Addicted

by Amelia Betts

  “Yes, Cecile, I’m very fragile right now,” Gracie added.

  Ignoring Gracie’s comment, she sidled up to me at the counter. “Whatcha making?”

  “Salad. You want some?”

  “Yeah. I’m gonna copy everything you eat from now on because you’re losing weight and I’m not.”

  I glanced at her sideways. “I disagree. I think you look great. Probably from all that swimming you’re doing.”

  Gracie plopped down on a stool and stole a carrot from my cutting board. “Cecile, don’t worry about it. I was my chubbiest when I was your age, lost a bunch in high school. No diet, no nothing.”

  Hearing this, Cecile looked happier than I’d ever seen her. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. Plus, guys like a little meat on the bones, believe me.”

  “People say that, but I don’t believe it.” Cecile moved around the counter to sit by Gracie, who was quickly becoming her new favorite person.

  “No, it’s true, but don’t worry about what guys want anyway. They’re all asswipes. Except for your dad, of course.” Gracie glanced over at me with an impish smile. My cheeks flushed, and I shook my head to discourage her.

  “Why would you say my dad? You don’t even know him.” Cecile eyed her suspiciously. “Wait, are you the one who sent that text? Droolian Poundwell?”

  “Huh? Is that another language? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gracie shot me another impish glance. I glowered at Cecile, unwilling to reopen the can of worms that I had hoped was closed by now. “I was just saying,” Gracie went on, “I’m sure your dad’s not an asswipe because dads are kind of exempt.”

  “Exempt from what?” Julien’s voice carried in from the hallway as he made his way into the kitchen.

  Stricken with fear that he had overheard the entire exchange, I looked up mid-chop and let my knife slide, accidentally scraping a layer of skin off the tip of my left thumb. “Hello!” I said nervously. “You saw Gracie earlier, right?” I was speaking entirely too loudly, and my thumb had started dripping blood onto the cutting board.

  “Ew. You’re bleeding.” Cecile pointed to my hand, which I tried to conceal as I went to run it under the sink.

  “Hi again, Gracie.” Julien waved, polite and formal. “Cecile, go get a Band-Aid for Mischa.” He nodded toward the guest bathroom, and Cecile grudgingly obeyed. Making his way over to the sink, Julien patted my shoulder. I blinked my eyes closed, enjoying the rush of being near him again as his hand gripped the base of my neck and massaged it for a few blissful seconds that told me, Yes, I wanted you last night and still do.

  “You have a beautiful home!” Gracie’s voice piped in from behind us, bringing me back to reality. “And although I wasn’t technically invited here, I appreciate the hospitality.”

  Julien’s hand dropped away from me as he turned to face her. “You’re very welcome. So how’s D.C.?”

  “You mean the land of sleazy politicians and all things foul and soulless?”

  “Hey, that’s my hometown you’re talking about,” he chided.

  “Oh really? Did you tell me that before? Mischa, did you know Julien was from D.C.?” Gracie had always been a very generous, if obvious, wingman. She liked to draw me into conversations with pointless, rhetorical questions.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, turning off the faucet and sticking my still-bleeding thumb in my mouth.

  “She probably didn’t know,” Julien said.

  “No.” I took my thumb out of my mouth. “You told me.” I couldn’t help but grin at the memory of our stolen afternoon together at Salty Sal’s. In hindsight, it seemed so romantic—how could I have seen it any other way? Julien, on the other hand, was poker-faced as he accepted the Band-Aid from Cecile. Part of me (well, all of me) wished he had less self-restraint in front of his daughter and my friend. I wanted his arm around my shoulders, the heat of his body against mine. “Remember?” I said, daring to nudge him with my elbow. “My first day at work?”

  Julien unwrapped the Band-Aid and gently took my hand, looking into my eyes with an intensity that made me quiver. The look seemed to have meaning behind it, but I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. “Strangely, I don’t,” he said, lowering his eyes to the task at hand as he placed the Band-Aid on my cut. “Anyway!” He glanced up at the clock above the pantry, and the Band-Aid wrapper drifted from his palm to the floor. “I gotta get to campus. I know it’s bad form to work on a Saturday but I’m behind on the writing.”

