Chapter 9 #2
She set the tablet on the table. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to see your childhood home fall into disrepair. That’s where all your memories are and—”
“No,” I said, amazed by the conclusion she’d drawn. It was so far off the mark, it was like attending the Met Gala in a clearance-sale tracksuit.
But then again—even though Elli had lost her mother young, and her dad had sounded like a piece of work—she’d grown up in a nice suburban home with a brother like Evan “Rogue” Rogan. Not in a hellhole with a brother like Braden “Dipshit” Jones.
Elli didn’t know what it was like to go through life alone.
“You’re not following,” I said.
“Then just tell me straight,” she replied, “because you’re right. I’m not following.”
“That’s how it has always looked. My parents still live there. Braden’s living in comparative luxury in prison. In fact, when we were kids, sometimes I wondered if he got in trouble just so he could go back to juvie and get three square meals.”
Elli’s gaze slid to the coffee table and the tablet where the image still remained on screen.
“That’s where I grew up, Elli. And I’m not going back to that.”
“So…what you’re saying…is that Murph’s cabin is totally run down?” Elli’s tone was confused and rightfully so. Sean made serious bank, and though his cabin was rustic, it was nice and appeared to be in the midst of a glow-up.
“No,” I admitted. “Of course not. It’s…cozy. And maybe he doesn’t have a train running through his back yard, but it’s not what I want. Don’t you understand? I want the city, El. I want a nice car and nice clothes and a penthouse apartment like this one.”
“This isn’t a penthouse.”
“You know what I mean.”
Elli nodded. She knew what I meant. But then she said, “Money isn’t everything, you know.”
“Says the girl who’s living the dream.” I swept my hand across the scene of Lukas’s apartment with his expensive furniture and original artwork.
At that, Elli’s face got red. “I’d still be with Lukas even if he had nothing.”
I closed my eyes, realizing my mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest anything bad.”
When I opened my eyes, Elli’s face had softened.
“I know,” she said. “And I’m glad you shared. It helps to understand where you’re at.”
“I… Yeah.” I didn’t know how to react. She was being so normal about it. Not even the slightest curl to her lip. It wasn’t what I was used to, and not what I expected. Not that Elli wasn’t cool, or kind, but still. “Thanks.”
Before this slumber party could turn into even more of a confessional and I blabbed about my morning with Bleu de Chanel Bodega Man, I picked up the remote and turned on Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
“Audrey Hepburn is the original fashion icon,” I mused as the opening credits ran.
“Sometimes,” Elli agreed.
“All the time,” I countered. I folded my legs under me and held my popcorn bowl in my lap.
“Not when she was a teenager,” Elli said. “During World War II she had nothing, and she worked as a spy. As an adult, she did humanitarian work in Somalia with bombs and bullets flying.”
I turned my head to look at her. I was the one with the degree in fashion merchandising. I knew the life story of every fashion icon going back nearly two centuries, all the way back to Marion Morehouse, but to me, Audrey Hepburn was the O.G.
It was surprising to think that Elli—who, up until a month ago, didn’t know her Balmain from her Burberry, her Valentino from Versace—had an opinion on Hepburn.
“All I’m saying,” Elli said, “is that Audrey Hepburn personified fashion and knew how to live rough. It is possible to do both.”
Ah. Now, I understood where she was going with all of this. It was unnerving how badly she wanted me to get with Sean. “Shut up and eat your popcorn.”
I focused on my phone and started an internet search on Audrey Hepburn. Were there any archived images of her in flannel?
“I’m just sayin’…” Elli hedged.
“Yep. Consider it said.”
Even though I wasn’t looking directly at her, I still caught the sly grin on her face.
“Murph’s a good guy,” she declared. “And you’re one of the kindest people I know. You’re both loyal and dependable to a fault. And you both understand how to go after a goal and not let anything stand in your way. You two would be good together. You’d understand each other.”
I shoved more popcorn into my mouth and talked over it. “Shut up, Elli.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “Shutting up.”
I sighed as article after article popped up on my phone about Audrey Hepburn’s life off screen. Total bad ass.
In the end, we plowed through two bowls of popcorn, completed pomegranate firming facials, and gave each other pedicures—all without any more mention of messy families, idiot brothers, or love affairs that were never going to happen. The movies were awesome, too. As always.
But through it all—on a never-ending loop—a third movie kept playing in my head. The main storyline had a bag of cash and the scent of exploding gunpowder, but the subplot was pure physical sensation.
I couldn’t shake the tingling relief of a nick-of-time rescue, the calming cloud of a comfortable bed, or the peace that came from knowing someone had cared for me while I’d recovered.
Sean thought I’d been unconscious for nearly twelve hours. He’d had no idea that I’d woken hours earlier than that—just long enough to see him at the window, staring out into the woods, standing so still he could have been a tree himself.
I’d nearly gasped when he suddenly jerked out of his paralysis, as if he’d scared himself.
Then, seeing what looked like a tear escape the corner of his eye, I’d closed mine again so he wouldn’t catch me watching.
I’d fallen asleep again after that, then woken to find him sleeping in his chair, so peaceful and so freakin’ handsome I hadn’t wanted to disturb him.
I’d actually watched him sleep for half an hour before noticing him shiver. That’s when I got up and covered him in that old quilt.
And there it was. Hypocrisy at its best. I’d been pissed at him for sneaking into my house while I slept, and I’d been just as much of a creeper, watching him doze in his chair.
And then there was that kiss.
It hadn’t been tender. More like a collision of lips and teeth. But I hadn’t missed the passion behind it, or the hint of what could be.
This thought was followed by the unfortunate memory of my ungrateful voice, pinging around the walls of that cozy cabin nestled snug in the woods.
My voice was too loud and too shameful of a memory to ignore.
As was the hurt look on Sean’s face when I’d…
okay not exactly dissed his cabin, but definitely been less than complimentary about it.
Regret coiled in my heart. Maybe I couldn’t make Sean Murphy a permanent part of my life. But I could show my gratitude and apologize. At the very least, I should make that part right.