by Penny Reid
Swallowing around another knot, I tore my eyes from his and turned to my friend. Allyn was now waving from her spot at the other head of the table, literally the farthest spot from Abram she could’ve selected.
I took my place next to her with a thank you, and then turned to reintroduce myself to the person I didn’t remember meeting at my right and the people across from me.
Once introductions had been made and what I considered appropriate polite chit-chat commenced, I forced myself to take a bite of food. I hadn’t been able to eat much since we’d arrived, and I knew lack of sustenance was one of the reasons I didn’t feel quite myself now.
“Did you have fun today?” Allyn asked, sounding optimistic.
I gave her a smile that I hoped communicated my gratitude and my remorse. “I’m sorry I haven’t been an attentive host.”
She covered my hand, not seeming to notice when I flinched. “Oh no, don’t apologize. Don’t worry about me.” Her greenish-blue eyes widened, and she shook her head. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. After what you told me—about you and the Captain—if I were you, I would be camped out in my room until the week was over.”
We’d decided on the Captain for Abram’s code name, mostly because of me mistakenly calling him Ahab while he and I had shared the house in Chicago.
“I’m okay,” I said automatically.
Try being honest for once.
I frowned, then rubbed my forehead with stiff fingers, Abram’s words from earlier still chanting between my ears. “Actually, it’s not okay. I’m not okay. I don’t understand myself. I can’t figure out why I still feel so strongly about a person I knew years ago, and only for one week, and with whom a future is impossible.”
“It sounded like an intense week.”
“It was intense, kinda. And it wasn’t. I mean, we didn’t even kiss. Part of me wonders, if I hadn’t lied to him, if I didn’t feel so guilty, would I still be holding on? Thinking about him all the time? Maybe it’s just guilt I’m feeling, and not—”
“Infatuation?”
I was actually thinking more along the lines of love given the fact that this madness has persisted for over two years, but—
“Sure, we’ll call it infatuation. Maybe I’m infatuated with him because I feel like I owe him? Because I lied?”
“I don’t know about that, Mona. If you were going to be infatuated with someone, the Captain is an excellent candidate. I’ve listened to Redburn’s songs on repeat for months now. They’re the current soundtrack to my life. And Abr—I mean, the Captain wrote all those songs. His words—” Allyn sighed, her gaze flickered to the far end of the table, and then back to me. “I’m a little in love with him, and we didn’t spend a week together.”
Ugh. She likely hadn’t meant her statements to be a reminder of how impossible my feelings for Abram were, but that’s what she’d done. No doubt, thousands of women—and men for that matter—had sentiments echoing Allyn’s. I’d seen it with my parents, admiration to the point of worship based on their music. He was and always would be adored by many.
Musicians aren’t monogamous. And I wanted a picket fence, with a lawn, and a rose garden, and children. We would bake pies in the shape of pi. Rock stars don’t have rose gardens, and I definitely didn’t want an open relationship. I’d seen my sister make this mistake.
And, even if Abram was monogamous, he doesn’t want you.
“Maybe it’s a combination of things.” Allyn bumped my knee with hers beneath the table. “You feel guilty, yes. But maybe you feel so guilty because you truly do like him. And the guilt plus the like creates these super intense feelings that are hard to move past.”
Stewing in discontent, I pushed my food around with my fork.
“You never told me,” she started, and I felt her gaze on my profile. “What happened on Saturday? When the two of you talked? I want to give you space, and I don’t wish to push you about it. But, do you want to discuss it?”
Although I’d told Allyn about my past with Abram—everything in Chicago, how I’d internet-stalked him for a year after, how he’d given me the cold shoulder in the funicular structure after she went inside with Leo, my plan to tell him the truth about impersonating Lisa, etcetera—I hadn’t yet filled her in on the outcome of my conversation with Abram the morning after we’d arrived.
“I . . .” I struggled to recall the incident while also forming coherent words. I couldn’t.