  “But, Dad! You said we would go to the mall!” Cecile whined.

  “Tomorrow, sweetie. I’m all yours then.” Julien glanced back at me as he walked out of the room, and my heart swelled. “Oh, Mischa?”

  “Yes?” I answered expectantly, hoping for an inside joke or a coded reference to last night.

  “Will you girls be around tonight? I have another dinner and I don’t want Cecile to be on her own here.”

  “Umm…” Trying to hide my disappointment, I looked at Gracie, whose own face bore a sympathetic frown. “Were you wanting to go out tonight?”

  “And get a taste of the thriving Oceanside social scene that I’ve been missing so dearly in D.C.?”

  Julien chuckled as Gracie shook her head slowly.

  “We’ll be here,” I said.

  “Okay, great!” He smiled and shot me a thumbs-up before disappearing down the hall.

  With Julien out of sight, I let out a long sigh, pretending that my thumb was the cause of my consternation as I held it up for examination. “I might need a second Band-Aid. Cecile, would you get me another one?”

  “What’s in it for me?” She cocked her head, arms crossed, like she was auditioning for the role of Bratty Teenager #1.

  Gracie rolled her eyes. “Just get her the Band-Aid,” she said authoritatively.

  Later, when we had retreated back to the guesthouse, I finally allowed my face to match my emotions: a mix of lovesickness, confusion, and fear.

  “You don’t look too good,” Gracie remarked.

  I shook my head. “I think that cut was deeper than it looked…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Friday, mid-July: emergency meeting held in Julien Maxwell’s guesthouse

  Topic of discussion: Julien Maxwell

  Calories imbibed: Not enough

  “I don’t know what I expected him to say or do. I mean, his daughter was right there.” Like a lost puppy I followed Gracie, who had just emerged from the shower, as she wandered around the room trying to get dressed.

  “Well, you know what my opinion of men is right now. So all I have to say is, expect the least.” Gracie’s mood had turned somewhere between our afternoon salad course and now. I couldn’t blame her, but her bummed-out vibe wasn’t helping me.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I don’t think he’s in a place for a relationship right now. Or he’s not sure yet. And I understand it’s nothing personal. I mean, the man’s wife died tragically. Who knows how long that takes to get over?”

  She pulled a T-shirt over her head and shook out her wet hair. “Well, as long as you’re fine with that. I just don’t know where that gets you.”

  “I think Julien and I might have a future, I really do. I’ll just have to be patient!”

  Gracie glanced at me incredulously through wet bangs. “I thought you weren’t even sure how you felt about him.”

  “No. I think the problem is just timing,” I said, continuing to pace. “This may not be the best time for him, and I may not get accepted into Reid. Meaning, I’ll have to move somewhere else, and then it becomes a long-distance thing—”

  “Where would you go?” she interrupted my rant.

  “New Mexico. But I haven’t responded yet. I’m still waiting on Reid.”

  “Well, no offense, but don’t you think figuring that out should be your biggest priority right now? Not whether some old dude can get over his dead wife in time for you to have a slightly inappropriate student-teacher romance?”

 
To this, my eyes widened in disbelief. I shook my head in slow motion. “Wow, Gracie, ‘some old dude’? You referred to him as a god earlier, did you not? Also, since when are you the voice of reason on inappropriate romances? I’m pretty sure slutting around in public bathrooms with spoiled brat senators like Richard could be considered slightly inappropriate too.”

  Gracie stopped in her tracks, as if someone had just body-blocked her. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, instantly regretting my choice of words.

  She turned toward me, her eyebrows knitted. “Slutting around? Slutting around? Thank you very much for that unwarranted judgment.”

  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “No, really, that means a lot coming from someone who’s been having sex with a nymphomaniac who fell off the wagon—”

  “Like you wouldn’t have.”

  “Oh, stop acting like you know me so well.”

