by Sadie Munroe
I roll my eyes. Yeah, I think, and you’re not going to, not when you say the word friend but somehow make it sound like garbage. I turn to look at Star, whose gaze is darting back and forth between me and my mom. There’s a little furrow digging in between her brows.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, low enough so my parents can’t hear over all the noise from the crowd on the beach.
I nod once and start pulling myself to my feet. “Yeah,” I say back, keeping my voice low. “You stay here, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I pull myself up and brush the sand off my jeans before turning and facing my parents. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s take a walk.”
My mother shakes her head. “Oh, no,” she says. “I don’t want to interrupt your evening.” Too late for that. Maybe if you didn’t want to interrupt, you shouldn’t have, oh, I don’t know, fucking interrupted it? “I just wanted to make sure—”
“You wanted to make sure I was keeping out of trouble,” I interrupt. “Well, guess what, Mom? I am.”
“I think what your mother meant, son, was—”
“Ugh, save it, Dad,” I snap. “She wanted to make sure I wasn’t doing anything to embarrass you two. And I’m not. My cup back there? It’s filled with cola. I haven’t had a drink or anything else since I got out. And I got a job, so I don’t need you checking on me anymore, got it?”
“Have you been calling your parole officer?” Mom asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
Fuck. This is why I wanted to take a walk. Now people are turning around where they stand, sneaking looks at us. Fucking fantastic. “Yes,” I grind out through gritted teeth. And I have. Not that it’s been easy without a phone. I’ve had to drive out to the one pay phone in town, which is—surprise, surprise—just outside the diner, where I’m already a freaking pariah.
“Okay,” she says, and for an instant, her gaze drops and I think her shoulders do, too. “Good.”
Dad’s hand comes to rest on her shoulder. “Come on, Nadine,” he says. “I think we should get back.”
Mom nods without looking at me, and together, they turn and start walking away.
Something burns in my chest, and I can’t tell if it’s rage or fucking disappointment, but either way, I can’t stop myself from yelling out to them as soon as they’re almost back to the crowd.
“By the way,” I call out, “I found Bruiser. No fucking thanks to the two of you.” Mom stutters to a stop, and turns around to look at me. I raise my arm and point at the blanket where Bruiser is rolling around on his back next to Autumn, who is looking back and forth between my parents and me with eyes as big as dinner plates. Shit. She’s probably wondering what the hell is going on, just what kind of guy is hanging out with her best friend.
Fuck.
I let my arm drop and watch as Mom just kind of nods sadly and turns away. I don’t even wait for them to disappear into the crowd before I groan and turn back to Star, raking my hands through my hair.
She’s got her plastic cup between both her palms, her thumbs worrying at the top lip of it as she looks up at me. “So . . . I’m guessing that was your parents,” she says.
I sigh and walk back over to her. Sinking down onto the sand next to her, I nod. “Yeah.”
She kind of raises her eyebrows at me, and the edge of her mouth kind of tugs to one side, like she’s trying to smother a smile. “Nice people,” she says, and an instant later she loses control and the smirk appears. A laugh forces its way out of my throat and I bump my shoulder against hers.
“Yeah,” I say, leaning back against the rock and letting the tension bleed from my body. “They’re fucking great.” I look over at her through the corner of my eye. She’s twirling the cup back and forth, pressed between her palms, and is staring down at the tiny whirlpool she’s created in her wine.
“I guess parents aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, huh?”
I shift so I can reach into my pocket for my pack of smokes. “Yeah,” I say. “No kidding.” The motion makes the side of my body press into the side of Star’s, and, much to my surprise, she presses back. The heat of her body seeps into me, warms me like hot coffee on a cold winter’s day. I like it more than I should.
But I don’t pull away. Instead I stay half-pressed against her as I light my smoke and take a long drag. “Hey,” she says, bumping her bent knee against mine. Smiling, she jerks her chin toward the night sky stretched out before us.
“Fireworks.”
And together we lean back against the rock and watch as the fireworks begin, and a million colored explosions dance across the dark sky, their thundering sound just barely covering up the thudding in my chest as Star settles down into the sand and leans farther into me. The heat from her skin seeps into mine, and I can’t help but grin.
It’s the best night I’ve had in a long, long time.
Star
Roth and Autumn drop us back at the house afterward. In the distance, there are still fireworks going off, but I’m wiped and even though they’re heading back to Climbfield, Ash and I still have a long way to go before we’re finished.
I hop out of Roth’s truck, stumbling a little as my feet slap against the pavement. I’m a little tipsier than I thought. I feel warm all over.
“Are you sure you’re okay to drive back?” I ask Roth. I can just barely make out his nod in the darkness.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I only had one beer, and that was hours ago. Besides, the B&B is just down the road.”
“And we have to get on the road first thing in the morning,” Autumn adds, walking around the side of the truck to reclaim the shotgun seat. She reaches out and wraps me up in a big hug that smells like apples, just as she always does. We stumble a little under each other’s weight. “Gonna miss you, Starlight,” she murmurs into my hair, and I nod, my throat tightening. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed her until she’d shown up on my doorstep, her and Roth both. I squeeze her back. As hard as I can. And she does the same to me.
