by Lena Maye
Spend time with his family. Share in “news”—whatever the hell that means. He’s offering me answers to my questions. In the most awkward way possible. But answers.
The craziest thing isn’t that he keeps pushing forward with each of these little steps—it’s that I keep taking them. That I want to take them.
He hands me a towel and a new toothbrush. Double-sink master bath, of course. I pull myself into something decent, but I’ve still got girl-taken-for-a-ride written all over.
Kepler grabs a toothbrush out of the holder and turns on the second sink. He raises an eyebrow at me as he brushes his teeth.
Girlfriend territory.
I wet the towel and scrub off my half-there makeup. He spits and rinses, dropping his toothbrush into the holder. He takes my newly used one and drops it into the holder next to his.
My mouth about falls open. It’s stopped by a minty kiss and a stomach grumble. Even with my current state of inner turmoil, food is becoming a priority, so we walk down to face the music.
Which is Barbara and Kepler’s father arguing in the greenhouse. When we walk in the room, they stop talking. And both turn to stare at me. I latch my arms over my chest, but Kepler pulls me next to him. I’m not sure whether to push him away or sink into him.
I choose sinking.
Kepler’s father gives me a wide grin. “I’m Leonard.” He crosses the tiles and extends a hand. “You must be a friend of Kepler’s.”
My face catches on fire again. Is this the part where I’m supposed to say girlfriend? I glare at my toes.
“Girlfriend,” Kepler says roughly as I shake hands with his father.
“Where’s the caramel?” Barbara asks. Her fingers snap from one extended leaf to the other.
Kepler points towards the far side of the room.
Her eyebrows hitch. “Why did you take them out of the natural light?”
“I have lights on them.” Kepler wraps his arm over my shoulders. I couldn’t be any closer to him—not unless we were…
Okay, I need to stop thinking about sex.
“But natural light.” She writes something on a notepad. “You know I like it in the natural light.”
“Then grow it yourself, Mom,” Kepler says in this low, hollow kind of voice. Like maybe it’s a sentence he’s repeated before.
“You don’t need to be rude.” She heads towards the far corner and shoves her face into the plants.
The whole time Leonard is standing there, grinning at nothing. Although I prefer that to Barbara’s dismissive gaze.
“You can harvest later, Mom,” Kepler says. “I’m fucking starving.”
“These plants are ready now.” And, oh my God, she pulls out a magnifying glass. “Have you set up the drying room? What have you been doing?”
“You can wait until after breakfast, honey.” Leonard gives me a smile. “Let’s think of Kepler’s guest. I’m sure she’s hungry too.”
The fire in my face turns to an inferno. Did Barbara tell him how she found us?
Barbara continues her examination, but Kepler nods towards the door. I practically plow him over to get out of the room.
Outside, a huge black SUV sits next to my shitty car. Which means they knew someone was in the house. Why didn’t they ring the bell or use the ridiculous door knockers?
Kepler opens the back door of the SUV, and I pull myself up in my short, tight little dress, glad it’s only him behind me. Until he gives me a light smack on the ass.
I think it’s impossible to stop thinking about sex around Kepler Quinn. Maybe that’s his superpower—being dead fucking sexy.
He walks around the SUV and slides in next to me. Kepler’s parents are still somewhere in the house.
We click on seat belts.
“This is weird.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“This is my life.” Kepler pulls out his lighter. He clicks it on and off in a steady rhythm. A few clicks later, he follows the lighter with a carefully rolled joint. Not that Kepler’s joints are ever haphazard, but the precision of this one is unmatched. He flames his lighter and takes a long slow drag.
“When’s the last time—” Now it’s my turn to suddenly stop talking when his mother opens the passenger door.
Kepler’s parents are still arguing about harvesting. I glare out the window as the SUV bumps down the road. When we hit pavement, Barbara turns around and extends her open hand towards Kepler. He hands the joint to her. After two hits, she passes the stub to me. “Jean.”
My name is not a question. I stare at it, at a loss for what to do.
