Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
August
“And you, what, just hung up?” March’s disappointment comes through loud and clear.
“Yes,” I grit out, doing a set of quick push-ups. My phone rests on the weight bench at my side. It’s bad enough having this conversation. I might as well be active lest I bust out of my own skin.
“Sigh.”
“You don’t say ‘sigh,’” I tell him, grunting through another round. “You just sigh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Doesn’t have the same impact over the phone. And I need my sigh to be impactful, bonehead.”
“I don’t know why I keep calling you.”
“You desperately need my help. Obviously.”
He’s not wrong. Are my feelings for her that transparent? And if so, how does Pen not see it? Or does she and it makes her uncomfortable?
Whatever the case, I can’t go on interacting with her as I have with this agreement hanging between us. It isn’t fair to either of us. I need to get my head in the game and stop fucking around. It’s always been my way—before her.
I finish the final round and flop back onto the floor, panting slightly. My body aches with a nice burn. But not enough. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I never hesitate like this.”
“True. You always take action. As to what’s wrong with you, where to begin?”
I flip him off, knowing he can’t see it but also knowing he’ll know that I am. I can all but feel the smarmy grin on his side of the phone.
“You know what’s wrong,” he says levelly. “It’s Pen.”
Sighing, I jump to my feet and grab a towel to wipe my face. “I fucked myself here, LB.” LB: little bro. It still shames me that I’ve had flashes of jealousy toward him. That particular tidbit, I will not be sharing.
“Sounds about right, BB.” Big bro. His voice turns dry. “When who you really should be fucking—”
“Funny.”
“It’s really not,” he deadpans. “Sexual repression is no laughing matter.”
“I swear, I’m about to hang up.”
“But you won’t. Not when you need to talk it out.”
I strap a set of weighted bands around my ankles and start with high steps. “I should have called Jan.”
March makes a scandalized noise of horror. “He’d just kick your ass. You know he thinks of Penny as his kid sister.”
“For the love of football, can you not twist it that way? I’m fucked in the head enough over this as it is.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” March adopts his business tone. “Look, neither of us have done much by way of pursuing women. We’re Virgin Pursuers, if you will.”
I give the phone, and March, the stink eye. “Never use that term again.”
“Eh, I kind of like it. Regardless, I gotta imagine it’s humbling not having Pen fall at your feet by this point in time. And, let’s be honest here, it’s been a long time.”
“One day, LB, you’re going to be humbled. And I will sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Sure, sure.” He doesn’t sound remotely concerned. “My point is, that as a VP, you’re not thinking clearly. Your virginal ignorance in the art of pursuit—”
“I swear to God—”
“—has you overlooking one very important thing.”
“What? And I warn you now, if you go on about popping pursuit cherries, I will fly out there and literally kick your ass.”
“So warned.” He clears his throat, and I know—just fucking know—he’s laughing up his sleeve. But he’s suddenly serious. “You’re forgetting that Pen is shy.”
My moving feet come to a stop as his words sink in. Frowning, I stare out at the skyline just beyond my house. Pen is shy. I know this. But I’ve started to see her differently, haven’t I? She doesn’t act shy with me. For most things. But when it comes to romantic relationships? Maybe . . .
“Huh,” I say thoughtfully.
“Right,” March says. “Shy in that she doesn’t see herself properly. She thinks she’s second fiddle when she’s first chair.”
Little known fact: March played violin in the school orchestra from first grade to high school graduation.
“Not only that,” he goes on. “She tends to overthink things—like someone else I know. Which means she’s not going to view your sad attempts at flirting as anything other than you just playing around.”
I’ll ignore the “sad attempts” for now. Grabbing an energy drink, I sit on the bench and think. Because March is right on one big point: I haven’t been considering Pen’s lack of belief in her own appeal. She always laughs it off, as though I’m joking, when I say she turns me on.
“You’ve got to be crystal clear with her,” March says in the silence. “Tell her you’ve been a shortsighted, sexually confused—”
“That’s not how you use that term.”
“—horn-bro who has no interest in being a fake-ass fiancé. That what you really want to do is be her devoted love god.”
“Poetic,” I deadpan.
“It’s true. I slay.”
Outside, the sky is starting to yellow, the cradle of mountains on either side of me dimming to dark brown.
“March.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Yeah.”
“It’s Pen.”
He waits a beat.
“I know. Ain’t no coming back from that.”
“Yeah.”
There’s nothing more to say. Only action counts now.
Pen
Pickle: You doing anything?
The message comes in just as I finish up my cinematography paper discussing the utterly gorgeous use of light and shadow in the 1932 film, Shanghai Express, starring Marlene Dietrich. I’d been curled up in the den watching the black-and-white film, while writing down my thoughts.
