Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
NORA
I’m not an emotional person.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself for years, maybe my whole life. So why do I feel like a reality TV star tonight, shaking with uncontrollable laughter one minute, near tears the next?
I study Cormac as we walk into the dining room together. He smiles and nods in encouragement, and I feel another gush of stupid, gooey emotion.
He is infuriatingly adorable. I mean, what thirty-year-old man has a group chat with two senior citizens and a sweet neighborly relationship with a third? He doesn’t have to be good to them. It’s not like he doesn’t have friends his own age.
Oh, this is bad, Nora. You need to back the fuck off and keep your distance.
I already knew it was bad, of course. I knew it the other night, when I kissed Cormac outside of that bookstore. He seems to have developed an unfortunate ability to wiggle past my walls without me even noticing.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that part of the reason I said that shitty thing to my mom was because she’s a bloodhound, and I wanted to throw her off the scent. She can’t know anything happened between Cormac and me, because if she did—
Honestly, I don’t have the slightest idea what she’d do or say. I don’t know what my friends would say either, given that I’ve been avoiding them.
Yes, that’s right.
Hannah, Briar, and Sophie have all texted and called me, individually and as a group, since we returned from Apple Ridge on Thursday evening, but I’ve put them off with half a dozen shitty excuses.
I’m not totally sure why. All of them have been involved in weird dating situations following our epically weird dating situation with Jonah.
If anyone would understand, they would. Sophie is married to the brother of our communal ex-boyfriend, for God’s sake, and Hannah used to nanny for Travis before they got together.
Then there’s Briar, who’s marrying Hannah’s brother, whom she started sleeping with after he started working for her.
Relationships are weird and messy, and they would get it.
But I don’t want to tell anyone about what happened between Cormac and me the other night.
I can’t decide if that’s because I think my friends would tell me it’s a bad idea to get “for real” involved with Cormac, something I definitely know, or because I think they’d encourage me.
Stopping next to the dining room table, I clear my throat.
My mother, who was murmuring with Mr. Peebles, looks up at me.
Her eyes are slightly puffy, and I feel an uncomfortable surge of guilt.
I don’t want to be the one who brings her down.
She’s endured more than enough BS from other people.
She’s finally happy, and she needs to stay happy.
“I’m sorry, Mom. That was a really shitty thing to say. Dad fooled a lot of people. He fooled me too.”
She gets up and circles the table, then wraps her arms around me. An awful sea of emotion sloshes around inside of me.
God, I hate being reality-TV Nora.
When I pull back, Cormac returns from the front room with the wrapped gift and sets it down on the table with a heavy clack.
“Dottie and Ann and the other Wise Elders really wanted you two to have this,” he says.
“They went to great trouble to make sure you got it as soon as you returned home. Why don’t you open it? ”
I smile at him.
“Oh, all right,” his father says with the token reluctance of someone who actually wants to do the thing being asked of him. But he nods to my mother. “You do the honors, Moira.”
She carefully unwraps the paper and then opens the box, revealing an enormous pink crystal shaped like…
I start laughing as my mother pulls it out. There’s a huge shaft with two round geodes clustered together at the base.
“Oh, how lovely,” my mother says.
Something tells me she hasn’t noticed that it very clearly resembles a dick and balls, but judging from the strained look on Cormac’s face, he definitely has.
His father coughs. “Yes, well, we can find somewhere special to tuck it away.”
“Tuck it away?” my mom says, and this time I gulp the laughter back, nearly choking myself. “We’ll do no such thing. This crystal deserves to be displayed prominently. We’ll put it in the sitting room.”
“Of course,” Eugene says with a strained expression, his cheeks flushing. “Whatever you want.”
Cormac clears his throat. “Unfortunately, I have to leave. I told Liam I’d meet him at the gym.”
“And I have to go too,” I add, not bothering to offer a fake explanation. They can’t possibly think I’d want to hang out with them and their crystal phallus by myself.
“Thank you for the sweater, Mrs. Applebaum-Peebles,” Cormac says, like the sweet suck-up he is.
My mom heaves a long-suffering sigh. “Cormac, I believe we’ve gotten to a point where you can call me Moira.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I can do that. Well, have a good night, everyone.” He glances at me pointedly before heading for the door and slipping his shoes back on. I follow right behind him and do the same.
