27. Michelle
Chapter 27
Michelle
M y coffee has been cold for hours. I glance at the clock. It’s a little after ten o’clock, so I can’t reheat it, or I’ll be up all night. Though I’ll be awake anyway with how my mind is racing.
Rocket grumbles on the other side of the sofa. I realize I’ve been tapping my feet, making the cushions bounce under his head.
Shelly, calm down.
I grip my cold mug closer. “Sorry.”
Are you apologizing to me?
“I’m capable of apologizing,” I counter, irritably sipping, then scrunching my nose. Cold coffee again.
I’ve been in the same position on this sofa for hours, reliving every second before Sara and Cliff left for their date.
I didn’t like how Cliff looked when he left. Sure, he was handsome in his sports coat—I didn’t know he was capable of dressing up outside of funerals—but I didn’t like how softly he cooed when he called Sara pretty.
My sister is gorgeous, so he’s honestly blind if he thinks pretty is a good enough word for her, but I shift uncomfortably on the cushion when I remember that he complimented her at all. I can’t forget that Cliff is only a man—and he’s a nice one at that. Of course he noticed her looks, and of course he told her.
But …
It was also the way he touched her lower back. I know Cliff touches everyone—if his hand isn’t resting on someone for any length of time, he might shrivel up and die—but I didn’t know I’d feel a heart-aching stab while watching.
There are footsteps on the porch. Rocket’s head lifts. I shush him, and he lets out that irritated whine of his.
I didn’t even bark, Shelly.
I barely decipher murmurs through the front door, but nothing legible except a laugh or two.
They’re having a good time.
Are they dancing around the good-night kiss?
Is Cliff slowly walking her back against the side of a house, like he did to me on Halloween?
I stand from the sofa and push through the kitchen door at the same time the front door keys open and Sara walks inside.
I freeze, and there’s a moment or two of awkward silence with the clock in the kitchen ticking and Rocket’s tapping claws on the linoleum.
“Michelle?” Sara whispers. “Are you awake?”
I nonchalantly set my coffee cup down, clear my throat, and whisper back, “Yeah. Hey. I’m in the kitchen. I got caught up with work. Lost track of time.”
The kitchen door swings inward. I notice that her updo looks intact. Her pink lip gloss doesn’t look smeared either.
“How’d it go?” I ask, swirling the bottom of the mug on the counter.
She glances at the empty counter. “You got caught up with work?” she asks with an edge of suspicion.
I also eye the noticeably paperless counter. “Yes,” I lie.
She narrows her eyes. “Were you waiting up for me?”
I attempt a casual laugh. “No. Of course not. You’re an adult?—”
“And I’m also on a date with your friend.” She takes a seat at the breakfast nook and brings both legs up to cross in the chair.
“Oh, yeah, how’d it go?”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and eyes me from top to bottom. Staring. Squinting.
“You know, it went really well actually,” she drawls with a satisfied smile, sinking deeper into her seat. “Like”—she closes her eyes and sighs—“ really well.”
A knot tightens in my stomach.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask shakily, taking another sip of the cold coffee and grimacing. “That’s great.”
“It wasn’t simply great,” she says. “It was spectacular . He’s … well …” She looks at the floor and exhales a heavy breath before snapping her eyes to mine again. “He’s a really good kisser.”
Without my consent, my butt lands in the chair across from her. The gut punch is harder than I thought. My vision is blurred at the edges.
“Oh … oh, really?” I ask weakly, but I can barely register my own words.
“Yep,” Sara continues with a grin, blinking up at the ceiling like she’s thanking God for such a night. “We tried to wait until we were out of the restaurant, but he couldn’t help himself. Cliff is not the gentleman you think he is.”
The walls are closing in on me.
“That’s great,” I whisper.
I think I’m getting tunnel vision. Sara is all I can see, but I swear I can hear the distant, joyful laughter of Cliff next door—the laugh of a man who had an amazing date. I wanted that for him.
Didn’t I?
I force a smile, but I need to lie down. I did this to myself. I told him to date her. And now, they’re gonna be together and?—
Sara suddenly slings her purse across the table. It skids to the opposite side, bumping into my arm before plunking on the floor.
I flinch back. “What the hell are you?—”
“God, I’m so pissed at you,” she hisses.
“Pissed at me ?”
“You like him!”
I blink. “What are you talking?—”
“We didn’t do anything!” she whines, throwing a defeated hand in the air. “I lied. Because I needed to see you squirm for a teensy second.” She leans forward with her forearms on the table. “Shells, he talked about you all night. All. Night.”
“No, he didn’t,” I breathe in disbelief.
“Yes, he did.”
“So, you didn’t kiss?”
