Brandon and I spent Sunday locked in his apartment, alternately working and distracting each other. There was no talk about Miranda or the gala, or his candidacy; we both seemed content to pretend none of them existed. I even managed to keep the guilt over my own secrets at bay, eager as I was to feel normal with Brandon again.
On Monday morning, I surprised Eric by showing up in front of our apartment for the carpool to Andover.
"Thought you might have gotten, um, different transportation," Eric said when he found me waiting in the building lobby with my messenger bag and a to-go cup of tea.
I took a sip of my drink. "Well, Brandon tried. But he knows better than to pick that fight with me."
"I heard the party ended eventfully."
I tapped my sandaled foot on the ground. "Who's talking?"
Eric shrugged. "Oh, you know. The good old Sterling Grove rumor mill." He looked knowingly at me. "Is it true that you were making out with Jared on the dance floor and that Sterling punched him in the face?"
"Great," I groaned, "just great."
This was exactly what I wanted to avoid. A lot of the staff at Sterling Grove knew me and would now assume that I had been sleeping with their married boss while I was interning for the firm last year. The truth was that I hadn't gotten involved with Brandon until I had finished. I hadn't even met him until I was almost out the door.
"For the record," I clarified, "Jared and I were just dancing. Then Brandon arrived, so I stopped. Nothing happened."
"So you weren't thrown out of one of the back rooms by his wife either? Someone saw you booking it out of there."
A flush rose over my shoulders and up my neck as I studied the cracked tiles of the lobby floor.
Eric nodded sympathetically. "I see. Sorry."
I looked up. "Well. It is what it is."
"So does that mean the cat's out of the bag and he won't be sneaking into the apartment anymore?" Eric asked hopefully. "I'm assuming you stayed at his place through the weekend."
I frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. We haven't really talked about it."
"You should probably get on that, Cros."
Before I could reply, Jared's BMW pulled up, and we filed outside. Through the rearview mirror, Jared watched me get into the backseat with a surprised expression.
"Well, hi there," he said. "I'm shocked you were allowed out of your cage."
"You're my ride," I replied evenly. "Unless you'd like me to take the train..."
Jared shrugged, although his face looked like he was tempted to tell me to leave. "I'm fine if you are."
After he shut his door, Eric looked between us dubiously. "Nothing happened, huh?"
Jared just watched me through the mirror, waiting for me to take the lead. His brown eyes were darker than usual.
"Nothing," I repeated. "Let's go."
~
The class passed uneventfully, with me and Eric sitting relatively far from Jared, who pointedly took a seat at the opposite side of classroom. The car ride back to Boston was equally uneventful. I sat in the back seat, staring out the window while Eric and Jared argued about the upcoming Red Sox-Yankees game.
It was when the car pulled up in front of our building and Eric stepped out that Jared turned around to look at me directly for the first time.
"Can we grab some lunch?" he asked abruptly.
I stopped, one leg already out of the car. Eric had entered the building.
"I feel bad about what happened on Saturday," Jared said. "Let me make it up to you? You have to eat anyway."
His brown eyes looked so earnest, like a puppy dog. Jared had always been a nice guy. He didn't deserve to be treated like a pariah, and I didn't want him to feel used either.
My stomach rumbled loudly.
"Sure," I said. "Let me put my stuff away while you park. Want to get sandwiches at Angelo's and eat by the water? The breeze would feel really nice today."
Jared nodded. "Sounds good. I'll meet you there."
Twenty minutes later, we were sitting on a park bench looking out at the harbor, watching seagulls swoop around the tourists throwing breadcrumbs. The gorgeous June day invited me to wear sandals and a sundress. Summer was well on its way, but not quite at the point where Boston was hideously humid.
Jared had been doing his best to make pleasant small talk, and he was a lot better at it than I was. We'd covered all the basic topics: the weather, our class, the instructor's funny haircut. But as we tucked into our Italian subs, the conversation hit an awkward lull that was only partially filled by the squawking gulls.
"So about the gala," Jared said finally.
I swallowed my bite and gave a grim smile. "Yeah?"
"Everything okay there? I saw you run out."
