Saturday, January 28th
Cat
Saturday morning, I call Ronan on his way to Murphy’s. “Please tell me Shane’s finally feeling better?”
Shane’s “plague,” as Ronan called it, has had him down all week. Even Tori warned me to steer clear of the apartment.
“I’m relying on the random coughs I hear from Shane’s room to assure myself he’s still alive,” Ronan told me during our phone call while he was on break at Murphy’s.
Because of Shane’s sickness, Ronan has been filling in for Shane, working crazy hours, going straight from class to Murphy’s where he works until closing the place down, then does it all over again the next day.
I made it a point to stop by Murphy’s on Thursday and again last night just to catch a glimpse of Ronan.
But we barely had a minute to ourselves, and we still haven’t had a real conversation about the fight.
The unresolved tension gnaws at me, even though he’s been sweet, stealing kisses like nothing ever happened.
But something did happen. And I need us to stop pretending it didn’t.
Ronan chuckles. “Well, he did finally emerge from his bedroom this morning looking a little less like the undead, so I’d say he’s on the up and up. He actually told me he’s feeling well enough to work tonight. I think he might just be going stir-crazy, but I sure as fuck ain’t going to fight him.”
“Oh good,” I say, a smile breaking across my face.
Vada’s in town this weekend and she and Tori talked me into going to a party with them in Greenwich tonight. It’s an NYU party, and Vada has already announced she intends to “find some yummy frat guy to go home with” tonight.
When I asked her about Brady, she just shrugged. “We’re in this sort of on-again, off-again relationship.”
“And right now you’re off?” I checked while Tori laughed.
“Exactly,” Vada said.
I’m looking forward to having Tori and potentially Ronan at the party with us tonight, not least to act as a buffer to Vada’s prowling.
“You’ll come to this party with us, then?” I ask Ronan. I brought it up last weekend, but that was before our fight and before Shane got sick.
Ronan’s deep exhale through the phone tells me that’s a big fat no.
“I’m sorry, baby, I don’t think I can swing it.
With Shane sick last week, I’ve done fuck-all for school.
I need to catch up tonight; I really want to spend the day with you tomorrow without having to worry about reading a million pages or some shit,” Ronan sighs.
It’s a perfectly valid reason. But that doesn’t stop the hollow feeling that settles in my chest.
“Okay,” I sigh.
We’re quiet for a few seconds. I really wanted to see him tonight, to reconnect after this past week. We’re in desperate need of connection, both physical and emotional. We need to talk.
“I’m sorry baby,” Ronan says. “But at least you’ll get to enjoy a girls’ night. And then tomorrow it’ll be you and me, okay? Maybe think of something you want to do. Unless you just want to stay in bed with me. Won’t say no to that,” he says mischievously.
“Okay,” I say again.
“Who’s driving tonight?”
“Vada. She’s going to pick up Tori, then me.”
“And this party is where again?”
I give him the address and details about where Vada, Tori, and I will be spending our evening.
“Be safe,” he finally says.
“I will, Daddy.”
I giggle when I hear Ronan groan.
“You know what, that may be Shane’s kink—at least from what I’ve involuntarily overheard—but it’s not one of mine.”
“I bet I can make anything your kink if I try hard enough.”
Ronan chuckles, but I hear the distance in it. We’re laughing, but we’re still not okay. Not really. And I’m not sure how much longer we can pretend we are.
***
As promised, Vada and Tori stop by to pick me up at seven-thirty.
“Ooh, look at you and your red lip,” I say to Vada when I slide into the backseat of her car.
Vada cranes her neck to look into her rearview mirror, dabbing her pouty, bright-red lips together. “Yeah, well, studies have shown that men are attracted to red. Red dresses, red lipstick. Sluts for red.”
Tori laughs. “Can confirm. Shane goes absolutely nuts when I put on red lipstick.” She turns in her seat. “Hey, when are you officially starting your R.A. position?”
My Intro to Psychology professor from last semester had two open research assistant positions, and when classes started up again earlier this month I decided to apply.
I didn’t really expect to get it, given the rather large applicant pool, but was happily surprised when I received a call from Professor Meyers on Thursday.
When I told my mom I was actually offered the job, she did her familiar happy jig, then gushed about her own time as a psychology research assistant while an undergrad at Duke.
“It really solidified my interest in the field, setting me up to pursue my medical degree. And it was ideal as far as jobs go. Super flexible hours—you could work on the evenings when Ran works. All you really need to worry about is getting your hours in and your research done. What an incredible opportunity, Kitty.”
“I’m meeting with my professor Monday afternoon for onboarding,” I say.
“Dang, look at you, Kitty Cat. Full-time student, two jobs,” Vada nods, impressed.
I hesitate. “I guess.”
It doesn’t really feel like two jobs. The work I do at my mom’s practice barely counts—answering calls, rescheduling patients, keeping charts organized.
It’s easy. And even as an R.A., I’ll only be putting in twenty-something hours a week, max.
Ronan’s the one clocking forty hours at Murphy’s plus classes.
“Between you and Tori hustling your little butts off, I look positively lazy,” Vada says.
Tori, too, picked up a part-time job halfway through our fall semester at NYU.
She works at a small bagel and coffee shop close to campus, nixing Shane’s idea to wait part time at Murphy’s; she was convinced having her boyfriend also be her boss would lead to nothing but trouble in their relationship.
She’s probably right. I’ve seen Shane when he’s in boss mode, have heard Ronan grumble about it on occasion, and I can’t imagine it would be easy to leave work squabbles behind and then be cutesy and intimate with each other at home.
Tori waves Vada off. “I wouldn’t be working if I didn’t feel so guilty about mooching off Shay and Ran. I’m at their apartment way more than I’m at my dad’s. Least I can do is chip in for the occasional grocery haul and their internet.”
