Chapter 13 #2
“I don’t know why I become a five-year-old with you. It’s an old habit, I guess,” he says.
“Same,” I say. “Poor Carlos and Serena.”
He shrugs. “They’re fine. I once had to mediate an argument when Carlos shaved his head and got a temporary face tattoo before going home to meet her parents. They owe me.”
I chuckle and watch as he bounces his knee.
“I’ll catch the train home tomorrow and get out of your way.” I should get back to my life, or I don’t know—make a new one.
“You can’t leave.” He sits up straight and turns to face me, his expression earnest.
“Beau, this isn’t working.”
“Sure, it is. I have more notes than I could capture on my own. I have a partner to bounce ideas off of. And ...”
“And what?” I lean toward him.
“We have one more stop before Fort Bragg.”
It’s the first chance to track down my mom. The approaching destination looms like a ticking time bomb, and I’ll be forced to confront my indecision. “She didn’t want me. I’m not convinced I should chase her down to find out why. My ego is fragile enough as it is.”
I feel his gaze on my profile before he whispers, “Phe.”
I turn and am lost in the glare off his lenses from the patio light.
I can’t read him with the barrier between us.
I want to slide them off and find the truth in his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “For high school. For being a selfish teen who didn’t know how to be a good friend.
For not knowing how all those years impacted you. ”
“It’s okay,” Beau says.
“It’s not,” I say, and his smile in return is faint.
“But you were wrong about a few things. I didn’t tell Cherry I was with you this afternoon because I didn’t want to share you with her.
This trip—and you—matter too much, not too little.
And all those years ago, you weren’t my doormat, Beau.
You were my safe place. I may have been the cat on her ninth life playing in the street.
But every time I saw a headlight, I ran toward you.
” I reach for his hand. He flinches, but then turns his palm up, a shy invitation.
I thread my fingers in his, and he delivers a warm squeeze.
“I was an idiot teenager. Insecure. Self-centered. Myopic. And you were so much smarter than me. And you knew it.”
“I never thought I was smarter than you.” Beau looks earnest, but I know better.
“I know Lani asked you to tutor me—that semester I almost failed geometry. I overheard you talking in your yard.”
He quirks his head.
“You refused and said, ‘Mom, it won’t make a difference.’ That one hurt,” I admit.
He squeezes harder and nudges my shoulder with his.
“Oh, Phe. If I said that, it wasn’t because I thought you were stupid.
Because I’ve never thought that. But how would that have gone?
Me tutoring you? Would you have let me? Listened to me?
Or would you have convinced me to do your homework and ditched me to hang out with your friends? ”
I let his version of history penetrate. Is there one truth?
Or many? While Beau and I were busy jumping to conclusions, our truths jumped onto different tracks, launching us into alternate realities and resentments.
But his opinion mattered so much to me then, even if I pretended it didn’t.
That one overheard sentence was like a splinter in my self-esteem.
“Maybe. I never thought about it like that. School was always so easy for you—and you knew what you wanted and what was important to you. I was lost, Beau ... When high school started and Cherry and Matty both pursued my attention and affection, I got caught up in it. And I finally felt special when I had always felt less than. It didn’t help that I was so jealous of you. ”
He laughs, and it’s loud and throaty. “Of me? We went over this. I was a geek with terrible skin and the silhouette of a praying mantis.”
I giggle before slipping into my dad’s lower register. “Beau mowed our lawn this morning. Beau got a perfect score on his SATs. Beau helped his dad build a deck. Beau’s valedictorian speech was the best I’ve ever heard. Beau’s going to Harvard.”
He hangs his head, chuckling softly.
“And it got worse after high school. He sent me your dissertation. Clips of your interviews. Signed copies of your books. Your engagement announcement—” I stop, suck in a breath. Shit. I suck at apologies.
“Well, I failed there, so that should have evened the score a bit.” I’m grateful to see a small smile tugging on his lips.
“Hello?” I laugh. “My relationship track record is so dire it’s about ten thousand leagues under divorce. Good try.”
Beau exhales, parts his lips as if he’s going to speak, and then changes his mind.
“What?” I whisper.
“Henry didn’t mean to make you feel inadequate.”
“He did.” I know Dad loved me—but he didn’t think I was capable.
“No,” Beau says, a bit more forcefully. “He didn’t. Your dad thought you walked on water. When you manipulated him to get what you wanted, he marveled at your genius. When you climbed down the tree to sneak out, he was awed by your athletic ability.”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “Then why did he always compare me to you?”
“He didn’t. He was”—he pauses—“making a suggestion.”
“A suggestion?” I shake my head, confused.
He clears his throat. “He was trying to be a matchmaker. Albeit an ineffective one.”
I sit up straight, trying to let this version of reality land. Did Dad want me to date Beau?
Beau continues, “I mean, if you were a parent, who would you rather date your daughter, Matty or me?”
I exhale. My dad loved Beau. It makes sense, I suppose. “Fair point. Matty was a prick.”
“Colossal prick.”
I nudge Beau with my shoulder. “And you were a saint.”
“Hardly.” Beau swallows and leans into me a fraction of an inch. “Remember when Matty was caught cheating on that final paper?”
