Someone Else (25 page)

“So, um…” Brooke said.

“I guess I should go,” I said, capping my water. “Uh, thanks. For making sure I was okay.”

“No problem. That looked pretty rough…three against one and all that.”

I shrugged. “You just have to know how to handle them.”

Another awkward silence.

“So I guess I’ll go,” I said again. But just as I was turning to leave, Ashley’s voice drifted out from behind the locker door.

“I always thought Jessica was a bitch.”

Brooke giggled. Ashley so rarely used profanity that it never failed to crack us up when she let loose with a bad word.

“Seriously,” Ash said, extracting her lunch bag. “I don’t know how you put up with her for so long. And Dylan? Don’t even get me started on that douchebag.”

Brooke broke up laughing, and I allowed myself a small smile. “I know,” I said. “It just took me a while to see it.”

Ashley looked at me in that direct, earnest way she had, and I knew I was forgiven. Or at least starting to be. All it took was for me to recognize what an idiot I’d been.

“Want to eat with us?” Brooke asked me.

I glanced at Ashley, who nodded a little. “Sure,” I said.

“I haven’t been to the caf in ages,” Brooke said as the three of us left the Dungeon together. “The play has taken over my life.”

“When is opening night?” I asked, feeling ashamed that I didn’t already know this. Brooke was playing the leading man’s housekeeper, Mrs. Pearce, in the drama club’s production of
My Fair Lady
. It was a pretty good role and she even got to sing a little.

“May ninth,” she said. “I’m so nervous.”

“The drama teacher thinks Brooke is the next Kristen Chenoweth,” Ashley told me. “She’ll do fine.”

Brooke rolled her eyes at that, humble as always, and wrapped her arm gently around my shoulders. “You’ll be there, right? On opening night? It helps to have some friends in the audience.”

I let out the breath I’d been holding for days and smiled at her. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Chapter 22

A couple of weeks later I was at Moretti’s, wrangling with the flaky ice machine, when Danielle breezed by me and said, “Smokin’ hot guy just walked in. Dibs!”

Danielle called dibs on most of the guys who came in here, so I wasn’t expecting much when I turned around to inspect the latest candidate. What I saw almost made me drop the glass I was holding. That smokin’ hot guy was Michael.

“You know him?” Danielle said, her eyes widening in shock as Michael spotted me and smiled. Sweet Jesus, he looked good. Even better than the last time I’d seen him, two months ago in his driveway, when I drove by his house in the dark, not stalking him.

I recovered enough to wave at him. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”

“You
dated
him?” she shrieked. I shot her a look. Sometimes I hated Danielle. “I mean,” she said, seeing my face, “oh, you dated him. Cool. He’s hot.” She gave me a thumbs up and scurried off to the kitchen.

I gave the ice machine one last bang and was rewarded by the grinding sound of ice being made. I got the drinks I needed and put them on a tray, hyper-aware the whole time that Michael was
here
. Waiting for me. I shouldn’t have been too surprised though; I knew he was due home from college this week, right after he finished his final exams. We’d been texting and talking almost daily for over two weeks, and he’d mentioned his homecoming date more than once. But I’d had no idea he planned to show up here tonight. I wasn’t sure if I’d even see him at all.

But here he was. I hefted my tray and headed for the dining room, holding up a finger as I passed to let him know I’d be with him in one minute. First, table six needed refills. I dropped them off and circled back over to Michael, drinking him in as I approached.

“Hey,” I said, stopping in front of him. Up close, he looked the same but different. The boyish features he’d had when we first started dating were completely gone now, replaced with those of a grown man. I may have swooned a little.

“Hey,” he said, still smiling. He smiled a lot, I recalled. No dimples, but still really nice. “How are you?”

“I’m good. You?”

“Happy to be home.” His blue-gray eyes traveled over my body. “You look great.”

I was suddenly grateful that my uniform was stain-free for once and that my ponytail was still neat and that I’d taken extra care with my makeup today.

“When are you....?” He nodded toward my tray.

“I get off at nine. It’s pretty dead in here so I should be able to leave on time.”

“Can you meet me after?” He peered at his watch. “It’s ten to nine now. I’m parked right next to your car.”

