Letter Eighteen
Over the next couple of months, I pretended not to care about the palpable new distance that had stretched out between us.
While you watched loads of basketball with Michael, I hung out with Tinsley upstairs or fed the squirrels with Hal, not wanting to face another dreary afternoon stuck in the house, forcing myself to avoid you.
You’d taken something precious from me, and even though you were right—I lied, I broke our deal—I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter that I was back to feeling trapped.
Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t battered my heart during our two a.m. chat: “It’s a bad idea.
” Couldn’t pretend I didn’t still experience a gush of warmth at the sight of you in the mornings before school, peering out the kitchen window, steaming coffee in hand, grumbling about the weather.
Another overcast day. More drizzle. Bloody snow.
“Bit gloomy out there, isn’t it?” you’d say to no one in particular. “Gets gloomier every day.”
And because I felt inclined to tease you about it, like I normally did—which would then cause you to flash me a smile that made my stomach flutter, like you normally did—it was better to avoid you altogether. When you’re heartbroken like I was, smiles hurt, too.
When I found your book lying next to the stove facedown, irritatingly devoid of a bookmark, I didn’t put a pink origami heart in it. Just an old, wrinkled receipt from DeLuca’s Market. I caught you studying the receipt later, suspiciously forlorn for a guy who’d recently rejected me.
Speaking of snow, I bet you remember that week a large winter storm rolled in and thwarted our plans to go to the Cape for spring break, so the Harrises (plus Eleanor and Tinsley) holed up with us for several days to ride it out.
John and Libby took the guest room across from my dad’s, Bree and Tinsley slept in my room with me, Eleanor took the guest room opposite your bedroom, and you offered to let Michael share with you. But he wasn’t a fan of that idea.
“You and me? Sharing a bed?” he asked, eyebrows shooting up. “I don’t think so, dude.”
You tossed out both hands, clearly offended.
“So you were willing to share your girlfriend with him,” I said to Michael, “but a king-sized bed is where you draw the line?”
“Eww,” Bree said, glancing between you guys. “Seriously, Michael?”
“I knew it,” Tinsley said. “But also: gross. What do you guys see in that bitch, anyway?”
“Thank you,” I said, turning a glare on you both.
“Is she into some kinky stuff you can’t get elsewhere?” Tinsley asked. “She must be if she’s willing to be passed around between friends.” Her eyes grew huge. “Wait. Have you been with her at the same time?”
Bree made a face. “I’m not sticking around to hear the answer to”—she shivered as she drifted off—“any of this.”
If Bree only knew how sick that would really be…
Tinsley, on the other hand, would probably find it hot that you guys were boning the same girl at one point. Well, if that girl were any girl but Sienna.
“No,” you said emphatically. “For Christ’s sake, Tinsley. Not everyone behaves like the characters in your books.”
“She’s not even my girlfriend anymore,” Michael said, rolling his eyes at Tinsley, who smirked, nonplussed. “I’m done with her.” To me, he said, “I’m fine taking the couch.”
“Okay,” I said. “But you’ll need more than one blanket. It gets pretty chilly down here at night.”
“Not a problem,” Michael said. “I like sleeping in the cold.”
That night, after I brushed my teeth, I found Tinsley and Bree huddled over Bree’s phone, giggling at something on the screen.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“Oh,” Bree said, straightening up. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” I said, watching the color rise in her cheeks. Bree didn’t blush over nothing. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“I’ve been talking to this senior at school,” she admitted, “and she texted me tonight. That’s all.”
Tinsley bumped Bree’s arm. “Bree has a girlfriend.”
Bree confessed she’d been dating this girl at our school.
Her very first girlfriend. Amber. They started hanging out after fencing practice, because Amber seemed like the first girl who wanted to hang out with Bree for Bree and not because she secretly hoped to catch a glimpse of Michael at Bree’s house.
“I thought she might be into me, but I wasn’t sure. So I asked Casey’s advice, and he said—”
“Wait,” I said. “You talked to Casey about her? When?”
“Before Christmas,” Bree said.
“Before Christmas? But that was months ago. Where was I?”
“You were doing homework. I went downstairs for a snack, and he was there, so I showed him our text history and asked what he thought. He’s really easy to talk to.”
“Easier than I am?”
“Well, Ellie,” Bree said, fingering the B pendant around her neck. “You were going through a lot at the time. And then that stuff happened with Sienna…”
“By stuff, you mean the messed-up apology routine my dad makes me do.”
