Chapter 9
Melly
Mel.
He says it the way he used to say it. Soft. Low. The kind of low that’s only ever been for me.
I can’t look at him. If I look at him, my face is going to do something it can’t take back.
So I look at the jack-o’-lantern instead, the lopsided one with the gap-tooth grin, and I watch the candle wobble inside it.
The porch swing creaks when he shifts his weight.
His thigh isn’t touching mine. There’s an inch of cold air between us, and I can feel the inch.
I’m in his jersey. Golding is across my shoulders. His number is on my back. I keep forgetting and then remembering does the same small violent thing in my chest each time.
Inside, a girl is laughing the way girls only laugh at one in the morning.
I make myself speak. “I can sleep on the couch.”
“No.”
“Blue —”
“Take the bed.”
“Blue, you don’t have to —”
“Mel.”
There it is again. The second time in two minutes, and I close my eyes because if I keep them open, the vodka is going to start talking for me.
Oh, bad idea. My head’s spinning, so I open my eyes and look at my hand in my lap and grab the hem of the jersey.
It’s so long on me, so I glance at his legs and wonder how he can fit this thing.
He’s well over six feet, and his legs are long.
My God, the length of his hip to his knee extends far out.
“Okay,” I mutter.
He nods. He doesn’t say good or thank you. He just nods.
We sit on that swing for another full minute. The chain creaks. The cold’s gotten into my legs in a real way now. My toes are numb.
I shiver.
He sees it and stands first. “Let’s get you inside.”
He holds the back door open. His other hand goes toward the small of my back — and then stops, the hand floating an inch off the jersey before he thinks better of it and lets it drop. I see the whole thing in my peripheral vision.
He almost did. He didn’t.
I walk through.
The kitchen hits me in the face — warm, loud, the smell of beer and Percy’s punch — and I’m three steps in before a hand grabs my arm.
“There you are.”
Mila.
She doesn’t look at Blue behind me.
“We’re calling an Uber back home.”
“My home?”
She nods. “Penelope’s getting her coat.”
I lean in and whisper, “I was going to stay here.”
She gives me a face I’ve been getting since high school. Eyebrows up. Mouth flat.
“Why,” she whispers.
“Gianna’s staying. Lucy’s staying. I thought —”
“No. No, no, no.”
I lean in again and whisper, “He promised he’d be different.”
She freezes. Her whole body. Her hands come up to my shoulders, and her halo bumps my cap. “Melly,” she says my name seriously. “You’re drunk.” She looks me dead in my eyes. “So is he. He’s not going to remember any of this in the morning. That is not the comfort you think it is —”
“He offered me his bed.”
Her eyes widen. She makes a small sound between oh and no and actually takes half a step toward Blue. I yank her back by the bodysuit.
I’m flustered as I say, “Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Just — please. Please don’t ruin this for me.”
She turns back with the full weight of her knowing face. “Are you serious right now? You broke up with Chase on Tuesday, Melly.”
I shake my head because this is different. “You know it’s always been him.”
Her whole face stops.
“So please,” I whisper. “Don’t say anything to him. I’m embarrassed enough already.”
I gesture down at the jersey, the mustache, the nylons, the entire ridiculous arrangement of my new Halloween costume.
She looks at me. She looks at the costume. She looks at me again.
“Fine. I’ll test a theory. I’m taking a picture of you two right now.” She turns and walks toward the basket by the door.
“Mila — now?”
“Right now.”
“Mila.”
She’s already pulling our phones out. She turns back toward the kitchen with the stride of a woman who’s decided on a plan.
Blue is leaning against the island. Still in the wings. His halo has slid down a little. Percy’s at the sink with a yellow sponge, washing punch cups. Blue looks up when Mila marches in.
“Melly, get over there.”
I look at her. She looks at me with a face that says I dare you. She holds the phone up and gives me a hurry up face.
I walk over to Blue. “Sorry,” I say under my breath.
She looks at the phone and says, “Smile.”
His arm goes around my shoulders before I’ve gotten next to him and tucks me into him. I let my body feel the warmth he’s radiating.
I look up at him. He’s not smiling. He’s looking down at me with an expression I can’t name.
“Smile. The least you can do is not look miserable.”
He says, “I’m not miserable.”
“Then stop looking like it.”
He huffs. I turn back to the camera and smile for real. My left hand comes up to rest on his chest like it’s junior prom. His heart is going way too fast for a man who looks this calm.
Mila takes a few pictures. I can see him smiling now. Mila lowers my phone, and Blue’s arm slides off my shoulders.
“Mila!” Penelope’s voice comes from the front door. “We have to go!”
