Absinthe

by Winter Renshaw

  Turning my back, I wait for the shuffle of his footsteps and the gentle click of the door catch.

  Lila’s quiet, observing me, and I hope to God she’s not another Emily Miller.

  “You’re going to hate it here,” she says after a moment of silence.

  I stand, feet planted in the center of our tiny room and arms folded across my chest. “How long have you—”

  “Eight years,” she answers, exhaling as she draws her knees against her chest and rests her back along the headboard. “Eight fucking years of this bullshit. You know they actually have a class here called Charms and Graces 101? We have to walk around with books on our heads and learn to make tea like we’re some British fucking aristocrat.”

  I glance at her nightstand, a thick, leather-bound book catching my attention. “You read?”

  Lila laughs. “I do. Here.”

  Grabbing the book, she tosses it to me. “Great Expectations.”

  “No. Open it up.”

  Flipping the cover open, I see where the inside has been hollowed out and a Harlequin paperback is tucked neatly inside. The woman on the cover is half-naked, her dress barely containing her ample bosom, and the long-haired, broad-muscled man holding her looks like he’s seconds from devouring her.

  “Oh, honey, we need to fix this.” I shut the cover, tossing the book back.

  Lila shakes her head. “I like my smut.”

  “Read Fanny Hill or Lady Chatterley’s Lover. I promise you’ll never touch one of those again.”

  “Anyway,” Lila sits the book back. “What’s your story? Why’d your parents ship you off?”

  I move to my new bed, taking a seat on the edge. The mattress is springy and thin, and my palms trace the lumps beneath the coverlet.

  “My aunt and uncle sent me here because I was becoming too much of a burden or some shit like that,” I say. “And I don’t have a story. I’m just the girl that nobody ever wanted.”

  Lila pouts, placing her hand over her heart. “You say that like it’s not the saddest thing in the world.”

  “It’s not sad. It’s a fact.” I shrug. “Got over it a long time ago. What about you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I was an oops baby. My parents were in their forties when they had me. Their first three kids were already grown and off to college and they were looking forward to retiring early and traveling the world when I came along. They kept me around the first ten years or so, hiring nannies and all that. Then one day they just decided I should come here.”

  “Just like that?”

  Lila nods. “Pretty much.”

  “Were you sad?” I imagine how difficult it would be as a ten-year-old girl, being left here while your family carries on without you.

  “Not really.” She glances down, focusing on the rug between our beds. “Honestly, I barely know my parents. They were never around growing up … maybe holidays and stuff but nothing else. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just a couple of spoiled rich assholes who gave me their last name and these dashing good looks.”

  Lila smirks, lashes fluttering. She’s kidding, but she doesn’t need to. It’s true. She’s beautiful, striking really, even covered in a drab gray dress and sitting in this dimly lit dungeon of a dorm room.

  “Look at us,” Lila says. “Just a couple of girls nobody wanted. God, I can’t wait to get the fuck out of here.”

  “What are you doing after graduation?”

  “Reinventing myself,” she says without hesitation. “I’m going to be the girl that everyone wants. The girl no one wants to be without. I refuse to spend the rest of my life as someone else’s afterthought.”

  I cross my legs, leaning back on my palms. “And how are you going to do that?”

  She laughs. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. But I’m going to do it. I’m going to be that girl.”

  “I want to be that girl too,” I say.

  My mind returns to Kerouac for the millionth time today, unexpectedly and out of the blue like it does, only this time I’m not wondering what he’s doing today or when he’ll find out I was shipped off or if he’s been searching for me in the halls at school.

  I’m thinking about that last email, wishing I could talk to him and tell him I’ll wait because he’s the only person who’s ever truly wanted me.

  And now I have no way to reach him.

  Uncle Victor took my electronics. The headmistress says we’re an ‘electronics-free’ school, save for the computer lab, which has no Internet access. I never knew Kerouac’s real phone number or real email. We only ever communicated through Karma.

  “You’re thinking about someone,” Lila says, squinting. “Who is it? You have a boyfriend back home?”

  “No boyfriend.”

  Her mouth pinches, like she’s unsure if she believes me. “Some guy you love?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You’re not going to wait for him, right?” she asks, chuckling.

  I search for the right words, something that won’t make me seem lovesick or pathetic. No one could possibly understand what we had, why I loved him, or why I would wait a hundred lifetimes for him if I had to.

  “Oh, god. Please. No. We’re way too young to wait around for these assholes. I did that my sophomore year. Met a boy on summer break. Told him I’d wait for him so we could be together the following summer. Found out later on that he had three different girlfriends during the school year.” She makes a gagging sound. “They lie. They always lie. Especially the hot ones.”

  “My situation is different.”

  “Everyone says that.” Lila rolls her eyes. “I promise you it’s not. Boy meets girl. Boy charms girl. Boy says he loves girl. Boy asks girl to wait for him. Boy fucks other girls.”

  “We never dated … we just talked.”

  Her head tilts, like a confused toy poodle. “So, you’re hung up on some guy back home that you only ever talked to?”

  “We had a connection.” I don’t know how to say this without sounding trite. Saying we had a connection makes it seem so much less than what it was when it was so much more than that. “We wanted to be together, but we couldn’t.”

