Letter Twenty-Six #12
“I saw you sleeping in each other’s arms yesterday. I wish I’d had time to stop Michael before he saw, too, because he was clearly devastated by it.”
My stomach dropped. “Michael came by on Christmas morning?”
“Yes, and when I suggested he follow me to my office so he and I could talk about it, he said, ‘Fuck this,’ then stormed out and slammed the back door.”
So that’s why he’d missed Christmas—why he’d never responded to my text. “I’ll talk to him,” I said, pushing my stool back. “I’ll go right now. I’ll—”
“Stop,” Nic ordered. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ll only make it worse.”
I gripped the counter. “How will I make it worse?”
“How will you make it better? By telling him what he saw meant nothing? By lying to him again?”
“Again?”
“If Michael’s still this hung up on you, it’s because you haven’t been honest with him about your feelings for Casey, and he believes he still has a chance.”
Guilt pricked my conscience. Nic was right.
“You need to tell Michael the truth,” he said, “but the problem with that is, it’ll make an already precarious situation even more precarious, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to stop lying to the Harrises—to John. I need Casey to tell him the truth. I’ve allowed us to keep this secret far longer than I ever should have, and I’ll pay for it. Which is fine—I deserve that. But Casey doesn’t. His news shouldn’t be ruined over girl drama and a jealous sibling.”
“I agree. I don’t want it to go badly for him, either.”
For a long moment, Nic stared at me. “Then it might be best if…you get back with Willoughby.”
I stiffened. “What?”
“Casey won’t take it well, but you can handle him.
For the time being, it might be better if you keep Casey at a distance.
If nothing’s going on, Michael has no reason to stay upset, and we’ll be able to keep the peace long enough for Casey to tell the truth.
Once everything’s out in the open, the boys will have a few problems to resolve, but at least you won’t be one of them. ”
I couldn’t believe this. Nic didn’t want there to be girl drama between you two, and the best solution he could think of was to pair me with someone else?
Then it hit me—how convenient it was, letting me see Willoughby at the end of last summer. Letting him come to our house. Letting me do what I wanted with him, so long as he kept me preoccupied and, therefore, further away from you.
“Hold up,” I said. “Did you give me permission to see Willoughby so I wouldn’t cause drama between Michael and Casey?”
The slight hesitation before Nic spoke told me everything I needed to know. “Look—”
“No, you did, didn’t you? It wasn’t because you wanted to give me something normal for once.
It wasn’t because you thought I deserved to have what other girls my age have.
It wasn’t because I took a gap year—mostly to appease you—and you felt bad about me missing out on college.
It wasn’t because you actually listened to me when I told you what I wanted. You just wanted me out of the way.”
He’d contained the situation by containing me. And it had felt so promising—so similar to freedom—I’d failed to realize that everything had remained exactly the same.
“Listen,” he said, inching closer, “I did want you to have something normal—I’ve always wanted that—but this is the worst possible time for you to be caught between the boys.”
“You’re right,” I said—because he was right about that, too.
But I wanted him to know his decisions had consequences.
I wanted him to understand that, while he’d kept the peace for a few months longer, it had ultimately hurt me.
“And you know what? Maybe I will consider getting back with Willoughby.” I wouldn’t.
I had no intention of going back to a person who could never accept me.
“I mean, he made me cry a few times. He made me feel like a freak more than once, which is why I stopped seeing him. But if you—”
“He made you feel like a freak? How?” Nic demanded, his eyes blazing. “What did he do to you?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” I said, smiling sadly. “It never matters how I feel. As long as no one else is getting hurt, my feelings are completely irrelevant.”
“That’s—no. That’s not what I’m saying at all—Elliot,” he said, because I’d already begun to walk away.
He followed me to the entry hall. Followed me upstairs.
Followed me all the way to my bedroom door, which I slammed in his face.
He texted me when I refused to come out for dinner—and so did you—but I couldn’t be reached.
It was only later that I finally opened up, allowing you to enter my room.
“What’s going on?” you asked, hands buried in the pockets of your striped pajama pants. “Are you and Nic fighting again?”
“Yeah,” I said, hobbling back to bed. I slid to the very center of the mattress, then reached out to you. “Will you hold me?”
With a look so gentle it steadied my racing thoughts, you crawled in beside me, gathered me in your arms, and brushed your lips against my temple. “Are you okay?”
I tucked my face into your shoulder. “I am now.”