaves in the party bus the next morning except Sam and me. He tells me he arranged for a car service to take us home tonight so we could spend the day. I don't complain. The beach-front property is gorgeous, and though I knew his uncle was successful, a house like this is almost shockingly luxurious. It isn't warm enough to swim so we wrap a throw blanket around our shoulders and walk along the beach, hand in hand.

  We don't say much. There isn't a whole lot left to be said. For the first time in the longest time, I feel completely present. I'm not stifled by my past or terrified of my future. I'm just here, now, with Sam.

  Sam orders us lunch and we eat out on the pool deck, then we watch a movie on the sofa which turns into a long nap. The whole place is incredibly relaxing. I can't believe Thea's family will get to spend the entire summer here, and I tell Sam so. He tells me we can come down any time we want. That he needs to be in the city during the week to help his uncle with his new hotel, but that he'd be happy to take me back here any weekend—every weekend.

  I stare out the window at the infinite ocean, picturing us here in a couple of weeks when it's summer in earnest. Something about the ocean has always been calming to me. It makes me feel like I fit in the world, or rather, that it doesn't matter whether I do or not. Because the world is an enormous place, with billions of people, and it will go on whether I fit or not. That whatever happens, good or bad, the ocean will still be here, its tides rising and falling, its waves surging and ebbing.