Chapter Twenty-One
Luke
“I still think we could be having way more fun back at your place or mine,” Margot whispers, hanging on my arm as we stroll up the sidewalk. My heart is still beating from Margot almost crashing into Scarlet and John’s mailbox.
“Come on, it’s going to be great. You’ll love my sister,” I argue, hoping it’s the truth.
“Not as much as I’d love to be doing all sorts of things to you,” Margot whispers as we step onto the porch and John opens the door.
I paint on a smile and Margot ups the enthusiasm, hugging John and then Scarlet as she greets us.
In truth, I am happy to be here for dinner with my sister, mostly because it’ll be a night away from the party scene—which Margot has been dragging me to quite a bit.
Scarlet invited us up a few days ago, insistent to meet the girl who has been stealing my time after I blew off family dinner for quite a few Sundays.
“I don’t know, Scarlet,” I’d said. “Margot’s… different.”
“I like different. Now come on. Bring her over,” she argued.
So I’d agreed… mostly, like I said, to avoid another night out with Margot’s friends.
Walking behind Margot, I take in the sight of her black dress hugging her curves. Dammit, the woman looks good no matter what she wears. Although scandalously tight seems to be her mantra when it comes to fashion—not that I have a problem with that.
We follow John and Scarlet into the dining room, where Scarlet’s made a feast.
“You cooked all this?” I ask as we take our seats.
“Don’t act so surprised.”
“I mean, I just didn’t know you were so Martha Stewart,” I say, sitting down and eyeing a pot roast, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a whole other slew of items.
“Me neither,” John pretends to whisper, and Scarlet hits him.
“Keep it up, and you two will be banned from my table. Don’t let my brother fool you, Margot. I’m a damn good cook. Much better than him.”
Margot just smiles, reaching for her wineglass and taking a hefty sip.
“Let’s eat,” Scarlet says, and we all start digging in.
I grab the dish of roast, passing it to Margot.
“Oh, sorry. I’m a vegetarian.”
I pause, looking at her. “Oh, really? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” And it’s true. I didn’t know. Then again, eating was never high on Margot’s list of activities. Thinking about it, our only encounters usually involved making out, dancing, or drinking.
“I’m so sorry, Margot. Luke didn’t tell me. Can I get you something else?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have a few green beans. I’m dieting anyway.”
Scarlet raises an eyebrow, but decides not to push the issue. I shrug, not sure what to say.
“You don’t need to diet, baby. You look great,” I try, deciding it’s probably the best way to proceed. Plus it’s the truth.
“I mean, I don’t know how you would know. Not like you’ve ever seen all this naked,” Margot says casually. There’s a tiny edge to her voice, but not enough to show she’s totally pissed. She makes the comment as if she’s casually noting the weather or the date.
John chokes on his water, which he’d been sipping in the awkward moment.
“Okay, how about we say grace,” Scarlet says, clasping her hands together.
“We never say grace,” John interrupts. Scarlet shoots him a death glare.
“We do today. Lord, please help us all endure those things facing us, and help us all find the right path to happiness. Amen.”
Scarlet spews the words so quickly we don’t even have time to bow our heads. There is now deafening silence. The only sound filling the void is the sound of plates being scraped and passed.
I literally say nothing, pretending my plate of beef is the most engaging thing I’ve ever seen.
I mean, really, what am I supposed to say? My girlfriend just called me out for not having sex with her in front of my sister. Weird.
But perhaps the weird part is the fact that my girlfriend had to call me out for not having sex with her.
I mean, I’m no prude when it comes to sex, and before Lila, I had my share of fun. And Margot’s freaking gorgeous.
But it’s true. Every time there’s an opening, a chance, I push back. I come up with an excuse. I tell her I’m not ready, like I’m some choirboy, a perfect symbol of innocence.
It’s not a newfound religious fervor, though, or a born-again virgin pledge holding me back from ripping that tight dress off that even tighter body.
It’s not because I’m waiting for commitment or trying to do the right thing.
It’s Lila. Plain and simple.
Because any time I think about taking that dress off her or giving in, Lila’s face, Lila’s voice, Lila’s everything comes flooding back.
Dammit. I’m never going to be over her, I think, as Scarlet mercifully turns the conversation to shoes and vegetarianism and who knows what else as I shamelessly shove food in my face, avoiding eye contact and reality.
***
“She’s… nice enough,” Scarlet says as we swing on the back porch after dinner, a beer in my hand and a glass of wine in hers.
John has taken Margot to the garage to show her his motorcycle—upon Scarlet’s prodding.
“But?” I ask before taking a sip.
“But she’s not Lila.”
“I kind of know that. That’s kind of the point.”
“I see,” she says, and I can feel the weight of judgment in her words.
“What? Spit it out.” I feel anger rising in my chest now.
“Nothing, big brother. It’s just, she’s not Lila. And I don’t think that’s as good of a thing as you would like to believe.”
“Look, I’m moving on. Isn’t that what you wanted for me?”