Our parents trail us as if they’re a couple of corgis herding us. And they stand in the doorway, waving, as we step into the overly warm night that immediately makes the sweater feel insufferable.
I strip it off as I walk to my Fiat, and when I turn to look at Cormac, who’s standing next to his car, I find him watching me.
The hungry look on his face sends a rush of awareness through my body, but I shoot a fierce warning glare at him. Because I can sense our parents are still doing that thing parents do, watching us vigilantly, as if a masked kidnapper might roll up and steal us away.
His face dims, and he gets into his car. I do the same, driving away with a strange mixture of feelings in my chest.
The truth is I didn’t know what I was doing on Thursday, and I don’t know what I’m doing now. Maybe I never knew what I was doing, and I only liked to believe I was in control of my life.
I take a wrong turn to throw our parents off the scent, so Cormac’s already at his house by the time I park opposite it.
He meets me at his front door, and I smile at the sight of his Half-Life 2 T-shirt. The shirt he let me borrow is still at my apartment. I’ll admit I haven’t been in a hurry to give it back.
“I’m surprised you’re not still wearing your apple sweater.”
“No, you’re not.”
Cookie rushes out, barking, and kneads my legs with her front paws in her signature greeting. I pet her head, which she allows.
She sniffs hopefully at my pocket, but I shake my head. “I have no artillery, soldier.”
Cormac smiles as he watches us, his gray eyes warm, and I feel those unwanted, stubborn-ass butterflies again.
Clearing my throat, I stand up straight. “Let’s get to work.”
“You don’t want to talk about the crystal phallus sitting in our parents’ living room?”
I laugh. “Is there a gentle way I can break it to my mom?”
“You’re not known for your gentleness.”
I shove his arm. “I can be gentle.”
He taps his fingers against the hand I have pressed to his arm. “I wouldn’t want you to be.”
The breath basically whooshes out of my lungs. I don’t say anything. I can’t.
He leads me into the house, Cookie padding along behind us. “Let me go get my laptop.”
I sit on the couch, and Cookie jumps up beside me, then climbs into my lap and just stands there, her wide feet digging into me. It’s cute, though, and I pat her back and rub her ears. She leans into my hand in a way that makes me smile.
When I look up, Cormac is leaning against the hallway entrance, watching us with a dreamy look on his face. “She likes you a lot.”
“We’re trauma bonded by the raccoon.”
He crosses the distance between us. When he sits beside me, a few inches away, Cookie leaps down from her lap perch and steps over him as if he’s furniture before curling up on his other side, her chin on his knee. Once she’s situated, he opens the laptop.
I glance at the screen over his shoulder, wanting to inch closer but knowing I shouldn’t. Not after the boundary I’ve set between us.
What I see makes me gasp.
He has a social media profile open on the screen for a guy named Bradley Ruche.
“You already found her exes.”
He grins at me as he adjusts his glasses.
“It took me five minutes. I just didn’t want you stalking them on your own.
I don’t think you realize how intimidating you can be.
The other guy—Dean Whitaker—isn’t on social media, but I found his email address, so we can at least reach out to him.
Bradley’s very proud of his gym videos, as you can see.
I suspect he wouldn’t mind the attention. ”
I lean into his side to see the screen.
“Have you already messaged them?”
He barks a laugh. “No, I figured I’d need your help with that. I wasn’t sure what to say. Hey, my secret fake girlfriend’s friend is about to marry your ex-fiancée. Is she crazy? I mean, there’s a chance they’re friendly with her.”
“Unlikely,” I scoff.
“It sounds far-fetched to me too, but you never know. You and José work together.”
“And look how well that’s turning out.” I pick at the hem of my sweater.
“At least he apologized for Pansy’s hard sell the other day.
Believe it or not, she’s having a difficult time finding clients for Pads by Pansy.
” I laugh. “I think he’s finally starting to catch on.
We just need something to push him over the edge. ”
He looks like he’s about to say something, but he shuts his mouth and nods toward the screen. “How about we keep it simple and ask if they know her?”
“You mean you don’t want to go in hot and tell them we think she’s a manipulative asshole with bad taste in home renovating?”
He smiles. “For all you know, their houses were the testing ground for Pads by Pansy.”