“I’m gonna miss you, too,” I say.
“Come on, Autumn,” Roth calls from inside the cab of the truck. “We need to get going.”
“You sure?” Ash says from behind me. I turn and look at him. He’s shifting from foot to foot, his hands in his pockets. “I mean, you could stick around for a bit, if you wanted.” He drags his eyes from the ground in front of him, and suddenly those blue eyes are all that I can see. That and the little smile tugging at his lips.
My stomach flutters.
Face burning, I dig my key chain out of my purse and pass it over to him. He takes it, and a look of relief passes over his face as he finally has something to do with his hands.
“Sadly, we’ve been informed by our gracious hostess that the bed-and-breakfast’s full service includes a curfew,” Roth says, and despite his proper words, his eyes roll to the ceiling of the cab. I scoff.
“Sounds like someone I know,” I tease, remembering all the grief he gave Autumn and I as an RA. I raise an eyebrow at Roth through the open passenger-side window. “I don’t know where you think you’re going—” I step back and open my arms wide “—but I’m not letting you leave here without giving me a hug.”
He grumbles as he gets down from the cab, but I can hear the affection in his voice. I’ve seen the distance he puts between himself and other people, always keeping them away. But somehow, by some miracle, Autumn and I managed to see through all his posturing and grumpy looks and get close to him.
I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve let get close in my life. I’m not letting him go now. He trudges over and wraps me up in a big hug that lifts me bodily off the ground. I laugh as my feet dangle, from the ridiculousness or the drinks I’ve consumed, I don’t know which. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I burrow into his shoulder and breathe his warm, almost spicy scent in. I’m going to miss him. I’m go
ing to miss them both. But even with that knowledge hanging over my head, I’m happy.
“He’d better treat you right,” Roth whispers, his voice low enough that only I can hear him. I rub my face into his shoulder and squeeze him even tighter.
“It’s not like that,” I tell him, even though I want it to be. Sometimes. When I let my guard down and allow that traitorous part of me to hope.
He gives me one last squeeze and sets me back down on my feet. Pulling back, I see a small smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “Liar,” he mutters through his smirk.
“Come on, big guy,” Autumn says, stepping forward and clapping Roth on the shoulder. “Miss Josephine awaits.”
Roth lets out a sigh that can only be described as long-suffering and turns to me. “The owner of the B&B appears to be under the mistaken impression that Autumn and I are married. Her behavior to that end is . . . unnerving.”
I grin at the sight of his discomfort. It takes a lot to shake him, so it makes something warm bloom inside me at the thought of tiny Miss Josephine, the little old lady with the tiny poodle, setting him so off balance. A million scenarios run through my mind of things she could have done. All of them are hilarious.
“Ah, Miss Josephine,” I say, unable to resist. “I think she might be just a tad—” I hold my fingers half an inch apart “—old-fashioned.”
Autumn laughs. “She keeps calling me Mrs. Turner. It’s awesome. Roth keeps looking like he’s trying to conjure up a hole in the floor to hide in through sheer force of will.” I watch as she hops up into the passenger seat and a zing of sadness rips through me at the thought of them leaving.
“If anyone could do it,” I say. “It would be Roth.”
Roth just shakes his head and sighs at Autumn’s laughter before turning to Ash and holding out his hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Ash,” he says, and waits patiently as a riot of emotions parade across Ash’s face as he tries to decide if Roth is for real. He looks like a robot when he reaches out and shakes Roth’s hand, but then Roth steps closer and whispers something in Ash’s ear. Whatever he said, it was too quiet for me to hear, but it made Ash’s eyes widen a little as Roth steps away. They share a moment of that weird thing guys do when they’re silently trying to figure out which one of them is top dog. Then Roth silently turns away, and Ash looks down at his hand once Roth has released it, staring at it like it betrayed him somehow.
As he steps back toward the car, I grab Roth in one last hug. “You take care of yourself, okay?” I say, and then lean forward to whisper in his ear. “What did you say to him?”
“I’ll do that,” Roth says loud enough for the others to hear, and then whispers in my ear, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I pull back. “You’re evil.” He just smiles at me, and doesn’t blink.
I hate when he does that. But I can’t help but laugh.
“You’ve got everything?” I ask him, and he nods.
“I have enough ramen to keep my charges fed in the event of a nuclear holocaust. If I need anything else, I don’t know what it is.”
I smile, but it’s kind of true. We found so much ramen in my mother’s pantry, it was ridiculous. They’d taken it back to the B&B in the meantime, but once it was packed in the car, it would be stacked up in the truck’s backseat so high it would nearly block the back window. Between that and all the other stuff I’ve foisted off on him, Roth should be set through the rest of his tenure as an RA. Even if he decides to go for his PhD.
The image of him eating never-ending bowls of ramen while he glares at his homework springs fully-formed into my mind, and I giggle out loud before I can stop myself. I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle the sound but it’s too late. I feel my legs sway a little bit under me, and try to right myself without being too obvious about it, but by the looks the others are giving me, I’m failing pretty hard.
I guess the wine is hitting me harder than I thought.