My first instinct—when Abram and I were in the study on Saturday, and he’d told his side of our twisted story— had been to say sorry. To bleed my apologies all over the place. To rend them from my lips and my hands and my guts and my heart. But as we’d looked at each other, seeing each other for the very first time, I knew with absolute certainty that he didn’t want a gushing apology or excuses.
Gushing, pleading apologies and attempts at justification would’ve made him angrier, more distant, more certain in his disdain and resolute in his dislike. I was desperate to give him what he wanted, whatever that was. But I didn’t know what he wanted, and I wondered if he even knew what he wanted.
I suspected not.
Therefore, I’d stood there and listened, doing my best to not explain. I hoped that if I gave him space, then he might give me time later.
And on that note, I dropped my fork and fit my hand in the pocket of my snoga pants, where I’d placed the letter. Feeling it there calmed me, and that was good because simply thinking about what Abram had said, how he’d looked at me, made me feel like crying again. I was so tired of crying. I’d just spent two days hiding in my room with the silence, crying, and I wasn’t even a crier!
I didn’t want to cry anymore.
Allyn gave me a sympathetic look, squeezing my hand harder. “Should I have stayed with you? This afternoon? I saw you and Abram talking, I didn’t know what to do. I mean, he looks intimidating in all the band’s photos, and he’s bigger and scarier in real life, but even though I love him for his music, I will break his nose—no questions asked—if you wanted me to.”
“No, no.” I laughed at the image of sweet Allyn breaking Abram’s nose, even though it was a weird thing to find funny. Maybe I laughed because I appreciated the distraction the image conjured.
It’s not that Allyn wasn’t capable of it—she totally was, especially if she caught him off-guard—it’s just that she was one of those peace-loving sorts, always trying to mediate, see both sides of every issue, and negotiate a cease-fire.
“It was okay. We were fine. Relative to our last interaction, today was fine.”
Try being honest for once.
“It was fine,” I repeated, frowning at Abram’s voice in my head arguing the point. Given where we’d ended things in the study on Saturday, our interaction this afternoon felt almost miraculous.
For no reason whatsoever, I found myself glancing down the table, spying on him. He was speaking to the Kaitlyn woman. Their heads were together. They smiled at each other. They looked comfortable and cozy. I felt my stomach tense like I might be sick.
My attention lingered on her for too long, but I couldn’t help it. She wasn’t particularly pretty—her lips were an unusual shape, her eyebrows thick, black, too pronounced, her eyes a drab shade of gray, and she had a noticeable gap between her two front teeth—but she, taken all together, was strikingly beautiful, and the sight filled me with restive fury.
Her beauty should’ve been irrelevant. What did it matter if Abram was laughing and smiling with this woman? What did it matter if her rejoining laughter made me want to singe her eyebrows from her face using a hot poker? I wouldn’t actually do it. It didn’t matter. It had no mass.
But somehow, her striking beauty didn’t feel irrelevant. It did have mass, and matter, and weight.
Are they dating?
My stomach twisted tighter, hurt.
Do they have an open relationship? Like my parents? Maybe they’re just lovers. He probably has several.
“Are you sure
you don’t want to talk about your conversation with him on Saturday?” Allyn’s question yanked me out of my destructive, pointless musings, and I faced her again.
“No, honestly. But I think maybe I should. How about tonight? After dinner.”
She nodded. “Sure. We’ll have wine.”
“Maybe not wine.” I didn’t need a wine-haze clouding my judgment with potentially hot pokers nearby. “How about tea?”
“Oh, yes. I will make you my winter tea. I should make some for Leo too.” She gave me a shy smile and asked reluctantly, “Speaking of, how is Leo?”
I tried not to grin at the way her voice pitched higher at his name.
Yes, Leo was a musician, but he wasn’t like all the others. I knew his heart and he craved monogamy. He craved finding that special someone. He was the exception that proved the rule, but he’d made the mistake of only dating musicians . . . so far.
Plans. Lots of plans. Allyn and Leo will marry in the summer, on a vineyard, and I’ll be the maid of honor. The table numbers will all be prime numbers, because I’ll be planning the wedding.
Allyn narrowed her eyes, leaning away. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I mimicked the singsong quality to her voice. “Like, You and Leo sitting in a tree, K-I-N-E-T-I-C energy?”