“Um…” I tossed a glance over at my only table to see if anyone needed me, but they seemed content for the moment. I looked back at Michael and said, “Okay. I’ll be out in fifteen minutes or so.”

I plowed through the rest of my shift on fast forward and twenty minutes later I was outside, crossing the parking lot to Michael’s car. When I slid into the passenger seat and caught the spicy scent of his cinnamon mints, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut with memories.

“Do you want to go get some ice cream or something?” Michael asked, and then flicked me an embarrassed glance. “Literally, I mean.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Last summer, “go get some ice cream” had been our euphemism for “go park somewhere and have sex in the backseat”. This Volkswagen had seen more action than our two beds combined. I flushed a little now, remembering.

“Sure,” I said.

While he drove us to Dairy Queen I called my mom to let her know I’d be late getting home. She reminded me that it was a school night, but I assured her I had no homework (lie) and that I’d be home before eleven (maybe). I didn’t mention Michael at all.

In Dairy Queen, Michael asked me if I wanted my usual, which was a fudge brownie waffle bowl sundae. (Sometimes we actually did go out for ice cream). I nodded and he sauntered up to the counter, making the old-enough-to-be-his-mother cashier’s eyes light up.
Cougar
, I thought, and excused myself to go to the washroom. I stood in front of the smudged mirror and freed my hair from its ponytail, brushed it down, and then touched up my makeup. My eyes glowed almost as bright as the cashier’s.

“How were exams?” I asked once I was seated across from Michael at a table for two. The place was virtually deserted this time of night.

“Pretty good, I think.” He stabbed his spoon into a smooth section of ice cream. “I was a bit distracted there for a while with the whole Josh thing, but I caught up.”

“I wonder how he’s doing.” His brother was forbidden all contact with the outside world while at rehab, at least in the beginning. It was like they’d shipped him off to Siberia.

“If he’s anything like he was the last time he went to rehab, he’s itching to get out so he can head to the nearest bar.”

I felt warm, despite the ice cream, so I took off my jacket and hung on the back of my chair. “Your mom must be impatient to hear from him.” Then, without thinking, I added, “I miss her.”

Michael’s gaze met mine over our rapidly wilting waffle bowls. “She misses you too,” he said softly. “A lot.”

I broke eye contact first. It felt so weird, sitting here with him after all this time. Awkward, yet familiar. The months we spent apart hung between us like a thick curtain, yet we shared so much history. No one knew me and got me like Michael did, and no degree of separation would ever change that.

“What happened there?” he asked suddenly. He was looking at my bare arm, which rested on the table on top of some napkins. The bruises were a lot better now, more yellow than gray, and almost completely faded. But still noticeable, apparently.

“Oh,” I said, like I’d forgotten they were even there. Which I had. “That’s nothing.”

He reached over and lifted my arm off the table, gently rotating it in his hand. Heat crackled up my arm, searing my muscles before continuing its fiery path across my breasts and down to my abdomen, where it lingered, causing my body to react in a way that was entirely inappropriate in my present location.

“Looks like someone grabbed you,” Michael said, examining the pattern of the marks. He let go of my arm and looked at me, alarmed.

Michael knew nothing about Dylan aside from the fact that he existed and that I’d dated him for a while. We’d spoken a lot over the past couple of weeks, but neither of us had felt it necessary to discuss details about what we’d done or who we’d seen during our break-up. We each knew the basics, which boiled down to the fact that neither of us had behaved like angels all winter. The rest, we’d decided, was better left unsaid.

Especially this. Michael would sooner chop off his own hand than inflict pain on a woman, and he didn’t take kindly to anyone who did. So I lied.

“Work injury,” I said, moving my arm under the table, out of sight.

“Someone grabbed you at work?”

I sighed. Lying wasn’t going to work. Besides, after everything we’d been through together, I figured I owed him the truth.

“Actually, Dylan did it,” I said, shifting my eyes to the ketchup-stained wall behind him. “When I broke up with him.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Michael’s chest swell as he took a long, deep breath. His jaw started twitching like it was attached to a live wire. When he spoke, his voice was low and strained. “Did he hit you?”

“Never.”

“Did you call the police?”

I shook my head. “I guess I didn’t want my parents to find out.” My excuse sounded even lamer when I said it aloud.

