Chapter Four #3
before making their way through the foyer and greeting me. Chelsea
kisses me on the cheek and I give her a pat on the back. The way
she lingers makes me think she was looking for a hug, but after
everything that's happened, I don't want to give her the wrong
idea.
I've never given her an
inkling of a reason to think I was interested in anything other
than a friendship with her, and I was honestly stunned when Rory
announced that Chel's actions in that bathroom were because of her
feelings for me. Though I think her assertion that she was "in
love" with me was an exaggeration. And while Chel's apology was
followed—to my great relief—by her insistence that she was over her
"crush", I'd like to help her keep it that way.
Bits lingers in the
kitchen while I lead Chelsea and Chris outside to the rest of the
group. My sister was never Chelsea's biggest fan. Chelsea has a
particular personality, a bit of an acquired taste, and it isn't
for everyone. But Bits says she doesn't like what she calls
Chelsea's need to constantly be the center of attention. In my
sister's defense, it's fair assessment. Chelsea does like all eyes
on her. But I think Bits has been more sensitive to it since my
father left.
But Chelsea's attack on
Rory was the last nail in the coffin as far as Bits was concerned.
My sister connected with Rory immediately, not unlike myself, and
from that first time she came to my house for dinner, I was sure
she had a life-long fan. Well, maybe more than one.
When Bits heard about
Chelsea's attempt at "looking out" for me by taking pictures of
Rory changing and their subsequent brawl, she couldn't condemn
Chelsea fast enough. And what could I say? She was right. And
despite my encouragement of forgiveness, Bits seems about as
inclined as Rory does. Maybe even less so.
I turn to head back inside
and see if Bits is okay. She hasn't given me any reason to think
otherwise, this has just become a habit of mine ever since her
suicide attempt last summer. But as soon as I enter the kitchen, my
eyes lock on her.
Rory's here. Bit's is
hugging her hello. The bell didn't ring, so she must have arrived
just after Chelsea.
Warmth unfurls in my
chest, only slightly alleviating the constant weight there.
Something about seeing my sister's affection for Rory makes my
feelings seem even more justified. Like I'm not crazy for having
fallen so fucking deeply for her in such a short time.
Bits hugs Carl too, and
Rory's gaze slides to mine. My breath catches for a split second,
but I hide it. She's just so fucking beautiful. Her perfect lips
quirk up into an uncertain smile, and in this moment, all I want is
to offer her the reassurance to vanquish her
uncertainty.
My grin tells her how
happy I am to see her, though I suspect she might doubt my
sincerity. She knows I'm trying to make her feel comfortable, and I
hate that she doesn't know that my motivation doesn't mitigate my
affection for her.
I grab the water pitcher
from the counter so my hands are full when I greet them. It
prevents me from touching her. Or from drawing attention to the
fact that I'm carefully not
touching her.
Because I can't fucking
touch her.
I remind myself, again,
that this beautiful girl with eyes that somehow shine despite their
exhaustion, whose small smile makes my fucking heartbeat skitter,
is nothing more than a friend. I tell myself,
again, that I am okay
with this. That we are okay. That despite the pungent air of hopelessness,
everything is somehow going to be okay.
But if I
touch her…
Even the slightest brush
of our fingertips, and all bets would be off. My resolve is never
more than tenuous at best, and just one touch and I know all I
would be able to think about is touching her more… wrapping my arms around her,
kissing her.
And then what would I do?
Beg her to give us another shot? I pretty much begged her to give
us the first shot, and I have no one to blame but myself for
fucking it up. So yeah, no touching it is.
Bits and I lead Rory and
Carl out to the patio, I set the water on the table, and we all sit
down to eat. I make Rory a cup of coffee the way she likes it—light
and loaded with real sugar, none of that sweetener garbage—and hand
her the mug without a word. She smiles the first real smile she's
shown in weeks and the weight lifts marginally.
I look at her too intently
for too long a moment before I manage to pull my gaze away. But the
point was made. Just friends or something more, I'll never stop
looking out for her. And while I make every effort to fake
this just friends bullshit, I won't let her forget that.
Thea draws the girls into
a conversation about school since all but Carl are attending
college in Manhattan, and Carl will be less than an hour away at
Hofstra University here on Long Island.
Our moms chat about
something or other down at the other end of the table, completely
engrossed in their own conversation.
