Love and Other Train Wrecks

Home > Other > Love and Other Train Wrecks > Page 20
Love and Other Train Wrecks Page 20

by Leah Konen


  I should tell her it was great getting to know her but, for obvious reasons, we should never talk again.

  I should tell her not to tell Rina, that it would only hurt her further. I should tell her to play down any stories about the stranger she met on the train, the stranger that Rina has already at least partially heard about—I’ve seen Ammy texting.

  I know I should do all these things.

  I owe it to the girl I loved for so long. The girl whose heart I broke, even if I didn’t mean to, even if our relationship was far from perfect.

  Even so, at the same time . . .

  I don’t want to do any of this.

  I want to kiss Ammy again. I want to do more. I want to show her Hunter’s campus in the city and get bagels the size of our heads. I want to watch bad movies with her. I want to take her to my favorite breakfast spot in Williamsburg, find out how she likes her eggs or if she even likes eggs at all. I want to argue with her about what would be faster—the subway or Citi Bike—and I want to know about her life, too. I want to go to Virginia, meet her mom, meet her friends. I want to ask her why she doesn’t play lacrosse anymore. I want to know whether she calls it a remote control, like my dad, or a clicker, like my mom.

  I want to tell her none of this matters, that we can find a way to work it out.

  “Ammy,” I say.

  Immediately, I hear her breathing stop, as if she’s holding it, playing dead. She’s not asleep. I knew she wouldn’t be.

  “Ammy,” I say again.

  There’s nothing. Her breathing resumes. She doesn’t say a word.

  AMMY

  5:31 A.M.

  “AMMY?” HE SAYS FOR THE THIRD TIME.

  Of course I’m not asleep, given that we only stopped arguing about ten minutes ago, but I’m exhausted.

  Because I let myself feel something. I let myself break my own rule. And look what happened—I betrayed my new sister.

  Yeah, I didn’t know it, but I did it just the same. What if she ever found out? How crushed would she be? I spent the night with the guy who broke her heart so bad she deleted him from her whole life. So bad that she never even spoke to him again.

  Even if he didn’t mean to hurt her, even if all is fair in love and war or whatever, still. He was hers.

  It’s against the stepsister code.

  Even the fake stepsister code.

  My friendship with Kat is the only good thing to ever come out of my dad’s betrayal.

  It doesn’t matter that we only spent ten days together, because those ten days mattered to me.

  I’d always said that Dara and Simone were like sisters to me, but with Kat, it was different.

  On my second night there, there was a knock on my door, just as I was reading and about to drift off to sleep. It was Kat. She came in, complained about Bea’s snoring—they were doubling up so I could have my own room for the week—and she asked if she could sleep in my room instead. She grabbed a pillow from the bed and plopped down on the small couch in the corner. “Want to watch some Friends reruns or something?”

  I actually hated Friends, but I didn’t tell her that. I booted up my laptop and we picked one out on Netflix. She crawled into bed with me, and I propped the tiny screen in front of us. The show took on a new hilarity with Kat. Something about the way she laughed like crazy made Courteney Cox and Jennifer Aniston just a tad less annoying. We ended up watching four episodes and passing out sometime after 2:00 a.m.

  It’s not like we were besties. It’s not like we shared every secret of our lives with each other or anything. It’s not like we even ever hung out more than those ten days. But after I left, when I went back to school, we kept in touch. Texted each other stupid things and complained about our parents. The usual. She wasn’t my sister; she wasn’t even my proper stepsister—she still isn’t, because my dad and Sophie’s ceremony carries all of zero legal weight—but I had a feeling that she could be.

  And now I’ve screwed that up.

  For a second, I remember what it was like to kiss Noah, how intense and addictive it felt to have his body on top of mine, skin on skin. I can still feel my hands in his hair, on his scalp, pulling him toward me. The memory sends an electric shock all the way through me, makes the tips of my fingers tingle and my stomach churn. My mind knows the truth, but it’s like my body hasn’t figured out how to catch up.

