Austen Box Set

by Hart, Staci

  She glanced at me with a look that would have withered anyone else, but I went about my business, immune. They say that when you care, it gives them power. And she had no power over me.

  She didn't have a chance to respond before Charlie jumped in.

  "We were just talking about tonight. Elliot was here last night, and she's got a big thing at Rick's tonight, so she's off the clock. Jack and I are getting drinks, so you've got the kids this afternoon and dinner tonight."

  Her cheeks flamed, her eyes hard as she glared at Charlie. "I just worked all night and you dump this on me as soon as I walk in the door? What the fuck, Charlie?"

  Sammy jumped in a circle saying fuck over and over again. I bent down to whisper in his ear that it was bad manners for a little boy to say that word, and he nodded, quieting down.

  Charlie fumed, brows low. "We had plans already, all of us. So handle it."

  She turned on her heel and stormed away. "This is so fucking typical. Selfish assholes," she said as she blew by, and Charlie followed her in a gust of heat and anger.

  "We're selfish?" he asked as he made his way up the stairs on her heels.

  "Yes, you are selfish. Elliot's selfish. You don't give a shit about anyone but yourselves." Her voice grew thin as she walked into her room.

  "That's fucking rich, Mary," Charlie slammed the door, muffling their argument, and Jack and I shared a look.

  Dad stood, one eyebrow up. "How unsavory. Trouble in paradise, I suppose."

  "I suppose," Jack echoed before picking up Maven. "You ready, princess?"

  "Weady!" she cheered, and we filed out the door, leaving the mess behind us.

  I breathed easier as soon as the door was closed.

  "You okay?" Jack asked.

  "Fine, thanks."

  "They fight like that much? I've never seen it like that before."

  I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. "Sometimes. Mary's just tired. She's the worst after she works a night shift."

  He made a noncommittal sound.

  "You work today?" I asked, anxious to change the subject.

  "I do. Heading there after this."

  "It must be nice, having your own business, making your own hours."

  He chuffed. "That's one of the perks, but running a business is way more work than anyone tells you. But I have a problem with authority, so this is pretty much my only career option."

  I chuckled.

  "What about you? Planning on nannying forever?"

  "God, I hope not," I said with a laugh. "My dream is to write, have my work published, but I'm not ready yet. I'm kind of … in limbo. Pretty much the only thing I can do with a literature degree is write or get certified to teach."

  "I think you'd be a great teacher. You're patient, kind. I'd murder a room full of kids — wouldn't last a week."

  "Oh, I don't know about that. You're great with Maven and Sammy."

  He shrugged. "Just 'cause they're cute. But really, I'd rather be at the bike shop amidst the smell of rubber and grease."

  "Kinky."

  He laughed — it was such a nice sound — and looked down at me, smiling. "Go to dinner with me, Elliot."

  My cheeks warmed, and I looked down at my feet as we walked. "Jack …"

  "You keep surprising me, and I'm not easily surprised. But you … you're unexpected. I know … well, I know now's not the best time, but humor me." He slowed to a stop, grabbing my hand to stop me too. "Say yes. It's just a meal. I promise, I won't even try to kiss you. I'll wait for you to make the first move — I'm a patient guy."

  I sighed, trying to find the right words, wishing I felt the undeniable need to give him the answer he wanted. But I didn't. "Thank you for the offer, but with everything going on with Rick … I just can't right now."

  He nodded, looking only a little crestfallen. "I get that. But like I said: I'm a patient guy. I can wait."

  I wished I could have told him the truth about who possessed my heart, but it was too true to admit to him, too real to say out loud.

  He ran his thumb over my knuckles. "In the meantime, I'll help you scavenge things for Rick and be around if you need to be rescued from your sister."

  I smiled at that. "Thanks, Jack."

  "You've got it, Elliot." He let go of my hand, and we walked for a moment in silence. "So, I guess broody guy will be there tonight too."

  I tried to focus on the rhythm of my feet on the pavement and Sammy's small hand in mine. "Yes, Wade will be there."

