The Fall of January Cooper

by Audrey Bell

  "Nope."

  I whistled. "I can relate to that. If my parents tried to get me out of Massachusetts in November, when it's thirty degrees and dark all day, I'd tell them to fuck right off with their tropical islands and eighty degree weather and beaches. Because you're right, there is nothing worse. Nothing. St. Barth's in November. Worse than cancer."

  "I didn't say it was worse than cancer."

  "You said you couldn't think of anything worse."

  She turned her head to look at me. "Well, now that you've reminded me of cancer, how about I just say it sucked? Or is that not allowed? Am I not allowed to have an opinion?”

  I shrugged. I couldn't figure out what it was about January that made me so erratic. I was driving her to New York City. For no good reason. No reasonable person would expect this. And giving her a hard time about having an opinion on an island.

  I decided it was Texas.

  People from Texas. Everything's bigger. Although January was physically tiny. That said, everything else—from her ego to her attitude—was freaking massive. Even her meltdown outside of Logan had been massive in a sad kind of way.

  "Do you want to tell me why it sucked?" I asked.

  "Because. I hated it," she said. She looked out the window.

  "What did you hate about it?"

  "I was always alone." She shrugged. "It was a big house. On the edge of an island. I felt like I was disappearing."

  I was getting onto the highway and the snow had just begun to fall, in soft, unhurried and silent flurries of thinning snow. I cleared my throat. "Oh."

  "Well," she said. "You asked me what it was like and it sucked. It wasn't a war crime or a terminal disease, but it sucked." She turned to look at me and I felt her eyes searching me.

  "Sorry," I said. "I just...yeah."

  "The island was beautiful though," she added. "I just always got nervous there. Like, something would happen and nobody would know." She shrugged. "I only liked it my junior year of high school. Seventeen. I was crazy when I was seventeen," She cocked her head. "You were probably a saint.”

  I smiled. "I had to be. My dad's a cop. I couldn't do whatever I wanted."

  "Neither could I."

  "Okay. Sure."

  "I bet you did more things you wanted than I did."

  "Bullshit."

  "Think about it."

  "I don't need to think about it," I said. "Bullshit. Flat out, no way in hell bullshit."

  "My parents decided everything for me," she said. "My mother used to tell her hairdresser exactly how my hair should be cut.”

  "Yeah, well, I had a curfew," I said. "And my dad made me get my haircut, too."

  "My parents picked my prom date."

  I raised my eyebrows. "Did they pick Schuyler too?"

  "No, I picked Schuyler."

  "Maybe you should've let your parents keep making the decisions then, sweetheart."

  I laughed as she scowled. "Are you going to blame Tyler and Rhett and Brantley—”

  "I never dated anyone named Brantley," she muttered.

  "Well, that's good. Because people might think that was ridiculous."

  "You're making fun of me."

  "Correct."

  "It's too bad you don't have a little sister."

  I smiled. "What? You don't think I'd give a little sister a hard time."

  "No, I do. And I think she'd have murdered you by now," she said darkly.

  "Ah. And then there'd have been no one to give you a job or a ride to New York City."

  "Whatever."

  I switched the radio around and found some schmaltzy country music. "Hey! You can get in the right mood for Texas."

  “I hate this shit,” she muttered.

  I turned on my windshield wipers and focused on the road ahead. The snow was falling here too. Which made me nervous. If we got to New York and flights were cancelled, I'd be stuck in New York City with one seriously pissed off girl.

  I looked over at her, to check just how pissed off she was. Very, judging by the expression on her face.

  "All my exes live in Texas," I sang along.

  She fought a smile.

  "I have a question. Do the terrorists win if you smile at one of my jokes?"

  She shook her head. "No."

  I turned the music up and sang louder and she started laughing. "You're so fucking annoying."

  January

  New York was starting to look like a disaster. The dramatic skyline was thick with snow. The roads were a soggy, icy mess. I couldn't imagine that flights were taking off here if they hadn't been taking off in Boston.

