55. Claire
fifty-five
When Penelope walksin the door—later than my return from Nathan’s driveway, might I add—tension is so thick I can taste it.
She lied. She wasn’t out to eat with her brother. Why does that bother me so much, especially when I’ve been lying to her too? I mean, I know why it bothers me. I just hate admitting it. She’s the first person I’ve trusted outside of my family, and even she can’t give me the simple respect to either say the truth or not say anything at all. I haven’t decided if I’m going to call her out or not, but she joins me on the living room couch as soon as her things are put away and I instantly tense.
“Hey! How was your night? Did varsity win?”
I set down the PJ Layne book I’ve been pretending to read for the past hour.
“Yep.”
Good. Give her one word answers, and you won’t have to blurt out that?—
“How was dinner with Connor?”
Smooth, Claire. Real smooth.
“It was good,” she says without missing a beat. She reaches for my bowl of half-eaten popcorn and shovels a handful into her mouth. “I don’t get to see him too often since he moved in with his dad, so it’s always nice catching up.”
“Where’d you guys go for dinner?”
“Some seafood place he recommended.”
“And what’d you get?”
“Alaskan crab legs. I haven’t had crab in?—”
“I know you weren’t out with Connor tonight!”
I’m so smooth, you could put me on toast.
Penelope, cheeks full of popcorn, turns to me with wide eyes. She slowly chews, swallows, and gulps.
I huff. Pinch my eyes closed. “I’m sorry I yelled. It’s just that… I just…”
I stare down at my lap, hoping I’m not about to blow something wonderful.
“I was out to dinner after the game with… and he was at the same restaurant. He came and said hello. Says he hasn’t seen you since Thanksgiving. So you’ve been lying to me, I guess.”
I shrug. Tears gather at my waterline and I feel so stupid. Penelope deflates, exhaling as her shoulders droop. When she lifts her gaze again, her head is tilted, leaning sorrowfully against her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Claire. I shouldn’t have tried to lie my way out of it.”
“Out of what?”
Her head falls forward again and she groans, mumbling something about, Knew it wouldn’t stay a secret forever, before extending her hand and standing.
“C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”
Confused, I let her lug me off the couch and follow her up the stairs to the one door I have yet to open. Come to think of it, she didn’t even show it to me on the tour. Just pointed to it, said it was her office and to Please not go in there, and I abided without a second thought.
“Before I open this door, please promise me you won’t get weird,” she says, looking back at me over her shoulder. My eyes widen and I brace myself for whips and chains or dead bodies or a meth lab. What I’m met with instead makes my jaw hit the floor.
Her “office” resembles a smaller version of Nathan’s study. Wall-to-wall bookshelves, housing hundreds of copies of PJ Layne’s seven different novels. Like, girl has multiple copies. Posters of the covers, with USA Today Bestselling Author penned across the bottom of the three that earned the achievement.
“Okay, so you’re like, a secret PJ Layne superfan?” I chuckle, crossing my arms and lifting one eyebrow. “You could’ve just admitted that you liked romance. That’s all Juliet and Lucy and I talk about. Why pretend you hate it?”
“Oh, sweet Claire.” She turns to me and sighs, her head tilting to the side again, her sad smile spelling out, Put the pieces together. When I don’t do it fast enough, she says, “I’m PJ Layne.”
Oh. Oh.
I scream.
Whoops.
“You’re what?!”
“You promised not to be weird about it!” she shouts above my already screeching volume.
“Technically I didn’t! You’re…”
I grab my cheeks and calm my breath.
“I have literally screamed about smut scenes in your DMs.”
“I know,” she says with a tight-lipped smile. “It was kind of cute. Mostly weird though.”
“I…”
With a closer look, I realize that the awards on the shelves are for her books. The desk and whiteboard are organized chaos for the book she’s working on next.
“Oh, fuck yes, I knew it was Finn and Delilah!” I shout, charging forward to see what she has written there.
But I pause, mid-stride to where my favorite author—and roommate?!—make all the magic happen. I turn on my toe, slowly, and take a deep breath. This time, my head tilts to the side, and my smile is sad.
“I’m calm now. Promise.”
She huffs a laugh.
“It’s okay. It was kind of sweet. You’re actually the first person from my real life to find out.”
She shrugs. And all of a sudden, my heart is tearing into pieces. I wrap Penelope in a hug, and she leans into it, her otherwise tough exterior melting by just a fraction.