Bree nodded. “It takes you a while to come out of that.”
“Does Michael know about this girl?”
“Of course.”
“And your parents?”
“Yeah.”
“So just me, then.” The realization hit me like a punch between the ribs. “I’m the only one who didn’t know.”
“Elliot,” Bree said. “You’ve been preoccupied with your own stuff lately. You barely text unless I reach out to you. And I get it—you’ve had a lot to deal with this year—but when was the last time you cared about what’s going on in my life?”
“A lot to deal with? You realize someone assaulted me, right?”
“And I kept trying to talk to you about that, but you kept brushing me off. You didn’t even notice when I stopped trying. When was the last time you asked me to hang out, Elliot?”
“You know what, Bree? It sounds like you kept your girlfriend a secret because I wasn’t interested in being your girlfriend, and this was your fucked-up way of getting back at me—so you could see how hurt I’d be when you finally told me.”
“That’s not true,” Bree said.
“Yeah? You think I don’t know why you snuggle up close to me when you sleep over? Or why—summer before last—you wanted to practice kissing one night?”
“Whoa,” Tinsley said. “What?”
Here’s one whopper of a truth for you, Casey: I lied to you—both in person and in writing—about my first kiss. It actually wasn’t that one you witnessed between me and Willoughby at the dining table that time.
Bree was my first kiss, and I was hers, too.
The summer before you entered our lives, she called it practicing, and we practiced the hell out of it. We kissed in the dark, mouths eager and minty fresh, her bare legs tangled with mine against the cool fabric of my sheets.
I assumed it was a harmless practice kiss between friends. Until Bree found Michael and I snuggled up to each other in his bed two days later and told our parents. They called it inappropriate and said it shouldn’t happen again.
I got angry with Bree for tattling, that dark rage bubbling to the surface. “So the actual sleeping that goes on when I climb into Michael’s bed is a problem,” I’d said to our parents, “but Bree sticking her tongue in my mouth when she climbed into my bed a couple of nights ago is okay?”
All the adults—plus Michael—had gaped at me, rendered speechless.
And there I was, running my mouth again. In front of Tinsley.
Bree scowled, none too happy about that.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy kissing me, Elliot, because you got really into it.
You want to know the real reason I didn’t tell you?
Because I’ve watched you go after Michael’s girlfriends for years, and I didn’t want you doing the same to Amber.
You want everyone’s life to revolve around you.
You can’t stand it when someone else shows up and steals some of that attention you’re used to getting.
That’s why you gave Casey such a hard time when he first moved in, why you kept doing the lip thing to Michael in front of Sienna, and why your poor dad hasn’t been on a single date since your mom left.
God only knows what kind of torture you’d inflict on any woman who dares to enter his life.
I hear my mom’s friends talking about it all the time—what a shame it is that someone as handsome as Nic is still single.
How lonely he must be. How unfortunate it is that his whole life should revolve around the one child he has because she has to be watched constantly and won’t allow him to have anything for himself. ”
“Bree,” Tinsley scolded. “Can we please drop this before someone says something they really regret?”
“Don’t worry, Tinz,” I said, grabbing your cardigan from my desk chair. “I’m done here. Don’t wait up for me.” I tiptoed downstairs, shoving my arms into the sleeves and fighting back tears.
The blue blinking light of the TV illuminated the hallway off the kitchen. I wandered into the Garland Room, finding Michael on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, the local weather report on mute.
“It’s not that late,” I said, joining him. “Casey went to bed already?”
Michael nodded. “Went up just a few minutes ago. Said he was tired.”
“Do you think I’m an attention whore?” I asked, voice wobbling over the words.
“Hey.” He grabbed my hand and interlaced our fingers. “Why would you ask that?”
I told him what had happened with Bree.
Michael sighed. “I told her she shouldn’t have kept it from you.”
“Well, her reasons are completely valid. I have been preoccupied, and I do mess with your girlfriends. My dad doesn’t date, and he’s not exactly happy.
He never really has been, except briefly when Casey moved in.
Apparently, people talk about it. What a burden I am on him. My lonely, miserable dad.”
When Michael didn’t say anything, I snatched my hand from his. “You think so, too, don’t you? You think I’m the reason he doesn’t date.”
“I don’t know,” Michael said carefully. “It could be that he’s still messed up over your mom, but can you honestly say you’d be willing to give some woman a chance if he started dating right now?”