Chapter Fourteen
Fourteen
LINCOLN, NE
It only took four hours in the front seat for Phoebe to take it upon herself to update the route.
“I’m older, now,” she’d said, as if talking about years passing. “I’ve changed.”
Dex, surprisingly acquiescent, allowed her to peruse what I assumed was a very detailed spreadsheet on his phone.
A mistake, seeing as she immediately got bored and began snooping.
She tittered over his home screen being organized in alphabetical order, and the fact that the only apps he had were Spotify (Premium) and Mario Kart (she downloaded it and friended herself from his account).
Every time he got a text, she read it aloud, along with who it was from and her own commentary (“BG Brad says, ‘Sounds cool.’ What does the BG stand for? Big Gay Brad?”).
I spent four hours in the back seat pretending to sleep, pretending not to listen to Phoebe teasing Dex, or the soft rhythm of Dex’s fingers drumming the wheel along to a Sonic Youth song, or their conversation about which fast-food restaurant had the best fries, or Dex threatening to throw Phoebe’s phone out the window when she added “Blue (Da Ba Dee)” to the road trip playlist and her unrestrained laughter in response.
An easiness existed between them—the bewilderment I felt about it was overwhelmed by blistering relief.
Phoebe sounded light and cheerful. Like a kid.
And as much as I wanted her to sound that way when she talked to me, that she sounded that way at all was a tremendous step forward.
I contemplated this with my eyes shut. I contemplated a lot of things, like the look Phoebe gave me when I told her to take the front so I could nap, as if she knew I was full to the brim with shit, or no matter how many times I swished mouthwash around my mouth this morning, I could still taste strawberry.
How every so often, in the midst of an extended silence, Phoebe would giggle, and I’d sneak a peek, wondering what I’d missed, and Dex’s eyes would meet mine in the rearview mirror, anticipating it.
And when I shut my eyes again, he didn’t call me out.
I wasn’t mad, like he thought. I’d skipped the breakfast buffet to steal a whopping thirty minutes of sleep and then retreated to the back seat because close proximity seemed impossible, and I hadn’t said a word to him, but it wasn’t bitterness or even embarrassment. I just felt really, really stupid.
I had a crush. Because that’s what it was, the very definition of the weight bearing down on my lungs when Dex’s eyes met mine, the inevitable plunge resulting in irreparable brokenness—spirits, hopes, heart.
I hadn’t felt this dopey since middle school.
Shawn and I met through a mutual friend and we were just…
together. No tension, no pining, no sick swirling sensation thundering through my gut at the mere thought of him.
I would’ve married the man, but now I had to question whether or not I had felt anything for him, even at our best.
A depressing thought, though not nearly as depressing as the realization that struck somewhere around 4 A.M.: Phoebe’s goal for this trip was a happily ever after, and it wasn’t supposed to include me.
Here I’d been making eyes at Dex and doing unspeakable things in public elevators, basically throwing middle fingers in the air.
Did I believe I held the ability to dismantle the plan?
No. Dex made it clear that what happened between us was a mistake.
But the what-ifs came charging in: What if we’d slept together and Phoebe woke up before I got back to the room?
What if he left a mark on me, or vice versa, and she put two and two together?
What if a pervy elevator attendant posted the footage on YouTube and someone sent it to Phoebe?
I’d jeopardized my own happiness, but jeopardizing Phoebe’s hit so much harder. I hated myself.
“Your mom is calling,” Phoebe said, turning down the unfamiliar song blasting from the speakers. I inched an eye open, noting the tension in Dex’s shoulders and the pointed silence as he reached over to ignore the call. “Why won’t you talk to your mom?”
Wind whistled through the window. When Dex answered, his voice had chilled. “I will talk to her. Later.”
“You’ve ignored, like, six calls since we left Boston.”
“Remember when we weren’t getting to know each other? That was fun, right?”
“I know it’s none of my business, but as someone who would kill to have parents pestering me with phone calls, maybe you should, like, answer.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“You have Violet,” Dex said. “That’s something.”
She huffed. “Right. Because that’s the same thing.”
The sting was immediately overshadowed by Dex’s words: “You’re such an asshole.”
“I’m an asshole?” Phoebe repeated. I kept my eyes shut, but everything in me screamed to sit up and defend my sister.
“Yeah, you are. You’re lucky she hasn’t thrown you out on the side of the highway.”
“It’s sister stuff. You wouldn’t get it.”
“It’s sister stuff when you treat her like shit for asking a question?”
