Elle walks away, and I stand here watching her, feeling slightly ill. I don’t know who I’ve become this summer, around her, but I know I want it to end.
Max had the decency to wait until Elle was out of the room yesterday before he laid into me about throwing him against the wall. I deserved way worse from him than I got, under the circumstances.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked once we were alone.
“I could ask you the same question,” I shot back. “I was pretty fucking clear with you that Ginny and Elle were off limits. From what I hear, you decided to ignore that.”
He shook his head. “Then please fill me in and don’t leave out a single detail, because if I’m forgetting about hooking up with one of them, I want to remember every delicious second of it.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t sleep with Elle? Because she was apparently seen leaving your bedroom, in your clothes the other night.”
“Dude, your head is so far up your ass I’m not even sure there’s a point in talking to you right now. But no. I have never laid a finger on Elle. She had to shower in my room because your sister locked her out—something that happens way too often, by the way. If you want to correct a problem, make your sister stop Skyping with Alex up there all fucking day. There’s only one thing they’re using Skype for.”
I flinched. “I can’t believe you just put that image in my head. She’s 19. I’m sure they’re just talking.”
“It’s funny,” said Max, “the way you’re so sure it’s innocent. She’s the same age as Elle, and you sure seem to imagine Elle capable of almost anything, don’t you?”
I wanted to argue with him, but he was right.
Being around Elle is making my brain short-circuit. It’s turning me into someone I no longer respect. I need to get shit under control, or I need to leave the beach. Those are my only options.
Chapter 28
ELLE
I wanted to things to change. The result, however, is almost worse.
James stops running off when I walk in the room. Instead he stays, and I have to watch him struggle to be polite, with his strained smile and minimal eye contact. I still long to seek him out when my shift has ended and he’s sitting on the deck, but it’s muted by dread of what I know I’ll find: the way his smile will flicker out upon seeing me, the way he’ll grow solemn and watchful, removed as if I’m some danger he must guard against.
Ginny apologizes, but she does so stiffly. “I’m sorry about what I said.”
“But why did you say it?” I ask. “And why on Earth would you blame me for James and Allison breaking up? He broke up with her last spring. It had nothing to do with me.”
She struggles with this, flashes of hostility and uncertainty both present at the same time. “I don’t know,” she finally sighs. “Allison said some stuff, and I got carried away.”
“You’ve known me since we were tiny, Ginny. That should trump the opinions of some girl who’s bitter that she got dumped.”
She bites her lip. “Maybe,” she admits, but I don’t feel like she means it.
As if my Campbell-centered problems aren’t enough, almost simultaneously my credit card is declined and Edward emerges on the cover of a tabloid because his wife is leaving him. There’s another picture of me, slightly less grainy than its predecessor. Corinne, one of the few nice people on Edward’s show, texts to say she thinks it’s only a matter of time before my name gets leaked, so I need to be ready.
I don’t panic immediately about the credit card, but there’s a whisper of worry up my spine. For the first time it occurs to me how little I seem to know about my parents. If it’s possible that my mom’s dating an aging rock star and my dad is marrying a girl roughly my age, it’s also possible that he hasn’t been the beacon of financial responsibility I thought he was.
I stand on the deck and take a deep breath before I dial his number, knowing it will be a struggle to sound civil. It would have been anyway, but under these circumstances—his absolute failure to even try to contact me during all of this—it’s twice as hard.
“I’ve been meaning to call,” he says.
“What stopped you?” I ask.
“Your life isn’t the only one that’s gone haywire, Elle.”
I’m not surprised by his attitude. That’s vintage Andrew Grayson. He’s everyone’s best friend and biggest supporter until he registers even a hint of criticism. I guess that’s the reason I’ve never dared argue with him until now: because I didn’t want to lose the small amount of affection he seemed to have for me. But I’m no longer sure it’s worth holding on to.
“Whatever,” I reply. “I’m not calling about that. My AmEx got declined this morning. What’s up?”
“I changed your limit,” he replies. His tone is both defiant and uncertain at once, as if he’s trying to defend something even he doesn’t believe.
“Changed it to what? Zero? Because I only tried to charge $20.”
“Your credit limit is now $250, and it’s for emergencies only. Holly thinks you need to learn some responsibility,” he says.
“Responsible like her, perhaps? Should I get knocked up by my married boss as well?” I spit out.
“I’m not going to listen to this,” he says. “If you want the privileges of being my daughter, then damn well stay put and do what I say next time instead of running off to Delaware. And you’re going to have to reimburse me for the current balance of that card.”
I’m so staggered I can’t speak. The arrangement we had is one he suggested—no, encouraged: I’d spend summers and breaks interning, and he’d cover my expenses. I never got paid a dime during all those years I worked for him.
“And what is the current balance on that card?” I ask.
“About $3000,” he says.
“$3000?! I haven’t charged anything close to that amount!”
“I haven’t paid it off in a while. I think it’s probably those work clothes you bought in New York.”
