35. Vivienne
Vivienne
“Then why won’t you fight for me?”
Cass looks as though I’ve slapped him. Seconds tick by as we stare at each other, the tension growing thicker until I’m sure it’ll choke one or both of us.
“You deserve better,” he finally says.
“What if I don’t want better?”
Shaking his head, he fiddles with the discarded washcloth. “You may think you don’t, but I know you, Viv.”
“Great,” I say, sliding off my stool. “I’m glad at least one of us is an expert on what I want.” I don’t look back as I walk out of the kitchen.
He doesn’t try to stop me, doesn’t even call after me. Of the two of us, he’s the one who doesn’t know what he wants. I’ve spent the past ten years in love with him. He spent that time making me question everything.
I don’t know whether he’s scared of my brother or just worried he wouldn’t make good boyfriend material. Regardless, he’s made it obvious he’s not willing to risk anything to be with me.
Once I’m in my room, I let the tears fall, crying into my hands and wishing there was a way to change the inevitable, but I’m as stuck as I’ve ever been. It’s time to face reality: Cass and I are never going to be together.
I’m on my own.
Morning breaks with a clear sky and plenty of sunshine. It also brings the rest of our friends, who spill into the house like a burst water line, despite the fact that it’s only Shep, Marlowe, and Sutton.
After the fifth load of luggage is brought into the foyer, I give the girls a look. “I’m scared to ask how long you’re staying.”
Sutton rolls her eyes. She’s wearing biker shorts and a Yale rowing crewneck from a former boyfriend. “Two of those are mine. The rest—”
“Beauty takes work,” Marlowe says, scowling at her. “Something you’d know if you’d put in a little effort.” Her oversized sunglasses are sitting on top of her head, and she’s wearing a white romper, a trench coat, and five-inch heels.
“Except for when it’s natural.” Sutton tugs on her ponytail and gives her gum a loud snap. “Lucky me.”
“You won’t be so lucky once I get my hands on you,” Marlowe snipes, lunging toward her.
I grab her shoulder. “It’s ten in the morning, and I haven’t even had coffee yet. Do you think we could save the catfight for this afternoon?” I say with a yawn.
“She ran out of Prozac.” Sutton heads for the stairs with her bags. “Once we get her a refill, she’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to kill her,” Marlowe says through her teeth.
“There will be no killing this weekend.” I grab an ivory suitcase with gold accents. “Come on. I’ll help you unpack.”
After Marlowe and I finish with her luggage—twelve pieces in all, which is more than I brought with me for two months—we head downstairs and find everyone in the kitchen. What appears to be the remains of breakfast is scattered across the island.
“You’d better have left something for us,” I say. “I’m starving.”
“I hid these for you.” Grinning, Briar hands me a paper bag. An old camera hangs from her neck. “If I hadn’t, they would’ve demolished them in three seconds flat.”
I open it and peek inside. Two golden-brown croissants are nestled at the bottom with slivers of almond and a dusting of powdered sugar topping them. I moan and roll the bag shut. “First, I need caffeine.”
Cass slides a latte across the counter without meeting my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur, taking it from him and managing not to touch his fingers as I do so. I can feel Bash’s gaze on us.
“Matcha?” Cass asks Marlowe, and she mumbles something in reply. He glances at me with a cocked brow, and I shrug. I wasn’t able to get anything out of her during the thirty minutes it took to unpack her stuff.
I tear off a piece of croissant and pop it into my mouth. “Oh my god, Briar,” I say, licking my fingers. “These are divine.”
“Damn right they are.” Bash makes a dive for the bag, but I snatch it away just in time.
“You guys have been sleeping on Café de Olla,” Briar says. “They’re the best in the city.”
“I’ll definitely be stopping in.” I cram the rest of the pastry in my mouth and offer the other one to Marlowe. She looks at it with disdain and shakes her head, grabbing a carton of blackberries from the fridge and walking out of the room.
Shep swipes the bag from my hand and tears off a hunk of croissant. Bash tries to wrestle it from him, but Shep manages to turn his back on him while also polishing off the entire pastry in two bites. Briar laughs and snaps photos as they tussle.
“Bastard,” Bash says with a scowl.
Shep grins, powdered sugar all over his face and down the front of his brown sweater. I shake my head and hand him a napkin.
Moving to stand next to Sutton, I ask quietly, “What’s up with Mar?”
“I don’t know, but we had to listen to Bon Iver the entire way here. I nearly threw myself out the window before we even left the city.” She sips her coffee and brushes a piece of lint from my cardigan.
People start drifting out of the kitchen, until Briar and I are the only two left. She fiddles with the camera in her hands. “Does Bash seem okay to you?” she asks.
I blink in surprise. “You mean other than beating up his best friend over something stupid?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, besides that.”
I try to recall his behavior since arriving at Belgrave, but we haven’t spent much time together yet. “I think so?” I say, hoping she’ll tell me what’s on her mind.
“Okay.” She returns her gaze to the camera. “I’m probably just imagining it.”
Apprehension skips down my spine as I move around the island toward her. “What’s going on? Did something happen with you two?”
“No, nothing like that.” She shakes her head. “He’s just been . . . different lately. Shutting me out, not wanting to talk, things like that.”
She’s right—that doesn’t sound like Bash. “I’m sure he’s just had a rough few days. He’ll snap out of it soon,” I say, even though I’m not sure I believe it. This might be the beginning of the end for them, but I don’t have the courage to tell her that.