Kepler grabs it. “She doesn’t smoke.”
Barbara turns around in her seat. “Not at all?” Her eyes meet mine for the first time—the same Kepler gravestone gray. But she doesn’t have a thousand thoughts in her gaze like he does. It’s more like one huge thought I don’t want to read.
“No.” I swallow. “I don’t smoke.”
“Have you ever tried it?”
Am I getting peer-pressured by Kepler’s mother?
“It’s not my thing.” I chomp down on my lip.
She shrugs and turns around. I press myself into the leather seat and pretend like I want to be here.
I need a plan. A keep-my-mouth-shut-for-the-next-hour plan. Then I can go home and scream fuck you to the wall for the rest of the day. Maybe run a few miles. But for the next hour, I need to be a different kind of Jean. Girlfriend Jean.
Kepler passes the joint to his mother without taking a drag. “You can finish it.”
Then his hand settles on my thigh. We drive past my duplex and head into town.
Kepler shifts in his seat and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He taps it silent, not looking at me.
“Mackie?” I ask.
He shakes his head and stashes it back in his pocket.
Before long, since it never takes long to get anywhere in Rock Falls, we park in front of the country club. Kepler and his parents get out. For a moment it’s just me in the car. I wish I could stay there, hidden in the backseat.
But Leonard opens the door and extends a hand to help me down. His clammy grip is a little too tight.
My discomfort grows as I straggle through the doorway into the one Rock Falls business I’ve never been to. The interior is a cluster of tans and maroons and greens—all in this sedated kind of grandness that was probably beautiful ten years ago but has since lost its luster.
“Good morning, Mr. and Ms. Quinn.” A suited man tilts his head towards Kepler’s parents. Holy crap, I think he’s Korean.
“We have an extra.” Barbara nods towards me.
“No problem.” His host smile doesn’t falter.
“I know it’s a hassle, but if you could manage—”
“It’s really no problem.” The host extends a hand towards the tables.
“If you’re sure.” Barbara doesn’t look at me.
It takes all my effort, but I bite my tongue. He leads us past three buffet tables filled with everything I could wish for at the moment. Besides not being here.
We sit at a round table that already has four place settings. No hassle at all, apparently.
“Mimosas.” Leonard gestures to the table.
“Wait.” Barbara holds up a manicured hand and leans across the table. “Do you drink, Jean?”
“A mimosa sounds divine.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but Barbara leans back and Kepler raises an eyebrow.
“Eoseo oseyo.” The host speaks low in my ear before straightening and repeating the same thing to the table. “Welcome.”
Barbara glances between the host and me like we’re sharing a conspiracy. I tug on my dress.
I’m ready to dive head first into the buffet table and escape Kepler’s parents, and I’m betting Kepler is too, but no one gets up. Leonard unrolls his napkin, pushes his silverware aside, and folds the fabric into a smaller square. Then into a triangle. Barbara stares at something past my shoulder.
A few more folds,
and then Leonard pushes his re-folded napkin towards me. “Do you know what this is, Jean?”
Four little napkin corners stick out of something that looks like a canoe. Cassie’s flower. I can’t help but smile at it. “A bird of paradise.”
Leonard grins and takes my napkin. His hands go to work again.
Champagne flutes come, and no one moves towards the buffet. The be-nice-for-an-hour plan will not succeed at this pace. Although I kind of like the napkin folding.
Kepler breaks the silence halfway through our mimosas. “I’m heading out to MIT next week.”
My eyes fly to him. The “news.”
“That’s nice.” Leonard waves to someone sitting behind us and continues his folding work. But Barbara’s eyes settle on Kepler.
Kepler takes a breath and rubs his neck. “I got into a graduate program.”
I sit up. What program? When did he apply? Is he going? I want to know everything. I almost blurt my questions out, but I wait for his parents to respond. To sit up like me and then say how wonderful that is. To ask questions. To be parents. Even with my fractured family, a statement like that would get a response.