I flushed red. "Um, yeah. It's okay now."
"It really doesn't bother you he's married?" Jared asked before taking a large bite of his sandwich.
I sighed. "They're separated and going through a divorce, like I said."
Jared raised a light brown brow. "That's not what Miranda says."
"They are," I insisted. "I've seen the papers, and I work for his divorce attorney. Miranda's supposed to sign them in a few weeks."
My stomach fell as I realized that almost certainly wasn't true anymore. And this was a conversation I was going to have to keep having every time someone brought up Brandon's marital status. I sounded like a pathetic cliché, like the other woman who was constantly trying to convince everyone that her married lover really did love her.
Except Brandon did. I was sure of it, just as I was sure he was doing everything to extricate himself from a very difficult situation. But that knowledge didn't always make dealing with it much easier.
Jared didn't say anything for a few more moments, just looked at me with something dangerously close to pity. I focused on the worn planks of the pier, hoping that I could pass off my watery eyes as the effect of the wind coming off the water.
"Look, it's really none of my business, Skylar," Jared said, "but I care about you. And well, I think you deserve more than just to be on the sidelines. You're the kind of girl who should be shown off."
He reached over carefully and took my hand in his. I stared down at our clasped hands with indifference. His compassion was nice, but something about the way he talked about me, like I was some sort of trophy prize, irked.
I turned to say that to his face, but ended up turning into a kiss likely meant for my cheek. His lips collided awkwardly with mine, and I froze. Three things immediately went through my brain: One, I felt absolutely nothing. Two, Jared was putting his arms around my waist to pull me closer. Three, this time he couldn't blame it on alcohol.
I set my hands on his chest and pushed him away firmly. His arms fell down, and he scooted several inches down the bench.
"Jared," I said. "What are you doing? At the party, I just wrote it off as you being drunk, but this..."
"I was trying to kiss you on the cheek," he said lamely.
"You shouldn't be trying to kiss me at all! I'm involved with someone. You know this."
"Someone who treats you like crap. I know loads of guys like him, Skylar. They use girls like you as sidepieces. He doesn't care about you!"
I stood up, sweeping my sandwich off the bench and putting it back into its plastic bag. "I need to go."
"Skylar, wait!"
Jared followed me across the pier, leaving his food to be attacked by seagulls. He caught up with me as I turned down one of the cobbled streets leading back to the North End, where the crooked brick buildings blocked out the noise of the city.
"Look," I said, although I didn't stop walking. "You've been a good friend. You are nice, and you deserve to find someone special. But that someone isn't me. I'm taken. So really, don't waste your time."
"Waste my time? Seems like you should look in the mirror, don't you think?" Jared sneered, his bland features turning suddenly nasty. "Look, I know Miranda and her family. We aren't the kind of people who take no for an answer. We don't have to."
I whirled around. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Jared avoided my glare. "Nothing. It means nothing."
"It didn't sound like nothing."
He pressed his thin lips together, causing a crinkle between his brows. "Look. I'm just saying...I'm sorry. Really, I am. It won't happen again, I promise."
I crossed my arms and balanced my weight to one side. "You mean that?"
Jared held his hands out from his body in a gesture of mock surrender. "Completely," he said. "Can we just be friends?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Can you do that? No more funny business? Because otherwise I have to take the train to Andover, and I really don't want to do that."
Jared crossed his heart and held up his hand in a salute. "Scout's honor. I just care about you. That's not a bad thing, is it?"
I placed my hand on my hip and pursed my lips. Then I rolled my eyes.
"I can't believe I'm friends with a boy scout," I said, "Come on. You can eat another sandwich in my apartment. Then we should probably study for the rest of the afternoon."
~
Which is what we did. There were no more mentions of Brandon, although I didn't miss Jared's veiled glances whenever I checked my text messages.
Around six, Jared and Eric ducked out to pick up some pizza for dinner while I picked up the refuse from our study session. My phone rang in the bedroom, and I shuffled in to pick it up.
"Hi, Bubbe. Everything okay?" I said as I tucked the phone under my ear and went back out to continue cleaning up our scratch paper and leftover snacks.
