“Oh,” I said, certain I wasn’t hiding my surprise well. Surprise that Rush was dating someone with a child and that he’d admitted it to me.
“Her kid is in the football league I coach. That’s how I met Shawna. We only see each other after her son is asleep or when he’s at his dad’s house. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know how Mom and Dad would feel about the whole thing. So for now, it’s easier to keep it to myself.”
I felt closer to my brother than I had in years. “That’s, you know, very cool of you. To stick with her even though it’s complicated.”
“Well, she’s really great. Down to earth. Even you’ll like her.”
I felt like I had to share my story after that, which was probably the whole point of Rush’s confession. Except Rush wasn’t the sneaky or malicious type, so maybe not. “Enzo and I aren’t dating, so you know. But I kind of like him. I think he likes me too.”
Rush leaned over and ruffled my hair, which he hadn’t done since I was about ten. “Just be careful, OK?”
“Does this mean I have your approval or whatever?”
He hesitated. “I’m not going to say I approve. But I want you to be happy.”
“Enzo makes me happy.”
“Good.” Rush gave Enzo’s painting another long look before heading for the door. “So should I tell Mom you’re eating here?”
“Sure.”
He hesitated in the doorway.
“What?” I asked.
“There’s no good way to ask this.”
“That’s a terrible way to start into a question.”
“It’s just… Do you really think you like Enzo, or are you just trying to one-up Lizzie?”
I stared at my brother, trying to decide if I was angry or insulted or if I even cared at all. But before I could figure it out, Mom called to us from the kitchen, wanting to know if we were eating or not.
• • •
My dad grimaced every time he took a bite.
“Honestly, James,” my mom said. “It tastes like turkey.”
“I don’t understand why we can’t have the real thing. You want to buy organic, fine. We’ll spend the extra money. That doesn’t mean we need to be vegan.”
“CJ eats raw,” I said. “Just be happy Mom hasn’t gone that far.”
“Who’s CJ?” my dad asked.
“One of the hippies. The one with the long hair who thinks he’s Jesus.”
“That could be any of them,” my dad said.
My mom sighed. “You could try to get to know them. The kids have.”
The truth was my mom was right about dinner. You almost couldn’t tell that we were eating tofu or whatever it was. But I wasn’t going to side with her and leave my dad hanging. Instead, I listened to them bicker and eventually zoned out.
I thought about the conversation I’d just had with Rush and how it was sort of obnoxious but also sort of nice. I entertained the idea of confiding in him. I could pull him aside after dinner, tell him about how Enzo had kissed me, and blurt out everything that kiss made me think and feel. Rush would make jokes, and he might even say upsetting things about how he didn’t like Enzo. But he would listen. He would care. And that might make all the other stuff worth it.
“Hawthorn? Are you with us?”
“Huh? Sorry.”
“I asked how work is,” my dad said.
“Fine. Boring. But better than working at a fast-food place, I guess.”
“Have you taken your car to the mechanic?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“Wasn’t that the point of you getting the job?”
I shrugged. “I’ll get to it. I’ve been busy.”
My dad frowned but switched his attention to Rush. They talked about football for a while, and I zoned out again until someone said Lizzie Lovett’s name.
“What about Lizzie?” I asked.
Rush rolled his eyes.
“There was an article in the paper today,” my mom said. “An interview with the police chief talking about not giving up on cold cases.”
“They’re wasting their time. She’s long gone, one way or another,” Rush said.
“You don’t know that,” I said.
“I know as much about it as anyone else.”
“Bullshit.”
My parents exchanged a glance, and just like that, their argument over tofu was forgotten, and they were united against Rush and me, alert and ready to prevent a fight at the dinner table.
“What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Do you remember what a huge idiot you acted like when Lizzie first went missing? And now you don’t even care.”
“I got over it.”
My mom opened her mouth to speak, but I beat her to it.
“Got over it? Like it’s that easy? One day, you’re shuffling around the house as if the world’s ended, and the next day, it’s like nothing happened. Seriously, you were acting like you were the one dating her.”
“I guess someone needed to, since her actual boyfriend doesn’t seem to give a shit about her.”
“He’s not her boyfriend anymore!” I slammed my hands down on the table. An extremely uncomfortable silence fell over the room, and I realized how loud I’d shouted.
“That’s enough from both of you,” my mom said quietly.
Rush and I glared at each other across the table. I said “Rush is dating some chick with a kid. He’s hiding it from you ’cause he thinks you’ll judge him.”
Then I got up and walked out of the room.
• • •
I was pretty sure I was a terrible sister. And daughter. And friend. And girlfriend, if that was a title I could even claim. I was a terrible everything. I paced back and forth for what felt like hours, not wanting to leave the safety of my room. Finally, I decided to suck it up and do the right thing.
I caught Rush as he was leaving the house, on his way to see his girlfriend probably.
“Hey, wait,” I said, following him out onto the porch.
