I know she means it as a joke, or that’s how she wants me to take it, but there’s an undercurrent of worry she’s trying to hide.
Her phone buzzes again. It’s the song about peacocks. “I have to get this.”
She wanders out of earshot, but I don’t need to hear the conversation to read her body language. She runs a hand through her hair, stunted by her ponytail. Then she stares up at the sky.
Violet’s jaw is hard; her eyes glitter. I know this face. She’s holding back tears. She lifts her hand as the sun peeks through the clouds and watches the diamond catch the sun, sending prisms of light dancing over her face. Then she spins the diamond to face her palm and closes her fingers around it. She brings her closed fist to her mouth.
Maybe it’s better if I leave things with Sunny alone, even if it hurts more than a puck to the balls after being bitten by a damn spider. I don’t know if I ever want to love someone as much as Vi loves Waters. It seems to cause an awful lot of pain.
***
Apparently Lily wasn’t too happy about the pictures of Randy with the models at the fundraiser. All of his clothes have ASSHOLE scrawled across them in various colors of permanent marker. On the front of his boxers is the warning: SMALL DICK INSIDE. It’d be funny if it happened to someone else.
Usually he and Lance would laugh off something like this. Not this time. Randy looks legit sick over it, and not in an I-have-a-new-stalker way. It’s in a this-is-fucked-up way instead. He throws the last of his ruined clothes into his bag and zips it up.
“We should get you to the hospital; that needs stitches.” He points to my forehead.
“Vi’s gonna take me.”
“I can follow in the rental.” He picks up a note off the nightstand, flips it open and scans it, then shoves it in his pocket.
Vi appears in the doorway. “That’s okay. It might take a while. You can head back to Toronto if you want and I’ll bring Buck back with me.”
“Won’t it be outta your way if you have to take me to the airport?” I ask.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
My head hurts too much to argue, so I let Randy deal with the rental vehicle. I have to wonder if he’s going to make a stop in Guelph. If that’s the case, he should probably stop at a sports store and grab a cup, just in case.
Violet runs back into the cottage once the car is loaded to grab something she forgot. She comes back holding the orange Play-Doh sculpture with the superhero cape. She hugs it, then tucks it safely into the backseat with a sweatshirt wrapped around it.
“Do you wanna explain that?”
She pats the head. “It’s the Super MC. It’s an homage.”
I shouldn’t ask the next question. I’m almost positive I don’t want the answer. “An homage to what?”
“The near-fatal strangling of Alex’s MC when I made it into a superhero. It’s a long story. I promise you don’t want to hear it, but someone might tell it at our wedding—if we end up having a wedding. I hope I can convince him to elope.”
I was right. I didn’t need to know any of that.
***
We find our way to a hospital in Bracebridge. It’s small compared to the ones in Chicago, but the people are nice, as is typical in Canada. Someone recognizes my name, and Violet knows all the right things to say, so they see me almost right away. Head injuries always take precedence. I’m concussed, but only mildly. My nose is broken, and the gash on my forehead takes six stitches to close. Up until today, I’d managed to get by without breaking any parts of my face since I got my teeth knocked out in high school. Figures it’d be Waters who changed that.
I get the usual spiel about having someone wake me up every couple of hours. A doctor sets my nose and bandages it. The black eyes haven’t appeared yet, but I’m sure they’re coming. While I wait for someone to give me the requisite painkillers and sign off for me to leave, I check my messages. I have emails from Amber that, had I checked them yesterday, would have given me the information I needed about the fundraiser and why it might not be the best idea. I wish I’d read them sooner. Or checked my voice mail, since I missed a call from her as well. Sometimes I feel as dumb as people assume I am.
I’ve got nothing from Sunny. I hope Bushman isn’t consoling her right now. I want to message her, but at the same time I don’t. I’m conflicted, and it sucks.
From the hospital we drive toward Toronto. The canvas of pale blue dotted with soft white turns pink at the edges as the sun starts to sink behind the tall trees lining the highway. It’s already late; by the time we get to Toronto it’ll be dark. I feel bad that Vi has to drive. I’m on pain meds, so I’m not safe behind the wheel.
“I’mma call the airline and see if I can get a flight out tonight.”
“Why don’t you come back to Guelph with me?”
“I don’t see the point. It’s not gonna change anything. Sunny’s still not gonna trust me, and Waters and Lily are still gonna hate me.”
“Lily doesn’t hate you.”
“Randy said the same thing. I have a hard time believing it, though.”
“Even she was trying to get Alex to calm down. Randy’s a whole different story. I don’t know what happened with those two, but man, is she scorned. You’re also lucky I’m the one who went through your bedroom, not Alex. Do you and Sunny even know what a garbage can is?”
“Why were you in Sunny’s bedroom?”
“Alex wanted me to check her poison ivy. Poor thing. Her boobs look bad.” Vi grabs her own boob as if she’s suffering sympathy pains. “Anyway, I don’t want Alex to be a prison wife. If he’d found those condoms after seeing the pictures at the fundraiser, you’d have a lot more than a broken nose.”