The day passes in a flurry of nonactivity.
It’s what we do best: Lounge around on sofas, half watching whatever show someone puts on, but mostly just talking.
Play partial rounds of board games until someone declares they’re too tired to go any longer or until Sutton gets too competitive.
Eat snacks and drink cocktails without thinking about tomorrow, because what does tomorrow matter when you have today with these people?
I try not to think about the chances of this being the last time we’re all together like this, just the seven of us. Briar has infiltrated our group with ease, and I already can’t imagine what it would be like without her. If Bash breaks her heart, maybe we’ll kick him out and keep her instead.
A storm blew in earlier, banging against the windows and rattling the panes, but we’re snug in the library, where we’ve spent most of the day.
The fire is blazing, we have enough alcohol to sustain a small army, and the remains of the pizza someone ordered an hour ago is still on the coffee table.
A warm hand grazes my shoulder, and I glance up from where I’m lying on the sofa, my toes tucked beneath Shep’s leg for warmth.
Cass leans over me, a blanket in his hands. “Want this?”
“Yes, please,” I say. I didn’t even realize how cold I was, but the second he starts tucking the soft fabric around me, electricity races up my spine.
His hand lingers on my leg an extra beat, then he’s gone. Longing floods my chest, and I wish he was the one on the end of the couch instead of Shep. When I look up, Bash is glowering at me from across the room. I roll my eyes, and he glances away, but the scowl remains.
Sutton is sitting on the floor between Bash’s legs while he massages the knots in her shoulders, and Marlowe is braiding Briar’s hair in front of the fireplace. Every once in a while, I catch Briar glancing at Bash, and I wonder how bad the rift between them is.
I lit several candles earlier, and their flames dance across the faces of the people I love most in the world. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with them. Some people find the need to go out to entertain themselves, but we’ve always found our best entertainment in each other.
Cass has been pacing the room for most of the night, stoking the fire, staring out at the rain, and cleaning up Settlers of Catan, which Bash, Briar, and Sutton deserted half an hour ago.
Right now, he’s standing in front of a bookcase, browsing the titles.
My eyes wander to him every few seconds, like a scab you can’t stop picking.
He’s my center of gravity in every room.
No matter how many people are in it, he’s what I need to feel grounded.
He can’t move without me being acutely aware of exactly where he is and what he’s doing.
He’s been preoccupied today, and whatever’s on his mind, he obviously doesn’t want to talk to me about it.
I’ve been telling myself that he doesn’t need to share his secrets with me if he doesn’t want to.
But I can’t help remembering that there was a day when he wouldn’t have considered keeping anything from me, especially not something that clearly bothered him so much.
It stings that he does it now without a second thought.
Trailing his fingers along the spines, he finally lands on a book. As if he can sense my eyes on him, his hand stops before pulling it from the shelf, but he doesn’t glance back at me.
Shep gets up from the other end of the sofa, leaving my cold toes exposed to the elements. He tugs the blanket down to cover them. “I’ll be back in a sec.” He drops the bag of crisps he was eating beside me. “Take care of those for me.”
When I look back over at Cass, he’s setting a book down on a side table. I’d recognize that cover anywhere. It’s the same copy of Wuthering Heights we used to exchange notes just a few weeks ago.
My heart pounds as I watch him casually slip the book under a deck of cards someone got out earlier. His eyes dart up to capture mine, and he gives me the tiniest nod that not even Bash would’ve caught.
I want nothing more than to jump from the couch and grab it.
Instead, I have to continue lying here as if nothing has happened, as if Cass didn’t just tilt my world on its axis.
He settles himself in an armchair with another book, probably a hefty tome on philosophy that he’ll somehow manage to read a hundred pages of tonight, even while carrying on conversations with the rest of us.
He turns the page, and his eyes meet mine again for a second before retreating back to his book. My insides turn to Jell-O.
“I’m so bored,” Marlowe whines. She’s done with Briar’s hair and is resting her head on her folded arms.
I sit up as Sutton and I exchange a look. During our walk in the woods earlier, it became obvious that Mar isn’t as over Finn as she’d like us all to believe. His coming back to town has been messing with her head and making her act less rational than usual.
“I could read out loud,” Shep offers as he comes back into the room. He grabs Wuthering Heights from the table and sits on the arm of the sofa, then falls backward and rests his head in my lap.
When I look up, Cass’s face is as stormy as the weather.
As Shep cracks the book open, Cass’s note falls onto his chest. I snatch it up before he has a chance to get a look at it. “What’s that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I mumble, crumpling the paper in my hand. “Just an old bookmark.”
Cass shifts in his chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he holds his book. The same restless energy that’s tormenting me is plaguing him as well.
When I’m confident no one is looking, I rub the note against my leg to get the wrinkles out.
I’m dying to know what Cass was willing to risk getting caught to say to me.
I drop my eyes to the scrap of paper and am greeted by that familiar scrawl.
Meet me in the rain later, it says, and my heart flies into my throat.
His eyes are on me when I look up, a house of cards against his full-on rainstorm. I know his recklessness should send me running in the opposite direction, but I can’t move. Even if we were caught in the middle of a tornado, nothing could keep me from dropping everything to meet him.
I give him a long blink, too afraid to draw any more attention than that, and hope he understands. From the tiny smile he licks away as he returns his focus to his book, I know he does.