“Yeah.” How could I forget? Matty turned in a plagiarized paper and couldn’t walk at his graduation. He almost lost his football scholarship to San Diego State.
“I sold him that paper, laundered the sale, and anonymously tipped off the administration.”
“Beau,” I gasp. “You didn’t.”
He nods, with a guilty little wince. “It was right after you called me for a ride because he’d left you stranded at that college party. When I showed up, the party had ten guys to every girl, and you were wasted. Anything could have happened to you.”
I am ashamed to admit that I barely remember that night. It doesn’t even rank in the top-ten most despicable things I let Matty get away with.
“Do you remember when he started losing his hair?” Beau asks.
“Before homecoming his senior year.” The guy was so vain he wore a baseball cap under his homecoming crown. I narrow my eyes, “What did you do?”
“I mixed Nair into the pomade he kept in his gym bag.”
I gasp and cover my mouth as I cackle. “Beauregard Makani Augustin, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
“You had just gotten back together with him after he—”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Don’t remind me.” I was still learning the definition of self-respect. We had a tumultuous love, hate, and repeat relationship for years.
Beau shrugs, a sly smirk on his lips. “I wanted to punch him in the face, but we both know he would have kicked my ass. So clandestine sabotage was my only option.”
“You didn’t have to fight my battles, Beau.”
“I know. But I was an idiot teen,” he parrots. “Insecure. Judgmental. Bitter. But I figured out you wanted me to leave you alone after prom.”
“What about prom?” I search his face, but he looks away.
“Oh, c’mon, Ophelia. It was a long time ago. I’ve let go of that grudge. But don’t pretend you don’t remember.”
“Seriously. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I search my memories of prom. Matty and I danced. He got drunk at Cherry’s after-party. I never even saw Beau.
“Phe.” Beau finally looks at me, giving me a glimpse of buried pain. Whatever he sees in my face must convince him. “You seriously didn’t know about it?”
“Know about what?” My patience frays as worry sets in.
He sucks in a breath and releases it slowly. “Senior year. Cherry called me right before prom and told me Matty bailed on you, and you were devastated.”
“What?” I can feel my pulse in my skull. “Why would she—”
He levels me with a stern look. “Because she knew I’d come to your rescue and wanted to make me feel small. She wanted me to know that I may have gotten into a fancy college, but I was still nobody to you guys.”
I don’t want to believe this—and it’s disorienting to learn yet another piece of my history that I was blind to. I may have neglected our friendship, but I never did anything purposely to hurt him. Never. I would have killed my friends if they messed with him. “What happened?”
He shrugs and looks away, suddenly shy. “I rented a tux and tried to come to your rescue.”
“Beau,” I say, unable to find better words.
“And you can guess the rest. You didn’t need a rescue. When I got there, you were already dancing with Matty, so I left. But Cherry saw me. Which is what she wanted.”
I bring my hand to his cheek, relishing the feel of his stubble against my palm. He sucks in a breath but yields when I draw his focus to mine. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I wouldn’t do that to you. And I’m pissed that she did.”
“Thanks,” he says, swallowing hard. We’re inches apart, the tension of the confessions arcing between us. But I’m feeling something else. Something dangerous. I drop my hand.
And then it dawns on me. “Is that why you refused to speak to me after high school? Cut me out entirely? You told me our lives were too different, and I assumed you thought you were better than me.”
“I thought you’d tried to make a fool out of me. I was ...” He trails off, and I see his pupils dilate and dance before he says, “Hurt.”
“So was I.” Tears clog my throat, but I swallow them back. “I missed you so much.” All this time, we’ve shared different histories, different truths. I lean my head on his shoulder, incapable of keeping my distance anymore.
“I missed you, too. But I felt like I lost my best friend much earlier—to a bunch of assholes.”
I snort-laugh as he leans his head on mine.
I’m nestled in the crook of his neck, and it feels nice and safe.
He smells like summer—coconut from his sunblock, with a hint of detergent.
It reminds me of swinging in the hammock in his backyard, our heads on either side, our feet tangled together.
“You didn’t lose me, Beau. I lost myself. ”
He slides his arm around my waist and cinches me to him, and our breathing falls into sync. “Well, I’m glad you’re back.”
I’m sure there’s no intent in his embrace, but my nerve endings are misreading the platonic signs.
He’s so warm and solid that I could stay here for hours.
I could crawl into his lap, find his pulse point with my lips, and investigate all those muscular ridges I viewed last night.
I could let his fingertips wander under the hem of my dress.
I startle at the visual, straighten my spine, and withdraw.
He drops his hand and clears his throat.
“Me too.” I am swimming in the scent of coconut and the heat of his skin.
“Friends again?” he asks.
“Friends again,” I say, and gather the courage to turn to him. His lips are soft. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, searching mine. I swallow once, pushing away a strange urge to lean into him and seal the deal with a kiss.
“But I still think you’re chaos.” He smiles slightly.
This is good. Better. Familiar. “I still think you’re uptight.”
He clears his throat. “Then all is right in the world.”
We’re silent for a few moments before Beau says, “Stay in this with me, Phe. Don’t go home yet.”
But suddenly, I wonder if I should leave for reasons other than our old resentments. Because this new closeness scares me more. Unfortunately, though, it’s also too tempting to resist.