by Lena Maye
I hold up my one-word list. “Not as clueless as me.”
“What about grad school?” Kepler pushes his books aside and kneels next to me. I want to throw my list off the bed and focus all my future wants on those surprising muscles, but I don’t. I need to figure this list thing out.
“Grad school.” I bite my lip. “But for what?”
“Communications? You seem to like your classes.”
I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Law?”
That gets a bigger eye roll. “Girls like me don’t go to law school.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s start with the basics. Poor, small-town girl who’s never—”
“You’re wrong.”
I hit him on the shoulder—with a closed fist this time. “You can’t tell your girlfriend she’s wrong like that. You need to hedge it better.”
“My ability to be an asshole has been well established. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m right. Every paper you write is about some kind of legal issue. Even for classes that have nothing to do with legal issues. What was that last one? Property law in Pride and Prejudice?”
“Property entailment was a huge aspect of the novel.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking of what to say. But I’m sure he’s already got it figured out.
“I believe”—his fingers skim over the bed and graze my knee—“there was also a love story.”
I can only shake my head at him. I’m not sure if I want to shove him off the bed or throw him down and tear his clothes off. It always seems to be one or the other with Kepler, as if there is no such thing as middle ground.
“Tell me this.” He pauses that same way he always does when he thinks he’s going to make a super-intelligent argument. “What’s more farfetched, law school or contortionist?”
I sigh and press the tip of my pen to the paper. It bleeds out a little black circle. I turn the circle into a letter. Then follow with the rest of the words.
Law school.
I drop the pad on the bed.
I hate that I wrote it. Having a dream makes my chest ache. I don’t like having dreams that will never come true. Kepler doesn’t understand what it means to have less than twenty dollars in a bank account. It’s not just the tuition and rent—it’s the damn application fee. I’m already up to my eyeballs in student loans. I work three jobs over the summer, but it’s never quite enough. And I don’t want to ask for more help from Sloane. She already helps enough with buying my books and helping my mom pay her mortgage.
“Hey.” Kepler’s fingers loop under my chin. He pulls up my face until I’m looking at him. “Don’t doubt yourself. Remember that linguistics class you said you’d fail? And now you’re sitting on an A, aren’t you? You doubt yourself too much.”
I give him a thin smile and slip my fingers into the top edge of his jeans to yank him forward. It’s clearly time for a Kepler-style study break. Otherwise known as the best distraction ever.
“I’m serious, Jean.” He captures my face between his hands. “You have so much fight in you. Why not use it on something like this?”
I shake my head. I don’t have an answer.
He sits back on his heels and picks up the pad. Another scratched word. I hope it’s a joke. Something to suck the constrained feeling out of the room. He hands me the paper. My heart catches in my throat.
Boston.
Oh, hell. “I’ve still got responsibilities here. I won’t chase a boy around the country. I’ve got my own life and goals.” I don’t know what a single one of those goals are. But still.
Kepler runs both hands through his hair, sending it into disarray. “You’re not chasing after me. New York is two hundred miles from Boston. I can make that work. DC is like five hundred miles away, and I can make that work too.”
“But you can’t make Colorado work?”
“I can make anything work. You don’t get it. I’m not saying you have to come to Boston. There’s no ultimatum.” He pulls at the neck of his t-shirt.
“I don’t believe you, Kepler. Not with the way you’re looking at me.”
He sighs and takes off his glasses. He drops them on the table next to the joint. “I’m fine making estimates about MIT, but I don’t want to guess about us. I know what I want, and I’m going after it.”
His words hang between us, and I want to clutch onto them. But I can’t let his certainty become mine. I shake my head. “I need to make this list for myself. I need to decide what’s on it. So far there are three things on my damn list, and you pretty much wrote all of them.”
His fingers play a rhythm on the bedspread. I trap them in mine.
“Okay.” He pulls up my hand and kisses my fingertips.