“You told me to buy those work clothes. You said, ‘Go see Anne at Saks. She’ll take care of you.’”
“You can send me smaller monthly payments until it’s paid off. I’m not trying to be a monster.”
“Too late, Dad.” I laugh. “And you know what? You’re not getting a dime from me. We had an agreement.”
“You’re going to ruin your credit,” he warns.
“It’s your account,” I reply. “So I’m pretty sure it will only ruin yours. We had an agreement.”
“Is that all you can say?” he asks.
“No, I can say other things,” I reply. “Here’s one of them: go fuck yourself.”
I hang up and slam my phone against the deck. The glass on the front of it cracks, and I bury my head in my hands and weep. I thought the universe would come to right the wrongs done to me—the shame of the whole Edward thing, the loss of my internship, my parents’ divorce and the ensuing humiliation. Most of all, the fact that James doesn’t want me. But the universe doesn’t give anything. It seems, right now, that all it does is take.
That night, miraculously, Brian suggests there are extra shifts available if I’d like to pick them up. I’m still leaving the beach, but until I can go home, the money will help.
Toward the end of my shift, I stand with Kristy, watching her last customer nurse his two-hour-old beer. Her boyfriend, Matt, has been off for over an hour, and he sits at the bar waiting for her with decreasing patience.
“Jesus,” he sighs. “He’s never going to leave.”
“I’ve got this,” says James. He changes the channel from baseball to HGTV, and mere seconds later, the guy is waving for his check.
Kristy goes to the back to settle up, and James turns to me. “Did Brian tell you there are extra shifts available?” he asks, not quite meeting my eye.
“Yeah, he told me,” I say. “It’s perfect. I’ve had too much time on my hands here.”
“Don’t push yourself too hard. I’ve got money saved up from
last summer if you’re ever in a pinch.”
There’s no way this is a coincidence.
“You heard my phone call, didn’t you?”
He shifts uncomfortably and hesitates, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not to lie. “I didn’t mean to,” he says. “I was lifting weights under the deck.”
“I probably sounded like a spoiled brat.”
“No,” he argues. “Your dad is an asshole, in a hundred ways. He always was. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed listening to you tell him off.” He grins. “You’ve got quite a mouth on you, Elle. I never thought I’d hear the kid who could name every single My Little Pony character tell her dad to go fuck himself.”
I laugh, a little unwillingly. “Not my finest moment.”
He smiles then, reluctantly, before turning away. “It was one of them.”
Chapter 29
ELLE
I know when I see that my mother is calling me, of her own volition, that I will not like what she has to say. She asks how I am without waiting for me to answer, which I suppose is for the best since I wouldn’t have a single positive thing to tell her. James remains wary. Ginny is out of town for the next week, traveling with the senator, but she barely managed to say goodbye when she left.
My mother goes on at great length about how “rad” Tommy’s new album is (I somehow manage not to mention that no one has used that word since the last time he was famous), and I passively watch Max and James through the glass door as they get ready for a full day of golf and partying (Max’s plan, of course).
“So I have something to tell you,” she says. “I wanted you to hear it from me and not the papers.”
Yes, that would be a novel way to learn bad news, Mom.
“Tommy and I are engaged.”
I feel curiously removed, unsurprised, as if I’ve been waiting for this moment. It’s always been as if I’m the parent and she’s the headstrong teenager—making one bad, impulsive decision after the next. I guess I should be relieved it’s not cocaine addiction or pregnancy. James shoots me a questioning glance on his way to the shed.
“You’ve only dated him for a few months, Mom.”
“When you know, you just know.” She sighs happily.
“It took you nine months to choose what color BMW you wanted, but you can pick a husband in two?”
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she says. “Or are you only happy when there’s a wedding in Grand Cayman you get to attend?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh,” she says uncomfortably. “Nothing.”
“No, it’s not nothing,” I reply. “Who’s getting married in Grand Cayman?”
But I already know. I ask because I want her to tell me I’m wrong. Something she does not do.
“Your father. They emailed save-the-date cards, which is so tacky, but what do you expect from a child bride?”
I sit there holding the phone in front of me when our call ends. There’s a sharp pain in my chest. I wish I could cry to blunt its edge, but nothing comes. What the hell is happening to my life? It’s as if the world has spun too hard, hard enough that I’ve been cut loose from every single thing that tethered me. Some of those cords were thinner than others. Ryan I’d known less than a year. But Ginny? My parents? I’ve known them the longest. And it seems as if they’ve all decided, simultaneously, to set me free.
James climbs back up the steps with his golf bag.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“Yep.” I nod, but the word is vacant, a shell for all the things I really feel.
He pulls a chair up beside me and slides the phone out of my hand. “No, it’s not. Who was that?”
“You should go,” I reply. “You’re going to miss your tee time.”
He reaches his hand out, and it circles my arm. The pad of his thumb, just the tiniest bit rough, runs over the smooth skin of my wrist.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”
I pull my arm from his grasp. “It’s a little late to act like you care now, don’t you think?” My voice isn’t angry. It’s empty.