  My skin suddenly feels fiery, and as I listen to him breathe—obviously not asleep, either—it’s like I crave him. Part of me wants to crawl into bed, cuddle up to him, hold him tight, kiss him again, take everything off, feel what he’s like beneath the Steelers jersey. Part of me doesn’t want to stop until we’re one.

  Part of me thinks that none of this is fair. That Kat had him already, that clearly their relationship wasn’t that good anyway. That maybe this is my chance to have something real.

  That everyone else is fine with hurting others to get what they want.

  Why can’t I be, too?

  I shake my head vigorously. I pull the covers up higher, as if I can protect myself, as if I can trap my stupid body with a mind of its own underneath all the layers.

  I focus on the sound of the wind outside, the quietness around us—there can’t be many cars on the road right now, if any.

  “Ammy,” he says again, and his voice sounds raw.

  But I can’t.

  Because if I let myself give him even the tiniest of openings, who knows what will happen?

  Then I really might just betray her.

  PART THREE

  HOMECOMING

  NOAH

  7:02 A.M.

  THE LIGHT SEEPS THROUGH THE WINDOW.

  It’s after seven, and I still haven’t had any luck falling back asleep.

  Frustrated, I toss my Kindle aside and turn toward Ammy.

  She’s on her side, facing me. She’s kicked most of the comforters and blankets away, just as I have. Either the heat started working a lot better, or it’s not as cold out now that the sun has risen. Her legs are bent, and her body is curled up into a little ball. One hand is underneath her pillow, and the other is flung overhead like someone tossed a doll and it didn’t quite land right.

  By my count, and her light snoring, I’d guess she fell asleep somewhere around six.

  I might as well just accept it. I’m not going to sleep any more today.

  I turn away, kick back the remaining linens, get out of bed. My phone’s almost dead, and when I touch hers, it’s black and turned off. Between the making out and the fighting, neither of us managed to plug in our phones last night or this morning.

  I dig in my bag for my charger, grab an extra one, too, then plug in both mine and hers.

  Then I load up the maps on mine. It’s still fifty-five miles to Hudson, about an hour, assuming the roads are okay to drive.

  I grab my jacket and creep to the other side of the room, skipping my shoes because hiking boots sound like too much of a pain to try and get on, then turn the handle.

  The open door floods the room with light. I don’t want to wake Ammy, so I step out immediately, blinking my eyes to adjust, trying to ignore the icy chill of the concrete balcony on my bare feet.

  I pull the door almost shut so a big gust of cold air doesn’t snake into the room, but I don’t shut it all the way. The key is somewhere in my wallet, which is somewhere in the jeans I left in the bathroom. I don’t want to go back in there and risk stepping on another bag of junk food, waking her again.

  I peer over the edge of the balcony. I can’t see the highway, because there are too many trees, but I can see the road we drove in on, and it looks much clearer already. There are snowdrifts on the side, but it’s mostly asphalt and slush; the snow isn’t falling anymore. The storm is finally over.

  Looks like those fifty-five miles won’t be so bad after all.

  The knowledge is comforting and scary all at once. I know it’s going to be awkward, every single minute of the last leg of our trip, but at the same time, I don’t want
it to end.

  I bounce from one foot to the other as the cold starts to get to me. Just as I’m about to head back in, there’s a strong gust of wind and an unmistakable . . .

  Click.

  I whip around to confirm.

  Damn it.

  I jiggle the handle. Nothing happens. It’s locked. And even bootleg motels have good locks. I can’t even try the credit card trick, because all I have on me is a pair of athletic shorts, a cotton tee that’s feeling increasingly thin by the moment, and a winter coat with disappointingly empty pockets.

  There’s a sliver of space where the shade doesn’t cover the window, and I peek through. Ammy is still asleep. I lift my hand to the window and briefly think about knocking on it, waking her up, but I know she’s exhausted. I know she needs sleep.

  So I drop my hand to my side. After all we’ve been through, the least I can do is let her sleep.