I want to mention the lack of fairness, considering what I walked in on with Vi and Waters, but I get that this is a different situation, and my fuck-ups outnumber his.
When we get close to Toronto, I insist she take me to the airport.
“You’re sure you want to do that? Maybe you should get a hotel room for the night and sleep on it.”
“I have things I need to deal with when I get home.”
“Are you still going through with that fundraiser?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I think about that Michael kid and how much harder his life is than mine. “Yeah. I’m still gonna do it.”
“Good. It’s about time you did something that shows people how great your heart is.”
“I hate the interviews.”
“You need to get over that.”
“I have to memorize everything. You have no idea what it’s like to be dyslexic.”
“Nope. I sure don’t. I do know what it’s like to be awkward.”
“That’s not even remotely the same. Speeches were the worst in middle school.”
“Speeches are your beef? You think it was any easier to be in the enriched math classes as a girl? Fuck that. It sucked. Like I wasn’t nerdy enough without that label slapped on me. None of those guys even bathed regularly. And then there was you, needing ‘help’.” She makes air quotes. “When really you were screwing everything with a pulse, getting everyone to do your bidding because you were King Jock of Turd Hill. Being your stepsister was a pain in my damn ass in high school. But I got over it. So should you.”
“Yeah, but you’re super smart and shit’s easy for you.”
“Easy? Because I’m good at math? You do realize I have to work more than sixty hours a week to make less than two percent of your yearly salary, right?”
“Less than two percent?”
“Plus bonuses, but yeah.”
“Wow.”
“It’s cool. I’m marrying a millionaire who likes to buy me ridiculously expensive things. I’m sure I can handle my crappy salary, all considering. This isn’t about me, though. I get that you work hard, too, but come on! You’ve got an incredible skill set that allows you to get around your perceived deficiency, which, if you decided to be more vocal about it, might actually win you some
serious points.”
“No one wants to hear about my deficiencies.”
“Are you kidding? People always want to hear about other people’s challenges. It makes them feel like anything is possible. And it makes some people feel better about themselves because they’re assholes.
“If you wanted, you could go into schools and talk about how hard it was for you and how you struggled to pass your classes, but that you persevered. I mean, obviously you don’t want to tell them you fucked all your tutors, and your poor stepsister had to listen to loud music in the next bedroom while it all went down. But you can give millions of kids false hope, and a few awesome kids the inspiration they need to make it to the next level.”
I ignore the part about screwing all my tutors. I’m not going there with her right now. “I don’t know, Vi. That’s like . . . personal.”
“Personal? Are you kidding? This coming from a man who lets his friends take pictures of his balls and post them on the Internet?”
“I didn’t let him do that. And anyway it was to figure out what kind of spider bit me. No one was supposed to know they were my balls.”
“And that makes it so much better.” She twists her ring around her finger. “I don’t get why being classified as a manwhore is so appealing—especially when being the guy who’s overcome challenges and volunteers at camps and even helps kids afford them is so much less offensive.”
“I’m not trying to be a manwhore. I was trying to be Sunny’s boyfriend, and look how that turned out. I spent my teen years dealing with all the shit that came with being the dumb kid; I’m not interested in going back to that.”
“Who says you have to? Come on, Buck. Life is tough. Teenage years suck balls—cheesy ones that haven’t been washed in a week. You make five million dollars a year. You’re not dumb. Relationship-inept maybe, but definitely not dumb. If you want to change how things are going, you need to do something selflessly selfish.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Let me explain. Did you know you’re mentioned in an article recently that has nothing to do with who you’ve boned?”
“The only person I’ve boned lately is Sunny. I mean, had sex with. I’m not boning Sunny. That’s not what you do with someone you care about.”
“Sometimes all you need is a good boning, even with the person you love. Anyway, I’m not talking about media perception of who you’re boning. I’m talking about that camp you went to. You did an interview, and it was awesome. People are already falling in love with you.
“Get more positive attention. Stop going to the bars, stop going to Lance’s for parties, and stop getting yourself into more trouble. Find out what’s going to be happening at places before you show up. Regardless of what goes down between you and Sunny, this thing you want to do is good. It’s the version of you everyone should get to see.”
Funny how losing someone important is the thing that finally makes me decide to step outside my comfort zone. Now I wish I would’ve done it sooner.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
MAKING CH-CH-CHANGES
Despite her repeated attempts to get me to stay in Toronto for the night, Vi drops me at the airport.
“You gonna be all right to drive to Guelph from here?” I ask her. It’s almost ten. It’s been a long day.
“I’m good. I’ll stop at a Timmy’s and get a coffee.”
I grab my bags from the trunk. “Thanks for being here for me today.”
Vi wraps her arms around my waist and gives me a hug. “What are sisters for?”
I drop the bags and return it. We might not be related for real, but we’re tight like siblings should be.
“Message me when you get to Guelph so I don’t worry, okay?”
“Okay. And you do the same when you get back to Chicago.”
I wait until she’s in the car and on the road before I go into the airport. I get a seat on a flight that leaves in less than two hours. I upgrade so I can hang out in the VIP lounge and maybe catch a nap.