I press my shoulder into his, feeling a swell of fondness for him. “You’re right. Let’s send the boring messages and see how they reply.”
I watch while he types the message, adding to the end:
If so, I have some questions.
He glances over his shoulder at me, our faces inches apart. “We want to keep them hungry for more.”
He probably didn’t mean anything by it, but I feel another rush of dumb butterflies.
“Yeah, good idea,” I say.
Then he surprises me by shutting the laptop and setting it on the coffee table.
I raise my eyebrows, trying to ignore my racing pulse. “Aren’t you going to send the message?”
“In a minute. I think I’d like to ask you my question now.”
It takes me a second to process what he’s talking about—the question I promised I’d answer as his reward for winning the pear bet. My pulse thrums faster as I nod.
He takes a slow inhale, then says in a gush, “Why are you doing this? Is it to save José from marrying someone like your dad, or is it because you have feelings for him?”
“Oh my God. I don’t have feelings for him,” I say, feeling my cheeks flush. I sound defensive. I feel defensive. “I just…”
I think of the brewery. The bustle of it. The scent of ginger. The beautiful bottles with our labels on them, all lined up in a row. It puts a sock in my throat.
“I don’t want him to be unhappy, and I don’t want either of us to lose the brewery. We’ve worked so hard for it.”
Cormac nods, but he’s still wearing his thinking look.
“Do you think I’m lying to you about José?” I ask, pissed off by the thought, even though I have no right to be. I am a liar. I never wanted to be one, but here we are. I’ve lied to José and Pansy, I’ve lied to my mother, and I’ve lied to Cormac too.
Just not about this.
“Not on purpose.” He settles an elbow on his knee and props his chin on it. “But I wonder if you’re being fully honest with yourself.”
It feels like he just slapped me.
I get up, intending to storm out, but he reaches for my arm, his fingers wrapping around my wrist.
“No, please don’t walk away from me. Not like this.”
He might as well have wrapped his fist around my heart.
“I…”
“I like you, Nora. I’m not helping you because you watched my dog, or because my dad wants us to get along.
I’m definitely not doing it because you said you’d help me date other women.
I’m not interested in anyone else. I like you.
I’ll keep helping you no matter what. But you deserve to know the reason for it. ”
“Cormac.” There’s anguish in my voice—in me—and I don’t even understand why.
“I probably would have done anything you asked me to.”
To my horror, I feel hot tears pressing against my eyes.
“I have to leave,” I say, my tone firmer. “I have to go.”
I tear my wrist away, and he lets me. “All right. Do what you have to do. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
“You’re still coming?” I ask in disbelief.
“Like I said, I’d probably do anything you asked.”
“Please don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“I can’t…” Tears try to reassert themselves, coming threateningly close to the surface, but I push them back. “Something’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to be in a real relationship. I’m fucked up.”
He gives me a sad smile. “We’re all fucked up.”
“I can’t…” I take a deep gulp of air. “I can’t let myself be like her, Cormac.” The tears finally start to fall. “I won’t let someone tear me apart. I won’t let a man decide what my life is going to look like. I’m not going to sit around waiting, not knowing when he’s coming back.”
I don’t say the other words. The ones that have infected me for years: I’m afraid I’m more like him than her. That if I tried being with Cormac, really being with him, I might be the one who tears him apart—slowly and agonizingly.
I could never live with myself if I did that to him, if I broke someone with a beautiful soul, piece by piece.
“I wouldn’t want you to do any of that,” he says, his voice soft. “But aren’t you already letting a man tear your life apart? Everything you’ve done lately has revolved around José.”
My eyes widen, and my heart feels like it’s both too big and too small. I’m speechless.
I know I should respond. I want to tell him he’s wrong, dead wrong, but I can’t say anything. I just stare into his bottomless gray eyes and feel myself falling apart.
Because he’s totally right.
It feels like I’ve been suspended over a precipice for the past year.
I can’t remember when I last felt safe.
I can’t remember not feeling like I had to be vigilant to keep my whole world from collapsing.
He steps toward me. I want him to touch me. I can’t bear how much I want it. But for a moment, just a moment, I lean in and let him wrap his arms around me, his embrace tight and full of his crisp, familiar scent. It feels so good, I can’t stand it.
I let myself feel his comfort until a sob rips out of me, and then I push him away and run out the door.