I tensed myself for her response. Ever since receiving her frantic phone call in March telling me Dad was in the hospital after being severely beaten, there was a part of me that prepared for the worst.
"Everything is fine, bubbela," she said. "Can't I call my granddaughter to check in?"
I smiled as I tossed the scrap paper in our recycling bin. "Of course, you can. What's new?"
I listened at the kitchen table as she started rattling about the everyday minutia of her and my dad's life in Brooklyn. She talked for about twenty minutes, and was just finishing up when Eric and Jared returned with dinner.
"And you, Skylar?" Bubbe asked. "Are you...feeling better?"
I glanced behind me at Jared and Eric, who were taking seats back on the couch and setting out the pizza. Bubbe and I hadn't had a direct conversation about the fact that I had been pregnant and had also chosen to end the pregnancy. I hadn't admitted it outright, and she hadn't come out and said she knew, but there had been some signs that she was in on the secret.
"Yes," I said. "I'm fine now. Everything is...back to normal. I'm feeling much better, thanks."
"Good, good. Just wanted to make sure." Bubbe paused. "There is one thing, though..."
"Bubbe, I can't really talk very long," I said as I stood up and stretched. I was hungry, and the pizza smelled really good. "Is it urgent?"
"I was just thinking about Katie."
My dander flew up, and I sat right back down. The screech of the chair leg caused both Eric and Jared to jump in their seats.
"Everything okay?" Jared mouthed at me.
I nodded and flapped at hand at him to be quiet.
"What's going on?" I asked Bubbe.
"Nothing, nothing. I mean, not nothing, but nothing."
"Bubbe," I said. "Today..."
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I'll get to it when I'm good and ready."
I sighed, and propped my chin in my hand. There was nothing I could do but wait her out when she got like this.
"I...it's probably nothing. But I saw her the other day. At the store. She was shopping, and let me tell you, Skylar, that woman knows nothing about nutrition. Nothing but junk food in her cart! What if she and my Danny get married? Is he supposed to survive off of potato chips and sugary soda?"
"Bubbe," I said again, rubbing a frustrated hand over my forehead. "Did you call me because you were concerned about Katie Corleone's grocery habits?"
"Skylar, you have never been patient, and that is going to be your end."
I just closed my eyes and waited.
"As I was saying, I saw her at the store, buying all of this junk. And then a man's voice called her name. He said, 'Katie, honey!' So of course I followed her to see who this man was. I was very careful not to be seen."
I had no problem imagining my tiny grandmother creeping around the aisles of the Associated Supermarket, peeking through the towers of kosher pickles like a private eye. No doubt she fancied herself a regular Nancy Drew.
"So she went up to this man, and he kissed her on the cheek, bubbela, and put a very friendly hand around her waist while they walked down the aisle. He even touched her on the tuchus!"
Her thick Brooklyn accent was becoming more pronounced, and she was peppering her speech with Yiddish, both sure signs of excitement. I frowned as Eric and Jared chatted amiably on the couch.
"What did the guy look like, Bubbe?"
My heart sank in my chest as she described a short, portly man with a round belly and receding hairline. She hadn't gotten a good look at his face, but when she said that Katie had called him "Vic", I knew exactly who it was. Proof positive that my dad's girlfriend was a close associate of Victor Messina, the thug who had almost cost my father his life just a few months before.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath.
My dad had stubbornly refused to listen to all suspicions I had about the woman, and I'd been putting off going down there and confronting her myself.
"What?" Bubbe asked. "What's the matter? I knew she was bad news. I just...your father, Skylar...he's been playing piano again still...and she always seems to make him so happy."
"I know," I said regretfully. "I know. But Bubbe, she's no good. I'll come down this weekend and talk to dad and Katie. But you can't say anything to spook her, understand? I mean it."
There was a silence on the other end of the line. Restraint wasn't Bubbe's strong suit, especially when it came to her son. But at last she sighed.
"All right," she said. "But only if you come this weekend and take care of it. You promise?"
"I promise, Bubbe," I said. And I hated that at this point, that was really all I could do.
~