“Elle,” he croons, and the sound of it tweaks something in my chest. “Of course I care. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
I sigh, staring at my chipped pedicure because I can’t meet his eyes. “My mom’s getting married.”
“Wow.” He pauses. “That’s…fast.”
“My dad’s getting married, too, apparently,” I say flatly, glancing at him. The words don’t seem real. “He didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
He looks at me blankly. “Jesus. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. “Me neither.”
“Let’s go do something today,” he suggests. “We could take the ferry to Cape May, if you want. Have you ever been?”
“That’s sweet of you, James,” I say, with a smile that is small but real. “But you’ve already got plans.”
“Max will understand.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m working a double today anyhow.”
Max pokes his head out. “Dude. Let’s roll.”
James stands reluctantly. “You sure?”
“I’m fine.”
“Things aren’t always what they appear,” he says quietly. “Don’t start interpreting all this yet. Your parents love you. They just happen to be in a shitty place right now.”
What about you, though, James? I ask silently.
I generally hate working doubles, but today it’s a blessing, preventing me from dwelling on my mother’s impulsivity or the fact that my father seems to feel I’m a mistake he’s moving on from. Worse than any of that, though, is the idea of James staying out with Max. What if he brings a girl home? What if he doesn’t come home at all?
The house is dark when I get back, and it feels lonelier than it should. The only calls I got all night were from Edward, who’s taken to leaving voicemails on my phone that I no longer bother listening to.
I’ve just reached the kitchen and kicked off my shoes when James stumbles through the front door. Alone. The relief I feel provokes a bizarre desire to burst into tears. I didn’t cry about my dad’s failure to invite me to his wedding, but this—James home alone—would be enough to make me weep for hours if I allowed it.
“Hi,” he says, bleary-eyed but keeping his distance.
He’s as drunk as I’ve ever seen him, yet he still remembers to be wary of me.
“You’re shit-faced,” I say, walking to the refrigerator.
He gives me a drunken half-smile. “Possibly.”
“Where’s Max?”
“I left him,” says James, running a hand over his face. “I was worried about you. You were so sad earlier.”
I’m touched by this, and I don’t want to be. “That’s sweet, James, but I’m fine.”
He walks forward and bangs his shoulder, then leans against the offending wall and stares at the ground.
“You need to go to bed.” I set my water on the counter and go to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and attempting to pull him—a nearly impossible feat as he outweighs me by at least 80 pounds.
“Don’t,” he warns. He tries to shrug me off but staggers sideways instead, pulling me with him. He smells like fabric softener, bourbon, and the sea. I never realized how amazing that combination could be until now.
“Stand up straight. You’ve got to help me here. I can’t do this by myself.”
“I don’t want you to help me,” he argues.
“You’re being ridiculous,” I say. “Come on.”
“Elle,” he grumbles. “I’m trying so hard…just don’t.”
“Trying so hard to do what?” I huff in exasperation as I continue to tug him toward his room. “Because you’re sure not trying to walk.”
He leans sideways against the wall and closes his eyes. “You,” he says. “Trying to stay away from you.”
My heart pounds thick and sluggish
in my ears, and suddenly I am no more capable of propelling us forward than he is. “Why?”
He pulls me into him, his hands at my hips, resting his forehead against mine. “I can’t even think when you’re in the same room.” He sighs. “I want you so much I can’t even think.”
That airborne feeling I had when Max suggested James might like me? It’s nothing compared to this. This is a wave slamming into me so hard and so fast I don’t even have time to brace myself.
“You said you didn’t like me that way,” I breathe.
He closes his eyes. “I lied. I don’t want to think about you that way for a lot of reasons. But I do.” The words come out mumbled, but they feel real.
His hands move to my face, long fingers resting against my jaw and cheekbones, holding me steady while his head lowers.
I should stop him. He has no idea what he’s doing. I should stop him.
He leans in and finds my mouth, softly at first. A sweet, unhurried kiss, his tongue opening my lips, his hands sliding back into my hair.
“God, I love your mouth,” he groans. He sucks at my lower lip, wrenching a gasp from my throat that surprises even me.
I really should stop him. I know I should.
And then his tongue finds mine once more, slow and insidious, making the whole world fall away, aside from the pressure of him against me.
His hands leave my hair, roll down my back until they rest at my hips once more, and then he pulls me against him, where I can tell with absolute certainty that one part of his anatomy is ready to see this through to the end.
But he doesn’t know what he’s doing. And this isn’t the choice he would make sober. I pull away.
“Come on, James. You’re drunk.” I tug him again, and this time he follows me to his room.
I pull the covers down, but as he falls backward, he pulls me with him, and we land together with me on top, unable to remember why I really shouldn’t be here. My breath stutters to a halt as his fingers run along my jawbone, his eyes fixed on mine, half-question and half-plea.
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