When he’s done, he sets my hand back on the legal pad. “Just promise to keep telling me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours. Can you agree to that?”
“Nope.” I show off my sweetest smile. “My thoughts are too dirty to share.”
God, I love the eyebrow raise he gives me.
“But I promise to show you my list.” I pick up the pen. “If I ever write anything on it.”
Twenty-Seven
“I invited Bash.” Sloane’s voice is tinny over my phone’s speaker. I set my piece of crap on the dash of Kepler’s car to concentrate on driving.
“Well, that’s interesting.” Both the invitation and that Sebastian suddenly has a nickname. I can’t help but grin. He and my sister have been chatting every night before her shift. Although they haven’t gone on a date yet. Clearly something I need to pester “Bash” about.
Kepler reclines next to me in the passenger seat. Cassie’s in the backseat fidgeting with her seat belt. I offered to sit in back with her and let Kepler drive, but she refused—telling me she’s on a mission to deal with being in a car before she goes to New York. And she’s actually doing okay. In part because I haven't even neared the speed limit on the entire ride.
“Cassie’s coming too,” I tell Sloane.
“Not a good idea,” she snaps. I flinch from the sharpness in her voice.
“She’s my best friend.” I give Cassie an encouraging smile. “She’s known us for longer than Sebastian has.”
“Mackie’s here.”
The car is dead silent. Even Kepler holds his breath. I turn into Sloane’s apartment complex and debate if I should park the car or turn around and just go home.
“Why would you let him into your house?” I side-glance at Kepler. “Being friends with Sebastian and my boyfriend shouldn’t give him a pass.”
Kepler sets his hand on my knee. I’m surprised he doesn’t respond. Perhaps the strategic use of my boyfriend helped.
“He just showed up. Am I supposed to kick him out?” Sloane asks.
Cassie stares out the window. There’s nothing out there she hasn’t seen every day for the last twenty years. “We’re either going to be friends or we aren’t. I’d rather know than wonder about it. I have to see him eventually.”
“Did you hear that?” I ask Sloane.
“Sounds like a party,” she says. “Remind Kepler not to bring more than an ounce.”
He sits up and bangs his knees against the glovebox. “I never carry more than an ounce, Officer Lo.”
I smile. He says my last name perfectly. Like he's been practicing. But then I hang up before anyone can say anything else.
A sharp breeze catches my hair as I get out of the car, but it’s oddly warm. One of the last warm days before winter descends. Well, Colorado-mountain warm, at least. We’re still wearing sweaters and scarves.
When we walk in, Mom is already there, making out with her creeper boyfriend on the couch. I kick the arm they’re leaning against. “Stop groping my mom.”
Then I beeline through Sloane’s little first-floor apartment to where I hear bitching in the kitchen.
“Who was that?” Kepler asks, close behind me.
“That’s Greg.” Sloane palms a cantaloupe. “And we’r
e being nice to him today.” Her hair frames her face, and eyeshadow softens her eyes.
I touch her shoulder. “You look beautiful, eonni.”
All eyes snap to me. I guess both our soft sides are showing.
“What?” I demand. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?”
“Very,” Sebastian says.
“Absolutely.” Kepler nods.
“Beautiful,” from Mackie.
“Can everyone stop talking about me?” Sloane ducks towards the counter.
I slide up next to her.
“Melon balls.” She’s got a death grip on the cantaloupe.
“If that’s your new curse word, I’m vetoing it.” I snag a piece of cheese off the counter. She sets the cantaloupe down on the cutting board, picks up another piece of cheese, and shoves it in my hand. “No, stupid, we need melon balls. The knife is right next to you.”
I munch on cheese and half the melon. Sloane’s already got the melon-baller and a bowl ready for me. We used to have melon balls all the time as kids. I can’t remember the last time I ate one. They feel like something from a simpler time—before life got so complex. I grin and start scooping.