  “Well stop acting like you know everything about everything!” I was shouting now, my voice high-pitched and irritated.

  “Maybe I would if you’d stop begging me for advice. I should have known better than to come here when I needed something. Of course all we end up talking about is you!” She ripped a hairbrush through her hair and threw it back down in her bag.

  We went on like that, lobbing back-and-forth insults for another minute before Gracie finished dressing herself and stormed out. I allowed her to go, too emotionally exhausted to follow and knowing she’d be back because she had nowhere else to stay. But hours later, when she hadn’t returned by sunset, I started to worry. And by the time I’d joined Cecile in the living room, where she was watching some contrived reality show about two teenage girls on a blind date with the same guy, I felt absolutely horrible.

  “Is there anything else on?” I asked, plopping down on the rigid love seat that sat farthest away from the TV.

  Surprisingly compliant, Cecile switched the channel to an action movie featuring some lesser-known comic book character.

  “That’s better.”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You sound like someone killed your goldfish.” Cecile smirked.

  “I don’t have a goldfish. And if I did, I probably would have eaten it in a moment of food mania.” I threw my legs over the armrest. “Gracie and I had a fight.”

  My teenage companion chuckled and made a joke insinuating that Gracie and I were secret lovers. Other than that, she took it easy on me, which I greatly appreciated. My day had been hard enough already.

  The movie didn’t do much to distract me, but I needed the company, so I stayed until the end, pretending to care what happened to the shape-shifting hero. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner and offered to cook something for the both of us.

  “Yes! I’m starving!” Cecile answered. She hopped up from the couch and ran into the kitchen before me. When I rounded the corner, she was holding up a box of mac and cheese and saying please over and over again, like a four-year-old.

  “Nope. Broiled salmon and veggies,” I said as if I were talking to a four-year-old. And though she put up a fight, Cecile ended up eating every bit of it as I took slow, arduous bites myself, my mind bouncing back and forth between Julien and Gracie.

  For Cecile’s part, she was mostly silent, texting throughout dinner with her clique of swim team friends, but at some point she leaned over the table and spoke to me in a conspiratorial voice. “So, are you like totally depressed because Droolian Poundwell’s on a date right now?”

  “What?” My fork dropped out of my hand and rattled onto the plate below it. “Oops!” I said, trying to act cool as I picked it back up. “I thought he said it was a work thing?”

  “Nope. He totally didn’t. I knew you would be sad. Look at your face.” There she was—the old Cecile back in action.

  I swallowed hard as my heart sank into a void. I had been barely treading water before, after Julien’s hard-to-read behavior that afternoon and then my fight with Gracie, but now I was at risk of crying right there at the table. “I’m pretty sure he said it was a work thing,” I repeated, my words clipped and defensive, painfully aware that I was blowing my cover.

  “I heard him talking to her on the phone. Believe me, it’s a date.” She sounded more certain than I’d ever heard a fourteen-year-old sound before—her humorless tone of voice was bone-chilling.

  I pushed some salmon aimlessly around my plate and fought the urge to ask her about the woman. I lasted about three seconds. “Who is it?” I said impatiently.

  “That new professor lady, I don’t know her name. She’s visiting from New York. She’s skinny and she wears all black. Much more his type.”

  “You saw her?” I couldn’t help but jump on Cecile’s every word. My knees were taking turns bouncing rapidly under the table.

  “She came by to drop off a book a couple days ago.”

  “Oh.” I nodded and took a miniscule bite of fish, choking it down even though my throat felt like it was closing up.

  A new text alert sounded and Cecile refocused her attention on the phone in her hand.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing. Colleagues exchange books all the time,” I said.

  She looked up from her phone, one eyebrow raised. “He’s on a date, Mischa. You should probably accept it. I have.” Cecile went back to ignoring me while she sent a few more rapid-fire texts. “I told him about that text you know.” She looked up and grinned, baring her silvery braces. “And you know what he said? ‘Mischa’s harmless.’”

