Chapter 17
Seventeen
Pen
Whatever you want.
Ha! As if I have the mental capacity to know what I want when I’m around him. Because I don’t. I really freaking don’t.
Case in point? I’ve had a whole night to erase it and still can’t get that near kiss out of my mind.
Or refrain from kicking my own ass for halting it.
What a noob I’d been. I had August sprawled over my body, ready to kiss the hell out of me—and I know enough to realize that he would have; the man does everything well. And I said no!
Because you wouldn’t have been able to fake it.
With a sigh, I sit on my bed and bite at a ragged nail.
If he’d kissed me then, I’d have lost the tenuous hold I have on pretending I don’t want August in all ways.
I’m not that good an actor. If he had just kissed me, I’d have yielded without pause.
But he said it himself: It was for practice.
And, no, August, that’s not what I want.
I cannot kiss him in private while knowing that it isn’t real.
Shoving to my feet, I will myself to forget about kissing under false pretenses and focus on packing my stuff.
I have more clothes than I realized, and sorting through them is draining. Mainly because I have the urge to try on everything just to be sure I want it, and then end up depressed, as most of it looks dowdy and plain.
Why have I hidden myself away? I like clothes and pretty things.
And it’s not about being able to afford them.
Plenty of people on a small income manage to creatively dress themselves with style.
It was about me feeling as though I shouldn’t be seen.
Or perhaps it’s more not wanting to be seen.
I’m not certain. What I do know is that I don’t like it. I need to find Me in all this mess.
Mood spiraling, I toss aside a pair of lumpy jeans that I never liked wearing. The door buzzer distracts me from my project. I shove on the first bottoms I find and hurry out to answer it. Earlier, I’d ordered a bunch of garment bags; hopefully they’re here now.
But it isn’t a delivery person on the other side. It’s much worse.
“What the hell?” I say as June and May take advantage of the open door and stride past me, twin expressions of murder on their faces, carry-on cases rolling behind them.
“‘What the hell,’ she says.” June snorts and crosses her arms over her chest.
“What the hell indeed,” May parrots. Her nostrils flair. “That’s our line, Pennywise McSneaky.”
I shut the door with a sigh. “I meant . . . Why are you—how—did you two get here? You’re supposed to be in school. On the East Coast.”
“Oh, she’s a funny one.” May puts her hands on her hips and taps her toe.
“It won’t save her,” June adds.
“Look.” I cross toward the living room. “Can we skip the Tweedledee act? I’m not in the mood.”
“Defensive too.”
“Guys!”
My outburst catches their attention.
June wrinkles her nose, but answers calmly. “We can attend classes online for a week. We traveled by plane. January paid for the tickets. As to why—”
“You’re freaking engaged to our brother—to August—and we have to hear about it on the freaking news!” May shouts in outrage. “I repeat. You’re engaged to August!”
“August!” June echoes.
“You keep saying his name like I don’t know who he is.”
June points a finger at me. “Don’t get cute, Pen.”
“You’ve never indicated even a passing interest in him,” May says. “Now you’re marrying him! August!”
“Yes, August,” I snap, then sag against the side of the sofa. “I know, I know. It’s . . . unexpected.”
“No shit, Shirley.”
Okay, I’ve . . . erred. I didn’t consider the fallout of our news, which is just plain sloppy—of both August and me. We should have planned for this. In my defense, I didn’t consider it would spread so fast— No. I just didn’t want to face my friends and lie.
“So what gives?” May flings her arms out in exasperation.
“I . . . ah . . .”
Sarah strides out into the living room with brows raised. Her sharp gaze darts around. “What is going on out here? Your yelling woke Edward!”
It’s clear May is about to tell my roommate to mind her business, but then May’s lips part in a gasp and she squeals. “Oh, my God! It’s that a real frog?” She all but leaps over to Sarah—and Edward, who is on her shoulder. “Oh, he is! Oh, isn’t he the cutest?”
Edward preens.
June joins them, making happy noises of appreciation. “Oh, look at his little hat. Isn’t it darling?”
Today, Edward is sporting a silver glitter cowboy hat. He looks appropriately jaunty.
Irritation dissipating in the face of my friends’ obvious love of Edward, Sarah beams like a proud mama and introduces them to her frog.
“He is adorable!”
“I want one!”
“You’d lose it in a week, May.”
“Would not.”
They bicker and gush over Edward, and I take the moment to text August an SOS.
Pen: Your sisters are here. HERE! They know! HALP!
He doesn’t answer. It’s not entirely unexpected.