“No. I wanted you to be happy.”
“Margot makes me happy.” I say the words firmly as if that will make them have more weight.
“For now, maybe that’s true. But you know what? Margot doesn’t push you to be better or different. Margot doesn’t challenge you. Margot is just… Margot. Just some girl on your arm. She isn’t Lila. She doesn’t light you up or make you come alive, Luke. I see it when you’re sitting together. And clearly, you feel it too considering Margot’s confession at dinner.”
“I’m not talking about this anymore,” I reply, getting pissed at Scarlet’s observations.
“Well, I am. Look. You and Lila were so good because you pushed each other to be better, to be alive, to be vibrant.”
“Margot pushes me to be bold and wild.”
“Bold and wild isn’t what I’m talking about. You’re different with Margot, but not in a better way. Just in a different way. You know what I mean. I just think you need to think about that and think about what’s holding you back with this girl. Because eventually, Luke, when the fun settles, what’s going to be left?”
“Luke, oh my God, you need to get a motorcycle! It looks like so much fun,” Margot shouts as she and John saunter up the steps on the porch, bringing a halt to the conversation at hand.
“Yeah, I always wanted one,” I say, anxious to get up from the swing and head over to Margot, and more anxious to drop this conversation.
“What stopped you?” Margot asks, hanging on me as John walks over to take a seat on the swing beside his wife.
“Well, it wasn’t practical.”
“Screw practical. If you want one, get one.”
I eye Margot, thinking about what Scarlet said. “So you don’t think it’s a bad idea?”
“No way. Do what you want, baby. I’m behind you no matter what.”
I smile, but it feels forced.
Looking at Margot, I believe her. She would be okay with whatever I chose, whatever I did.
But is that truly what I’m looking for? A woman to be a “yes” woman, to let me run free without direction or challenging me to be better? A woman who is okay knowing my heart’s not completely hers, not completely untangled from the woman I once loved?
After dessert when I drop Margot off—despite her pleading to come inside—I think about Scarlet’s words the whole way home. I think about who I am without Lila. I think about who I am with Margot.
And I think about how truly fucked-up love is, more than I could’ve ever known at twelve.
***
The next morning, I trudge through the door, the familiar bell’s tinkle a bit irritating. I push my sunglasses back on my head and, despite my grumpy mood, I feel myself smile when I see her behind the counter.
“It’s about time you wandered in again, stranger,” Dot says, rushing out from behind the doughnut display to give me a hug and plant a red lipstick kiss on my cheek.
“Sorry, Dot. I’ve been busy.”
“Seems like it,” she says. “Where’s the new girlfriend?”
I’m taken aback. “How did you know?”
“Luke, I’ve lived in this town my whole life. I know everyone and everything that happens. Word gets around. Margot Lane, right? Pretty girl. A bit wild, though.”
I grin, shaking my head. “Yeah, just a bit. But she’s great. Really great.”
Dot raises an eyebrow, shaking her head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Oh no, Dot, not you, too.”
“I’m guessing your sister isn’t a fan?”
She leads me toward the table in the corner. I hold back. “Maybe a different table?” I ask.
“Nonsense. You and Lila are over, right? You’ve moved on. So there can’t be any harm in sitting at your old table. That part of your life is over, huh?”
I stare at Dot, her eyes challenging me to state otherwise. I sit down, and she seems a little disappointed.
Dot sits down across from me after shouting to Nicholas to bring over the Luke and Lila special. Yes, our order has a name. And yes, Dot just used it.
“No, Scarlet isn’t crazy about Margot. She’s just hung up on the fact she’s not Lila.”
“And she isn’t. Far from it. But how do you feel?”
“I didn’t know I was getting free counseling,” I tease.
Dot smacks my hand, smiling. “If you weren’t so cute, you couldn’t get away with being such a wisecracker.”
“If you say so. But I feel… good. You know? I have to move on, and Margot’s definitely helping.”
“Interesting.”
“What?” I ask, afraid to see where Dot will take this.
“Nothing, it’s just, for moving on and Margot being so helpful, you’re in an awfully morose mood. No usual Luke smile.”
“Just tired.”
“Oh, I see. Margot Lane is wild in all kinds of ways, huh?”
I feel my cheeks redden. “Not tired from… um… that.”
“Also interesting.”
“Dot, can we not go there?”
“Of course, of course, whatever you want,” she says as Nicholas brings over a tray of three peanut-butter doughnuts. Nostalgia stirs in me.
An unwelcome nostalgia.
I try not to think about it as I grab a doughnut and scarf it down. Dot helps herself to one of the doughnuts, too, still sitting across from me in Lila’s seat.
“All I’m going to say,” Dot utters around a mouthful of crumbs, “is that if Margot is really the one you want, the one you should be moving on with, then why isn’t she sitting here instead of some washed-up old baker?”
I open my mouth to argue, but Dot just shakes her head, pats my hand, and heads off to return to work, leaving me alone at a table with too many memories and too much doughnut left for just one lonely, confused man.