“Do you want to talk about that?”
“No, not right now,” she mumbles. “Maybe you can be my beta reader in your free time.”
“I guess this explains the Escalade.”
We both laugh, and then, she suddenly stops hugging me, stands up straight, and stares at me with wide-eyed accusation.
“Oh my God. Wait. Who were you out with that you saw my brother?”
Whoops.
“I… No one?—”
“Claire…”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and for the first time, I see a big sister standing before me. Trading secrets. Having sleepovers. Giving advice.
My heart inflates, and somehow, I know that I can trust her with this.
“Promise not to be weird about it?” I echo her earlier sentiment.
“I think I get to have one ear-splitting scream in exchange for yours.”
“That’s fair. Ugh.”
With my back against the wall, I sink to the floor, tent my knees, and rest my forehead against them. She joins me on the floor, sitting crisscross.
“Sleepingwithourboss,” I mumble.
“Come again?”
“I’m sleeping with our boss.” I say it a little more forcefully this time. When she doesn’t say anything back, I lift my head so only one eye is peeping. Her jaw is now the one hanging open, and she’s staring out over my head, probably into the abyss where I’m sure her train of thought has disappeared to.
“We’re talking about Nathan, not Don, right?”
“Gross, yes, Nathan.”
She pauses again, staring at the wall opposite us like she’s deep in thought.
“You don’t call him Daddy, do you?”
“I…”
I laugh. At first, it’s a huffed, pained sound, but then my head falls back against the wall, and we both disassemble into a fit of giggles that has tears leaking from our eyes. I think we both needed this. To tell someone else the weight of what’s been on our hearts. It was needed. Therapeutic, even. When our giggle fit dies down, we both sigh, much more relaxed than we both were ten minutes ago.
“Does this mean we can both stop sneaking around now?” I plead. “You with your writing. Me with going to see him.”
She nods, her sigh of relief one I feel deep down.
“I could’ve figured it out, you know.”
“That I’m… me and Nathan?”
She nods, her hair rubbing up against the wall.
“The first time that he came to the bar with us, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You left to go to the bathroom and he stared at the door until you came back.”
“I never knew that.”
“He’s not as subtle as he thinks,” Penelope grins. “Aaron and Lucy had a bet going. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when?—”
“Please don’t tell anyone yet,” I whisper. “I just… We… And then…”
“Is everything okay? Is he treating you well?”
I sit up straighter. “It’s just that… We haven’t really talked about what we are though. With his job and everything it’s…”
I think back on the gala, and the spring break trip, and asking me to stay to get his brother’s results? That can’t all be for nothing.
“Complicated.”
She fills in the blank for me.
“I feel like you have some processing to do,” she says, choosing her words slowly. “And, by the looks of it, it’s not something you want to share. Please be safe though, Claire. I know what it’s like to let a man talk a big game and completely fool you in the end. I don’t want you to end up in a situation like that.”
I can’t tell her all of this—Nathan’s story is his to share, and he chose to share it with me—but if I take one thing away from this experience, it’s that he and I have a serious conversation ahead of us.
“I promise I’m taking care of myself,” I assure her. “He treats me so well, Pen. It’s like I had no idea what love could be like until he walked into my life with a scowl on his face.”
She smiles, less concern written into her expression, and relaxes.
“Okay. You know where to find me if you need advice, girly.”
We head back to the living room, and I make a big show of marking my page in my copy of her book, In the Thick of It. She flips me the bird and eats the rest of my popcorn while we put on an episode of a dating show that neither of us have actually watched before.
“Where were you tonight then? If you weren’t out with Connor?”
“A meeting with my agent,” she says, so casually now that it’s out in the open. “I have one more book left on this contract, and he wants the synopsis and the first twenty-thousand words by the end of the summer. We’ll renegotiate after that.”
I nod, satisfied with that answer, and let myself fall into the trap of bad reality dating until we’re both too tired to keep our eyes open anymore. Penelope takes the popcorn bucket to the kitchen, and I listen to the sounds of her moving throughout the house and getting ready for bed while I let the events of the night fully sink in, trying to sort things into facts and questions.
Fact: My friend slash roommate is a bestselling author. I’m sleeping with our boss. He treats me better than my wildest dreams.
Question: If we’re not going to define what we have with words, what the hell are we doing?