August warned me he’d have his phone silenced at various times throughout his working days.
And it became a little . . . strained between us after the Incident.
When he walked me to my bike last night, he reverted to the formality I’ve received from him our whole lives.
Okay, not that formal. But echoes of it returned, and with it, a sense of awkward uncertainty.
I responded in kind, determined not to push or cling.
I’m the one who drew the boundary lines and this is a job of sorts, after all.
If he’s busy with other things, then it’s his right.
But this is different. I’m not going to face this particular fire alone.
May and June have remembered I’m here. Quickly, I pocket my phone. June narrows her eyes but doesn’t mention it. Instead, she smiles with clenched teeth.
“Has August met Edward?”
I narrow my gaze right back at her. “He has.”
“He was very cordial to Edward,” Sarah says, somewhat primly.
“Now, that’s a surprise.” June snickers. “He hates frogs.”
Little traitor.
Sarah scowls. “He does a good job of hiding it.”
“Childhood trauma,” I explain. “It isn’t against Edward personally.”
“Look at her, defending Augie. Isn’t it sweet?”
I refrain from pinching May’s side. Barely. “I was just heading out. Why don’t you two come with me.”
“Where do we put our luggage?”
At June’s query, Sarah’s attention darts to their suitcases. “They can’t stay here! Edward doesn’t like strangers sleeping over.”
Sure, blame Edward. He doesn’t seem to mind when she’s hosting a “friend” for the night. In the entire time I’ve rented here I’ve “hosted” exactly zero guests. Toeing on my sneakers, I grab my purse, and a bag of things I’d stored by the door.
May and June raise their brows at that but remain silent and follow me out.
“Did you rent a car or should I call one?” I ask briskly. Unlike August, they know all about my bike.
“Rental.” June pulls out a set of keys. She hands them to me, stating that I know where to go so it’s better if I just drive.
We don’t say anything else until we’ve stowed our things in the trunk and are headed west on Sunset Boulevard.
Golden sunlight streams through the windshield and catches on my ring where I’m holding the wheel.
The square-shaped sapphire ring glows in an almost unearthly shade of deep tranquil blue, while the flanking diamonds glitter and gleam.
I’m still not used to seeing the ring on my finger, or how utterly beautiful it is.
I’m not the only one who notices. There’s a quiet gasp from the back seat, while June, at my side, makes a strangled noise.
“Holy shit,” she gets out. “You really are engaged.”
“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I hedge, because she’s looking at the ring as though she’s seen a ghost.
“That there is Nanna Linda’s ring,” June states in awe.
A pulse of shock slams through my body, and I glance at the ring then at June’s wide-eyed expression. “No,” I say. “No, August said he picked it up in a shop.”
He did, right? I can’t remember now.
“No way,” May says emphatically. “That’s Nanna’s ring!”
“Why would he—” I bite my lip. I can’t ask. Not them, at any rate. I amend my denial. “He would have said it was hers.”
“Hmm.” June tilts her head, peering at me as though trying to crack open my mind and read it.
Good thing she can’t. All she’d hear right now is: What the fuck!?! Over and over.
“He’d definitely tell you,” she agrees.
“Well, why the fuck didn’t he?” May argues. “Because that’s the ring!”
“We might be wrong,” June says. “It’s been years since I’ve seen it.”
“I think I’d remember a stone that big.” May huffs. “Thing must be eight carats. An authentic Kashmir sapphire. It was Nanna’s pride and joy.”
The ring seems to wink at me, as if to say, How you like me now?
I don’t know, to be honest. I’m obviously giving it back after all this.
But if it’s his grandmother’s? God, what if I lost it?
I won’t. I’m never taking it off. But if I did, an heirloom isn’t easily replaceable by an insurance check.
“We were eight when she last wore it,” June says sternly. “All I remember is it being big and pretty.”
“Well, I—” May shuts up when June glances back at her.
I don’t know if it’s for my benefit or what.
I’m too busy wondering if May is right and, if so, why would he give me something irreplaceable?
The worst part is I don’t want to ask him.
How humiliating would it be if he laughed and said, Now, come on, Pen, would I really give you a family heirloom? in that way of his. Awful.
“You’re probably right,” May grumbles. “It has been a while.”
Awkward silence swells, threatening to burst. I turn into my grandparents’ neighborhood.
“You’re finally moving into Pops and Pegs’s house?” June asks. The thoughtful tone makes it sound more like a statement than a question, but I answer it anyway.
“Yeah.”