Pen: sitting here wondering why I didn’t go into cinematography
This film, for me, is all about beauty—the actors, the shadows and light.
I’m keyed up with an urge to create something—anything—as beautiful as the artfully lit glory that is Dietrich and Anna May Wong in that film.
Unfortunately, I got nothing. And, despite my quip to August, I don’t really want to go into the business.
Pickle: Watching old movies again
It’s not framed as a question. A smile teases my lips.
Classic movies are from a world outdated and wrong in many ways.
For good or ill, they’re also windows to the past. I focus on the artistic beauty of them, the stunning clothes, and fabulous interiors.
The dialog is always snappy and quick, and the storylines, once you get past the slower bygone pacing, are often better than we have now.
Pen: maybe
Pickle: You are
Pen: shows what you know. I just finished
Pickle: There you go being pedantic again.
Grinning now, I pack up my laptop and put away my bag before stretching out on my back. My day has been going pretty well, but now? This man turns a light on inside me and I find myself glowing.
My heart does a happy dance—the cha-cha or something equally ridiculous. I tell myself to be cool as I text him.
Pen: are you texting just to bust my chops or do you have an ulterior motive?
Pickle: When you pull out the grandma talk, I’m going to assume you want me in the worst way.
I roll my eyes. But he isn’t entirely wrong. I think I’ll always want August Luck. It’s a problem. Not that he needs to know this.
Pen: you know what they say about assuming
Pickle: Only do it with a friend?
( . . . )
Pickle: Heh. No? Ok I was trying to ask if you wanted to hang out
Was he? Glancing back at our texts, I flush as I read them. I’d answered him literally. God, I really am a pedantic grandma. But he’s still here, and he seems to like my ways just fine.
I had always wondered what it would be like for August to be fully aware of me, but never in my imagining had I expected it to feel this good.
Not just good but easy. It’s as though there are now two worlds: the outside one, and the society of Us.
And though I may enjoy venturing outside from time to time, when I’m with him, my world is complete.
The realization makes me slightly breathless and afraid, like I’m teetering on the high crest of a roller coaster, about to plummet. If being with August can make me feel this good, how bad will I feel if he’s not in my life?
I don’t want to think about that. But I must.
We act like a loving couple for the public, sharing a few kisses for show, smiling for the cameras. In private, however, we’re good friends. Affectionate friends. But there’s a definite line. I should know; I was very clear about putting it there. And August has no problem maintaining that line.
Oh, he flirts. He’s an expert at it, and when he does, I drink it down like fine wine. Being with August is like going on a dream vacation. Everything is beautiful. Vivid, fun, exhilarating. I’m more relaxed but also more present in the moment than I’ve ever been.
But like a vacation, this has an end date. And I’m not sure I can keep up with the act. Not when we’re alone, at any rate. I have to tell him how I feel. If only for my own mental well-being. It makes my heart hurt. Physically hurt.
My hand trembles so hard it’s difficult to text.
Pen: Come over. I’ll make you dinner
Pickle: Srsly? You’re my favorite girl, Pen
The sentiment has my lower lip wobbling. Why am I doing this? I don’t have to. I can keep going as we have been.
And become totally miserable.
Since August has some sort of freaky precognition when it comes to my text moods, I go flirty instead. Because if he asks what’s wrong now, I’ll lose it.
Pen: Men. Offer them food and they’re all smiles.
Pickle: See what happens if you add dessert onto that, Sweets. ??
Oh, he’s so cute.
“Sooo cute,” I whisper, a bit weepy. I doubt most people realize that about him. What if I never get these kinds of texts again? The thought is intolerable.
Pen: Give me about an hour
Pickle: See you soon
“Shit.” I run a hand through my hair and sigh.
PennyWise: I think I liked it better when I didn’t have a pretend boyfriend
JuneBug: Trouble in paradise already?!? Say it ain’t so!
MayDay: if there is, it’s Augie’s fault
JuneBug: Obvs
MayDay: Because our Pen would never!
PennyWise: It’s NOT August’s fault. He’s fine. Great. Too great
PennyWise: I’m the problem.
MayDay: Problem= U want 2 ride him like a see-saw. Up. Down. Up. Down.
JuneBug: Gak. NO
PennyWise: She’s not wrong
MayDay: I knew it!!!!
PennyWise: Ugh. That was too much. I’m sorry. He’s your brother. I shouldn’t be talking to you two about this
JuneBug: Don’t you dare! You’re our bestie. Of course you talk about it to us. We’ll just mentally put someone else’s face on his while discussing.
MayDay: I vote Killian James
JuneBug: Ooh! Good one!
MayDay: He’s so hot and moody. Like liquid sex
PennyWise: We’re not going to impose a famous rock star’s face over August’s
MayDay: ):-I
JuneBug: She’s a salty one
MayDay: What’s the problem, Pen?