“He assaulted you,” Michael said, staring at his ice cream like he wanted to smash it with his fist. Although I’d never witnessed it, I was aware of his temper. He could be scary when he wanted to be. Or when he needed to be.

“I know,” I said. “It was wrong, but…I just wanted to move on.”

He shifted in his chair and looked at me. His eyes burned with barely-contained rage. Not at me but at the person who had hurt me. “If he ever comes near you again, promise me you’ll tell me.”

I nodded, even though Dylan hadn’t so much as glanced my way since that night. He’d changed groups in chemistry, switched lockers, and basically went out of his way to avoid me. Jessica ditched me in chemistry too, and she and Mallory sneered at me whenever we crossed paths (Lia didn’t look at me at all). But all things considered, the aftermath hadn’t been nearly as bad as I’d expected.

Michael stood up. “I need some air.”

We dumped our half-eaten sundaes and made our way outside. It was a chilly night, windy, a trace of leftover winter in the air. Michael and I began the short walk to his car, neither of us saying a word. When we were halfway there, I was surprised to feel his hand on my back. The next thing I knew he was hugging me, hard, right there in the middle of the Dairy Queen parking lot. After a minute I hugged him back, tears stinging my eyes.

“This never should’ve happened,” he said, his voice muffled by my hair.

At first I thought he meant what had happened with me and Dylan, but then I realized that he meant our breaking up. My tears spilled over, dampening his jacket and ruining my flawless makeup job.

“We gave up too fast,” he went on. “We could’ve figured out a way to make it work.”

I wasn’t too sure I agreed. We’d tried pretty hard in the beginning. Some couples thrived in long-distance relationships, but I didn’t think we were strong enough or mature enough to be one of them. Reluctantly, I pulled out of his arms.

“Maybe,” I said. A fresh batch of tears escaped, undoubtedly taking what was left of my mascara with them. “Or maybe not. We’ll never know.”

He brushed a strand of hair off my face. “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too, but I’m not sure we should get back together.”

The tenderness on his face didn’t fade when he heard this. He didn’t get angry or turn cold or walk away from me. He just stood there, watching me, patiently waiting.

“It would be great for a while,” I said. “But then September will come, and you’ll leave, and everything will fall apart again. I can’t go through that a second time. I just can’t.”

He nodded. He understood the risks and ramifications as well as I did. If we got back together now and then broke up a second time, it would be the end of us. For good. Next time, one of us might find someone else. Not someone like Dylan, or someone like Lauren, but someone special. Someone lasting. And where did that leave us?

“Okay,” Michael said.

That’s it?
I thought.
Okay
? But then again, what else was there to say? He wasn’t going to beg me, or force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. That wasn’t his style. He’d always accepted me for me, respected my choices, and left me room to breathe when I needed it. He trusted me enough to let me go.

“I’m not sure,” I said again, this time with less resolve. “I’ll have to think about it.”

He took my hand, but not in a romantic way. More like a friend. “Take your time,” he said, like he’d wait for me forever if that’s what it took. And because this was Michael, I knew he would.

Chapter 23

“Better grab some of these cookies before my mother sees them,” Robin said as she opened a jumbo bag of Oreos. “She’ll eat the bag and all.”

“She’s eating for three.” I pulled a jug of milk out of the fancy, stainless steel fridge. Robin’s kitchen looked like a magazine ad for Bosch.

“Yeah, but two of those three are fetuses, not sumo wrestlers.” She gathered up the cookies, a bag of pretzels, and a container of gummy bears. She left the milk to me. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

We carried everything into the family room, which had a sectional couch, two recliners, and a huge flat-screen TV. After dumping our snacks on the coffee table, Robin popped
Sixteen Candles
into the DVD player and pressed play.

Back when we were fourteen, Robin and I had gone through an 80s movie phase. We’d rent Brat Pack movies on Friday nights and watch them over and over all weekend long while we stuffed our faces and made fun of the hairstyles and clothes. It was tradition. So when Robin called me that afternoon and suggested we relive old times, I’d jumped at the opportunity. It had been years since we’d done this, and weeks since we’d really talked. When I first laid eyes on her tonight, I saw something in her face—vulnerability, maybe—that had been absent for a long time. She missed this too.