25. Amelie
25
AMELIE
I break my alarm clock when it goes off the next morning.
It isn’t intentional, of course, but I’ve never been an early riser. Five o’clock is an inhumane time to be awake, and Henry is going to regret saying yes to this when he has to deal with my grumpiness all day.
Groaning, I pick up the plastic casing that I shattered and throw it in my bedside trash can. It was a cheap one; to be honest, I’m surprised it’s survived this long. I’m normally a little rough with turning the thing off. This morning, I just happened to grab the metal tumbler on my nightstand to silence it.
“What did you do?” Jensen stumbles into my room wearing a blanket cape. “It’s five in the morning.”
“Henry’s getting here at six,” I say, grabbing my brush off my desk. “I thought I told you.”
“You didn’t,” he mumbles, dropping into my chair. “But this is fine. Now I can tell you what happened yesterday evening.”
I stop dragging the brush through my hair. Jensen got home late last night, and I spilled all of my stories before he had a chance to tell me his. It’s likely that I wouldn’t have registered anything anyways—I was a little preoccupied with packing and worrying.
“We have an offer,” Jen says when I keep silent. “This weekend. There’s an older piece out locally, I guess, and someone got in contact with Meg last night.”
My stomach flips, and instantly, I’m afraid it’s the decoy. We aren’t supposed to get offers for that!
“Is there a name on it?” I ask tersely.
Jen nods. “ Lover of Mine .”
I release a breath and braid my hair back. Good. Not the decoy, and not one of Henry’s, at least that I’m aware of. “You guys think you can handle it?”
“I do,” he says, fully confident. “This one doesn’t seem as demanding as our previous.”
“How much?”
“Ten grand.”
“We could use that,” I mutter, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “And please get away from my desk. I need to get ready.”
He sighs and stands. “I’m going back to sleep. Be careful today, Ames. I don’t fully trust the guy.”
“I’ll be alright,” I say. “He did save me the other night, Jen. I think he can help me evade a couple of questions from Margot.”
He chuckles. “If you think you’re getting fewer questions with a man— him, no less—then you’re dead wrong.”
He’s correct. But I simply hope the questions are much more bearable than they would be otherwise.
Jensen goes back to sleep, and instead of going back to the couch, he crashes in my bed. I don’t mind it because he sleeps heavily. There’s no way I’ll wake him while getting ready, especially not this early.
I blast an old Gwen Stefani album through my headphones and get dressed. A two-hour car ride calls for comfort, so I wear a matching pink set of sweatpants and a hoodie. It’s not obnoxiously pink, not that there’s any such thing. I put on some fleece-lined boots and tie a ribbon in my hair.
Makeup is useless, because I’m going to sleep the entire drive, but I still dab some concealer under my eyes. It’s likely that Margot will be there in a blazer and heels, with perfect hair and a full face of makeup, but I try not to let that bother me. I try to be thankful that I’m seeing her again, even though that’s the last thing I feel.
Last night, on the way home from Henry’s apartment, I got Margot a birthday gift, and I haven’t stopped second guessing it since I swiped my card. I’m not even expecting anything from her, but I panicked and bought her a new handbag. She loves handbags—or, she used to, anyways. I don’t really know what she likes anymore. It’s a brown leather one, with gold detailing and three different straps you can switch out.
I like it. I’d wear it, and I’m a harsh critic. So hopefully she feels the same.
At a quarter till six, I put my bags by the door. My stomach is growling a concerning amount, so I grab an unripe banana and eat half. While I wait for Henry to show, I decide to straighten up. I fold the blankets Jen kicked onto the floor and wash the few dishes in the sink. When I’m drying the last coffee mug, I hear a knock on the door.
“Coming,” I call, frantically drying my hands on a dishrag. I cross the room and fling the door open to find Henry with the goods in tow: a brown paper bag and an unmarked to-go cup.
“Good morning,” Henry says, handing me the coffee. “Drink this.”
