15. Lauren
Lauren
“ N o.” I turn and head for the kitchen, though it’s just a few steps away.
“Lauren, come on, I don’t want you to be here alone,” Silas pleads, his voice desperate, but he doesn’t follow. He stays rooted where he is like he's waiting for me to change my mind.
“I don’t want your pity, Silas.”
“Are you seriously going to spend Christmas here? Come on, I’m offering you a weekend in the Hamptons. You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to—just hang out with my family, I’ll drive you back, and you can be miserable for the rest of the year.”
“I am not miserable!”
“I know ! You know what I mean!” he shouts, clearly frustrated. It feels like every time we’re in the same room, things escalate to yelling. He must realize it too, because he softens his tone, lowering his voice. “I need you with me.”
That stops me in my tracks. “Silas…” I really don’t want to hear this. Not when I know I won’t be able to say no to him.
“Listen,” he says, his voice edging on vulnerable. “If I don’t go, it’ll break my mother’s heart, but I don’t know if I can survive a few days with them. It’s like my heart’s going to leap out of my throat. I need you there. You … you calm me down.”
My brain feels like it’s about to overheat, and just then, I remember the tea. The kettle is whistling, so I take it off the heat and reach for my Mickey Mouse-dressed-as-Santa mug—it always makes me smile, even in moments like this. “Don’t lie to me. You want me there so your family focuses on me instead of you.”
His face shifts, and I know I’ve caught him.
“See, Silas? This is exactly what I mean. You pretend to be Hades, but really you’re Zeus—manipulative, trying to control everything and?—”
“You do calm me down. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that before.” His voice lowers, soft, almost pleading, “Please. Just come with me. Three days.”
“No.”
He pulls off his cap, raking a hand through his caramel-colored hair, clearly frustrated. He paces, his footsteps heavy on the creaky wooden floor. It’s like he’s searching for the magic combination of words to convince me. I pretend he’s not there as I pour the hot water into my mug, focusing on the steam rising from the tea.
He stops pacing. “Tell me what you want. Name it, it's yours. Help me negotiate.” He waves his hands in the air, desperate now.
I dip the tea bag up and down, watching the water darken, my thoughts swirling with possibilities. Maybe this is my only chance to get what I’ve wanted for years. “I have something in mind.”
“Whatever it is.” His voice is closer now, right behind me.
“Hear my condition first,” I say over my shoulder, taking a slow sip from the mug. When I turn around, Silas is watching me like I’m drinking something toxic.
“When the time comes—when I'm ready—I’m going to ask you a series of questions. Questions I’ve always wanted to ask. And you have to answer them honestly.”
“Ask me now.”
“No, not now.” I shake my head. “When I’m ready. And you must promise you’ll tell me the truth. No lies. No avoiding.”
“Scout’s honor.” He raises his right hand, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Were you even a Boy Scout?”
“For a while, until they kicked me out for nearly burning down a national park.”
I snort into my tea. “Of course you did.”