  I STEP THROUGH the sliding glass doors into the lobby, my feet already freezing from walking the length of the balcony, down the stairs, along the sidewalk, and into here.

  The smell of pancakes and bacon meets me. My stomach rumbles.

  I step up to the desk, put on my most convincing smile for the older woman behind it. I think of what my public speaking professor said last semester: Dress for how you’d like to be perceived. Nothing I can do about that now, though.

  I go for it anyway.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Did you forget something?” she asks, nodding to my feet. “You know, technically we’re not supposed to serve anyone without shoes.”

  I want to make a joke about how I’d expect nothing less from the über-discerning Super 8, but I refrain.

  “I’m so sorry.” I glance at the plastic name tag affixed to her stiff polo shirt. “Angela. It’s just that I got locked out of my room, and I was wondering if I there was any way I could get another key?”

  She looks at me, her eyes daring me to explain why I was outside without shoes in the first place, but she starts typing on the computer.

  “Room number?”

  “Two oh one,” I say.

  She types some more. “Looks like you already received your two complimentary copies,” she says. “Extra keys are five dollars.”

  “Fine,” I say, reaching into my pocket almost on autopilot.

  Damn it again.

  “I don’t have my wallet,” I say. “It’s locked in my room. Can I charge it to the room?”

  She nods. “Just need an ID to put it on your room charge.”

  I sigh loudly. “But I don’t have an ID. It’s all in my wallet. Everything’s in the room. Don’t you get it?” I feel my voice rising, but I try to calm down.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “And there’s no need for that tone.”

  I clear my throat. “Can’t you make an exception? I can come right back down with five dollars. I promise. You don’t even want to know about the last twenty-four hours I’ve had. I’m desperate,” I say, feeling my eyes on the edge of tears. Being embarrassed but not caring at all.

  The lady just stares at me, completely unsympathetic.

  “Please?”

  AMMY

  7:18 A.M.

  I SEE AN ALERT ON MY PHONE AS SOON AS I WAKE UP.

  It’s plugged in. Noah must have done it.

  I look over at Noah’s side of the room. His bed is empty, like he’s only just gotten out of it, and the bathroom door is open, so it’s not like he’s in there.

  He probably went down to get coffee or something.

  I pick up the phone. It’s quarter after seven. There are two messages from Kat. I go into my messages to read them, already feeling raw and exposed, like this phone is a two-way mirror, and if I even click on her name, she’ll be able to see what’s happened, know what we’ve done.

  But I do anyway. Both are from last night, around midnight.

  Hunter, LOL, watch out for Hunter guys. My douchey ex goes there

  And then five minutes later.

  But you must tell me if anything goes down . . . I want all the deets!

  My heart sinks. I feel so dirty, like I’ve done something so wrong. What in the world am I going to tell her? There’s no way out of this but to lie. I don’t like liars, and I hate that my dad lied to my mom—and me—for so long.

  But I have to lie to Kat, because anything else would be wrong.

  I imagine the conversation playing out, her coming to the door, wrapping me in a bony Kat hug, dragging me into my room, closing the door, and demanding all the details. She’ll want to hear all about my night with a stranger.

  And I’ll have to lie: “Oh, nothing. It wasn’t like that. We just got stuck is all. Now tell me—how was the wedding? What did I miss?”

  It will sound as fake as my dad and Sophie’s fake wedding. But she’ll believe me, because she’s Kat. She’s loyal, at least until you fall from her graces. She’s made it clear in the short time I’ve known her that she trusts me.

  I don’t want to lose her loyalty.

  I should probably let her know when I’m coming back, but I can’t do that until I find Noah. I head to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth. Then I grab my sneakers and pull them on without messing with the laces—for once in the last twenty-four hours, they’re dry. I don’t bother changing out of my clothes from last night. All I want to do is find Noah so I can know when we’re getting home and when this will all be over.

  I grab my key from the nightstand and head to the door.

  But I open it to see Noah standing there, no shoes, no proper clothing—nothing but shorts and a T-shirt and his stupid jacket.

