Clementine
Dear diary,
Duke played the piano earlier in the living room, warming up for work tonight, and the whole time… I couldn’t look away. He looked so good. Sounded so good. And as his big body loomed over the keys, his fingers flying along the notes, he got the most peaceful expression on his face.
All the worries melted away from his forehead. A half-smile played around his mouth. My best friend’s dad is so beautiful.
Now there’s a thought I shouldn’t have.
But all I wanted was to cross the living room, push one of his arms out of the way, and crawl into his lap. He could keep playing behind my back—I wouldn’t mind. Or maybe we could make a game out of it: Duke trying to finish the song, and me trying my hardest to distract him.
Peppering kisses along his throat. Winding my arms around his neck and grinding down against his lap.
Flicking his shirt buttons open, one by one. Scratching my nails over his chest hair.
In another world, maybe. Another universe.
Really wish I could visit there sometimes.
* * *
When our riverboat dinner rolls around a week later, I’ve shoved it to the back of my mind.
Sometimes, when I know something amazing is coming—like Duke cooking barbecue on a Sunday afternoon, or coming to visit us for the weekend on campus—I can’t let myself think about it.
If I do, I’ll jinx it, and it won’t happen after all.
“So. Hot date with my dad,” Meg says dryly, leaning in the guest room doorway as I get ready. I blink at her from my seat in front of the mirror, one eye with mascara, one without. She’s in running shorts and a tank top, her skin slick with sweat.
Is it weird that I’m putting on makeup? I don’t wear it that often. I shift guiltily, tugging the hem of my floral sundress further down my thighs.
“It’s not like that.” Lord, I’d give anything for it to be like that. “You were invited, remember? You didn’t want to come.”
Which is weird, actually. My bestie is usually first in line for any plans that involve food.
Meg’s metabolism is a thing of legend: even though she’s wiry and toned, she can put away family sized pizzas all by herself. There’s barely an ounce of fat on her—something that Duke and I commiserate over as we eat our tamer portions.
“Yeah, well.” Meg waves an airy hand and slopes into the guest room. The laces of her left sneaker have come undone. “Figured you two should have some bonding time.”
Um. What’s that now?
“Why?” I blurt. I mean, I know why I want that, but why would Meg? She rolls her eyes, dropping to the center of the rug to do push ups.
She exhales between her teeth, counting out her set. Whenever she makes me do these with her, I have to do the wimpy version where you keep your knees on the floor.
And who does this? Who works out and chats at the same time? Why isn’t she red-faced and spluttering for breath like a normal human being?
Alien. Gotta be.
“Because I’m going to Scotland next year after graduation, and you two will only have each other.” Meg shifts her hand placement, dipping straight into another push up. “You should get used to spending time together. Otherwise you’ll both be lonely, and I’d hate that.”
My stomach has sunk way, way down. It’s below sea level.
I fiddle with the mascara tube, picking at the label.
I’ve been trying not to think about Meg leaving. She’s the closest thing to a real family that I have, and once she’s gone…
It’s gonna suck. That’s all.
“So would I, but Meg… I don’t think we’ll see each other much when you’re gone.”
It’s just logic. My own parents lost interest in me long before I left for college—why on earth would Meg’s dad stick around? Duke doesn’t owe me anything.
And sure, we spend a lot of time together, but Meg’s always there. She’s the glue; the reason we’re all in the same place at the same time. Put Meg in Scotland, and Duke and I have no excuse to visit each other any more.
Exhaling shakily, I start brushing mascara over my lashes. Life without Duke? Sounds miserable.
“Bullshit.” Meg springs up, slick muscles flexing, and I know she’s checking herself out in the mirror. So vain. I raise an eyebrow, and she pokes out her tongue.
I don’t even register that she’s wandered to my nightstand until I hear the whisper of pages turning. My heart thumps, and I’m rigid. Hands clammy. Tongue thick.
“Please don’t read that,” I grind out.
Meg grunts, flipping my journal closed. God, I can’t believe I left that lying there, open for anyone to read. Did she see what I wrote about her dad?
Crap. Almost every single page in that journal has something about Duke. My fantasies about him; my daydreams. All the shameful things I can’t say out loud.
I open my mouth and close it again. I’m such an idiot. What have I done?
“Look lively,” Meg says, like nothing happened at all. She winks at me in the mirror as she crosses to the guest room door. Her undone laces whip against her sneaker as she walks. “Don’t want to miss your riverboat.”
Maybe she didn’t read it. Or maybe the parts she read weren’t that bad. I swallow, and my mouth is so dry.
“Dad!” Meg yells from the corridor, her voice echoing through the house. “Hot date time! I hope you wore that good shirt!”
She wouldn’t joke about that if she’d read my journal. Would she?
I stand, smoothing down my sundress.
It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
My best friend doesn’t know that I’m head over heels in love with her dad. There’s no need to panic.