I take it, relishing in the warmth against my palms. The steam wafting off the cup carries the scent of the drink, and I gasp when I realize what it is. “You went to Parlon’s!”
“So you won’t be crabby.” He hands me the paper bag and picks up one of my suitcases. I grab the other with my free hand and hike my purse a little further up my arm. “Are we good to go?”
“We are,” I nod, locking the deadbolt behind me. “You ready for the time of your life?”
“Absolutely,” he says, and I genuinely cannot sense any sarcasm in his tone. I know it’s there—I’m not stupid. He’s just hiding it well. “Fair warning, though. I’m counting on your entertainment to keep me awake behind the wheel.”
I push the elevator button. “Do you often fall asleep while driving?”
“No, but it’s six in the morning, and it’s dark outside. It’s not as though I want to be awake.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll perform my playlists for you, and it’ll be the best experience of your life.”
He chuckles and steps into the elevator with me. When the doors close, I notice him looking me over, and I get the urge to hide or something. It’s not like he’s checking me out or anything, but he is evaluating what’s in front of him. Honestly, I’m not sure which of the two I’d prefer.
“I may be underdressed,” he says finally, and I laugh.
Henry is not, and has never been, underdressed. He’s wearing a very plain outfit that manages to make him look somewhat classy—jeans, white long-sleeved shirt, with a black vest. It’s almost formal compared to my outfit.
“Nonsense,” I tell him. “This is my casual attire.”
“But it’s…so much pink.”
“You say that like a negative.”
“Not at all.” His eyes go higher, near the area of my ears. I glare at him when he reaches up and flicks the ribbon at the end of my braid. “And you even wore the bow.”
“I always wear the bow. Don’t get it twisted and think I wear it for you.”
“I’d never be so foolish,” he says, and once we hit the ground floor, I smile behind his back.
Henry’s car is somehow already freezing, even though it couldn’t have been stopped for long. He loads my bags in the trunk as I get in the passenger seat. This car is nice. The seats are leather, and it has those built-in warmers. He’s got a corded connection to his radio, so I take the liberty of plugging my phone in and pulling up my playlists, just as I promised.
After what seems like hours, Henry gets in the car and starts the engine. I shiver when cold air blasts through the vents. It can’t be any more than twenty degrees outside.
“Ready?” Henry asks, putting the cabin’s address in his GPS.
I give a nod. “All ready.”
“Good.” He pulls out of the parking lot, and I quietly drink my coffee.
This is weird. It’s so weird. I’m sitting in my ex-boyfriend’s car, sipping on the drink he bought me, and watching his hands on the steering wheel as he drives us to my parent’s cabin, where we’ll pretend to be a couple again. This isn’t normal. It isn’t even smart!
I feel the need to bash my head against the window until my brain starts dealing with things rationally.
“You going to play your music?” He asks, looking over at me for a split second. “Or was that an empty threat?”
“I don’t make empty threats,” I say. “And anyways, yes. I’m just deciding which song to bless you with first.”
“You know I like all that stuff you used to play. The boy bands and whatever.”
I gape. “You don’t even remember the names ?”
“There were too many.”
I sigh and click shuffle on a random playlist. Man! I Feel Like A Woman! starts playing at full volume, loud enough to make both of us jump. I reach forward and turn the volume down, shocked at the way it made my heart speed. “How loud do you listen to things in here?!”
“I don’t even remember the last time I had the radio on,” Henry says with a huff. “I normally just drive in silence.”
That’s right. I forgot about that.
“So you’re still psychotic.”
He bites back a smile. “I like to be alone with my thoughts.”
“That’s exactly what I just said.”
“How would I know what I feel if I don’t take time to figure it out?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I prefer the opposite route, as in, not thinking about it. I’m well-versed enough in my own mind, but there are certain boxes that I won’t open. One of them is about to be torn apart, though, given that we’re driving toward it at 70 miles-per-hour.
Home.