  “Oh, god. Married man?”

  “No. Principal.” My gaze flicks to hers. I expect to get a reaction from her, judgement or disgust or something. Instead she climbs off her bed, walks toward me, and places her hand in my face, palm-side up.

  “High five, Halston. That’s fucking awesome,” she says. “I knew you were bad ass, but this takes it to a whole other level. Love a girl who’s not afraid to go after what she wants in a world that doesn’t want us to have anything.”

  I laugh, slowly lifting my hand. I hate high fives, but I like Lila.

  Chapter 37

  Halston

  One Year Later…

  What a difference a year makes.

  Fall leaves crunch beneath my boots as I lug my backpack over one shoulder, hauling ass across the campus of Greatwood University, the only state college that accepted my application, and only after Uncle Vic pulled a few strings.

  Eight months at Welsh Academy turned out not to be so bad. There was no Bree. There was no Uncle Vic or Aunt Tabitha. There were no BMW-driving rich kids to contend with. By all accounts, it was a fresh start. A clean slate.

  It didn’t take long for me to get used to the rigorous schedule or the ridiculous classes we were forced to suffer through, but Lila made things palatable. She knew all of the best hiding spots, all of the little nooks and crannies of the house. She knew where all the cameras were and how not to trip the alarms in the library and pantry.

  The summer before college, I went home with Lila, spending those warm months at her family’s vacation cottage in Portland, Maine, just the two of us in a little house by the shore. She’d planned to attend Brown in the fall, her father’s alma mater, but at the last minute, she decided to go to GU with me.

  I couldn’t have been happier … but I played it cool.

  I didn�
��t want to seem that desperate.

  “Hey, stranger.” Lila walks toward me from Curtis Hall, shoving the rest of her peanut butter sandwich between her pink lips. “Want to go to Friday After Class at The Oxblood Taproom? Two for one wells?”

  Within a month of moving into our dorm, Lila somehow managed to find us both fake IDs. I haven’t asked. She hasn’t explained. It’s probably safer that way.

  “I have a ten-page paper due Monday.” I bite my lower lip.

  “Oh, my god,” Lila groans. “You’re almost twenty. Come get one drink with me. Live a little. You’re killing me here.”

  If someone had told me years ago that I’d turn into a studious, college embracing nerd, I’d have never believed them, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve finally found my groove.

  I wake up when I want to wake up. I take classes that actually interest me. High school cliques and politics don’t seem to be an issue here because there are literally tens of thousands of students, and last but not least, I don’t need a car. The extensive bus system gets me where I need to go, and anything else is within walking distance.

  I’ve also managed to land a part-time retail job on the weekends, which pays for most of my clothes and extras.

  All things considered, I’m doing really fucking well.

  Glancing over Lila’s shoulder, I spot Emily Miller in the distance, laughing and walking in a group of girls who all look alike: mousy and tiny. She finally found her people. I saw her at the food court the first week of school. She pretended like she didn’t know me, which at the time, caught me off guard. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized Bree probably spent the remainder of our senior year trashing my reputation to anyone who would listen.

  I can only imagine the kinds of things circulating the halls of Rosefield High.

  “Lila, hey.” Two guys with khaki shorts, neon polos, and backwards visors approach us, their gazes darting between us as they wear mischievous grins. “Didn’t see you in Econ this morning. What gives?”

  “Overslept.” Lila bites her bottom lip. “I can’t do eight AM classes.”

  “Ah, well. I took notes. Let me know if you want them,” the first guy says.

  “What? No way. That’s so sweet of you.” Lila’s mouth pulls wide and she tilts her head. The note-taker blushes. She’s so good at playing the charm card it’s disgusting.

  “Anyway, we’re going to grab some drinks at Oxblood if you and your friend want to join us?” he asks.

  Her face lights. “We were just talking about going to FAC. We’ll totally join you.”

  I shoot her a look, which she proceeds to ignore, and the second the guys leave, I jab my elbow into her ribcage.

  “I cannot believe you just did that,” I say, my voice hushed.

  “What?” The legitimate confusion on her face is concerning. “We were going anyway, what’s the big deal?”

  All those years spent away at a girls’ only prep school have done some serious damage to this woman. We’ve only been here a couple of months and already she’s doing everything she can to make up for lost time.

  I’m pretty sure if I looked up “boy crazy” in Webster’s dictionary, there’d be a cross-reference to Lila Mayfield.

  Folding her arms, she squints. “When are you going to move on?”

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  “This is about that guy, that principal guy,” she says.

  “No, it’s not.” I try to sound convincing, but I don’t even convince myself.

  Her jaw hangs. “That’s exactly what this is about. That’s why you’ve been acting so weird since we came here. All you do is study and hide up in our room, and when you’re not studying, you’re reading books, and when you’re not studying or reading books, you’ve got a million Google tabs going at once.”

  Busted.

  Trying to find Kerouac has become a compulsive obsession that occupies ninety-nine percent of my study-breaks.

  “When are you going to move on, babe?” Lila asks, one hand on her hip. “It’s been a year.”

