Chapter Eighteen
“You look good.” Andy shouted over the thumping base that was radiating through Paul’s packed living room.
I looked down at my brown floorlength skirt and crop top. It was the most casual I’d dressed in a long time. I hadn’t even pinned my hair up, and I’d taken my usual heavy makeup off when I got home from dropping the girls off at Lindsey’s house, replacing it with only mascara and a clear lip gloss.
“Thanks.” I said, too tired to add any infliction to it.
“You kind of look like your step mom without all the makeup,” he added like it was a compliment.
I wanted to tell him it was because my step mother looked like my real mother—dark wavy hair, olive skin, and hazel eyes. I wanted to tell him I could barely remember what my real mother looked like, but I’d been haunted by her every time I looked in the mirror.
I wanted to kick him.
“Hey!” Andy shouted, raising his hand in the direction of the kitchen where I spotted Jack waving back, Emily beside him in a dress too short for the weather outside.
We hadn’t spoken since the incident at the store.
Andy dragged me toward the kitchen, his fingers kneading Jack’s shoulder gently.
“Why do you look so glum, man?” The two of them standing next to each other could’ve passed as brothers.
Their sandy blonde hair, bright eyes, and strong jaws attached to large frames could’ve been a Calvin Klein ad all on their own, but were instead wasted in the dim lighting of Paul’s kitchen.
“I’m just tired.” Jack said, flashing a wide smile that showed off his perfect teeth. Jack was a lot like Andy in having a—usually—golden-retriever personality. Though I thought he was probably a lot more emotionally mature than Andy.
“I’m going to step outside to smoke,” Jack said despite his eyes already being red and glossy. He bent to kiss Emily on the cheek before stepping out of Andy’s grasp.
“Could I come with you?” I asked.
Andy chuckled, “You don’t smoke.”
“I just need a break from the music,” I assured him. “I’ll find you.”
He nodded, and I turned back to Jack, who was waiting for me at the edge of the kitchen. His large frame parted the crowd fairly easily as we made our way through the house to the front door.
A few people were in the driveway to our left but it was relatively quiet outside. We sat on the top step, and Jack pulled an Altoids case from his pocket. When he flipped it open there were a few joints and a purple lighter inside.
“You’ve turned into a real pot head lately,” I said, taunting.
He shook his head. “Maybe. But it’s better than being anxious all the time.”
I nodded in understanding as he set the joint between his lips to light it.
“How are you? WIth everything?” I asked, trying to sound like I meant it. I hadn’t had a chance to have a real conversation with Jack about his father who was recently diagnosed with cancer.
Jack was planning to take a year off after we graduated to stay home to help his mother take care of things, but after he blew out his knee on the field at the beginning of the season, I wondered if he still planned to go to college at all.
He shrugged and flashed me another smile, his dimples going so deep it looked like it hurt. “The world keeps spinning, and I just keep holding on.”
I nodded sympathetically. I wanted to tell Jack that I knew what it was like to have a parent who was sick—who couldn’t be saved from the horrors of their own biology.
I wanted to shout that I knew the pain of knowing you’d lose a parent well before they left, and that he should take some comfort in knowing that at least when his father was gone, it would not be because he wanted to leave. Instead, I kept my mouth shut.
We sat there for a few minutes in silence, the people in the driveway meandering their way up, stepping between us to go into the house.
I kept my voice low even after the door shut behind us. “Could I ask you something personal?”
Jack turned to me with raised eyebrows as he took a long drag from the joint.
“Why do you stay with her?” I finally asked.
He held the smoke in his lungs, offering the joint to me in question, before exhaling. I brought it to my mouth but hesitated, not wanting to miss anything in his expression.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Jack had never been good at playing coy.
“I know you know.” I said before taking a pull from the joint.
“Know what?” he asked slowly. I went into a coughing fit and handed the joint back to him. He laughed, patting me on the back.
“That she’s gay, dummy,” I said when I could breathe again.
“Oh. That.” He let out a long breath, putting the joint out against the step. “I love her,” he answered like it was the only one there could be.
I frowned, my thoughts already growing cloudy. “Even though she doesn’t love you?”
“There are all kinds of love,” Jack said, brushing the ash off the porch.