  "I asked Charlie about him — he said you guys used to date?"

  "That was a long time ago," I answered softly.

  "Was he always like that? So … angry?"

  "No. Not before. But he's been through so much. War. His dad." Me.

  Jack shook his head. "You excuse everyone for treating you the way they do, did you know that?"

  A defensive wind blew inside of me. "Because there are reasons, valid reasons, and I'm not so self-important as to think that I'm above their feelings."

  "But what about your feelings?"

  "It's not about me. That's my point."

  He clenched his jaw, his voice hard. "But they treat you like you're not important at all."

  "That's not entirely true. But I don't need their validation."

  Another shake of his head. "I just hate that they treat you the way they do."

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, fuming. "Are you suggesting that I'm a doormat?"

  He flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, I didn't mean it that way."

  "It sounds that way. It sounds like you're saying that because I don't stand up to them that I'm weak. But here's the thing — there's no point. Arguing will not change their behavior, and it helps no one, especially not me. I don't suffer very often because I don't let them hurt me. My being present is a choice. My enduring their judgment is a choice. My choice, and therein lies my power. I stay for the kids. I stay because, believe it or not, Mary and Charlie have helped me, and I repay that gladly. So my sister is condescending and demanding, just like my father. They've always been this way, and I've always been the way I am. I have my reasons, but I want you to understand that this is my choice. I endure enough judgment from them — I would really rather not receive it from you too."

  His face was long, eyes sad and apologetic. "I'm sorry, Elliot. You're right. It's none of my business. I think … I think I just wanted to know that you had fight in you, and that if you wanted to use it, you could."

  "Thank you." My heart hammered against my ribs at the confrontation. We started walking again, and I felt strange, better, stronger for having spoken up.

  I wondered over why I'd said it, a brash rush of emotion that I'd normally have felt and let pass through me. Was it because he wasn't one of the alleged oppressors? He was unaffiliated, safe. I wasn't blind to his points — in fact, they were completely valid, things I'd considered myself so many times over the course of my life.

  Did my family weaken me? Possibly. Did they take advantage of me? Definitely. But I imagined arguing with Mary, and the thought held no promise. She would never change — none of them would. It was one thing to defend my own choices to someone sort of unaffiliated, like Jack. It was another thing entirely to convince Mary she'd done something to hurt me — she'd only blame me, tell me I was wrong for feeling the way I did. It was pointless, a waste of energy for an affirmation I didn't need.

  The thought crossed my mind to leave, to remove myself from the situation entirely, because I knew it was toxic, whether I let it get to me or not. But imagining walking away from the kids set my heart on fire. Who would they turn to? Who would tuck them in and sing songs in the bathtub with them? I couldn't leave them with Mary alone to show them love, and Charlie would try, but he couldn't devote the time to them that I could. That was, if I even had somewhere to go, which I didn't.

  And just like that, I was reminded of the corner I'd painted myself into.

  Jack and I chatted a little before r
eaching the school, and we parted ways with my promise to text him to let him know how the camp-in went. And once the kids were safely in school, I was alone with my thoughts once again as I walked the blocks to the bookstore.

  I smiled at the familiarity of the store when I walked through. An old Shins album played over the speakers, and I headed to the back to put my things away, stopping in the office for my register drawer. Cam smiled up at me from her desk.

  "Hey, Elliot. How's everything going?"

  "Good, thank you."

  She handed me the plastic drawer full of money to count. "And your friend's dad?"

  "He's well. We're throwing him a camping party tonight," I said with a smile, imagining the look on his face when he saw what we'd done. "Roasted marshmallows and stars and everything."

  Cam smiled, propping her head on her hand. "That is a stellar idea."

  I chuckled at the pun. "Thank you. It should be fun."

  "Well, once things settle down, I'm going to hound you until you come to a singles night. The next one is an Austen party. We're having a costume contest and everything." She beamed, and I chuckled.

