by McKayla Box
But I didn't and now it's just sitting there, like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.
I finish with my hair, leave my brush on the counter, and walk back into my room. I dive onto my bed and pick up my phone. There's a text from Archer.
Hey
Hey. What's up?
I just wanted to say thanks for listening to me ramble today.
You didn't ramble. And thank you for telling me.
Sometimes, I feel like a giant baby.
Why?
It takes a minute for him to respond.
Because I can't get past it. My mom.
You're allowed to feel however you feel for as long as you feel it.
I guess. Are you excited about tomorrow?
Duh.
Lol okay. Just wanted to make sure. I am, too. I can't wait to see you. We should go to the suite at the hotel after. Was thinking we could bring everyone.
They would freak.
You think?
YES. Lol. Would be super fun.
Okay. I'll check with everybody.
He doesn't say anything for a minute. Then I see the dots coming again.
Hey.
??
I love you, Nola.
I love you, Archer.
I set the phone down and lean back on the bed. I take a deep breath and exhale.
I have to tell him.
I just don't know how.
And now if I tell him before tomorrow night, it will screw up everything for everyone.
“Just get through the dance,” I say out loud. “Just get through tomorrow.”
Then I'll tell him afterward.
No matter what. I owe that to him, at the very least.
And I'll just have to accept whatever the consequences are.
I lay there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, thinking about those consequences.
Chapter 29
“You're very quiet,” my grandmother says. “Just excited for tonight?”
It's the next day and she and I are sitting at lunch. My grandfather is out playing golf. She made us BLTs and there is a container of potato salad, too.
I grab a cracker from the plate in the middle of the table, ignoring the slices of cheese. My grandma has set out enough food to feed a small army. “I guess.”
“That doesn't sound like you're sure,” she says. Her brow furrows. “Is something bothering you?”
I shrug.
We sit in silence for a minute. She plucks a small piece of bacon hanging from her sandwich and chews it carefully. I eat my cracker.
“Do you have plans with friends for afterward tonight?” she asks.
“I think so,” I say. “We might be going over to Archer's dad's hotel.”
“Alright,” she says. “Just let me know where you are. I know this is a big night and I don't want to rain on the parade. Just communicate with me.”
“I will. I promise.”
We eat in silence for a while, but I don't feel terribly hungry. I'm nibbling more at the crackers than the sandwich, and I’m ignoring the potato salad completely. Which is weird, because they are all foods I normally like.
“Nola,” she finally says. “Talk to me.”
I sigh and lean back in the chair. “It's...everything.”
She smiles. “Tell me one thing then.”
I look at her. “They don't know about Mom.”
She nods as if that's what she expected to hear. “No, they do not.”
“And it's making me feel guilty,” I say. “Like I need to tell them. Not the whole school, but my friends. And Archer. Especially Archer.”
“Why especially?”
“Because he has a thing about lying.”
“Don't we all?”
“Well, sure, but it's different with him,” I say. “Do you know about his mom?”
She nods. “She passed away. Cancer, if I recall correctly?”
I nod. “Yeah. Cancer. But his parents didn't tell him how serious it was or that she was really sick until the very end. They kept it from him. And things with his dad aren't good because of that. He's still angry. Or hurt.”
“Or both,” she says. She gives me an understanding smile. “Because both are justified. But I would assume his parents thought they were doing what was best for him in the moment.”
“Yeah, I'm sure,” I say. “It wasn't on purpose or to lie to him just to lie to him. But it's the finding out after the fact, the just not knowing. He says it really hurt him.” I pause. “And when he found out about my dad and that I'd been lying about him, he was really angry. We figured it out, but he was angry. And he asked me not to do it again.” I sigh. “But I did.”
My grandmother takes a long drink of her water, then sets the glass back down. She daintily wipes her mouth with a linen napkin. “Of course. And he's right to feel all of those things, as well as having been upset with you about the story about your father.” She frowns. “Which I still feel is partially your grandfather's fault.”
“It was no one's fault,” I say.
“Be that as it may, he should've kept his big trap shut,” she says. She brushes a strand of hair away from her cheek and tucks it behind her ear. “But that's neither here nor there at this point. I will say this, if you're looking for some justification in your choices…” She looks at me. “Your mother's story is significantly different than your father's. And it is far more...complicated.”
“No kidding.”
“I'm not trying to oversimplify things, Nola,” she says. “But the reality is that it is more complicated. The reactions to her actions are far different. And while I don't believe that people would've treated you any different because your father made the choice to remove himself from your life, you most certainly observed that people would treat you differently based on your mother's actions.” She pauses. “You lived through that. And I, for one, certainly understand your reluctance to share the truth about her because of what you have already experienced.”
I look down at the table. I remember all of the things that were said to me at school by people I didn't know and by people I wrongly assumed were my friends. I remember how they all distanced themselves from me. I won't ever forget it.
