CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It felt good to be at Riley and Jessica’s house, lying on the couch on my side, watching old episodes of Downton Abbey. It felt crowded and noisy with all the people moving around the house, and most of the time I couldn’t even make out the dialogue on the TV, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to be distracted, and this worked. Jayden was listening to his headphones and shaking his butt.

“What the hell is he doing?” Riley asked as he came down the hall in his workout clothes, probably headed down into their basement to do some boxing.

“He’s trying to twerk,” Jessica said, sitting in the chair next to the couch, feet on the coffee table as she painted her toenails.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Riley went to his brother and pulled one of his earbuds out. “Hey, dudes don’t shake their asses like that. Knock it off.”

“Hey!” Jayden smacked at him, grabbing to reinsert the earbud. “Mind your own business! You’re just jealous because you can’t dance.”

Riley made a face.

“He’s right, you can’t dance,” Jessica said.

“Thanks for the support, babe. And what the hell do I need to dance for? This isn’t a movie where dance is my only way out of poverty under the guidance of a well-meaning and spirited teacher. We’re not poor enough for that, ironically enough. In this neighborhood the reality is being able to dance just means better tips for you at The Rusty Pole.”

“What is The Rusty Pole?” I asked.

“Strip club. Technically it’s just called The Pole, but if you saw the staff there you’d understand the nickname.”

Ew.

“Why are we suddenly talking about strippers?” Jessica asked. “This isn’t an appropriate conversation.” She gestured to Easton, who was rolling around on the floor for no apparent reason.

“I can’t wait until he’s eighteen and I can say whatever the fuck I want,” Riley mused.

“I think you already do, sweetie,” Jessica said, glancing up and smiling at him.

He laughed. “You’re probably right.” He bent over and gave her a kiss. “I’m going to get sweaty now.”

“Yay.”

Then he reached over and ruffled my hair like I was a terrier. “You look good, Kylie.”

In Riley World, that was a pretty significant display of sympathy for me. I was touched. Yet it was weird to me that I was here and life was just going on as normal. Easton rolled and Jayden twerked and Riley bitched. This could have been any day.

But it wasn’t.

I felt cold, like I couldn’t keep the heat inside my body, and I shivered as I burrowed further down into my blanket.

“Hey, let’s do a sleepover at Rory’s this weekend,” Jessica said.

Riley paused on his way to the basement. “What does that even mean?”

“I wasn’t talking to you. I meant a girls’ sleepover. Tyler can crash here and me and Kylie and Rory can have a sleepover.”

I knew what she was trying to do and I was torn between liking the idea of not being alone but at the same time, not sure I could do the whole Girls’ Night thing.

“I really do wish Easton was eighteen because there are all sorts of inappropriate comments dying to come out of my mouth.”

“Why do girls have sleepovers?” Jayden asked. “What do you do?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Riley said, his thoughts obviously running in an extremely dirty direction.

“We watch movies and eat ice cream and paint our nails.”

“You do that all the time,” Jayden said, looking confused.

Riley snorted. “He’s got a point.”

Jessica frowned. “Maybe you have to be female to understand.”

There was a knock on the front door. I glanced at my phone and saw it was quarter to seven. “That’s probably Jonathon.”

Riley went and opened the door and a gust of cold air and flurries came blasting into the living room. I shivered again, pulling the blanket up to my nostrils. There were introductions and the door closing and Jonathon standing in the entry looking a little overwhelmed by how many people were in the room. Jayden waved and Easton glanced up at him but didn’t say anything as Jessica introduced him.

“Hey,” he said, locking eyes with me. “You cold?”

I nodded, speaking through the holes of the afghan. “I wish I could take a hot bath but my apartment only has a shower.”

“I have a tub, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You should probably wait a few days . . . bacteria and stuff.”