It was cold outside. I hadn’t put on shoes or socks. I crossed my arms in front of me and tried to hold in the warmth.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could take back what I said.”
Rush stuck his hands in his pockets. “Let’s forget it, OK? I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to antagonize you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You accepted my apology unusually fast.”
Rush mimicked my expression. “How would you know? I’m not sure you’ve ever apologized before.”
“Well, not without being forced to anyway,” I said. Rush laughed, but I hadn’t entirely been joking. I really wasn’t a very good sister to him. “I hope Mom and Dad weren’t too weirded out. About your girlfriend, I mean.”
“They had to find out sometime.”
“Well. Sorry again. I’m glad we’re OK.”
Rush ruffled my hair for the second time that night. “Later, Hawthorn.”
Then he bounded down the porch steps and across the yard toward his car. I went back into the house where it was warm. I pulled the afghan from the back of the couch, wrapped myself in it, and curled up in an armchair.
Mostly, I thought about how maybe, probably, when everyone you know tells you the same thing, it’s a good idea to at least listen to what they’re saying, no matter what you think is right. But I thought of other things too, like how there were other people who still believed that Lizzie could come back, and how I always ended up being awful to the people I cared about. And I thought of Enzo too, of course. He’s what I was thinking about when I fell asleep.
Chapter 29
A Strange New Place
The longer I kept the kiss to myself, the bigger it grew. It started to feel like the most important thing that ever happened in the history of the universe. I needed to let out my secret. I n
eeded a friend. I almost wished Lizzie were around, because I could have talked to her, and she probably would have understood my turmoil. Though she might not be thrilled that I was kissing her boyfriend.
Sundog’s wisdom about having myself to talk to popped into my head. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to give it a shot.
I grabbed my jacket and a notebook and went to the front porch. I tried to draw my feelings. Tried to let everything in my head and heart run out of my body through my hand and reappear on the paper in front of me. It only took about two seconds to realize that wasn’t going to work. Enzo was the artist, not me.
I turned to a blank page. I stared at it. Then I started writing.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who got kissed that way.
It was a movie kiss.
A fairy-tale kiss.
It was everything I’d ever imagined but didn’t think was real.
One moment, we’re in the woods, talking. Arguing, almost. The next, Enzo was kissing me passionately.
Do other girls get kissed like that all the time?
Maybe every kiss Lizzie Lovett ever had was just like that one.
Or maybe my kiss with Enzo was special. Not just when measured against the other kisses I’ve experienced but when measured against all the kisses ever.
Well. Maybe not ever.
Kissing Enzo was fireworks. It was the first day of summer vacation. It was waking up from a nap and finding out the world changed while you were asleep, became a millions times brighter and better.
What if everything that’s happened since the morning I found out Lizzie was missing was all to get me to this moment, to this totally strange and awesome new place?
What if—
The sound of tires on gravel interrupted me. Connor’s car was pulling into the driveway. I flipped the cover of my notebook closed and set it on the swing.
“Hey, Thorny,” he called, making his way across the yard and up the porch steps.
“Rush is out.”
“He just texted. He’ll be here any minute.”
Connor leaned against the porch railing, waiting. I wanted to get back to writing.
“You can wait inside,” I offered.
“Trying to get rid of me?”
I shrugged.
“So, I hear you inspired some art.”
For a second, I thought he was talking about my writing, and my face went hot. Then I realized how stupid that was. Last time I checked, Connor wasn’t psychic.
“Rush told you about the painting?”
This time, Connor was the one who shrugged. We were both silent for a moment. Then he said, “Can I see it?”
That’s how Connor ended up in my bedroom, where I was pretty sure he’d never set foot before.
“I imagine Rush didn’t give it a good review,” I said.
Connor stepped close to the canvas. “It’s good, I think. Technically, at least.”
“You don’t sound very impressed.”
He laughed. “I like it just fine. Why are you getting defensive? Don’t you like it?”
“Yeah, I like it. I like that Enzo painted it for me. He said it’s supposed to represent the way I see the world.”
Connor continued to study the painting, which made me feel self-conscious, as if my mind were laid out in front of him.
“Enzo has this painting he did of Lizzie,” I said, not knowing why I was sharing but unable to stop myself. “Every time I went to his apartment, I saw the painting and thought about what it must feel like to be her. To be on someone’s mind so much that you were his muse.”
“And this time, you got to be his inspiration.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Only he didn’t paint you. At least, not the way he painted Lizzie.”
I was going to argue, but a sinking feeling crept into my stomach, the kind you get when you realize something that should have been obvious from the start. “No. I guess he didn’t.”
Connor was right. My painting was different. It wasn’t about seeing me for who I was; it was about being me. Enzo wanted to put on Hawthorn-glasses to view the world, because it was better than his own reality.
Connor glanced over at me, and I must have had a weird look on my face. “Hey, don’t get upset, Thorny. I was just talking. I don’t know anything about art.”