  We were in bumper-to-bumper traffic on a highway in Queens. I looked through my swollen eyes at Christian. He had a day's stubble, which made him look slightly more rugged and slightly more handsome than usual.

  He should've been uglier. It would've solved half of my problems with him.

  "What are you going to do if all of the flights are cancelled?"

  He shrugged, sighing at the road. "I don't know. We can try Philly?"

  "Christian," I said. "This storm is a disaster. Philadelphia's shut down too. You can't drive all the way down the Eastern seaboard..."

  "Then, I'll drive you to Dallas."

  "I'm not letting you drive me to Dallas."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, we would kill each other."

  He scoffed. "We'll be fine. I won’t kill you.”

  "We won't be fine.”

  "Why won't we be fine?"

  "Because," I said. "I'll kill you."

  He shook his head, apparently no longer in a joking mood, and changed lanes. "No. It'll be fine. And if that’s what we have to do, we’ll just do it. And it will be fine.”

  I watched him closely. "You’re being very serious.”

  "I'm not that serious."

  "You're extremely serious. You either belong in a monastery or the 1950s. I haven't decided yet."

  He chuckled. "You're hot and cold and crazy, you know that? First I'm making fun of you, then I'm not listening to you, now I'm too serious. You've got too many opinions."

  "Well, so do you."

  He smiled. "Mine tend to be consistent."

  "Yes. I'm a spoiled brat," I said sourly. "I don't know if you came up with yourself or read it in The New York Post but bravo for originality."

  He pulled off the highway, laughing softly. "Well, if you can get a flight in New York, you can have all the fun you want with the unserious men and women of the TSA. You can send me all of the ones who aren't smiling. We're in the same monastery."

  "I can't wait."

  "Don't tell them about Brantley. They might think you're a threat."

  "There was no Brantley."

  "I know. What was his name?"

  "Wesley," I said. I remembered Wesley. He was blond and on the football team and so quiet, I suspected he was a mute, but his father was a Senator and my mother loved their house and his last name, because they had oil fields. There hadn't been anything wrong with Wesley except for the fact I didn't want to date him. And, apparently, he’d turned out to be gay. Which explained why he was so quiet and such a gentleman.

  "Right." He nodded. "And Tyler and Schuyler."

  "Why are you obsessed with my ex-boyfriends?"

  "Well, I met two of them and they both sucked. Did your mom pick Tyler or was that you?"

  "That was me."

  He laughed.

  "Why do you care?”

  "Well," he thought for a moment, like he was genuinely considering giving me a real answer. "I thought he was a massive douchebag."

  "Well, who could be more perfect for an entitled, spoiled, raging brat?”

  "Lots of people," he said mildly.

  "You know, you're colossally arrogant. And judgmental."

  "Are you kidding me? I'm colossally arrogant?"

  "Yes. And judgmental."

  "Well, we're just a match made in heaven then, because so are you."

  "Don't flatter yoursel
f," I said. "Like I said, I only thought you were attractive until you started speaking."

  "Well, you're so beautiful it makes me fucking sick, and I still think you're intolerable."

  I opened my mouth and closed it. I looked at him for a second.

  "I mean," he started. He cleared his throat. "I just meant." He shook his head.

  You weren't supposed to be flattered when people said you were nauseating. You were supposed to be offended. And annoyed. "I'm assuming that wasn't supposed to sound like a compliment," I said, trying not to sound flattered.

  "No. Yes. I don't know. I'm trying to drive here."

  I smiled.

  "Don't smirk."

  "I'm not smirking."

  "You know you're fucking gorgeous," he said, sounding annoyed. "My point was just that you're irritating."

  I put my feet up on the dashboard and stretched out.

  "I was trying to say I didn't like you anymore than you liked me."

  "Well, clearly," I said. "You changed around your whole work schedule so you didn't have to be near me."