PennyWise: Acting like it’s real makes it feel real. Then I’ll remember it’s not, and nothing feels real.
MayDay: (o_O)
JuneBug: That actually makes sense to me. How do you know what’s true when you’re lying to everyone?
MayDay: Harsh
PennyWise: June’s right. It’s like that line in A Room with a View, when Mr. Emerson says to Lucy, “Why should they [trust you]? When you’ve deceived everyone, including yourself?”
MayDay: Juney, she’s quoting old movies. She’s in a bad way
PennyWise: It’s a costume drama, not an old movie
MayDay: and when was it made, professor?
PennyWise: 1985 is not THAT old
MayDay: >_:-P
JuneBug: Anyway! How do you know it isn’t real? I get that Augie asked you to “fake” it with him. But he’s not exactly the faking type. IDT he has it in him to pretend. If he isn’t into something he just checks out. If he is? He’s all in.
MayDay: this is true. Sure he’s got his public “game face” but in private? It’s pretty clear exactly where you stand with him
PennyWise: That’s what I thought—before he did a 180 on me! He went from mild politeness our whole lives to giving me his complete flirtatious attention.
JuneBug: it happens like that sometimes. See someone again . . . Boom! Wham! Helloooo, gorgeous!
PennyWise: No, no. He said he knew I was a safe pick for this . . . charade because I wouldn’t fall for him! Then he said he’d never fall for me because football is all that matters to him. What am I supposed to think with that hanging over my head?
MayDay: Ok. He’s an idiot
JuneBug: Deluded at best. Careless at worst
PennyWise: No, he’s great
JuneBug: PENNY!
PennyWise: Sigh
( . . . )
PennyWise: He’s coming over for dinner. I’m going to tell him
MayDay: WHAT R U TELLING HIM???
PennyWise: That I can’t do this anymore
MayDay: O.O
JuneBug: If you’re asking for advice, and I think you are since you texted, I’ll tell you this. The truth is always best. However! August puts on a good front but he’s incredibly sensitive. If you don’t want him to go into full retreat, tread lightly, my friend.
PennyWise: I know. That’s what’s scaring me. What if he goes back to cold politeness?
JuneBug: Then he isn’t worth it. IDC if he’s my brother. If he’d do that, he’s not worth it.
MayDay: ^ths
JuneBug: Bro
MadMarch: Sis
JuneBug: What’s going on with August?
MayDay: If he hurts our Penny we’ll kill him
MadMarch: What RU clowns on about?
JuneBug: Don’t B cute. We know he talks to you
MadMarch: Which would B private
MayDay: Spill it, DB!
MadMarch: DB???
MayDay: Dirtbag
MadMarch: I don’t think I like your tone. BYE
JuneBug: MARCH! This is serious
MayDay: IKR?
MadMarch: Why R U asking?
JuneBug: Penny *might* really like Augie, you nob!
MadMarch: duh
MayDay: And Augie obvs REALLY likes Pen!
MadMarch: DUH
JuneBug: MARCH!
MadMarch: Ok, ok. Geez. Don’t worry, I already talked to him. Gave him great advice
MayDay: GASP! Noooo!
JuneBug: WHAT DID YOU DO!
MadMarch: Jay-zus. Would you two calm down!
JuneBug: What did we say about telling women to calm down?
MadMarch: Uh. To not to?
JuneBug: Now be a good bro and tell us what you said
MadMarch: Easy. Tell the truth
MayDay: o.o
JuneBug: Good. That’s good.
MadMarch: Obvs. Where’s the trust?
JuneBug: March, it’s Pen and Augie
MadMarch: I know
MayDay: There’s no coming back from that
MadMarch: I KNOW
JuneBug: Sigh
MadMarch: Welp. I’ve enjoyed our time together. Don’t text again until Thanksgiving.
JuneBug: We love you too, broheem
MadMarch: Back at you, witches
MadMarch: Bro Don’t fuck this up
BestLuck: What?!!
MadMarch: just sayin
BestLuck: I’m about to leave. WHY are you telling me this now!
MadMarch: Brotherly support
BestLuck: Go look up support in the dictionary
MadMarch: Remember to think before you speak.
( . . . )
MadMarch: And make good eye contact. Girls like that
BestLuck: I’m blocking you like that safety did to you on fourth & goal
MadMarch: Hey! BS call. I was over the line! What kind of brother are you!
BestLuck: The supportive kind. See what I did there?
MadMarch: ha ha. And you are so NOT the “best Luck”
BestLuck: Scoreboard, fuckface
MadMarch: While UR begging for Pen to luurv you I’m changing our group names to KingLuck and DelusiBro
BestLuck: I’m okay with being the king
MadMarch: I’m the king!
MadMarch: Hello?
MadMarch: Best Luck my ass