  "I'm sure there will be hordes of men at this Jane Austen costume party."

  "That's why it's also Viscount's Night — guys drink free before ten if they come in costume."

  "That is genius."

  "What can I say," she said theatrically, shaking her head like it was her burden. "This is my gift to the world. Well, this and getting people to tell me their secrets. Just yesterday I learned way more about Beau's foot fetish than I ever needed to know."

  "Oh, my God," I said with a laugh.

  "So, you're coming to the next one." She eyeballed me over the top of her glasses.

  I sighed and turned my attention to the cash drawer. "We'll see."

  She watched me for a second, assessing me. "Question."

  "Answer."

  "Who broke your heart?"

  I blinked at her.

  She waved a hand. "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. I'm also notorious for asking questions I don't need the answers to. It's just that I've been hurt too, and it took me a lot to get past it. I was … resistant to relationships for a long time, so … I get it. I mean, if that's what happened to you." Her hand waved again. "I'm rambling."

  "It's okay. You're right," I said, surprising myself, still brave from finding my voice with Jack. "I was engaged a long time ago."

  Her eyes widened. "I had no idea."

  I nodded. "We were young, in high school, and my father didn't approve because of our age. We broke up when he left for the Army, and I didn't see him for a long time. Until just last week, actually. He's my best friend's brother. It's his father who's dying."

  Her mouth popped open in surprise, and she covered it with her hand. "Oh, Elliot."

  "And I think I'm still in love with him." The words were quiet, and I didn't know why I said them, the things I never said aloud. But she was safe in the sense that she was completely separate, unaffected, with only my best interest at heart. It hurt just as badly as I thought it would to speak the words, but I found comfort in the admission, an acknowledgement.

  "Does he know?"

  "I don't know. But it doesn't matter. There's just too much between us. Pain. Time. Change."

  "Does he love you?"

  I shook my head, my heart aching. "I can't know. Sometimes I think he does, and others …"

  Her brows pinched together with sadness. "Elliot, that's …"

  I tried to smile. "Honestly, it's all right. I wish things were different, but they're not."

  She watched me for a beat. "You should talk to him."

  A small laugh passed my lips. "I wrote him hundreds of letters when he left, and he never responded. That silence was my answer. And when we've tried to talk since he's been back, it's only devolved and dissolved into us hurting each other. It's over and done, years ago."

  "But you love him. Maybe you're wrong. Maybe he loves you too, and if you guys just talked about it, everything would be fine. You could be together."

  "It's so much more complicated than that."

  She stood, her face quirked with purpose. "You've just got to find a way to tell him how you feel, that's all. At least find out for sure how he feels. Because look, what if you're wrong? What if there is a way and you just haven't found it yet? You can't give up, not if you really love him. You've got to fight for him."

  Out of nowhere, I felt exhausted, weighed down by the futility of Wade, of Rick, of my life. "I don't know how much fight I've got. If I fight and lose—"

  "But what if you fight and win? Isn't it worth knowing?"

  "Of course, but … Cam, it's not the right time."

  She took my hands. "Just think about it, okay? Be open to the possibility, and take the opportunity, if it arises. Does that seem reasonable?"

  I squeezed her hands, thankful for someone who believed in me more than I believed in myself. "Very reasonable."

  She smiled. "Good. And see? People love telling me their secrets."

  And I couldn't help but laugh.

  Truth in Darkness

  In the darkness

  In the cold grip of night

  When the light disappears

  And the shadows swallow the sharp edges

  This is where

  The truth lies.

  -M. White

  Wade

  "Here," Sophie whispered as she handed me a tent and a couple of sleeping bags. We stood in the foyer, Elliot passing things in from the stoop that she'd brought, all my concentration spent on keeping my eyes everywhere but on her. "Take this into the living room. We'll put it together there."

  "I'll bring up the trees, too," I whispered back, and she nodded, smiling.