  “It feels like yesterday,” I say, my voice narrowing to a whisper.

  She places her hands on my shoulders, almost shaking me as she gets in my face. “I promise you, Halston. Where ever he is? He’s not sitting around waiting for you to walk back into his life. So why are you?”

  I let her words replay in my mind, hoping they might actually sink in for once. It’s not like I haven’t had the exact same thought a million times before …

  My heart just isn’t ready to accept it.

  Chapter 38

  Ford

  “Not that you’re not welcome to live out the rest of your days on my living room sofa,” Nic stands over me, a mug of coffee between her palms, “but it’s been a year now, and I feel like you should probably start thinking about figuring your shit out.”

  I lost everything.

  My job. My career. My house. My livelihood.

  Everything.

  Nicolette takes the spot beside me, pushing my feet out of the way, and I sit up, dragging my palms down my scruffy face.

  “You’re a shadow of your former self, Fordie,” she says with a half-hearted chuckle, though there’s concern in her eyes.

  I never told her what transpired last year. I was too ashamed. Too proud to admit I’d fucked up and thrown away everything I worked for over a girl.

  “Have you thought about talking to someone?” my sister asks.

  Tossing my blanket off, I rise. I should shower. I can’t remember the last time I showered. It’s not that I don’t shower every day, I just literally don’t remember any of it. I couldn’t begin to tell you what I had for dinner last night or what day of the week it is.

  I’m simply existing in this weird little bubble with no concept of space or time. I don’t think about tomorrow. I try not to think about yesterday. Everything blurs and blends together. It’s easier that way. It’s easier to avoid mirrors and calendars and anything else that might lure me out of this limbo headspace and back into reality.

  “No,” I answer her. “I don’t need to talk to anyone.”

  “Then maybe try to get out of the apartment a little more?” She shrugs. “Sometimes you don’t leave for days. I go to work and I come home and you’re in the exact same place you were when I left you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything else.” I wave my hand to silence her. “I know I’m pathetic. I know you feel sorry for me. I know you’re worried about me.”

  “Damn right, I’m worried about you. This isn’t you. You are not my brother. You’re not Ford Hawthorne,” she says, voice pitched. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

  Her easygoing demeanor fades, and for the first time since our father passed, I see tears in my sister’s eyes.

  Sinking down into a chair across from her, I hold my head in my hands. “Fuck.”

  She’s right. This isn’t me.

  And maybe deep down, I already know that.

  Maybe that’s why I avoid my reflection like the plague.

  Maybe that’s why I spend my days holed up in this shoebox apartment, hiding from the rest of the world.

  “Go for a run or something,” she says. “You used to run all the time. Go run. Go to the coffee shop every morning so you can at least have some human interaction. Just do something. You can’t sit around here anymore.”

  “Are you kicking me out?” I half-chuckle, though I know she’s fully serious.

  “I don’t think I have a choice, do I?” She worries her lower lip. “I love you, Ford. You’re my brother. My best friend. But I want you to be happy. And at this point, I’m enabling your unhappiness. I love you too much to do that.”

  “So, it’s settled.” I sit up, my eyes locking on hers from across the tiny room. “I’ll be out of your hair by the end of the week.”

  Her nose scrunches. “Where are you going to go?”

  “Not sure yet.” Shrugging, I add, “As far away as possibl
e.”

  Chapter 39

  Halston

  Another Year Later …

  I’m going to call him, “Judd the Dud.”

  The guy sitting across from me at the cheapest pizza place in Campus Town checks football scores on his phone, laughing and nodding to himself before firing off a text message.

  I yawn, cursing Lila’s name for setting up this blind date.

  Judd Johnston is the epitome of a Hollister-wearing Joe Anybody, who has lived in Illinois his entire life, has a perfectly boring family, is majoring in ‘Business’ and can’t carry on an interesting conversation to save his life.

  And the worst thing about him?

  He doesn’t fucking read.

  Hates books.

  “I’ve never been into reading,” he told me five minutes ago. “Books are just boring to me.”

  “Wonder what’s taking our pizza so long?” I ask, spinning my napkin ring and resting my head in my hand. I’ve already rearranged the parmesan cheese and red pepper flake shakers, and I’ve taken a field trip to the bathroom just to get away from Judd, but it’s been twenty-minutes and we’re still sitting here, staring at each other with dead eyes.

  He adjusts his visor, which must be a thing here at Greatwood. All the guys wear backward visors and boat shoes and they all have messy, long-ish hair. To the untrained eye, these guys would be cute. They’d be worth the random fling or hookup.

  But my tastes have matured since Kerouac.

  And none of these boys hold a flame to what I really want.

  When our waitress finally delivers the goods, I wolf down three pieces before he finishes his first, and then I tell him I have a test to study for the next day.

  “But it’s a Friday,” he says.

  “It’s an online class.” I try to sound remorseful. “Thanks for the pizza though. See you around!”

  Before he has a chance to contest my early termination of this God-awful date, I’m already out the door, practically jogging toward the bus stop to catch the next one. When I get back to the off-campus apartment I share with Lila, she’s curled up on the sofa with her newest flavor-of-the-month watching some cheesy reality show on the DVR.