“Doesn’t it hurt though? To know that you can’t have her the way you deserve?”
He shook his head, giving me a lopsided grin. “I don’t deserve her just because I want her, Lola. And it wouldn’t be fair for me to want her in any way she wasn’t willing to give me. Besides, this isn’t as one-sided as it looks.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you coming out to me right now, Jack?”
He barked out a laugh. “No. I just meant the situation isn’t as bad as it looks from the outside.
Emily and I have always had a different kind of relationship.
We understand each other in a way most people never get—even when romance is involved.
I love her like a sister, not like how you love Andy. ”
I nodded, trying to make sense of that. I guess I took too long to respond because he asked, “Do you still love him?”
I hadn’t realized I was staring across the street at the outline of August’s house until Jack poked me gently in the side, drawing my attention back to him.
“I don’t know,” I said before I could think better of it. I was suddenly reminded of why I didn’t smoke—because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when I did.
Jack huffed a short laugh. “Well, shit.”
“Please don’t tell him I said that,” I blurted. “I’m just high.”
Jack winked at me as he said, “It’ll stay between us.”
I studied his face for a moment. There was something perpetually boyish about his features that betrayed his ability to speak like he was a decade older than the rest of us.
“You should stay away from Penelope,” I said before the thought had fully formed in my mind.
He seemed surprised by this. “Why would you say that?”
“Because whatever is going on between the two of you is pissing Emily off. And I think she’s the last person on earth I’d want to piss off.”
Jack let out a humorless laugh. “You’re not wrong. Emily could be a serial killer and none of us would ever know it. Thanks for the heads up.”
“I could know it, and she’d still convince me she was in the right,” I said, more in awe of her than in judgement.
I got up then, not fully aware of my body as I walked across the yard.
“Where are you going?” Jack called from behind me.
“For a walk. I’ll be back in a bit.” I made it to the road before I heard the door open and shut behind me.
I crossed the street under the glow of the street lights and slipped into August’s yard.
On the other side of his garage I found a garden bed, picked a few heavy chunks of mulch from it and tossed them as high as I could at the square of light perched at the second story.
It took a few tries before I hit it, then a few more before I saw his silhouette appear in the window.
He shoved the glass open and stuck his head out. “Lola?” he called into the darkness.
“You didn’t text me back today,” I shouted, perhaps a bit too loud.
“Are you drunk?” he said in a whisper that sounded angry.
I shook my head dramatically, loving the feel of my hair falling over my face. “Let me in,” I whisper-shouted.
He shut the window. I stood there for what felt like an eternity before I heard the whirl of the garage door opening. When I stepped around the corner, August was there, the outline of him dark and looming inside the open space.
“Did you drive?” His whole body was tight with irritation..
“No,” I said, pointing across the street. He leaned out to peer at the house all lit up like Christmas across the street. He rolled his eyes though his shoulders relaxed before he wrapped gentle fingers around my wrist.
August led me up the steps to his room, and even the dim lamplight was harsh against my eyes. He knelt instantly and lifted my long skirt to undo the clasp of my heel. His fingertips brushing against my ankle sent a wave of electric heat up my leg.
“Stop,” I breathed, stepping away from him.
He looked up at me, exasperated. I lifted my foot and undid the strap myself. When I had both shoes off, he took them from me slowly, placing them by the door.
He stayed there, kneeling in front of me like he was waiting on me to knight him.
His green irises barely visible with the size of his pupils drinking me in.
His throat worked and I couldn’t tell if it was in impatience or desire.
I didn’t trust myself in that position, my fingers were desperate to rake themselves through his dark curls, so I lowered myself next to him instead.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“For what?”
My chest tightened with the amount of apathy in his voice.
I searched my mind, unsure where to start. I might have said as much out loud because August said, “Start with Penelope.”
“I didn’t know Emily was going to do that,” I blurted desperately.
“But you knew they’d do something,” he pressed.
“Not today. I didn’t even know she worked there when I went in. They didn’t tell me anything, August, I swear,” I pleaded.
He thought it over, then nodded. “Is there something else?” he asked wearily.
“I was honest with someone else.” I thought I might throw up.
His brow puckered as he searched my eyes. “You’re really stoned, huh?”
I shook my head. “I only took one hit.”