Chapter Fourteen
Ripley
“Don’t do that. You’ll be great,” Seth says with a chuckle into the phone.
He’s lounging on the couch with his back to me, and I don’t think he knows I’m here yet, so I take a minute to watch him.
His voice is soft, intimate. There’s a rarely seen ease to his position.
His body is stretched out, feet on the coffee table.
I make a mental note to bring that up next time he comments when I do it.
I’ve just stepped inside after a long day at the distillery.
The grain for the new batch we’re starting on Monday was delivered today.
We try to keep all of our suppliers and service providers as local as possible, so we buy our grain from a farm about an hour away.
The same farmer comes back and collects the spent grain to use as animal feed.
It’s a great system with very little waste for everyone involved.
We mill on site and spent today moving the bags of grain from where the farmer dropped them off to inside the distillery.
My goal is to one day have a silo built so we can cut down on deliveries and the manual labor involved in the whole process.
I am not made for that life. Thank goodness Brooks likes lifting things.
And I like the show his arms put on as they flex under the weight of the fifty pound bags. Win-win.
Seth laughs again, and it’s warm and bright, filling my small living room and melting some of my exhaustion from the day. I haven’t heard it in so long; the last time was on one of our many phone calls. I wonder if the person on the other end can pull one of those adorable snorts out of him.
But then I hurt my own feelings thinking about someone else being able to do it.
I quietly slide off my shoes and fight the urge to kick them over to the side of the door like I’ve done the last thirty years.
My agitation translates into opening the hall closet door with a little too much force, making it bang against the wall.
Seth jolts up, and his eyes meet mine. Even from across the room, I get lost in the blue. Sparkling like Caribbean waters, so inviting I want to dive in. I break the connection and busy myself with hanging my jacket and messenger bag.
“Hey, I have to go, Millie,” he says, pausing to listen to a response. “Yeah, I’ll call you soon. Good luck at your game tomorrow.” He hangs up, and I sneak another glance at him. He’s no longer looking my way, appearing engrossed in his phone.
I slink to the kitchen, ready to scarf down anything I can find; I didn’t realize I skipped lunch until right this second. The scent of whatever Seth made himself for dinner lingers in the air, and my stomach twists on itself, letting out a grumble that sounds a lot like a cry for help.
Knowing the fridge only holds a very sad freezer-burnt burrito I threw in there over a year ago and a bunch of raw kale—insert disgust here—I opt for my pantry, praying there’s another bag of Fritos somewhere in there.
I’m shuffling cans of beans around, almost resolved to take my chances on the burrito when a throat clears behind me. Whipping around, I find Seth in the doorway looking all sorts of uncomfortable.
“I left dinner for you in the oven. It’s been warming, so it might be a little dried out by now, but… yeah.” His cheeks glow pink, and he turns away toward the stairs to our bedrooms.
“Thanks,” I call to his back before making my way over to the oven and pulling out a baking dish with spiced baked chicken breast, broccoli, and sweet potatoes. My mouth waters, and my heart kicks up at the gesture. I look at the doorway as if he might have come back to see if I took the bait.
Despite the hunger pangs in my empty cavern of a stomach, I calmly sit at the kitchen table and take my sweet time eating.
I savor each bite, imagining the time Seth took to prepare it, and then my heart squeezes thinking about how he took the time to portion out a meal for me, wrap it in foil, and place it in the oven.
I’m almost in tears like the dramatic baby I am as I chew the last mouthful, not wanting it to end.
I rinse my plate and toss it with my utensils into the dishwasher—knowing full well Seth will rearrange it in the morning—and make my way upstairs.
As I pass by his room, I notice the light is off, but I hear muffled sounds.
I force myself to keep moving to my room, all the while wondering if he’s watching porn or doomscrolling.
After brushing my teeth and undressing for bed, I decide I’m overdue for some poor decision-making.
I fluff my pillows—all seven of them—and prop my back on them against the headboard. Waking up my phone, I navigate to my texts and scroll down to find Seth’s name.
And my fingers freeze.
I’d ask myself why this is so difficult, but the answer is lying just on the other side of the hall from me. He’s here. Will he think I’m out of line? Will he ignore me? Even worse, will he respond?
