Chapter 28
CHAPTER 28
NOW
I had recovered. From my moment of weakness. From the thought— the fear —that I might never truly get over Henry.
But in a few months—I realized—, I’d never see him again. We’d graduate, he’ll move to New York, and I’ll be God knows where. The only time I could potentially run into him was when I’d turn on the TV or continued Googling him. Or didn’t unfollow him from my burner account.
The problem would take care of itself.
Until then, he was the subject of this profile—my friend . So what if I wanted to climb the man like a tree? I was old enough to keep my urges in check and not do anything about them. Admire from afar.
Nothing could be further than scheduling my next interview with his sister instead of him. I didn’t think the two were particularly close; at least they hadn’t been in the past few years.
I’d met Athalia a handful of times, but never because of Henry. First at Daisy’s, where she’d ordered a coffee and wasn’t surprised by her name on the to-go cup, even though she hadn’t given it to me. Then again, here and there, at one party or another—more or less intoxicated every time. By the fourth one, I wasn’t quite sure if she still didn’t know me or if she just hadn’t cared enough about the girl her twin brother was seeing.
The last time I saw her was four months ago, at the Pressley’s New Year’s Eve party somewhere in the Hamptons. We’d spoken, mostly because her best friend Wren had started dating Laila.
We’d been in each other’s orbit for a while, never really crossing paths. It didn’t keep her from greeting me like we’d been best friends for years now, though.
“Paula!” Athalia cheered, her brown hair falling down her back in long waves, green eyes wide with surprise. Presumably because she hadn’t asked who I was through the intercom, and I knew from Henry that she was as great at keeping track of her appointments as I was: not at all. “Come in.” She shooed me into the loft across the street from Henry’s.
“Sorry for abusing your doorbell.” I slipped out of my shoes and followed her into the living room, where she patted the spot beside her on the leather couch. “Just didn’t want to run into… anyone,” I explained as I sank into the cushions.
“ Anyone , yes,” Athalia hummed, mischief sprawling across her features in the same way it would across Henry’s. Her green eyes trailed to the window front. “If we’re lucky, we might see Anyone creeping through his windows,” she said matter-of-factly, sending me an apologetic glance.
“How would he—??”
“Know?” she guessed. “I told him you’re here. Sorry! It kind of just slipped out when he wouldn’t shut up about my nonexistent life plan, and I threw ‘ Well, your girlfriend is in my plans for today ’ at him.” She winced. “Which just led him down this tangent of how and why you two aren’t… you know.” She stopped in her rambling, eyes trailing to me again. “Curious how he knew I was talking about you, though. Isn’t it?”
“Oh,” I offered unhelpfully. “Well.” It was curious, but I couldn’t very much say that now. I cleared my throat, tried to subtly change subjects. “How are you guys?”
I’d asked Henry the same question a few weeks ago, but it felt like I might get a better answer out of his sister. Athalia was way chattier, and much more likely to throw him under the bus.
She sighed, and her head fell back against the couch. “Better.” Same as Henry had said. “In a weird turn of events I did not expect, dating Dylan actually rolled my relationship with Henry in the right direction. He hates him so much, he started to care about me! Can you believe that?” She laughed, but her eyes stayed closed when she shook her head.
“I totally can,” I snorted in amusement. Setting my phone between us, pen and paper in my lap, I couldn’t even get half of the next question in before her eyes snapped open, connecting right with mine. She sat up, and I cut myself off.
“Wait, sorry. I don’t want to interrupt, but I already have, so I might as well just—” She shifted in her seat, turned to me fully. “I gotta know this or I won’t sleep tonight.”
Although her eyes flicked to my recording phone, she didn’t seem to care. “Did he end up apologizing?” she asked. “For being an oblivious idiot who couldn’t grasp people’s feelings if his life depended on it?”
I blinked at her; not a single clue what she was talking about.
Athalia elaborated with a knowing look. “Less cryptic, got it. Let me try again. For… not considering your feelings going into this, I mean. The profile, the interviews, the one-on-one time.”
I immediately understood. Remembered the way he’d suddenly apologized for not considering it a few weeks back.
“Of course that wasn’t him,” I sighed, head falling back like I should’ve known.
I really should have . Henry didn’t have a trace of empathy in him.
“Of course not,” she agreed proudly. “It took me an entire hour to explain it to him, then another hour of scowls because he realized I was right. Which… obviously?” Her nose twitched as if she couldn’t believe he’d doubted her. “And sure,” she sailed on. “He felt like an asshole after, but that’s only because he is!”
I couldn’t help but smile. At how polar the twins were to each other and how much I liked it. How much I liked her. “I’m sorry, usually I know how to shut the fuck up,” she added, seeming to realize it herself.
“I feel like we were meant to meet like this a lot sooner.” The words just slipped out, so honest I was taken aback by them myself.
Athalia nodded grandly, her curtain bangs flying into her face. “I can’t believe you were with Henry for over two years, and he never had the balls to introduce us.” She sounded like she might actually take offense. “We haven’t been all that close after… you know.” Her easy smile dimmed. “But still. He should’ve introduced his sister to his girlfriend, right?”