She blushed, making me happy, and her lips twisted to the side, clearly fighting a smile. “I was just asking if he was okay. He seemed really sick.”
“He is. You should go take care of him.”
“Mona.”
“He would love it.”
“Mona.”
“Give him a sponge bath.”
“MONA!”
“What?” I laughed, delighted with the direction and escalation of my teasing.
Allyn cleared her throat and leaned forward, asking primly, “What happed with Charlie?”
“Charlie?” I sat straighter, blinking at the sudden subject change, and glancing back down the table to Charlie.
“Yes. Charlie. He seemed very friendly before we went sledding. I saw you two talking at the top of the hill, right before we all went back inside. What was that about?”
Unfortunately, instead of looking at Charlie, my gaze was drawn to Abram and Kaitlyn again. They were still talking. And laughing. And looking cozy.
Thank goodness Allyn was here to distract me, otherwise I would’ve spent half of dinner trying not to spy on Abram and Kaitlyn, and the other half spying on Abram and Kaitlyn.
Mortifyingly, Kaitlyn glanced up at just that moment. She caught me staring.
I glanced away quickly, fighting against the embarrassment heating my face and telling myself not to look again.
No. I want to look. I want to see him.
Then she’ll see you.
Does it matter?
I couldn’t decide.
“Mona?” Allyn prompted.
“Hmm?” I picked up my fork and knife and cut into the tenderloin on my plate, determined to eat more food.
“Did something bad happen with Charlie?”
I shook my head, shoveling steak, polenta with mushrooms, and the rocket, spinach, goat cheese, and cranberry salad into my mouth. Under normal circumstances, I probably would’ve requested a second serving. But not tonight. Tonight, even mushrooms tasted like unflavored tapioca pudding. Mush.
I felt Allyn’s eyes on me. I also felt someone else’s eyes on me, and I suspected they belonged to she-called-Kaitlyn.
“Hey, you ladies want anything to drink? I’m making cocktails.” Bruce—the guy sitting across from me and next to Allyn—leaned forward and glanced between us. “If I may say so, I make an excellent manhattan.”
“No thanks,” Allyn answered for both of us. “I’m making winter tea later, so cocktails now would be too much, I think.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, giving her a smile, me a single nod, and stood from the table, taking his plate with him. I decided, even though I didn’t know Bruce, I liked him. Anyone who cleared their own plate from the table without being asked was worthy of my respect.
“I like Bruce,” Allyn said, watching him go. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll take him up on his offer to make me a cocktail. This is the third time he’s asked, and he’s always so nice about it. I’ve never had a manhattan.”
“Hey now,” I said around my last bite of polenta, “what about my poor brother?”
Allyn laughed, giving me a look like she thought I was weird. “I don’t like Bruce that way. I—” Realizing what she’d just said, Allyn covered her mouth with her hand and stared at me with big eyes.
JACKPOT!
Pointing at her, I shook my head. “No take-backs.”
Her hand dropped, she crossed her arms. “Fine. Fine. Now you know the truth. Leo is a cutie pie and I just want to wrap him up in rice paper and eat him up like an egg roll.”
“Weird and gross. Nevertheless, I approve.” I’d had similar thoughts about Abram, but instead he was ice cream in a cookie cone.
Grinning, finished with my food, and feeling better than I had in days, of course I glanced down the table again and all the good feelings were chased away.
Kaitlyn was shaking her head at something Abram had said and she hit him lightly on the shoulder. He threw his head back, laughing with abandon, his hands over his chest.
Stop looking.
She’ll see you and know you’re a weirdo. Is that what you want?
Does it matter? He hates you. Look now, because you’ll never be this close to him again.
I still couldn’t decide, and I still hadn’t decided when she caught me spying. Again. But this time? I didn’t glance away.
Try being honest for once.
I held her gaze and allowed myself to just be jealous. I’d never been jealous before, but I knew in my bones that’s what this horrible feeling was. I felt it oozing out of me, jealousy-radiation coming from my pores and eyes, and then the weirdest thing happened.