Sloane puts Kepler and Cassie to work making potato salad, a task that seems much more complex than melon balling.
Sebastian and Mackie already have a job getting the grill started. Which takes Mackie out of the kitchen. Not that he or Cassie have said a word to each other.
Kepler passes close on his way to the fridge. He leans down and kisses my neck. His lips find that tingling spot on my collarbone before he reaches around me to grab the relish. A melon ball splats onto the floor. I hear his soft chuckle behind me, and it’s all I can do to keep scooping and not turn around to pull him into a dark corner right fucking now.
Unfortunately, all sexy thoughts halt when my mom and her creepwad step into the kitchen.
“Got a beer?” This is the first time I’ve seen Greg in a shirt. I’m mildly surprised it’s a button down.
Sloane nods to the fridge. Greg passes behind me, and I huddle up to the counter to give him extra space. Sloane’s apartment is way too small.
“Greg got his license back.” My mom swirls her wine glass. Is she actually bragging about him?
“That’s good.” Sloane forces a smile.
“Got it back?” I ask. “Where did it go?”
Sloane shakes her head at me, but I pretend not to notice.
Greg uses an opener on his key chain to pop the cap off his beer. “License got suspended, but now I can drive again.”
“So, you’ll be working more?” I slap a melon ball into the bowl.
He nods.
“That’s fabulous.” I throw him a bright smile.
He drops the keys in his shirt pocket. “My truck’s been parked out front of your mom’s house for three weeks. Stop by, and I’ll show it to you. I’m sure a little girl like you would have no problem fitting in the cab.”
My stomach flops over. This is the kind of person my mom wants to spend her time with?
Kepler’s hand falls on mine. He slides the melon baller out of my fingers. “I’ll finish up. Why don’t you see how much longer?” He nods towards the patio. I look up at him, sure he can read the thank you on my face, and dart to the door. I pull it shut to keep the wind out and step out of view.
By the grill, Sebastian one-arm hugs me. “Thanks for telling Sloane to invite us over.” His grin is saying about a million things.
Although I don’t smile back. “A date, Sebastian.” I poke a finger into his solid chest.
He holds up his hands and shakes his head. “She works every weekend night.”
“Then take her out on a Monday.” I poke him again for good measure. “Don’t mess this up by being stupid.”
He nods, shoving both hands in his pockets. Which somehow makes his shoulders look even broader. “She’s really tied to this place, isn’t she?”
“You mean Rock Falls?”
He gives me another stiff nod. What’s up with him?
I glare at him. “What’s up with you?”
“I just don’t know how long I’ll be around for. Finish this semester, but then I’m in Maine for the summer. Some guys I know are going to the Canyonlands after that.”
“Climbing?”
“Yes. And maybe Lake Tahoe.” He glances over my shoulder through the sliding door, the cleft in his chin deepening.
“I’m not asking you to marry her, Sebastian. Just see if she wants to go out. Be a friend.” I give him another jab in the chest. “Just be upfront with her.”
“I can do that.”
I nod, confident that the situation is solved. But another situation is glaring at the empty, still-cold grill.
“And you. Are you going to talk to Cassie?” I ask Mackie.
Not glancing up, he turns his back to me. “Just because you’re in puppy love doesn’t mean you need to go around forcing relationships on other people.”
“Puppy love?” I ask.
“I give it a month.”
Sebastian steps between Mackie and me. “Give her a break, man.”
His gravelly voice is easy but there’s a steadiness to it. A no-bullshit kind of tone. He’s so perfect for my sister. I just hope he realizes it before he runs off to his next adventure.
Mackie shakes his head and returns his attention to the grill. Inside the kitchen, Greg and my mom share more gross kisses. Cassie mixes potato salad with intense focus.
Where are Kepler and Sloane?
I watch. They don’t appear.
In the reflection of the glass window, Mackie hunches over the grill.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” I say to his reflection. “If you don’t stop being an ass, then you’ll lose every relationship you’ve got.”