“Pot calling the kettle black much?” She resorted to grumbling, so I knew she’d turned up the attitude to eleven. “You’re a million times worse than me.”
“I don’t matter to her,” he replied. A tightness gripped my throat—I couldn’t swallow. “You are her sister and you fight her on every little thing. Fuck, man. Don’t you think she’s tired?”
“That’s not…” Phoebe growled under her breath. “My dad died. I have a right to be pissed.”
“You’re not the only one who lost him.”
Something about this simple statement rearranged my insides.
I’d spent the last nine months shoving my own grief aside to abide my sister’s, and it hadn’t helped anyone: Phoebe was still angry and I was a wreck.
What would our life look like if I’d felt everything upfront instead of putting on a pathetic facade that ruined us both? I didn’t want to think about it.
“I know,” Phoebe mumbled. “I know, okay? Sometimes I hear myself being a dick and I want to stop but I can’t.
And she just… She didn’t have to take me.
At the hospital, there was this counselor lady and at one point, she took Violet outside to talk about her options.
About me. She could either take me or send me to Oklahoma to live with our great-aunt.
And Violet didn’t even hesitate. Like, it wasn’t a choice at all.
It’s just how it was. Even though it fucked up her entire life.
And I can’t stop being a bitch. She should throw me out on the highway. ”
I had to shift onto my side and press my face into the leather so I wouldn’t start loudly sobbing in the back seat.
It wasn’t surprising that Phoebe felt this way—I’d suspected all along the transition was harder on her than it was on me, but hearing her say it out loud demolished me.
More than anything, I wished she felt comfortable saying these things to me.
But Dex knew I was awake and he poked her anyway, as if he wanted me to hear it. As if he knew I needed to.
There was so much Phoebe and I had to say to each other. I had no idea how to start.
“I think that she hasn’t is proof she understands.
You don’t mean it,” he said quietly. This must’ve been how he sounded when he spoke to the kids he worked with, reminiscent of the gentle voice I used with my students when they had a hard time with a lesson.
“You’re a kid—you’re dealing with an impossible situation the best you can. ”
“I hope this isn’t my best,” Phoebe muttered.
He snorted. “There’s always tomorrow.”
A tear slipped out. How many tomorrows would it take for Phoebe to open up to me the way she had with Dex?
Was it possible? Sometimes I wanted to shake her and scream, We’re in this together!
Not the most optimistic of thoughts, but I figured my unfailing ability to hold it in had to count for something.
“You’re not gonna tell Violet I said all that, are you?” Phoebe asked.
“Nope.”
“Because you guys were getting pretty real yesterday,” she went on casually.
Dex cleared his throat. “Not really.”
“Dude, she spilled her guts. It was kinda gross.” The shutter of her camera cut into the moment. Dex cursed under his breath. Phoebe went on, “Maybe you should tell me what happened with you and Catalina, so we’re even. Mutually assured destruction or whatever.”
“That’s not what mutually assured destruction is.”
“Maybe you should tell me anyway.” His silence prompted a defeated sigh from Phoebe. “Just… don’t tell Vi. Please?”
“There’s this thing I do where I mind my own business. It’s a revolutionary approach to the world, but…”
Phoebe groaned, shifting into laughter. “You’re such a dork. I thought you were an asshole like me.”
“It’ll come back if you make me stop at another Waffle House,” he said, and she laughed again.
“Blasphemy! Waffle House is amazing!”
“Maybe to someone with extremely low standards.”
“You’re an extremely low standard.”
Their heated debate lasted until the next gas stop. I kept my face hidden in the seat until the tears dried.
“So.” Arden looked at me like she wasn’t so much clairvoyant as being fed intel by a PI. “You’re in love with him.”
My phone clattered to the floor. I scrambled for it, giving our hotel room a quick scan even though Phoebe had gone with Dex to get dinner down the street. “God,” I said, sinking into the edge of the plush bed. “What? No. That’s so—What if Phoebe was here when you said that? What would she think?”
“I knew you wouldn’t talk to me unless she was out of earshot,” she replied. She must’ve propped her phone up because she was lounging on her couch, arms crossed, resembling a hard-assed therapist. “I know you. I knew what was up the second you got weird last night.”
I rubbed my nose. “I didn’t get weird.”
“You mentioned someone hitting on Dex and I heard your heart break in real time.”
“Bullshit.”
“Tell me you’re not in love with him,” she challenged. “I dare you. Right now.”