Tori’s right. She’s at the apartment all the time, even when neither Ronan nor Shane are there, and she’s certainly added her feminine touch to the place.
That framed photo of Ronan and me on the entry table was her idea.
The only things I’ve added so far are some of my clothes to Ronan’s closet, and a toothbrush and some of my “girly” products to their bathroom.
After making our way to Greenwich and finding a spot to park we immerse ourselves in the party. Vada saunters off in search of “some hot single guys” while Tori and I grab drinks. Some very potent drinks, as it turns out; it takes hardly any time at all for us to get tipsy—or make that drunk.
We stand giggling as Tori describes in hilarious detail, how she once caught Shane masturbating.
This would be way too much information for me if I were sober, and I know Tori wouldn’t ever share such intimate details with me if she weren’t equally tipsy.
But seeing as we’re anything but clearheaded, Tori’s drunken retelling of the time she walked in on Shane “rubbing one out” and decided to lend a hand—literally—has me in stitches.
“Oof, I gotta pee,” Tori finally says, looking around until she spots the bathroom. “Be right back, Kitty Cat.”
I watch Tori sway while she makes her way through the crowd of party attendees, bumping into people and apologizing profusely each time.
“How come you’re not here with some guy?
” a tall, dark-haired guy with a bright smile asks me as he saunters in my direction, his eyes already undressing me.
Under normal circumstances this would make me supremely uncomfortable, but I’m too inebriated to care.
I haven’t had this much to drink in a long time, but I needed something to distract me from my fight with Ronan and the tension between us.
I observe the guy, letting him approach without protest. The closer he gets, the more his features come into focus—the deep brown of his eyes, his slender nose, a freshly cut shock of dark hair.
I won’t deny that he’s attractive. I shrug.
“My boyfriend couldn’t make it tonight.” The words drip out of my mouth like glue.
An appreciative smirk curves his lips. His eyes are glossy like he’s had his fair share of alcohol as well. “Some kind of boyfriend, letting you come to a party all by yourself looking gorgeous like this.”
A giggle bursts from my lips, but the guy seems to take it as a compliment.
“I like your laugh,” he says. “What’s your name?”
“Cat.”
He smiles and takes a step closer to me, leaning in to rest his hands on either side of my head.
“I’m Alex,” he says in a low drawl. “And if you don’t mind, Cat, I’m going to kiss you.”
Somewhere in the back of my brain, alarm bells go off, alerting me to protest, to move, to push him away and leave. But I’m too far gone, too slow and sluggish, too indifferent to comply.
I stand there rooted to the spot and let some random guy kiss me.
His tongue darts out, demanding entrance to my mouth while his hands come off the wall and grasp at my hips, tugging me to him.
I should pull back. I know I should. But my limbs feel heavy, my brain powered down.
So I let him. Not only that, I actually kiss him back, my tongue sweeping over his like his sweeps over mine.
This is all wrong!
His lips are dry and hard. His hands dig greedily into my skin. He tastes like cheap booze and stale cigarettes. He’s not gentle and soft. He doesn’t taste like love and comfort. He doesn’t smell like ocean air, fresh laundry, and just Ronan.
Oh god, Ronan.
“Cat?” Ronan’s strained voice comes from behind Alex—who’s kissing me, who I’m kissing back.
My eyes snap open, and I’m immediately stone-cold sober. Ronan looks like he took a one-two punch right in the stomach, his expression contorted with pain and betrayal. I shove my hands against Alex’s chest, pushing him away from me.
He stumbles back, his eyes wide. “Hey, what the hell?” He tries to grab at my arm, but Ronan yanks him back so hard that the guy falls flat on his ass.
“Back the fuck off,” Ronan growls, and the people in our vicinity fall silent.
Alex makes no attempt to get up, raising his hands. “Okay, man, sorry. It’s all good.” He staggers upright and away from me and Ronan, leaving me to face Ronan, whose attention is squarely on me.
My heart rips at the edges with the devastation in his green eyes. For a moment we just stare at each other. Regret, guilt, and shame flood my insides with ice as the moment begins to catch up with my drunken self and I realize what I just did.
I cheated on the one person I love most in this world. I cheated on Ronan.
A jumble of words demand to be released from my mouth, but the only thing I manage to express is surprise at his presence. “What are you doing here?” I whimper.
The edge in Ronan’s tone makes my blood run cold. “Are you drunk?”
Hot tears prick at the back of my eyes. My heart beats so wildly I can feel it in my temples. I nod. I’m so ashamed. I know myself better than to allow myself to get this out of control, to drink to the point of losing all inhibition, of risking situations I’m not prepared to handle.
Ronan opens his mouth as if to say something—
“Ran! You made it after all,” Vada cries as she arrives at the scene of the crime, her arm hooked under Tori’s. Both are oblivious to what just happened. Vada takes one look at me, then Ronan, and her expression falls. “What happened?”
Ronan’s eyes remain pinned on me. “Vada, how much have you had to drink?”
“Nothing, why?”
“I think you should take Cat home. And probably Tori, too,” he adds with a softer, more evaluative look at a swaying Tori.
A shiver runs down my spine. Ronan’s tone is too cool, too calm, too collected. The tears collect on my waterline, rising with each second. I want him to yell, want him to be pissed; he’d have every right to be. Instead he acts detached, distanced, putting a cavernous gap between us. It’s crushing.
“Hold on, Ran. What’s going on?” Vada asks, no doubt thrown by the suffocating silence between him and me as we continue staring at each other.
“Have Cat tell you what happened,” Ronan says.
Without another word, he turns and walks away, leaving me standing there in the middle of a crowded party, stone-cold sober and drowning in shame. This time, I know I’m completely at fault.
All I want is for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.