He looks at me in the glass, both of us staring at a reflection of the other. I don’t wait for him to shoot something at me—it wouldn’t be genuine anyway.
Sloane and Kepler still aren’t in the kitchen. I peek into the empty living room before heading down the hallway. Voices carry from Sloane’s bedroom.
I push the cracked door open. Sloane and Kepler stand in the middle of the room, a few inches between them. Her mouth is drawn into a line.
Kima stands at attention in her crate.
“What’s up?” I ask.
Kepler steps around me. “I have to help Cassie with the potato salad.”
“Sloane?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t think he should take you to that bonfire when you’re still so skinny.” She pushes past me after Kepler.
I stand in her bedroom, totally confused. That wasn’t even a good lie.
“What happened, Kima?” I kneel in front of the kennel. She sniffs at me through the cage. Sloane never lets her out when she has company. Which is probably a good idea, seeing as she’d alert on half the guests.
I follow Sloane out to the kitchen. Hamburgers are going on the grill. Cassie hands me a glass of sangria, which I sip as everyone moves around me.
Even Creepwad Greg and my mom help by setting up chairs outside, which is the only space large enough to fit everyone, and there’s the unstated need to suck up any warmth we can before snow comes. I wrap up in a long scarf and sit next to Cassie. The boys gather around the grill, laughing about something. Kepler stands two feet away from them.
My mom sits down across from me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were dating someone?”
I shrug. Kepler rubs his hand across the back of his neck. He glances at me and returns to glowering at the grill.
“I haven’t seen Kepler in years.” She looks at him over her wine. “He looks different.”
I picture those beautiful surprising muscles. “‘Different’ describes it.”
Sebastian serves overcooked burgers to everyone except for Cassie, who gets a charred veggie burger. When Kepler takes the seat next to me, I sigh out my relief.
Until my mom leans over the table and tells him how happy she is
that Jean “has a man in her life.”
Kepler throws a potato chip in his mouth and crunches hard. His non-reaction sends her talking about Sloane and how she shouldn’t feel bad she doesn’t have a man in her life. She scans Mackie and Sebastian like they are fruit at the supermarket.
Kepler dips close to my ear, and I give a smile, hoping he’ll tell me what the hell is going on.
“Thanks for inviting me.” His jaw clenches. “So I can be the man in your life.”
The way he repeats her phrase in a rough voice sets the hair on the back of my neck up. I’m not sure if he’s making fun of her phrasing or trying to say something else.
He pauses close to my ear. “That night at the fundraiser, did you know the guy?”
My fork with two melon balls on it freezes in midair. “No, I didn’t.”
“You never met him before that night?”
“No, Kepler. Why are we talking about this here?” My voice rises on the last question.
“Why don’t you want to press charges?” Kepler lowers his voice to a whisper.
I glance towards my sister, who is sitting to the right of our mom. Attempting to have a conversation with her, but both of them sit stiffly—like they are preparing for something terrible to happen.
“Let’s talk about this later,” I whisper.
He leans back in his chair and rubs a hand over his neck before pushing up and heading into the house. His full plate sits on the table.
He’s digging. Why is he digging?
My heart pounds against my chest. I need to tell him the truth. Now isn’t a good time. But now is never a good time. I’ve been avoiding it, and I can’t do that anymore.
Conversations continue around me. Sebastian steals a not-so-casual glance at Sloane, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Greg stares at me on more than one occasion. Kepler doesn’t return.
I stand and drop my napkin on the table, heading into the house.
“Jean,” Sloane calls. She follows me into the kitchen. “You should let him be.”
I shake my head. “I need to talk to him now. Like right fucking now. No more delaying.”
“Stop.” She tries to catch my shoulder, but I don’t stop. I step into the living room to find Sloane’s tiny television is on. Kepler stands in front of it with the remote in his hand. The image on the screen is black and grainy.