Mila stares at me, handing over my phone. I stare back. She looks up at Blue and shakes her head, almost to herself. “I can’t believe we’re doing this again.” She looks down at me. “Call me when you wake up.”
She turns and leaves. I hear the front door click shut, and the house feels less tense.
The normal Blue Golding would have, by now, said leave with her.
He would have asked what did she mean by that.
The normal Blue Golding hates being put in a situation with me.
He would rather run. This Blue Golding pats Percy on the back like a man at the end of a long shift.
“We’re crashing, man. Night.”
Percy says, “Night.”
Blue looks at me, so I follow him.
When I reach the stairs, it hits me — the actual physical reality of what I’m about to do. Walking up the stairs of the Hawthorne House, in Blue’s jersey, after a party, drunk as can be, to sleep in Blue Golding’s bed.
Like how many dreams can come true in a single few weeks of my life?
Blue’s already up two steps when he realizes I’ve stopped. He turns around, looking like a tired, slightly drunk angel.
“Are you feeling okay?”
My head spins when I look up at him. “Yeah.”
He reaches for my hand. “Come here.”
I take it without thinking and let him guide me up the stairs. I chuckle when I look at the halo slipping on his head.
“This is so crazy,” I murmur, looking at him.
He meets my gaze. “Yeah.”
I lean on him and slur, “I planned to ignore you tonight.”
His eyes stay on mine with a slight smirk.
“But that went out the door.” I whistle low, using my hand as a paper airplane, flying it in front of his face. I throw my head back and laugh. “Now look at us.”
We climb each step slowly, drunkenly looking at each other.
“We need to stop meeting like this,” I say.
“Like what?”
“Drunk.”
His smirk grows to a smile. “We’ll see in the morning.”
We reach the top step, and he releases me. I miss his warmth immediately. We walk to his bedroom. He opens the door, and the room is exactly as we left it.
My white angel costume is folded on his dresser. He goes to his closet and pulls out a plain t-shirt with Camden Wolves across the chest. He holds it out without looking at me.
“If you don’t want to sleep in the jersey.”
I grab it. “Thanks.”
“Bathroom is across the hall.” He pauses. Tilts his head. “You think you’ll be sick?”
I shake my head. “Don’t think so.”
He crosses the room, grabs the small black trash can from beside his desk, and carries it to the side of the bed I’ll be sleeping on. Sets it down. Nudges it half an inch closer. “Just in case.”
I almost laugh. I almost cry. They are very close to each other right now.
“Thanks.”
He smiles. Once. Small.
“Get some sleep, Melly.”
“You too.”
The door closes behind him.
I don’t move for a full minute. I stand in the middle of his room with the t-shirt against my chest and just exist in this moment because I can’t even process what the hell is happening. The smell of him is heavier in here than it was on the porch.
I let myself look around. I don’t snoop. I just let my eyes go around the room, even as my head spins.
The bookshelf has three hockey biographies, two nonfiction histories, and one paperback novel that surprises me so much I tilt my head to read the title. Literary. Set in Ireland. I would have bet money against it.
There’s a notebook open on his desk in his handwriting. I don’t let my eyes focus.
His dresser has a small wooden frame on top of it.
It’s a family photo. His mom in the middle — his mom, who I met twice in my life, in her kitchen at a birthday party in seventh grade I wasn’t really invited to.
Around her, Devin and Mia and Lou. Lou’s doing bunny ears behind Mia’s head. Devin’s in a red football jersey, smug.
Blue isn’t in the photo. It must be a recent photo. I know he loves his younger siblings with everything he is.
I look at his mother’s face. She has the same eyes Blue has. The same crinkle at the corner. She had smiled at me in that kitchen and said you must be Melly. I’m still unsure what she meant by that.
I look away and sit down on the edge of his bed.
I take off his hat and set it on his nightstand.
I pull the jersey over my head. I fold it badly because my hands are shaking a little.
I pull the t-shirt over my head. This one’s enormous too.
It falls past my hips and the smell of him is sharper than the sheets, more recent, like he sleeps in it sometimes, and I have to sit with the collar against my nose for a second.
I crawl under the comforter and lie on my side. I stare at the wall.
He doesn’t know I broke up with Chase. I don’t want to tell him because I don’t want him to do the math. Tonight I just want this. He’s never been this nice to me before.
I close my eyes.
I’ve been tossing for a few minutes when a soft knock comes from the door.
“Melly?” his voice is soft.
I turn. “Yeah.”
The door opens an inch.
“I brought you water.”
I sit up. “Thank you.”
He comes in, still in the wings. He sets the glass on the nightstand quietly.