The people, not the place. We didn’t live at the cabin, not year-round, but we made a lot of memories there. I can trace a lot of things back to it. Back to summers spent swimming in the lake, winters ice skating on the frozen top. I didn’t want to live there, though. It would’ve taken the magic from it.
Margot, on the other hand, had the exact opposite idea. She moved there after art school, not far from the cabin. Her travel today could literally be done on foot, if there weren’t probably inches of snow surrounding the place.
I chew on my lip as my thoughts spin. This isn’t going to be a pleasant visit. It’s going to be tense. Strained. I really don’t think it needed to be lumped into a birthday party, but what do I know? I’m the one who hasn’t spoken to her twin sister in four years. I’m the one who doesn’t care to fix things.
The song on the radio ends, and for some reason, another doesn’t start. The intense, sudden silence is enough to drag me out of my thoughts, but not in a good way. It’s uncomfortable, at least to me. Henry doesn’t seem to notice, but I’m on the verge of ripping my hair out.
I find my phone that somehow ended up on the floor and hit play, hardly paying attention to the song that starts. I lift my coffee out of the cup holder and hiss when the lid pops off, making some of the liquid slosh over the edge. It lands on my thigh, leaving a dark spot the size of a cracker on my pants. How horrible!
“You okay?” Henry asks. “The?—”
“I got it,” I say, popping the glove box open. I know what he was going to say: There’re napkins in the glove box. I know this because there are always napkins in the glovebox. Henry has never not had napkins in his glove box. He’s like a packrat, but it comes in handy.
I grab a few and mindlessly swipe at my leg. If I were smart, I would’ve brought a water bottle, and then I’d actually be able to work the stain out. All I’m doing now is pressing the coffee further into the fabric. I blow out a frustrated breath as the napkin starts to shred, doing more harm than good, but I’m stubborn enough to keep scrubbing.
Henry reaches over and wordlessly grabs the coffee from me before settling it back into the cup holder. It’s systematic, something that requires no thought, and it ticks me off to no end.
Maybe I’m just moody because these pants are ruined.
Exhaling, I grab a final napkin for the side of my cup, but something catches my eye. Something that looks strangely like a polaroid, hidden away, peeking out from under the car’s registration.
I wouldn’t have noticed it if I hadn’t drawn those hearts on the corner.
I slam the glove box closed with embarrassing vigor, wanting to ask Henry a million questions. Why does he still have that photo of us? I remember it vividly, though now, I’m really wishing I didn’t. It was taken after my eighteenth birthday party, the one that would’ve ended in shambles if it hadn’t been for him.
Marg was gone. Her friends had taken her on a road trip for the weekend, and she swore she’d be back for our birthday, but they got a flat tire. They ended up staying the night in a lux hotel, and there was no reason for concern.
For me, though, I had nothing to do. So my parents and Henry and Liz threw me my own party.
To put a long story short, my dad dropped my cake off our second story balcony. I’m still not sure how he managed it, given that the party was inside, but Henry snuck away while I was trying to think up a solution. He went to the grocery and bought the last cake they had in their display case, found candles and edible glitter, and somehow made a cake that said HAPPY RETIREMENT look very birthday-like.
It saved the whole day for me. The picture was captured as I laughed up at him, right after I’d smeared icing on his nose.
But there’s no need to think about that right now.
“Ames?” Henry says randomly, drawing my attention back to him.
I sit back in my seat and sigh. “Hm?”
“Do you need me to stop somewhere?”
“No,” I say, wiping off the side of my coffee cup as my stomach rolls. We’re going to have to talk about things, I’m realizing. We’ll have to talk about Margot, my family, and my job, but I refuse to talk about us. Not when I’ve got a hundred other things gunning for my attention. Henry isn’t top priority—he hasn’t been for a long time. “I’m going to sleep.”
Henry looks over at me, just as I’m digging my eye mask out of my purse. He gives a contented laugh before turning his eyes back to the road. “Sleep well, then.”
I hum to myself as Linger by The Cranberries starts to play. “Don’t wreck.”