***
Our goodbyes are brief after that, and Ash and I stand at the edge of the driveway together, Bruiser sniffing at the edge of the grass by our sides, watching as Roth’s truck disappears into the night before turning and heading toward the house.
“Ah crap,” I mutter, swaying a little as we climb the porch steps, Bruiser happily trotting along after us until Ash nudges him and tells him to go lay down. I sway directly into Ash’s side and settle there, even though I can feel my face begin to heat. Or maybe that’s just the warmth coming through his clothing. It’s nice. I press closer and murmur, “I forgot to pay you,” and hope that he isn’t going to be too pissed.
His arm wraps around my back, steadying me. I was swaying a little more than I thought, and I tilt my head back to look up at Ash. He’s looking down at me and he’s got this little furrow digging between his brows. Cute.
“What?” he asks, and helps me forward, though the front door. I hadn’t even realized he’d unlocked it. When did I give him my key?
I make it over the threshold gracefully enough, but then my leg glances against a stack of empty boxes we’d put by the door, and they all go tumbling down.
“Oops.” I take a tentative step back from the mess. “Why are those still in here? Shouldn’t we have tossed them?”
“We were gonna use them in the campfire, remember?” Ash says and kicks one of the boxes out of the way so the path is clear again. “Save us a trip to the dump.”
“Oh, yeah. But no. Right.” What was I talking about again? Ugh, stupid Autumn with her stupid wine. It always hits me so much harder than anything else. I think hard for a second, leaning against the wall to steady myself as I try to remember what I was talking about. Stupid wine. My thoughts are slipping away from me like the beach sand through my fingers. “What was I . . .h, yeah!” I wag a finger at Ash. “Money.” That was it. I look around the room, but it’s too dark. “Where’s my checkbook?” I know it’s here somewhere. It has to be. I’m halfway to the little table we put by the front door when I hear Ash laugh and feel his hand close around my upper arm, tugging me back.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, and even in the darkness I can see his smile. I really, really like his smile. “Come on—” he tugs at my arm again “—let’s get you to bed.”
The journey through the kitchen feels both epically long and like a sudden whirlwind all at once, and before I know what’s happening I’m tumbling down onto my mattress, laughing so hard that I have tears in my eyes.
“Stupid wine.” I giggle, and reach up to wipe the moisture from my face. Ash is just looking down at me in the darkness, shaking his head but I can still see his smile. “Seriously, though. It’s been a month.” The words are coming out of my mouth, but I’ve half-forgotten what I’m talking about. “Your pay!” I blurt out after a moment, feeling victorious that I’ve managed to remember. “I need to pay you.”
I struggle like an upside-down turtle for a moment, before getting my bearings enough to roll over and make a grab for my purse. It’s by the side of the mattress, but there’s only the tiniest amount of light coming in through the kitchen windows, so the quest for my checkbook has been upgraded from difficult to mission-freaking-impossible.
After a couple of minutes or hours or however long it takes, I give up and shove my purse to the side. “I’m such a shitty boss. I’ll pay you tomorrow,” I say, flopping back down on the mattress. Reaching up, I rub the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and try to make my thoughts make sense. Seriously, what was in that wine? I’m starting to suspect it was closer to moonshine than actual vino.
When I pull my hands down and open my eyes again, my entire body kind of jerks. Jesus, I think, trying to get my heart rate back down to normal. I forgot Ash was even here. He’s standing so still, and he hasn’t said a word.
“I’m sorry,” I say again as I turn over and reach for my pillow, because Ash definitely deserves
a boss that will actually pay him when they’re supposed to. It’s not his fault that I’m so bad at this. “I really am. I’m a terrible boss. I’m lucky you haven’t already quit.” I face-plant into the softness of the pillow. Mmmm. Nice. “I couldn’t do this without you.”
I’m almost asleep when I feel it, a dip in the mattress, a gentle hand on my shoulder, resting there for a second and then trailing down my head, smoothing down my hair.
“Don’t worry about it,” Ash whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I smile into my pillow.
The mattress shifts again just as I’m on the edge of sleep, and I feel it as Ash gets up. He whispers “goodnight,” and his shadow crosses over to block the tiny bit of light through the doorway, and I wake up enough to turn and look at him.
“Where’re you going?” I mumble.
“Just heading home,” Ash says. “It’s late. Or early, now, I guess. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I reach out and sort of flap my hand in his direction. “Stay,” I say, and then I realize what I’ve just said. I just invited him to stay the night. Oh god. I can feel my face heat, and I want to smother myself with my own pillow. This is mortifying. Ash must agree, because he’s completely frozen in the doorway, and even in the dark I can tell he’s staring at me like I’ve grown another head.
This is what happens when the entirety of your romantic involvement can be summed up with a handful of drunken make-outs and a single boyfriend who disappeared off the face of the earth the second he turned eighteen. Minimal experience; total embarrassment.
“Um . . . what?”
I pull in a deep breath and blow it out slowly. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Stay,” I say, turning over completely so I can look him in the eye. “It’s late.” His silence is killing me, so I hastily add, “You can take the shed or the sofa or whatever. But don’t drive. It’s too late and you must be exhausted.”