Before I dive too deep into the real questions like what am I trying to get out of this? I type out my message and hit send.
4/18 9:24 p.m.
Me: You up?
Delivered
And I wait.
And wait.
After what feels like a lifetime and a half, the message bubble pops up. And disappears. And then pops up and disappears again.
The process repeats a few more times, and somehow, his indecision on how to respond eases some of the tension in my stomach. I relax my shoulders into the mountain of pillows, ready to wait him out.
He knows I’m awake. I know he’s awake. He has to respond.
Right?
After an almost uncomfortable amount of time later, his message finally arrives.
4/18 9:36 p.m.
Seth: Yes. Can I help you?
Delivered
All that for the nerdiest answer he’s ever sent me.
Or… maybe not? Is that an invitation? Am I overthinking it? I’m definitely overthinking it. But… what if?
4/18 9:38 p.m.
Me: Are you going to sleep?
Delivered
4/18 9:41 p.m.
Seth: Do you need something?
Delivered
Well that’s a loaded question if I’ve ever encountered one.
Fuck. Do I need something? I mean, I need a lot of things, I’m just not sure I’m at a point I can ask for them from him.
I bite my lip, turning over all the possible ways to play this in my head.
I can’t even tell if he’s flirting or if he’s genuinely asking.
Knowing him, he probably wants an actual answer from me.
This has never been difficult for us. Our textual banter was one of my favorite things about him. God, how did I not know he’s so fucking boring?
But then I remember how untrue that actually is. How the Seth I’ve heard so much about from Thea and Cary is not the West I met and have gotten to know over the last four years. I guess there’s no time like the present to find out what’s reality.
4/18 9:42 p.m.
Me: How’re your sisters doing?
Delivered
4/18 9:45 p.m.
Seth: They’re good.
Delivered
4/18 9:48 p.m.
Seth: M’s got a soccer game tomorrow she’s nervous about. Apparently the other team is really good, and she’s in a starting position. E just signed up for debate club.
Delivered
Okay, this is good. He’s actually talking. Now I have a few options. Option A: I can take it for the win it is and say goodnight and go to sleep. Or Option B: Do the stupid, dumb thing which could potentially destroy any headway we’ve made.
I’m hitting the videocall button before I even finish the thought.
I hear the sound of his ringtone through the wall, and it abruptly cuts off. The ringing on my end doesn’t stop, so all he did was silence his phone. I can almost feel his indecision through the sheetrock.
Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick—
The call connects, and I’m met with his gorgeous face lit only by the bluish light of the screen.
Shadows accentuate his high cheekbones and eyebrow arch.
Soft blonde stubble lines his jaw, stubble I know will be gone with his morning shower.
My hands itch to run over it, feel the prickles on the pads of my fingers.
Neither of us says anything, but our eyes keep roaming across our respective screens.
The sight is so familiar, something we’ve done hundreds of times before.
But it’s so much… more tonight. With the anonymity of East and West gone, all the things we’ve ever told each other crowd into our little bubble.
I clear my throat. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
We stare at each other for a little while longer. A chill runs up my spine, goosebumps pebbling my skin. The air in my room feels cooler than usual, but I’m fairly sure it’s just all the blood rushing from my extremities to where my heart pounds in my chest.
“Why is this so weird?”
“Probably because you’re in the other room,” he murmurs. I roll my eyes but catch a small smile on his face. My nerves ease slightly.
“Anyway,” I say, dragging the word out. “Your dad behaving himself?” He’s given me a glimpse here and there of his relationship with his father. To say he’s an abusive asshole would be kind.
He heaves a sigh and shifts around in his bed, and I imagine what the pillow below his head smells like.
It’s probably covered in his cologne, that clean, spicy, citrusy mix I remember tasting as I licked up the column of his neck.
The chill in the room suddenly lessens as my heart speeds up for a whole other reason.
“Yeah, I think so. Millie and Eloise haven’t mentioned anything at least. Besides, it’s an election year, so he’s barely home,” he says.
“Wait, he’s a politician?” I ask, floored by the new information. Besides what happened to him as a kid, he’s never given me anything that could actually lead back to him. From context clues, I gathered his dad was in a position of power, but I just assumed he was the CEO of something.