Oh, God. I wrinkled my nose. Why did he always have to be so freakin’ practical? I just wanted to complain that I wanted a bath. I wasn’t actually going to take one. But no, he had to take it to bacteria. Besides, he had reminded me that I had miscarried. Not that the very sight of him wasn’t going to do that but still. Don’t shove it in my face.

Riley obviously felt the same way. He was grimacing. “Uh, I’m going downstairs to work out now. Nice to meet you, Jonathon.” Then he disappeared.

“You ready?” Jonathon asked. “Or should I take my shoes off?”

“Wow. A well-trained male who takes his wet shoes off.” Jessica shot me a grin. “I am so jelly of you right now.”

I gave her a weak smile then pushed back the blanket and stood up, uncomfortable with her words. Uncomfortable with everything. I wanted to leave, be in private space with Jonathon. I wasn’t sure how to bring him into my friendships. That had been Nathan’s place. It seemed like an odd fit to have Jonathon here, with the Mann brothers.

“You can borrow the blanket,” Jessica said. “I’ll get it back from you later.”

“Thanks.” I wore it like a cape, stuffing my feet in my boots by the door. Jonathon put his hand on the small of my back, but I barely felt it through all the layers.

“Thanks, Jessica,” he told her.

“Call me if you need anything.”

I nodded, and shuffled with my five pounds of fleece out to the car. In the driveway I paused for a second, startled by how black the night sky actually looked. “There’s so many stars out tonight,” I said, staring straight up.

“It’s beautiful,” Jonathon said, but when I glanced at him he wasn’t looking at the sky, but at me.

My heart thawed a little. “You said once that I got a raw deal,” I whispered to him. “But the truth is, you’re the one who got the raw deal. You never wanted any of this and you’re stuck with it. But you don’t have to be if you don’t want to. Not anymore.”

He shook his head. “How do you figure I was shafted? I got a gorgeous and sweet woman. That doesn’t sound like the short straw to me.”

“I’m really confused,” I said, trying to be honest, but my thoughts not translating into words. “I feel really sad.”

“So do I. Come on, let’s get in the car and go to bed.”

We went back to my apartment and when I walked in, I saw that he had been there already. That he had changed the sheets on the bed. “Is this . . .” I picked up the sheet he had folded and set on the counter.

“Yes.”

I held it to my chest, which might seem gross and more than a little dysfunctional, but it seemed right. Necessary. I wanted to feel it against me, to hold it against my heart. “I wanted this baby,” I said, because it seemed important to let him and the baby know that. That while it had caught me off guard, and scared the shit out of me, I had wanted this baby and now I would never get to hold her. I ached for a weight to the sheet, for the solid feel of a living, breathy infant, her mewling yawns, and jerky hands awe-inspiring.

The blanket fell off my shoulders and I closed my eyes and kept them closed, tears trickling down my cheeks, even when Jonathon wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“I know,” he whispered, his lips brushing the side of my head. “I know. I wanted it, too, and it hurts.”

“It hurts a lot.”

We slept spooning that night, my arms around the pathetic little sheet bundle, his arms around me.

When I woke up, he was gone.

*   *   *

I didn’t know how to deal with Kylie. With her grief. Hell, with my grief. She was avoiding me. And I was avoiding her. I did try, in a way that would allow her an easy out. So when she always took it, and gave me excuses or suggested alternate times she knew I wouldn’t be free, part of me was relieved.

There was something so intense and intimate about what we had been through, how I had seen her, that was too much. I had held her hand in the hospital twice now, I had cleaned up her puke, her blood, our baby. We shared a bed, a shower, a seat in the waiting room, fear, and tears. I needed the space, the time to avoid all of it for a few days.

A few days that turned into fourteen.

I hadn’t meant for that to happen. I had just wanted to take two, three days tops to sort through my emotions, to tell my mother and father and Devon that Kylie had a miscarriage and deal with their various reactions. Which were as predicted. Horror and sorrow from Mom. Relief from Dad. Sympathy from Devon, who understood my own conflicted feelings.