  "I had physical therapy.”

  "You must think I'm really dumb," I said.

  "You know what? Let's just be quiet. Totally silent."

  I smirked. "That could be dangerous. I might be totally in love with you by the time we get to the airport, and then you'll start talking and break my heart all over again."

  He turned and looked at me. "Well, I'd hate to see that happen."

  "Not as much as I would."

  "How about being quiet?"

  "Yeah, sure. You take the lead."

  He closed his mouth and turned back to the road.

  He was gorgeous when he wasn’t talking. I mean, he was gorgeous when he was talking, too, but there were other things to focus on. Like how abrasive his personality was.

  The snow seemed to get heavier on the gray, motionless stretch of cars while we were being quiet. I could tell Christian actually had to focus on the road to drive and I felt bad about the long trip back.

  "You shouldn't drive back to Boston in this."

  He smiled. "God, you really are worried about falling in love with me. You didn't last fifteen minutes."

  "I'm serious. What will you do?"

  He shrugged. "Find someplace to stay." He squinted at the road. "Frankly, I'm starting to think you won't be able to get a flight from New York."

  "Don’t be so negative," I said. “I have to. Nothing else can go wrong.”

  He held up his hands. "See if you can find news anywhere."

  I fiddled with the radio, switching over to AM. They were listing the names of schools that would be closed in the morning.

  "Kennedy Airport and LaGuardia Airport have cancelled all outbound flights which is causing serious delays from the Triboro Bridge all the way to Kennedy."

  "Shit," Christian muttered.

  I looked at him as he moved out of the lane headed towards the airport and for signs that pointed to New Jersey.

  "Christian," I said. "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I'm not being ridiculous."

  "You're being completely ridiculous," I said. "What are you going to do?"

  "Drive to Dallas," he said conversationally.

  "You're going to drive to Dallas?"

  "Yes," he said. "I am going to drive to Dallas."

  "That's got to be the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

  He nodded his head once, like he was halfway in agreement with me. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s pretty bad. I have to say. But it’s what I’m doing.”

  Christian

  We stopped at an inn on the Jersey Shore, which was almost out of our way. There was a real blizzard on now, heavy gusts and iced over roads. We found a place on the water that could’ve been expensive in the summer, but in November and in this kind of storm, the cozy rooms came cheap.

  “You would choose a seaside resort for a blizzard,” January said dryly.

  “You should be declaring your love.”

  “I can’t. You talked too much.”

  “I’m driving you to Texas.”

  “I still think that might be a trick you’re playing with Olivia,” she squinted at me in the car.

  “They gave us a room and they have a nice restaurant.”

  “How nice?”

  “Better than McDonald’s.”

  “I love McDonald’s.”

  “You do not.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Probably not the one I’m talking about then,” I said. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the car. She stepped into a snowdrift and muttered. She kicked out her shoes and followed me to the door.

  I pushed the door shut and she nearly wiped out and I caught her lithe, slim body and held her for a second too long. “I love McDonalds. I love McFlurries. And Chicken nuggets. And French fries. I would probably kill a person for a McFlurry right now.”

  She ordered a cheeseburger at dinner, like she wanted to make a point about how much she liked unhealthy American food. And she picked up a bottle of whiskey from the inn’s gift shop.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We’re stuck in New Jersey in a snowstorm,” she said.

  I nodded, looking at the bottle of whiskey.

  “Would you have preferred tequila?”

  My stomach twisted at the memory. I smiled and shook my head. “No, that works.”

  “Good,” she said.

  January

  He showered first. Which I thought about while I lay on one of the two beds, looking out the window at the falling snow. You could hear the whistle of the wind and the crash of the waves up on the beach. It sounded nasty out there. And I thought about Christian in the shower.

  I sipped whiskey from a paper cup and turned on Dance Moms and thought about how Christian had fucked Olivia and how that made me itch.