“He’s a state senator,” he says, sounding exhausted.
“Oh, so you’re royalty?”
There’s a pause as he looks at me, taking in my deadpan expression. “I really hope that’s one of your little jokes and not a failure of the Indigo Hill school system.”
“‘My little jokes?’ I’m offended. I am pure entertainment,” I say, cracking a smile.
“Definitely not pure.” His face twists in a cute side-eye.
“Hold up. Was that a joke? Oh my God. I have to call Thea.” I make a show of reaching toward my phone. “She’ll never believe me.”
“Oh, shut up, you’re ridiculous.” The air around us thaws further. “But yeah, I think for a while he hoped I’d follow in his footsteps. His expectations were high, and at some point I realized no matter what I did I’d never meet them. But I can’t cut ties fully, not yet at least.”
“Your sisters?” I ask, praying he keeps talking. I’m picking up each and every drop of new information he’s sharing with me, drinking them down like a cool beer on a hot day.
“I can’t abandon them. They’re literal fucking angels. Thankfully, it’s just a couple more years. As soon as they turn eighteen, I’ll do whatever I can to get them out of his clutches. I’ll pay for their school and housing if I have to. I’ve been saving for it specifically.
“And Liam—that’s my brother—I see him following in Dad’s footsteps, and I just want to shake him, you know?
” His frustration pours out through his words, sounding almost desperate.
I wonder if he’s talked to anyone about this.
“He acts like an asshole, but I’m not sure how much of it is him and how much is my dad’s influence. ”
I nod, not really knowing what to say. All the new pieces of the puzzle that make up Seth are falling into place, and I’m seeing him from a different angle, a new light.
He’s so much more than the dominating sex god I met or the nerdy homebody Thea told me about.
Both things are still very much true, but there’s more, and I want to keep digging until I know it all.
I love how open he is tonight, it’s so reminiscent of our late night calls when we were first getting to know each other. Talking about anything, everything, and nothing all at once.
Seth’s sheets rustle, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long, lost in my head.
The video on my screen goes black, and I hear movement on his end.
When the image finally stills, he’s lying on his side, nestled farther under the covers, the phone propped in front of him.
I run my gaze over his face, cataloguing the sleepy eyes and how his hard edges soften the later it gets.
“What about you? Heard from your parents recently?” he asks.
I take my glasses off and lean over to drop them on the bedside table before sliding myself down the bed, using a forearm to bolster my head toward the screen on my chest. When I look back, Seth is just a little bit fuzzy around the edges, giving the whole conversation a dreamy feel.
“Not a peep. A cousin told me they’re on the other side of the country in Mississippi or Arkansas or somewhere like that. ”
“That’s… not the other side… you know, nevermind. Not important. Are they still doing ‘God’s work?’” He pulls a hand out from under the covers and puts air quotes on the last part.
“Probably.” The mention of my parents tightens my chest. Thea and Seth are the only ones who know what happened with them.
How they hated who I am so much they left as soon as I turned eighteen.
How they deserted me long before then, pretty much ignoring my existence beyond clothing me and feeding me until they could disappear and not be charged with felony child abandonment.
“The vulnerable won’t brainwash themselves after all,” I say.
“So using comedy as a distraction wasn’t just a way to avoid going too deep and keeping me at an arm’s length, huh? It’s a permanent personality trait?”
“One of my few likeable ones,” I say with a small self-deprecating smile.
He studies me for a long time, his eyes burning into me through the screen. The intensity makes my skin crawl, and I’m looking for a way to change the subject when he says, “Hm, I disagree.”
I have no quippy response, nothing to redirect from the serious turn the conversation has taken.
I pull my covers tighter around me because I’m just about ready to throw them off and run over to his room.
I’m not sure what I’d do when I got there, but being seen makes me uncomfortable, and a voice in the back of my head tells me having him wrap his strong arms around me would make me feel better.
I tell that bitch to shut up before I do something stupid like follow through.
“I think it’s time to call it a night,” I say.
“Yeah, probably,” he says with a yawn. “Goodnight, East Coast.”
“Goodnight, West,” I murmur.
Neither of us hangs up. I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but my phone is dead by the time I finally wake up in the morning.