It should get a fucking response.
Leonard mouths hello to another table across the room and continues his work on my napkin. Barbara sips her mimosa.
I can’t hold in my questions. “What program?”
“Doctorate in physics.” He’s answering me, but he’s staring at them.
Why don’t they say something?
“Kepler.” I pull his gaze towards me with a hand on his arm. “That’s amazing. Really.” And it’s about damn time. But I keep that last thought to myself.
He takes my hand from his arm and clasps it in his. Unity under the tablecloth.
“You want to move there?” Barbara swirls her empty glass. “Where is that? Boston?”
“In the fall.” He keeps rubbing that hand over his neck. Beyond him, wide windows show the first tee of the golf course. I don’t even play golf, but right now I’d give anything to be out there instead of trapped at this table.
Barbara switches out her empty glass for Leonard’s. He doesn’t seem to notice the theft as he puts the finishing touches on a napkin bunny and hops it towards me. I grab it by the head and stuff it in my lap.
“Who will tend the greenhouse?” Barbara asks.
It takes more than a lip bite to keep silent. Remaining quiet takes a whole-damn-body bite.
“I’m not keeping the greenhouse.” Kepler’s fingers tighten around mine.
Barbara’s stolen drink clunks on the table. “What are you going to do with it?”
He leans back in his seat, his free hand slipping into his pocket where I know his lighter rests. “I haven’t given it much thought.”
I don’t believe that for a second. Kepler gives everything thought.
Barbara takes a fast drink and thumps down the glass again. “Leonard,” she hisses at Kepler’s grinning father.
Leonard blinks. “Do you go to school, Jean?”
What?
Fuck this.
I about rip the head off the bunny napkin in my lap. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get into MIT?” It’s out before I can stop it. Not that I would have stopped it if I’d had the chance.
“Lower your voice,” Barbara says. “These are our friends.”
I glance around at white tablecloths and half-eaten plates. “If they are your friends, then surely they’ll be happy to hear about Kepler’s accomplishments.”
Like her son, Barbara doesn’t flinch at my razorblade words. “Didn’t Abby go to school in Boston?”
I force a smile at the question. Whatever effect she’s going for in mentioning Kepler’s ex-girlfriend doesn’t hit home with me. Abby moved four years ago. Practically a century.
“She’s such a sweet girl,” Barbara says. “Where did she go to school again?”
She is getting to me, but it’s got nothing to do with Abby. Five minutes of conversation, and she’s said nothing to Kepler about MIT. And now Leonard is constructing something out of his wife’s napkin.
“She went to Stonehill.” Kepler squeezes my hand so hard my fingers ache.
“Yes, that’s it.” She taps a finger against her chin. “Isn’t she friends with your sister, Jean?”
“You have a good memory.” I down the rest of my drink and eye the tower of strawberries on the buffet. Anything not to match her stare.
My insides are gravel rubbing against each other. I’m a pile of curse words, and if I open my mouth, they’ll spill out. All over the fucking tablecloth and my stupid bunny napkin.
She shrugs. “Well, it’s hard to forget about your family with all the drama around your parents. Although I hear Sloane did quite well for herself. At least she didn’t follow in Lilah’s footsteps.”
Kepler’s jaw ripples. “Mom.” The word is a dart launched at his mother. His pressure on my hand doesn’t release.
Barbara gestures towards the waiter for another drink.
I force a shrug. “It’s kind of you to be concerned about my family.” I take a breath, the fuck off lingering just below the surface. “It’s so nice to speak with someone who understands what it’s like to be the subject of gossip.”
The waiter stops by the table.
“Another drink, Jean?” Barbara’s voice comes from the seventh level of hell.
“Let’s get some food.” Kepler stands. Barbara’s glare settles on our linked hands.
I don’t move at first. I’m cycling through the thousand other things I want to say to Kepler’s so-called parents. She thought my voice was raised before, but it’s nothing in comparison to what I want to scream at her now.