“Are you joking me?” she asks with a laugh. “He didn’t even look at my cleavage, which, for the record, is incredible. I put glitter on the girls.”
I stifle a laugh. “He didn’t look at your sparkly boobs?”
“He didn’t,” she says with a flat stare. She smacks my arm. “Cliff likes you, Shelly. What are you doing?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“What. Are. You. Doing?” she says, enunciating every single word. “That man would jump off a bridge if you told him to, except, whoops, he’s already jumped, and he’s now down the river, waiting for you to tell him what to do next.”
I scoff out a laugh. “Sara?—”
“He’s hot. He’s nice. He’s funny. He opened doors for me. He heard me blab on about art school and actually listened . Guys don’t do that. Trust me.”
“Sara …”
“Do me a favor,” she snaps.
“What?”
“Go get laid.”
I blink to myself and sit taller. “What are you talking about?”
She slides her arms across the table and grasps my hands. “Be happy with the stupid, amazing man next door who is stupidly obsessed with you.”
Cliff is obsessed with me?
The thought feels so ridiculous. He likes me—or liked me at some point. But that’s it. A crush. Nothing more. But the knot in my stomach grips tighter, and I feel like I’m lying to myself.
Sara snaps her fingers in my face. “Stop thinking,” she says irritably. “Tell me what’s on your mind. Out loud.”
“I’m not doing that.”
“Oh, but you tell Cliff everything?”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t tell him every?—”
“Yes, you do. I had to find out through him how you feel about me.”
I disentangle my forearms from her grasp and cross them over my chest, leaning back in my chair. “What are you even talking about?”
“You never tell me how much you love me.”
I stiffen. “I say it all the time,” I say breathlessly.
“Three words is nothing compared to what he told me. He said that you think I’m … a ball of sunshine? Which I had no idea you even could think something like that.” She scoots her chair closer to mine. “He even said that I’m your favorite person in the world. Though”—she tsks—“I think I’ve got stiff competition with Cliff now.”
I laugh and shake my head.
“He also said … well … how were you able to get here? Stay at the inn, I mean. Your job let you, right?”
I swallow. “Of course they did.”
“It didn’t … set you back or anything?” I can’t find words fast enough before Sara slouches. “Why did you do that?”
“You need to graduate. Mom needed this.”
“And you have a life you’ve worked for.”
“And I love you more than any of that.”
Sara shakes her head, her eyebrows turning in. “You deserve to be happy. You should talk to Cliff.”
“It would never work,” I answer.
“You don’t even wanna try?”
I reach up and twirl my earring. “We live on opposite sides of the country …”
“So?”
“I just got divorced.”
“ So ?” she repeats with more emphasis.
“He’s not a guy I’d normally go for.”
“Because marrying a fancy doctor worked out so well for you.”
I shoot her a warning look, and she groans.
“You’re so difficult. But whatever.” Sara flings her hands in the air. “Do what you want. It’s your life. What do I know?”
“You know a lot.”
“I know; it’s terrible being smart and pretty,” she says with a teasing smile.
We’re silent in the kitchen with only the sound of the humming refrigerator and my tapping nails on the table.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“Don’t know what?”
“Anything. I …” I clear my throat. “Cliff appeared in my life and never seemed to go away. And at first, I hated it. He’s … so frustrating . But he doesn’t make me be someone I’m not.”
“So … you like him,” she says.
“Yes.”
“So …” She rotates her palm in a circle, as if coaxing me on.
I side-eye her, then exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“God, you can’t say anything out loud, can you? Say you’ve got feelings for him, Shells.”
I can’t. Because saying that I have a crush on Cliff—not simply thinking it—will only put something out there that I can’t take back. What would it accomplish anyway?
“Well, for what it’s worth,” Sara says, “ I think you’d be good together.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“I mean it.”
A little smile breaks onto my lips. “Thanks.”
“Can we have a sleepover?” she asks. “Like old times?”
I laugh. “I’m thirty.”
“So? We can even get Rocket in on it.”
His eyes look between us. Absolutely not.
I laugh. “I don’t think he’s into it.”
Sara’s nose scrunches. “He’s really vocal for a dog that doesn’t talk, isn’t he?”
“Very,” I agree. “He’s not half bad though.”
And I think, from the corner of my eye, I see Rocket wag his tail.
“Shells?” Sara whispers.
“Hmm?”
“If you say it, I won’t tell anyone.” She holds out her pinkie. “I promise.”
I can feel the strings of my heart pulling taut. My arms want to tuck closer to my chest, like I’m protecting myself. The truth is, I’ve tried to keep a small piece of me locked away from everyone.
Exhaling, I turn the key and whisper back, “I really like him, Sara. And I don’t know what to do.”