  “He said that?” I couldn’t believe it. Harmless? It was the worst thing he could have called me—in my mind, in that moment.

  A knock on the front door interrupted, at which point Cecile and I both rushed to the foyer. I got there first and boxed her out, peering into the peephole to find Gracie on the front stoop. Relieved to see my friend again, I swung the door open wide and embraced her so abruptly that she had no option but to hug back.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “I know, me too.” She patted my back.

  “Ugh, you guys are disgusting,” Cecile said, then zoomed in on her phone as if some dire emergency had just come up. As she scampered upstairs, I was relieved to see her go.

  I drew Gracie into the living room. “I gotta tell you something,” I whispered.

  “Me too,” she said. I could tell from the look in her eye that whatever she had to say wasn’t good.

  “You first.”

  Gracie squinted, hesitating.

  “Is it about your guy?”

  She shook her head. “No, your guy.”

  “Did you see him or something? Cecile said he was on a date.” I shoved an index finger into my mouth and started biting away at the nail.

  Gracie pursed her lips together. “Yeah.”

  “Where?” I demanded, carelessly spitting a bit of nail onto the floor.

  “At that bar by the movie theater. I went for a drink, and they were there, in a booth.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so. They were kind of… into each other.”

  “Oh my God.” I collapsed onto the couch.

  “You’re cuter. And younger, obviously.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said, burying my face in my hands. “Cecile told him about the text, and he said that I was ‘harmless.’”

  Gracie leaned over and situated the pillows behind me like a nurse attending to a terminally ill patient, which I suddenly felt like I was as she sat down at my side.

  “I’m such an idiot,” I whimpered.

  “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “After seeing him this afternoon, I kept telling myself he must not be ready for a relationship. That if it doesn’t work out, it’s just bad timing. But no, he just didn’t want me. Surprise, surprise.”

  “I know how you feel.” Gracie took my hand. “We’re in this together, okay? Guys suck.”

  “Well… at
least the ones we find.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh my God. I don’t even want to think about it!” I closed my eyes, wishing I could fall into a deep sleep and not wake up for a month. I had been doing so well just a couple of days ago. Why had Julien insisted on barging into my personal life and messing it all up? “I mean, I didn’t even want him! He’s the one who started this!”

  “I know.” Gracie looked up at the ceiling, seemingly searching her brain for something to cheer me up. Finally landing on an idea, she snapped her fingers. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. I’m only here till tomorrow night, right? So I figure we have two options: go out and get drunk, or watch sappy movies in your bed and braid each other’s hair.”

  “Movies and braids, please.” I smiled, feeling my misery lift the tiniest bit as Gracie smiled like a deranged person and patted her knees, trying to get me to laugh.

  “Let’s do it, then!” she said, “Distraction, distraction, distraction—the name of the game.”

  I leaned my head on Gracie’s shoulder and grabbed her arm. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me too… me fuckin’ too,” she said.

  * * *

  Despite our grand plans for a late-night double feature, Gracie and I both passed out before the first movie was halfway through. We obviously needed the sleep, because we made it a full ten hours before either of us so much as stirred. Even more surprising was that when I awoke the next morning, my hair in a half-finished French braid, I felt oddly neutral. I even noticed the birds singing again, which seemed like a good sign. Maybe I had simply had enough of the ups and downs. The past few weeks had been so intense, my brain had finally overloaded and fizzled out. I was left with a strange sensation of blankness that helped when I saw the text from Liam on my phone: How’s it going?—L

  It was time-stamped 1:15 a.m. When I first saw it, Gracie was still sleeping, but I didn’t need to consult her to know how to respond.

  Things are good, I replied, then, I can’t be in touch with you. I hope you understand…

  It was harsh, perhaps, but I didn’t know what else to say. I felt certain that no good would come from inviting the drama of Liam back into my life, and the fact that he had contacted me late at night seemed to speak for itself. When Gracie awoke, in a better mood herself, I didn’t tell her about it. Instead, I invited her to come with me to Isabella’s for my weekly visit and she happily accepted, having never met her before.