I looked at the painting for a long time. Suddenly, I hated its stupid surreal colors and all its little quirks. The painting was juvenile. It was naive. It was cute but not beautiful, not charming, not breathtaking like Lizzie’s. I hated the painting.
“I’m an idiot,” I said.
“What? Why?”
“When Enzo gave me the painting, I felt special. And it turns out it isn’t about me at all.”
“Sure it is,” Connor said.
“Not like Lizzie’s though. I won’t ever be her.”
“Why would you want to be?”
I turned away from Enzo’s painting. I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore. “I just wanted to know what it felt like. To be so…I don’t know. Lovable, I guess.”
Connor chuckled dryly. “Lovable isn’t exactly the first word I’d use to describe Lizzie.”
“You’re just saying that,” I mumbled. It was nice of Connor to comfort me, but it didn’t change what we both knew was true—no one would ever look at me the way they looked at Lizzie Lovett.
“No, I’m not. Lizzie was…magnetic. But once you started talking to her, you realized there was no substance. She’s the kind of person who can be summed up in one sentence. You’re strange and complicated and sometimes really frustrating, but that’s what makes you interesting, Hawthorn. Doesn’t that mean something?”
I wanted to respond, but my mind was racing, and I couldn’t get my mouth to form words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. Connor had listed everything I was insecure about and acted like they were good things.
“If I’m so interesting, why did Lizzie have guys lining up to date her?”
Connor shrugged and looked away from me. “Maybe Lizzie put herself out there more. Gave more guys a chance.”
I had put myself out there with Enzo though. I’d given him a million chances. He was the one who was conflicted. He was the one who pulled back from our kiss, who wasn’t available when I needed him, who painted a picture that practically screamed that I’d never be as good as Lizzie in his eyes.
I needed to talk to Enzo right away. I wasn’t going to let him dodge my questions anymore. Maybe Lizzie didn’t like to analyze feelings, but I needed some answers.
“What are you thinking?” Connor asked, and I realized I’d been lost in my thoughts for a long time.
“I need to find my car keys,” I said.
• • •
I got to Enzo’s apartment as the sun was setting. I had to knock on the door three times before he answered. His hair was messier than usual, and his clothes were wrinkled.
“Hawthorn. I was sleeping.”
“Now? I guess artists don’t restrict themselves to schedules, huh?”
“Is something wrong?”
“Can I come in?”
Enzo opened the door and gestured for me to enter. I walked in and tried to keep my gaze off the Lizzie painting. I failed. This time, she didn’t look so serene. She looked smug. She was smirking at me because we both knew that Enzo wouldn’t ever want me the way he’d wanted her.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Enzo asked.
I turned back to face him. But I had no idea what to say. What was I going to do? Accuse him of liking another girl more than me?
“I want you to see me the way you see her,” I blurted.
“You mean Lizzie? Hawthorn, you two are very different people.”
“Clearly,” I said, stealing an
other glance at her painting.
“And you’re awesome,” he said, stepping closer to me. “You know I think you’re awesome.”
“But you mean awesome like you want to have my perspective on the world. Not awesome like you want to date me.”
“Are they exclusive?”
I crossed my arms and stared at him.
“Come on,” he said. “It’s not like you went into this situation thinking of romance. You just wanted to find a werewolf.”
“And what did you want? What do you want?”
Enzo sighed. He looked like he wanted to be somewhere else. “You know what I wanted. I wanted to believe Lizzie was alive. That she left on her own and her disappearance had nothing to do with me.”
“You used me to make yourself feel better about your missing girlfriend.”
“Jesus, Hawthorn. Yeah, I used you, OK? We were using each other.”
“And now where are we?”
“Standing here arguing about whether or not I like you as much as you think I should.”
At that moment, I hated him. I wanted him to accidentally slam his hand in a car door. I wanted his ice cream to fall off the cone and onto the pavement on a really hot day. I wanted him to read a really great mystery, only to find someone had ripped out the end pages where it was solved.
“Yeah right, Enzo. The starving artist in you is eating this up. You look for conflict so you can have something to be philosophical about. For all I know, people are right, and you actually did kill Lizzie—just so you could let the guilt torment you.”
“Not cool, Hawthorn.” His expression darkened.
I knew I’d crossed a line but couldn’t bring myself to care.
“Yeah, well. There are a lot of uncool things happening right now.”
Enzo sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I feel like I’m in high school again.”
I was angry, but the other emotion slowly creeping up bothered me more. Hurt. I felt like I might cry, and it probably showed on my face, and I resented Enzo even more, because he could see it.
“Hawthorn, you’ve got it in your head that I’m supposed to, I don’t know, be the hero of your story. But I’m not. Life doesn’t work like that, OK? You need to let people be who they are, not who you want them to be. Stop making everything so complicated.”
The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett Page 22