Vi messages me right after I get through security to let me know she’s made it to the Waters’ house. I don’t ask about Sunny, even though I want to. I do ask how things are with Waters and whether I need to break his nose again for her. I get a voice memo telling me she’ll be the one breaking things if it comes to that. She sounds sad. I don’t like it, but it’s not my relationship to manage, and Violet knows how to deal with Waters better than me.
I set an alarm so I don’t miss my flight and stretch out across one of the couches. Holding my phone to my chest, I close my eyes. It feels like I’m only out for a few minutes when vibrating wakes me. It takes me a while to clue in that it’s a call, not my alarm. Prying my eyes open, I hold it up and wait for it to come into focus.
Sunny’s face flashes across the screen, her bright smile darkening my mood. I let it go to voice mail. I’m not capable of dealing right now. Regardless, I wait to see if she’s going to leave me a message. Less than a minute later, my phone chimes with a new voice mail.
I key in my code and let my finger hover over the play button. Eventually I give in and listen. Sunny’s voice is a warm hug and a knife in the chest.
“Hi, Miller. I guess you’re not answering your phone right now. Or maybe you’re not answering for me.” Her voice cracks. “I know I shouldn’t have left with Alex today, but I didn’t want you two to fight. And with Kale and Benji being there, I worried things would get way out of hand, and Lily was upset about . . . well, everything. Violet got here a while ago. She said Alex broke your nose, and I gave you stitches.” She hiccups. “I guess maybe I wasn’t ready for this relationship. I’m sorry I couldn’t trust you . . . never mind. Can you just call me?”
Every time I replay it I’m dragged farther down into emotional sludge. It doesn’t sound like she wants to get back together. It sounds like she’s done.
***
The flight home sucks. Some over-processed chick has the seat beside me in first class. She wants to talk. It’s almost midnight; all I want to do is get my ass home and wallow. I’ve never been a wallower before, but it seems appropriate, considering.
Once I’m back in Chicago, I spend the next two days playing video games and eating meat-lovers pizza and suicide wings while drinking soda. I avoid Lance and Randy when they call. I don’t hear from Sunny again, and I don’t return her call. What is there to say? I do, however, hear from Violet. She’s damn well relentless with the phone calls and messages and emails.
On day three of my undetermined wallowing period, my door buzzer goes off during an epically shitty video game session. I’m not expecting anyone.
I get up off the couch and shuffle to the intercom. “Yeah?”
“Buck?”
“Dad?” What the fuck? “I thought you and Skye were away.”
“We got back last night.”
“Oh. How was the trip?”
“Good. You wanna let me in, Son?”
“I’m here too!” That’s Skye, my stepmom. “The trip was better than good, but I can’t share the details without embarrassing Sidney!”
“Don’t start, Mom. I’m here, too, Buck,” Violet says. “Open the door.”
“Sure. Okay.” I hit the buzzer and wait for the sound of the door opening before I release it. Violet has to be the reason for the family visit. I glance around my condo. It’s amazing the mess I can make in two days. I don’t even have the energy to care.
Also, I’m naked, since that’s how I roll when I’m alone and wallowing, or even not wallowing. Priority one is putting on clothes.
I find a cleanish pair of shorts and a shirt on the floor. There’s a knock a minute later. I open the door. Skye stands there with her arms wide. Then her smile freezes, along with the rest of her. My dad gives me the raised-eyebrow onceover.
Vi’s holding a tray of fast-food ice cream sundaes. Her nose crinkles. “Oh. Wow. Breakup does not look good on you.”
I ignore her. I’m not that bad, I don’t t
hink. “Hey, family. Come on in. The place is a mess.” I step aside and gesture to my living room. The coffee table is covered in pizza boxes and Styrofoam containers of wing bones. Empty soda cans litter the floor.
“Oh, Buck!” Skye unfreezes and hugs me. She and Vi are almost exactly the same, from the way they look to the way they act, except Skye’s in her forties rather than her twenties. “I’m so sorry about you and Sunny.”
I pat her on the back. “Yeah, me, too.”
After she lets me go, my dad gives me a back pat. “You could’ve called. Even if I’m out of the country, I’m always here.”
“Yeah, I know. Things were cool until a couple of days ago. I wanted some time to myself.” My dad and I are close, but more in a hockey-talk way than deep feelings.
“Please tell me you didn’t eat all of this on your own.” Vi motions to the coffee table. “Never mind. Based on the smell in this place, I’m thinking yes. First things first: you need a shower. You smell like an actual yeti, if yetis were real. Then we’re staging an intervention.”
“An intervention?” I run my hand through my hair. It feels greasy.
“Yeah. You’ve had two full days of moping. That’s all you get.”
“Didn’t you mope for weeks after you and Waters broke up?”
“He has a first name, Buck. It’s Alex. And yes, I did. But I’m a girl. We get way more moping time than guys.” She searches through my kitchen until she finds a huge black garbage bag. “You.” She points at me. “Go shower. We’ll clean this up.”
“How are you even here right now? Don’t you have to work?”
“I have an emergency business meeting with a client. Go shower.”
I’d argue, but I’m pretty ripe.
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