Which is why I chose to lie about her when I got to Del Sol.
“But I do understand what you're saying,” my grandmother says. “You've made good friends now. People you trust. And you don't want them to think that they were so unimportant to you that you lied to them. Or that you didn't trust them.”
“Exactly.”
“So what do you think you should do?” she asks.
“I honestly don't know.”
“Don't you, Nola?” she says. “I feel like maybe you do.”
“I really don't.”
“Then why is it even a concern for you?” she says. “If you don't know what to do, then I'd think you'd be alright with your decision to live with the version you've already told about her. But the fact that you're conflicted means you're second-guessing yourself. And I'd ask...why is that?”
I don't say anything.
“I'm not trying to put you on the spot,” she says. “And I don't want you to think that I'm practicing what I'm preaching, either. Do you know how many people I've told the absolute truth to about your mother's situation?”
I shake my head.
She holds up her index finger. “Exactly one. Patsy Gibbons. She is my oldest, closest friend and even with her, it took some time for me to find my nerve to tell her everything that happened. I was scared to death to tell her, but I felt like I needed to tell someone. So I told the person I trusted the most other than your grandfather.”
“And how did that go?” I ask.
She laughs. “Well, much better than I anticipated. As I said, Patsy is my oldest and dearest friend, and I'm not sure anything could break that bond. We've shared a lot of things over the years. She knew your mother when she was a child. And she chastised me for having any doubts about being able to tell her
everything.” She pauses. “But she is the only one I've told, Nola. My fears are the same as yours. I worry that people will judge me on what she's done because I am her mother. That might be misguided and perhaps we aren't giving people enough credit, but I do have those thoughts. So you aren't alone in that regard.”
“People did judge me,” I say. “They absolutely did.”
“You're right,” she says, nodding. “They did. So your experience has been different than mine. And while I was able to confide in my oldest friend, a woman I've trusted with so many things over the years, I understand that you don't have that kind of relationship with your friends yet.” She pauses. “I think what you're going to have to ask yourself is...do you want that kind of relationship with them?”
I push my plate away. “What do you mean?”
“Patsy and I are friends because we've always been honest with one another,” she explains. “Even when it was hard. That doesn't mean we haven't had our ups and downs. We have. But the reason we can be honest with each other and the reason we are so close is because...we've shared difficult things.” She folds her hands on the table. “So if you want that same kind of relationship with Mercy or with Archer or with whomever, then you're going to have to take that risk. You’ll have to find a way to share things that are difficult.” She smiles. “And that probably includes things about your mother.”
I feel like throwing up. “And what if that ends the relationship?”
“Then it does,” she says with a shrug. “And I know that it's easy to say that demonstrates more about them than it does you, but I also know it won't make it any less painful.” She's quiet for a moment. “The one thing it will clarify for you, though, is who your real friends are.”
“But I've already lied to them,” I say. “I can't back away from that.”
“No, you can't,” she says. “And, yes, you have. So the only thing you can do is to be direct with them. Tell them what happened with your mother and tell them why you didn't want to tell them. Then you have to hope that they'll understand. And maybe it'll take some time. Or maybe they won't care at all.” She smiles again. “But you won't know until you do it.”
I lean back in the chair again and sigh. “You're telling me to tell them.”
“Yes,” she says. “But I don't think you needed me to tell you that. I think you knew before you asked. You're too smart, Nola, to not see the problems in not sharing with the people closest to you what happened before you go here.” She pauses. “And it's probably important that you do it on your own terms. Not anyone else's.”
My stomach hurts. I just want it all to go away, even though I know it won't.
“If I tell them, even a few people,” I say. “It's possible that other people will find out. Which means people that you know might find out.”
She lays her hands flat on the table. “Then so be it. We'll ride it out together.” She winks at me. “Better together than alone, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, I guess so.”
She stands and motions for me to do the same. She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly.
“Whatever happens,” she says. “No matter what, your grandfather and I will be here for you and we will love you and take care of you for as long as you need us. And if things go badly, I will be happy to provide ice cream for us to commiserate with.”
I laugh. “Thanks, Grandma.”
“No need to thank me,” she says, patting my back. “I love ice cream.”
Chapter 30
“I have tequila if anyone needs shots,” Dylan says.
We are in Brooke's bedroom and bathroom, getting ready for the dance. We've decided to get ready at her house because she has the most room. Our stuff is spread out on her bed, her floor, and every other horizontal surface as we work on our makeup and hair, and get into our dresses.
Mercy raises her hand. “Me. I need one.”
Dylan produces a bottle of Don Julio and a shot glass, splashing some of the clear liquid into the shot glass. Mercy takes it from her and tosses it back. She closes her eyes and makes a face as she swallows it, then hands the empty glass back to Dylan.