  His chin is shaking from the cold, and he bites his lip as if in pain. His eyes are puffy, like he’s been crying or something.

  “Jesus, what happened to you?”

  NOAH

  7:22 A.M.

  MY ADVENTURE OF THE LAST FIFTEEN MINUTES WAS completely pointless.

  I step closer, and Ammy moves to let me in the room. I feel relief as soon as my feet hit the crappy carpet. It may not be plush and luxurious, but at least it’s not concrete. I sit down on my bed cross-legged and pull the blanket over my legs, trying to warm them up.

  “Are you okay?” she asks. “You look awful.”

  I laugh weakly. I hold up the little white piece of plastic that’s caused me so much drama. “I forgot my key.”

  Ammy shakes her head and sits down opposite me. “Why did you go outside without shoes?”

  I shrug and look down at my feet, unable to meet her gaze I’m so embarrassed.

  “I just stepped out on the balcony to check to see if there was still snow on the road and if driving was going to be a problem. I had the door cracked open, but it got windy, and it blew shut, and then I had to go downstairs, and because it’s a Super 8, they charge you for extra keys, but I didn’t have any money, and the lady would only charge it to the room if I had an ID, and I looked like a creep with no shoes anyway, so it’s not like she really had much motivation to help me, and so I went into the breakfast area, and I just asked a bunch of people until this older man took pity on me and gave me five dollars. That’s how I got the key.” I sigh. “So now we have three. In case you need an extra.”

  I look up, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. I’m sure this whole story has made her even angrier.

  She starts laughing.

  “I know,” I say. “The whole thing is pathetic.” I gesture around the room. “All of this is pathetic. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” She stops laughing, but it looks like it takes some effort. “Just, why didn’t you, you know, knock on the window? I would have let you in. I’m not evil.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I figured we’d already been through enough. I didn’t think depriving you of REM sleep was the best idea.”

  She laughs again, but then she stops, looks at me, her eyes quiet, thoughtful. “That’s sweet,” she says.

  I think for a second that we could fix this,
but then she looks down.

  I do, too, rubbing at my feet through the blanket. They’re starting to feel a bit better. So I’ve got that going for me, at least.

  “Noah,” she says, and I look up immediately, hoping against hope that she’s thinking what I’m thinking, that we can find a way through this.

  “Er, you want to get breakfast?” she asks. “Turns out Cheetos and Honey Buns don’t exactly make the most filling dinner.”

  It’s not what I wanted to hear, but I’ll take it.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I do.”

  AMMY

  7:28 A.M.

  IT SMELLS LIKE PANCAKES AS SOON AS WE GET IN THE door. The older woman at the desk eyes Noah up and down. “I see you’ve elected to wear shoes this time,” she says, mild disdain in her voice.

  Noah smiles sheepishly. “I did.”

  “Come on,” I say, following the smell of grilled sugar and butter to the dining area. “Ignore her.”

  There are a few trays lined up against the wall. Not-so-fresh fruit in a basket in the corner. Fake, dairy-less creamers in a variety of flavors next to tall pots of coffee. A waffle maker in the corner. It’s not the downtown Asheville Sheraton continental breakfast, that’s for sure, but it’s not so bad for a cheap motel, all things considered. I step up to the end of the table and grab a plate.

  Noah ignores the buffet, making a beeline for a table at the other end of the room, pulling out some money and handing it to an older guy who looks to be on his second plate of undercooked bacon. I can hear his embarrassed “sorry and thanks” from across the room.

  Poor guy, I think.

  And then not—not poor guy at all. Noah is reckless, with his relationships, with Kat, with his train trips, with me. It’s not surprising that he’d recklessly step out into the winter cold without so much as a room key in his hand.

  But he means well, the other part of me, the devil on my shoulder, argues. He only suggested we leave the train because he could see how upset I was. He only broke up with Kat because he knew it wasn’t right. He only kissed me because he felt exactly what I did, that there was something special, different, between us.

 

‹ Prev