Kaitlyn blinked. And then she smiled.
10
Circuits and Bioelectricity
*Mona*
She smiled.
Smiled. At me.
And not a mean-person smile, or a villain smile, or even a knowing smile.
It looked genuine, friendly, and—infuriatingly and adorably—cute due to the big gap between her teeth. The next thing I knew, she’d stood from her seat and walked down the length of the table, her eyes never leaving mine. And that’s when I got a good look at Abram’s Kaitlyn. That’s when I regretted eating all my dinner because my stomach now hurt. That’s when I wanted to rage against the unfairness of life.
Ladies and gents, this Kaitlyn person was a bombshell. Her boobs were ridiculous, and her waist was ridiculous, and her hips were ridiculous, a comic book rendering come to life. She was Betty Boop with longer hair and an intelligent spark in her eye.
If she were Abram’s girlfriend or soon-to-be girlfriend, or one of his lovers, I foresaw a lot of jealousy-fueled snow angels in my future.
“Hi. I’m Kaitlyn Parker.” She put her hand in front of me, like she expected me to take it.
I did, giving her a perfunctory shake. “Hello. I’m Mona DaVinci.”
Her grin widened and she glanced at the empty seat next to Allyn. “Do you mind if I sit?”
I glanced at Allyn, hoping to see a frown of disdain. But instead of an expression that mirrored mine, Allyn grinned at me, and then turned her sunny smile to Kaitlyn.
“Yes. Come sit down. You and Mona should be friends.”
WHAT!?
Now I glared at my former friend Allyn, the traitor, and she returned my scowl with a look of innocent confusion. But it was too late, this Kaitlyn person was already on the move, claiming the vacant seat. My fingers closed around the handle of my fork for no reason and I held it under the table. I wasn’t going to stab her with it. I wasn’t.
I wasn’t.
Don’t look at me with those judgy eyes!
“Sorry if my hand was sw
eaty,” Kaitlyn said, smiling at us both with her adorable smile. “I’m really nervous. I’ve wanted to meet you for a while. Can I just say, I really appreciated the testimony you gave in front of Congress this last summer. I was glued to my TV. I feel like what you did made a difference, you seem to have swayed public opinion, and I hope it means things will start moving in the right direction.”
I blinked at her, feeling inadequate and tongue-tied and jealous. SO JEALOUS. But rather than continue to scowl, especially since she was being so nice, I worked to keep my face emotionless. This was no easy task considering the direction of my thoughts.
They probably kiss. All the time. They’ve probably kissed today.
Stop it! You don’t even know if they’re dating.
Are you kidding? I would date her in a heartbeat. She’s stunning and her voice reminds me of how honey tastes.
I blinked, sitting up straighter . . . where did that thought come from?
Given all this, I was having trouble pulling a response out of my brain that was anything close to situationally appropriate. I absolutely could not say anything like, Did you kiss Abram today? How long have you two been together? Does he talk about me? Are you two getting married?
On that pleasant note, my eyes lowered to her self-professed sweaty hands and that’s when I saw it. A ring. But not just any ring. A beautiful, tasteful, HUGE light-blue sapphire engagement ring.
“So, it has come to this,” I murmured unthinkingly.
“Pardon me?” The obvious confusion in Kaitlyn’s voice forced my eyes back to hers.
“Uh, I mean—” And thus, I die. “Um, congratulations.” . . . on your engagement to the man I’m obsessed with. And then the wolves came. She blinked at me, still confused. I indicated with my chin to her ring finger. “That’s a gorgeous engagement ring. A sapphire?” In this economy?
“Oh! Thank you.” She smiled down at the ring, her eyes turning hazy. But instead of lifting it for me to look at—which is what most women, in my experience, seemed to do—she pulled it closer to herself, like it was precious. “It’s an aquamarine.”
I nodded, my voice coming out weak as I said with a light chuckle, “As the prophesy foretold.” Because I was a dork and I didn’t know how to speak people. Specifically, I didn’t know how to speak to the person who was going to marry Abram. My Abram.