"I met my roommate,"
Chelsea says excitedly. "Well not met, but you know,
Facebooked."
"You'll be at FIT, right?"
Thea asks her. Chelsea's always been into fashion, so when she
applied early to the Fashion Institute of Technology, no one was
surprised. But right now, Rory looks as if she is. It hadn't
occurred to me that Rory didn't know Chelsea would be in the city
with us next year, and I blanche at my oversight.
But if she's taken off
guard, she recovers quickly, and I can't help my swell of pride at
her strength. Because I know she thinks what happened in Miami has
undone all her progress. But I know better. I've known it all
along—that she's stronger than she ever thought, and she's getting
stronger still.
"That's right. We can
choose our roommates or get one assigned. But I don't really like
the only other girl I know going, so I met some people in some
groups online, and this one girl seems really cool. So we requested
each other." Chelsea explains.
"What if you hate her?"
Danny asks.
"What if she hates
you?" I hear Bits mutter
under her breath, and I kick her under the table, grateful that no
one else heard. I need this brunch to go smoothly. Fortunately my
sister heeds my warning.
"Do you have a roommate
yet, Rory?" she asks, but Rory just shakes her head vaguely, less
than eager to partake too much in the group
conversation.
"Too bad Thea and Cap are
living together, or you could have roomed with her," Chelsea
observes, and I give her an encouraging smile. We had a talk
yesterday about how important it is to me that she make an effort
with Rory. And though she seems to think she has done her part by
apologizing in the first place, something that has never come easy
to Chelsea, she agreed to do her best.
Rory is obviously less
than thrilled to be socializing with Chelsea. Or at least it's
obvious to me. And I wait to see if she'll even respond, since the
last time Chelsea spoke to her she didn't exactly take the bait. I
hope that our talk had some effect on her, but if it didn't, I
don't want to push her further. I made my case at Andrew's and now
it's up to her what she wants to do.
"Yeah, I guess," she
replies quietly. It's a vague, barely-there response, but it's
something, and my chest lightens a bit more.
She is making an
effort for me. I feel a whisper of that heady
feeling she elicits whenever she grants me something, whether small
or significant, that she wouldn't give anyone else. Her confidence,
her trust, her touch, even just her smile. It's a dangerous thing
though, a bit like a drug, because even with just this small
taste, I already want more.
"Thea, maybe you know
someone else going to NYU rooming in the dorms? You know, that you
could introduce Rory to?" I ask. I want to do something for her
right now. Anything. It's a visceral need I can't control. And so I
find myself seeking her a college roommate.
Thea thinks a moment, her
lips pursed in the way they always are when she's
thinking.
"I don't think so. I mean,
I know a couple of other girls who are going, but I don't know that
you'd like them. They can be kinda bitchy," Thea
explains.
"Uh—" Rory begins to
respond, but I interrupt without even meaning to open my
mouth.
"She doesn't need to room
with mean girls, Thea." My voice comes out a bit reproachful, and I
know it's ridiculous since she hadn't actually suggested she room
with them. The opposite, in fact.
Thea narrows her eyes at
me, but doesn't respond to my tone. Instead, she addresses
Rory.
"Did you join any of the
incoming freshman groups on Facebook?" she asks.
Rory shakes her head. "I
don't have Facebook… or any social media accounts," she adds before
anyone can ask. I know this, of course. I know she had to delete
all of her accounts after she accused that motherfucking bastard
of abusing her last year. After all of her
friends turned on her, and harassed her to the point where she had
to fucking move across the country. "But… I don't need a roommate.
I've requested a single."
Of course she did. Her
nightmares. I feel myself getting riled up. It's a familiar
feeling. I get angry any time I think about what she went through.
But I keep my temper in check and take a long sip of orange juice
to calm myself.
I hate that Rory lost so
much of herself because of him. Her family was destroyed, her
friendships. She lost her connection to her hometown, to her
childhood, and it just seems so fucking unfair that she lost this
connection too. I'm not especially active on social networking
sites, but I do find some of them useful, and in this day and age,
for our generation, it's used for almost everything. Case in point:
meeting college classmates.
"Maybe you should join
Facebook," I suggest. "Even if you don't need a roommate, it
couldn't hurt to meet some people."
Rory glares at me, and
part of me withers at her ire. But if there's anything I can help
fix for her, I have to do it.