  He came out shirtless, toweling off his hair, like he didn’t know his abs were massively annoying.

  “I’m not watching this shit.”

  “It’s not shit. It’s competition,” I said. “It’s about art.” A fat mother was screaming at her seven-year-old about turning out her toes.

  “It’s child abuse.”

  He flipped to ESPN.

  Tyler Snow’s face predictably filled the screen. “Snow had no comment on his relationship with the daughter of disgraced investor, Richard Cooper. Snow was engaged to January Cooper at the time of his arrest this August. The couple has since split.”

  They flashed a picture of us and I scowled.

  “Sorry,” Christian said. He flipped the channel, bad news on CNN, and then turned the TV off.

  “It’s fine. It’s not like I forgot I was engaged to him,” I said. I poured him a cup of whiskey. “Put Dance Moms back on.”

  “No.”

  I wished he'd left the TV on. I didn't like the quiet when he was around. It hummed, begging to be broken.

  "Here," I said, holding out a cup.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “You need to loosen up,” I said. I tipped the bottle towards him. “Have some fun, let your hair down.”

  He took a sip and grimaced. "Jesus, January. You drink this stuff straight?"

  I nodded. "When I'm feeling sorry for myself. Yeah, I do."

  He smiled, shaking his head. "Christ."

  I took out a book from my bag. It wasn't for school, it was a cheap thriller. I could have focused on it, half-drunk, maybe completely drunk, but not with the feeling that Christian was staring at me.

  When I looked up, he was drinking from the paper cup. His lips were chapped. And he was looking at me.

  "Tyler Snow is a loser."

  "I know that." I looked down at my book. Turned a page, even though I hadn't read a word.

  "No. He's a total fucking loser," Christian said. "He could've married you."

  I grimaced. "I don't want to talk about Tyler Snow."

  "Well," Christian shrugged. "Doesn't make a lot of sense to me. Girl lik
e you, guy like him." He shook his head.

  I looked up from my book.

  "What kind of guy would make sense?" I asked. "One of Bernie Madoff's grandkids?"

  "Well, I mean. Were you, like, in love with him?"

  "Who?"

  "Snow."

  I shrugged. "I said yes when he asked me to marry him."

  "That's an evasion."

  I shrugged. "Who knows? I don’t. Maybe.”

  He laughed. "You don’t know? Christ. And you were going to marry him?"

  I put the book down and looked at him. His stubble. His stupid perfect face. He leaned on one leg—keeping his weight off of the bad one—even when he was just standing, in front of me, hair soaked. My eyes followed a single rivulet of water as it traced its way from his breast bone, down the ridges of his abs.

  He had to be flexing.

  "I was going to marry him, yes," I said.

  "Even though you weren’t in love with him?

  "I never said that.”

  "Well, I think it's a yes or no thing."

  "Do you?" I asked. I looked at him.

  He shrugged. "I mean, yeah."

  "Have you ever been in love?" I asked.

  "No," he said. "But that's what everyone says. That it’s a yes or no thing.”

  I shrugged. "Well. People are liars."

  He laughed.

  "People are liars."

  "Not everyone."

  "Yes, everyone," I said dismissively. "Maybe not intentionally. But everyone is a liar." I stared up at the ceiling and sipped my whiskey. "People are always lying. About how much they love their friends. About how they would do anything for their daughter. But when something's actually on the line, they don't. Most of the time, they don't. Even when nothing's on the line…your friends are just the people who are around. And when you need them, they just turn into people you used to go to brunch with.”

  "You have shitty friends," he said. "That's the problem.” He sipped his whiskey.

  "Whatever."

  "And that was still an evasion."

  "As far as I'm concerned, I was in love with Tyler," I said coolly. I picked up my book again. "As far as you're concerned, it doesn't matter, because you're not the one who was going to marry him."

  He grinned. "Right. What about Schuyler?"

  I put the book back down. "What's with the twenty questions?"