Kepler pulls on my fingers, his gaze a gravestone gray. “Nourishment, Lo. Now.”
My attention shifts to him. His jaw is clenched as tight as his hand around mine. He’s not playing.
I toss my mutilated bunny on the table and swing out of my chair, pretending Barbara’s stare isn’t trying to throttle me, and follow Kepler to the buffet table. He takes a white plate and presses it into my hands before retrieving his own and moving around me to get to the scrambled eggs. It’s not until he flops the hash browns on his plate that my shoulders start to release.
And, crap. What did I say to Kepler’s mom? If there is anything I know about, it’s layered parental relationships. I don’t know how I’d react if Kepler talked to my mom the way I just spoke to his.
He tosses some grapes on his plate, his jaw still working.
“I should have stuck with fuck off,” I say to his shoulder as he moves on to pile a ridiculous amount of potatoes next to the grapes. He grips the spoon in a death-trap.
“I expected your reaction.” Next he’s on to the eggs, slicing through the big scrambled heap. “You don’t ever have to hold back for my benefit, Lo. Your ‘fuck off’ is one of the reasons I like you.”
I reach out a hand, but stop before touching him. “About MIT. Don’t listen to them.”
“There’s nothing to listen to.” He pauses, staring at the food. Behind him, his parents whisper-argue. “They didn’t say anything.”
“Then don’t listen to what they aren’t saying.” I tilt my empty plate up so I can step closer to Kepler. As hungry as I am, I’m not interested in food. “MIT is perfect. I’m happy for you.”
He digs the spoon back in the eggs. “My grandfather would have been happy.”
“And proud.”
He stops filling his plate, finally turning towards me. A man circles around us to get to the plate of cheese.
I wait.
“I used to miss my parents,” he finally says. “But sometimes I wonder if I’d be better off without them.”
I don’t want to say he’s right. It’s not my place to make that call. “Your grandfather named you, didn’t he?” The solar system carved in the door. The astronomer street name. All of that belonged to his grandfather.
Kepler nods. “He was the one w
ho watched out for me. From the beginning.” He grabs tongs and picks through a stack of cheese. He lets out a breath and rolls his shoulders. “There are a lot of schools in Boston.”
Oh, holy crap.
I take the strawberry spoon. A few of them spill out of the bowl and onto the buffet as I attempt to get some on my plate. I follow them with a clump of scrambled eggs.
I hate eggs.
“Lo—”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to pressure you.” He grips his plate. His jaw works. Conversations continue around us. His parents angry-whisper at the table.
I want the fuck out of here. That green blanket of grass through the window is looking better and better. “Yes, you are trying to pressure me. And don’t pretend otherwise.”
He sets down his plate and reaches for me. I step back, and the strawberries meander around my plate. It’s too much—everything that happened last night, being here with Kepler and his parents, the way he wants more, more, more.
I take a breath, tempted to whip out the fuck off again. But girlfriends talk about things. They don’t just curse and storm off.
I steady my plate. “I tell you I don’t know how to be your girlfriend, and you follow that up an hour later with telling me you want me to move across the country with you?” The strawberries roll dangerously close to the eggs—maneuvering my plate keeps my eyes off him. “Is this another attempt to get me to break up with you?”
“No.” He picks up his plate and moves down the line, stacking food on top of his already huge pile, but not glancing at me. “The thought was genuine.”
Seventeen
When I get home, Cassie drops her magazine on the breakfast bar. “Was he that good?”
“I’m not talking about it.” I plop down on my stool. Sitting in silence through the rest of brunch was more than I could take. Not only that, but Kepler slipped out his phone and ignored another mysterious call. I’ve got sharp thorns popping out of all sides of me, ready to snag anyone who even looks at me the wrong way. Thank God I don’t need to go to the grocery store for vegetable stock—all of Rock Falls would be in danger.
Cassie pours a tall glass of orange juice and pushes it to me. It doesn’t look appetizing with the solid mass of strawberries in my stomach, but I take a thank-you sip.