  It was too much to resist, and I looked at her, but she wouldn't meet my eyes — hers were on the ground as she brought in a couple more sleeping bags. I walked past her to deposit everything in the living room. She looked fresh and crisp, her cheeks rosy, dark hair falling over her shoulders, and I watched her as I passed through the room again, willing her to look at me. But she wouldn't, just kept her eyes on her task or on Sophie as they moved things into the living room quietly.

  She had every right to ignore me.

  I trotted down the stairs and into the basement, grabbing the first Christmas tree I came to. We'd bought half a dozen on clearance the day before, and I'd hauled them all downstairs so they'd stay out of sight.

  I kept on wishing things between us would get easier without effort, kept on hoping maybe she'd walk through the door and somehow I would be able to find the words. If nothing else, I hoped for cordiality at least, to be polite, pretend. It was so much easier to pretend.

  And then again, it wasn't. Being around her sent me into a tailspin, my sense of direction lost, the horizon constantly moving. Still she called to me without saying a word.

  Elliot.

  My heart flinched at her name in my mind, thinking about the day before, thinking about how angry I'd been and how bad I'd been at hiding it. She hadn't forgotten about it either — she seemed smaller today, and it was my fault. I wanted to apologize, wanted to make it okay. But I kept hurting her.

  The best thing I could do for her, the only way to protect her, was to keep my thoughts to myself. As if I could verbalize them anyway.

  Time had burned my anger down to an aching smolder — as much as I hated seeing her with him, she wasn't mine. The takeaway: I had no rights to her, and being angry or jealous about it wouldn't change that fact. But Ben's words echoed in my thoughts. We hadn't talked, and I hadn't asked Sophie who Jack was or what he meant to her. It could be nothing. It could be everything.

  The more striking thing about the moment was the overwhelming desire to be the one to make her laugh. I wanted to be the one to touch her back with possession. But the world in which that possibility existed seemed like fiction, so far beyond me, so far out of my reach.

  Futility. That was the thing I f
elt the most.

  I trotted up the stairs and set the first tree under the window in the living room, and Ben headed down to grab another. I followed, finding him waiting for me, standing in the middle of the space with an accusatory look on his face.

  "Tell me you're going to talk to her."

  I moved past him and picked up another box. "I don't know, Ben," I answered impatiently.

  "Because that was ridiculous. You two aren't fooling anyone into believing that you don't care that the other one's in the room." He stepped in front of me as I tried to pass him. "You didn't ask Sophie, did you?"

  "No, I didn't." I sidestepped him, but he blocked me again.

  "Wade, you have to talk to her."

  "Ben, it's no use."

  He still wouldn't let me pass. "You have to at least try."

  My teeth clenched and released as I put the box down, since I'd clearly not be leaving until I heard him out. But I didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't have to. "And say what?"

  "You could start by apologizing."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "Who says I need to apologize?"

  "You're telling me you were the picture of politeness when you got Shanghai'd yesterday? Because if I'm going by her body language, I'd say you weren't pleasant."

  I scowled at him.

  "That's what I thought. Just talk to her. You don't have to profess your undying love, but an apology might be a good place to start."

  I just stood there, scowling.

  "Maybe it's nothing. Maybe that guy's nobody."

  I still didn't budge.

  "I'm serious." He kept going, wanting me to argue, but I could see I was wearing him down. "I mean, the tension between you two takes the temperature in the room down thirty degrees." He paused, waiting. Then, he sighed. "Do it for your dad then, if not for yourself. You wouldn't want your dad to be cold, would you?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "Are you done?"

  He rolled his eyes and moved for another tree. "Yeah, I'm done."

  "Good," I said as I picked up my box and headed back up the stairs.

  As I hauled the unwieldy boxes up the stairs one by one, I acknowledged that he wasn't wrong. I also acknowledged that an apology — one which I owed her — might make her feel better, safer. When I considered apologizing for her, not for myself, I thought I might be able to do it. I longed for the hope I'd felt in bursts, wishing I could just hang on to it for a moment, wishing I could find a way to keep it.