“Thanks,” she says. “I'm a little nervous.”
“Why?” I ask, pulling on my dress.
“Because...I don't know,” Mercy says, looking at herself in the full-length mirror. “Because of Jake. Like, I know him and he's a nice kid and all. But I'm not sure what he's expecting tonight.”
“Fuck what he's expecting,” Brooke says, working a big silver hoop into her earlobe. “What are you expecting?”
“I don't even know that,” Mercy says. “I mean, he's kinda hot, you know? But I haven't made up my mind yet.”
“You don't have to,” Dylan says, pouring herself a shot of the tequila and knocking it back. “That's your decision, and you can wait until you see his dick if you want. Your call. Not his.”
“I know, I know,” Mercy says. “It's just all making me nervous.”
I study my makeup in the mirror in Brooke's bathroom. I've taken my time with it and it looks good. My hair isn't cooperating, but it's not awful. And I still really like the dress. Overall, I'm pleased with how it's all turning out.
“Nola, how did you convince Archer to let us see the suite?” Brooke asks, working a hoop through her other ear. “Honestly, I think I'm more excited about that than the dance.”
“It wasn't my idea,” I say. “He was the one who brought it up. He just asked if I thought you guys would want to go there after. I told him yeah.”
“Understatement of the year,” Dylan says. “I'm with Brooke. I'm way more excited about that than the dance.”
“You aren't excited about going with Aiden?” Brooke asks, raising an eyebrow.
“I'm still not sure what to make of all that,” Dylan admits. “And I still think you bitches knew about it, no matter what you say. But, yeah, it'll be fun.” She looks at the bottle of tequila. “And if I drink enough of this, he may find himself getting lucky.”
We all laugh.
I am suddenly acutely aware of how much I feel a part of this group and how much I don't want it to go away. I want to be doing this when prom comes in the spring. I want to be as close to these girls as I feel right now for the rest of my life.
And I'm worried it's all going to go away.
I turn to Dylan. “I need a shot.”
“That's my girl!” she shouts. She pours some into the shot glass and hands it to me. “Down the hatch!”
I hesitate just a second, then swallow it down. The tequila burns its way down my throat and into my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, then hold out the empty shot glass. “Another.”
“Look at my chica!” Dylan yells, pouring more into the glass. “Love it!”
I down the second shot before I can think better of it and let the liquor blaze a trail into my system again. I take a deep breath, exhale, and hand the glass back to Dylan.
“I think the party is officially started,” Dylan says.
My entire body feels warm now and I'm hoping the tequila takes the edge off. My nerves are frayed about everything, and I don't want the night ruined because I'm so anxious. I'm preoccupied with telling Archer the truth, and I know I'll have to tell the girls soon after. I'm not going to let it keep riding and wearing me down.
But the thought of doing all that is freaking me out and I know I'm uptight. I'm hoping the tequila will help me relax.
“Alright, girlies,” Mercy says. “Let's get a selfie before the boys get here.”
We cluster together in the middle of the room.
“Brooke, you're the tallest and you have the longest arms,” Mercy says, handing her the phone she’s clutching in her hand. “You take it.”
Brooke takes it from her and holds it out away from us and up above. “Alright, ladies. On the count of three.” She counts it down and then snaps the photo. Then she pulls it back and looks at it. “Not bad.”
Mercy takes it from her and I look over her s
houlder.
It isn't bad.
We all look happy.
I look happy.
I want it to always be like this.
Chapter 31
“Damn,” Archer says. “You look incredible.”
The boys get to Brooke's house not long after our picture and we're out in her backyard. Her parents have taken a few pictures of us all and now we're doing individual couple photos.
I take the lapels of his tux in my hands and gaze at him. “You look more than incredible.”
And he does. His tie and cummerbund match my dress perfectly. His hair is damp and slicked back in a way that I hardly ever see it. He's clean-shaven, and his skin is tan and rosy, and I would be absolutely fine with going straight to the hotel suite right now and skipping the dance.
“Is it wrong that I can't wait to take this dress off of you later?” he whispers.
“I might've just been thinking the same thing about your tux,” I tell him.
He laughs. “At least we're on the same page.”
And we are. We are so on the same page. Everything is easy between the two of us. It's no effort. I want it to always be like that.
Brooke's parents wave us over because it's our turn for pictures. We stand next to their pool and her mom snaps several pictures of us with her phone, while her dad uses a big old fancy camera. Archer's arm is around me and it's like I fit with him, physically. Like I was constructed to be in his arm. There is a feeling of comfort, a feeling of security, when I'm standing with him.
A momentary wave of panic flashes through me as I think of all of that going away.
“Nola, dear,” Brooke's mom says. “Your smile disappeared.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say. “Sorry. Was thinking about something else.”
I smile and she starts working the phone again to take our picture.
“You okay?” Archer asks through his teeth.