Go underground, study, work, exhaust myself so I could sleep, that was the plan. I was okay with her avoiding me for a minute. But then I wasn’t okay with her avoiding me because I started to think that maybe she meant to permanently avoid me and I didn’t mean for her to take that way out. I didn’t want any out from anyone.

It had been two weeks and she still didn’t have a minute to see me? She couldn’t meet me at the coffee shop? What the fuck? But I was willing to accept that it had everything to do with her depression, and nothing to do with me. I refused to believe that it had something to do with me, because that would suck.

Except my delusions couldn’t continue when I saw a short video she uploaded on Saturday night that featured her, Jessica, and Rory in pajamas dancing suggestively. Or really, more just shaking their asses and laughing.

She didn’t look particularly depressed.

At one point she turned directly to the camera and winked. The expression on her face made me both hard and annoyed. She looked fucking flirty and hot as hell. But damn it, why did she look flirty and hot?

And why was she winking at some unknown cameraperson on a Saturday night when I sitting alone in my apartment watching a horror movie? I might as well just move my furniture into my mother’s basement right then.

Screw this. I wasn’t sitting there worrying about her health, emotional and physical, when she was having a twerking slumber party and had been blowing me off for two weeks straight. I called my friend Miranda. “What are you doing? Want to go out?”

“Like, go out how?”

“Let’s go to a bar and shoot some pool.”

“Are you serious? Darwin Does Dive Bar? I love it.”

“I’m game.” I was. Turning off the TV, I stood up. “Can you meet me there in half an hour?”

“You okay?” she asked curiously.

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Because that didn’t sound defensive at all.

“It’s just you haven’t been interested in the bar scene in like a year.”

“Sometimes you have to change it up. What place did you have in mind?”

“There’s The Church, but it’s a gay bar. Do you care?”

“No. I’m not going to hit on anyone.” I may have been put out with Kylie but I wasn’t looking to replace her.

Even if she didn’t want me. Which she obviously didn’t.

“Okay, see you in twenty. And Darwin, walk, don’t drive. I have a feeling you are going to tie one on tonight.”

“Pfft.” I had no idea what she was talking about.

Ninety minutes later, I did. She was right. I had walked in, sucked down my first rum and Coke and went from there. It wasn’t like I set out to get drunk, but I guess emotional volatility and liquor are a frantic combination. They feed off of each other. Miranda and I shot pool and laughed and joked around, and then there came that moment where I realized with perfect clarity that I was fucked up.

It happened when I went to reach for my fresh drink on the bar and missed it. My hand just skidded straight past the glass. “Shit.”

Miranda laughed and plopped down onto the stroll next to me. “So what’s really going on, D?”

I hadn’t talked to her since before Christmas so she didn’t know. “I got one of my tutoring students pregnant.”

She dropped her phone. It clattered on the bartop. “What?”

“Yeah. And then I was like just starting to really dig her and think maybe everything would be okay, and then she miscarried.”

Miranda grabbed the lime wedge out of my drink for whatever random reason and started sucking on it, like she needed the sour kick to distract her. Her right eye twitched. Miranda had thick brown curls and oversized red glasses, which she matched her lipstick to. She always wore lacy clothes and florals, yet managed to not look too cutesy by adding something tough to the outfit. Tonight she had on a floral dress but combat boots and a motocross jacket. She peeled off her jacket like the whole notion of my disastrous life had her overheated.

“I’m sorry. For the whole thing.”

Feeling suddenly morose, I stared at the ice melting in my drink. “Me, too. Especially now that she’s blowing me off. I mean, I was giving her space because I thought she was upset, but then tonight she posted a video of her and her friends dancing.”

“Ah, so that’s why I got the sudden phone call.” She held out her hand. “Show me the video.”

“Why do you have your hand out?” I asked. “I’m not giving you my phone.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “Just show me the video so I can assess the situation. You’re probably overreacting.”