“I always thought he might be—” For a moment, I hesitated. The next I thought, fuck it . We were sharing. Bonding. I think. “You know. Might be embarrassed because I’m not this rich white girl with generational wealth. That maybe he just didn’t want you to know—”
“Oh my God.” Athalia shook her head. She wouldn’t even let me finish the sentence. “You were never the problem, Paula! Trust me. Henry and I have been weird since the accident. We never talked. We never shared private things. The fact that you never met me probably meant he cared too much, and didn’t want me to mess that up.” She snickered half-heartedly at her own words. “In some weird, fucked-up Henry way. Don’t worry about that. Please .”
The feeling in my stomach, spreading through my chest and perhaps into my cheeks, was unexpected. I didn’t think the thought had sat so heavy on my mind, but I was relieved. Relieved beyond words.
“He did talk about you,” I offered. And her eyes widened, like she really hadn’t expected it. “Sometimes. I know you used to ride horses when you were younger. You hate roses because he accidentally pushed you into a bush full of them. He wouldn’t have gone to HBU if you hadn’t gotten in.”
“Fuck.” Athalia exhaled. Her face disappeared in her hands. “I can’t believe there’s an entire side to Henry I don’t even know.” Her hands dropped. “I mean, I can believe it. But still. It’s—”
“Weird,” I offered, and she huffed in agreement.
I wasn’t quite sure where that left us now. But with the second moment of silence between us, I took the opportunity to get back to the reason for my visit.
“Anyway,” I began. “I do appreciate you doing this interview. If you’re anything like your brother, I know you don’t usually… like them.”
“Hate them,” Athalia corrected quickly. The sudden smile on her face didn’t match the flat tone of her voice. “But don’t worry. Anything for Henry, right?”
When I went to agree, I could sense another tangent coming at her next words. “Oh! Did you know?” she asked, like she wanted to repay me for what I’d told her about him. “For a solid few months, I actually thought you cheated on Henry. He did, too!”
“What?”
Forget the interview for a moment. What?!
Athalia nodded grandly, brown hair flying. “I know!” she agreed, somehow seeming more outraged than I was. “And all because he saw you with McCa— Dylan . That’s literally it.”
Seeing as we were neighbors, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d seen us together. And I might’ve vented to Dylan about our breakup—because who better to shit-talk your ex-boyfriend with than his sworn enemy?
But—“Talk about jumping to conclusions,” I huffed, still putting the pieces together.
“Oh,” Athalia laughed. “He’s jumping alright.” Her brows rose like she’d just remembered another big thing she needed to talk about right now . While the seconds of the recording ticked by. “Whatever happened to that Jack guy?”
That took me by surprise, so much so I drew back from her at the name. “When you said you and Henry are closer now, I didn’t think you meant this close. Does he tell you everything?”
She waved the question off. “Only the things he can’t go to anyone else with. Like, you. Or the guys you’re dating.”
“I never dated—” I shook myself out of it. “He talked to you about that?”
The only answer was an unapologetic grin. Like there might be nothing better in the world than gossiping about your brother with his ex-girlfriend. Maybe there wasn’t.
Unfortunately, I’d come to work. And I realized the only way I’d get anything useful out of her was an agreement.
A piece of his childhood from Athalia for a piece of Henry she might not know about. And round and round we went for an hour.
Later, when Maeve and I listened to the material like others might to a podcast, I was tempted to play it back, just to make sure I hadn’t missed any of the juicy details.
“God,” the redhead sighed beside me, sprawling across my bed, eyes on the ceiling. “Athalia really is something. I’m a little jealous McCarthy took her off the market before I got the chance to.”
I huffed. “You guys would’ve been cute together.”
“An absolute power couple.” She agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “How far along are you with this, anyway?” She stretched her hand in the direction of my laptop by the foot of my bed.
Shrugging, I decided, “I’ve talked to Henry plenty. Seen enough, probably.” And it definitely wasn’t just another way to postpone eventually seeing him again after New York. “I got the chance to talk to Coach Hepburn at the game the other day, and his friends after that. I should probably watch another one of his games from the stands, just to get a feel for him. On the field. Right?”
I preferred the thought of watching Henry from afar, where we wouldn’t have to interact. “Then I’ll get to writing the first draft. Which would leave me with enough time to get some more stuff should Eddie deem it… insufficient.”
Maeve blinked at me, a little dumbfounded. “Did you just actually make a plan?” she asked, like it was an impossibility. “Like, in advance? Instead of doing and writing as you go?”
“That seems like a backhanded compliment,” I deadpanned.
“Well—”
“Why does everyone think I’m incapable of getting my shit together?” I groaned, definitely too loudly. Like Maeve had accused me of that, and it wasn’t just what my own insecurities were chanting in my head.
She looked at me like she knew that. “Paula.” She rolled her eyes lightheartedly. “No one actually thinks that.” She hesitated. “And even if they do. Who cares? You know how you work best, and if that’s without a plan, chaotically doing whatever you want, whenever you want—” I shot her a glare I didn’t mean. “Then so be it. As long as you get it done.”
I wish I could share the sentiment, believe in myself—my abilities and resilience—as much as other people did. Even Marty seemed impressed. Excited even, about the prospect of me writing about one of his players. The thought still seemed odd.
Why, though? How come other people, some of whom I barely knew, had more faith in me than I did?
Me, who’d been the one to fuck her parents’ expectations and change majors because she knew she’d be better at something else.
Me , who’d gotten article after article at the Post . Who’d written for The New York Times as an undergrad student.
Me, me, me.
I’d been there for all of that. I’d actually done it. For some reason I thought I might never be able to again.
And I decided, something about that needed to change.