“Fine.” I shifted on the stool and pulled my phone out of my pocket. The bar was dim and reasonably quiet, with only a dozen people in it. The atmosphere met my mood. Dark and exhausted. “See?” I held the screen up for her.

“D, she’s wearing pajamas and a tank top. This is hardly sexy wear.” Miranda turned my phone so the image got bigger. “Though I have to say, well done. She’s hot. I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Naked. Rawr.”

Really? I was just drunk enough to call her out. “You’re giving lesbians a bad name. You sound like a sexual predator. You are not exempt from the friend code, you know,” I said. “If you were a dude and said that to me, I would be pissed, and this isn’t any different. What if I said that about a chick you were dating?”

“I would probably punch you.”

“Exactly. So stop eye fucking my girlfriend.”

Miranda had been taking a sip of her gin and tonic and at my words, she sprayed gin all over the bar. “Oh my God, I’m dying.” She choked and laughed and choked some more.

I thumped her on the back, feeling more charitable toward her.

She held her hand up. “I’m okay. And fine, I’ll stop eye fucking your girlfriend. Who, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware was your girlfriend.”

“I told you she was pregnant with my kid! I didn’t realize that meant she was fair game.”

“Okay, okay. I was just giving you shit because it’s not every day you use the word ‘girlfriend.’ Especially not when you’re discussing someone you just said you’re giving space to. There is a bit of a disconnect there, you have to admit.”

She had a point. “So maybe we never defined it in those words but we agreed not to see anyone else.”

“Ah. I see.” She hit PLAY and together we watched Kylie and her friends drop it down low and shake it. Then the wink. “It just looks like tipsy friends having good, clean fun. It’s not even particularly suggestive.”

“She’s been avoiding me,” I admitted. “I haven’t seen her in two weeks.”

“Oh.”

“She told me it was movie night, not vodka night.”

“So obviously you want to be with her.”

Was that obvious? “Yeah.”

“So poke a little. I’ll tag you here at the bar. Let her see you’re not sitting at home pining for her.”

I was just drunk enough that this made sense. “Okay.”

Miranda complied immediately and while we were talking about her love life, which was even more complicated than mine, my phone buzzed. “It’s a text from Kylie.” I was actually surprised, and okay, smug. So she wasn’t as eager to be away from me as she was acting if she was aware of my check-ins.

Thought you were staying home 2nite.

Got bored.

Oh. K. Have fun.

Huh. Did she mean have fun for real? Or was she annoyed? Because, frankly, I wanted her to be annoyed. “What now?” I asked Miranda.

“So the goal is to get her thinking about you, right?” When I nodded she pulled out her phone. “Pic of you and me. Now.”

“Brilliant,” said the Rum and Coke. But before I did that, I texted back, Love the dance moves.

Miranda took at least seven shots of us leaning in together. After each take she would study it and attempt improvement. “You need to be closer to me. Oh, fuck, my eyes are closed in this one. Put your arm around me.”

“Why is this so damn complicated? And why is my drink empty?”

“The mysteries of life.” She showed a picture to me. “Okay, I’m posting this one now.”

I barely saw the picture before she yanked her phone away again.

My phone went off.

Thx. Who are you with?

A friend.

She’s cute.

That should have been a warning. Like a really big fat-ass warning. Instead, I just felt triumphant. Kylie was paying attention. Kylie was jealous. Therefore, she cared what I was doing and about me.

Normally, I could follow the line of reasoning beyond the obvious and conclude that fanning the flames resulted in a big fucking fire. But my brain was clouded by alcohol and didn’t realize that I was in danger of being caught by a relationship flashover, the near-simultaneous ignition of most of the directly exposed combustible material in an enclosed area, i.e., pissing off your girl by waving pictures of you with a woman she doesn’t know in her face via social media.

What I actually typed was, She’s a chem grad student, too. Super smart.

Which was basically like taking a container of gasoline and tossing it on top of a burning campfire.

You’ll never escape without getting burned.

And I was too stupid and drunk to run anyway.