46
I don’t know what it says about me that one conversation with Sam undoes my resolve regarding Oliver. Sorry, that’s a lie—I know exactly what it means. Sam’s usurped Oliver’s position of importance in my life, and I can’t tell whether that’s a good or a bad thing. Maybe both, but it’s definitely and absolutely terrifying, all the while being a commentary on the irrelevance of time in love.
I think Oliver’s been usurped before. I probably would have put Storm before him, but they never met so I never had to. It wasn’t even something I ever consciously considered, and definitely never in the ways it might practically roll out in my life. Now it’s one of my primary considerations.
Have you ever felt like maybe your life was about to change? I have a few times.
The time Beckett walked into my room.
The time I was dragged out of that room by my mom.
The time Storm knocked on my front door.
The morning I woke up next to Sam Penny.
You get this foreboding sense, somewhere deep inside of you…it’s guttural. Deeper than subconscious, more tangible than the speculative “universe” guiding you—maybe it’s a slip in time, or maybe it’s just pure instinct.
And you just know…after this thing…everything’s going to be different.
536 Esplanade Ave, Apartment B. That’s the address of the woman. The whole house is painted a light, sea-foamy green, white trimmings and dark green shutters. It’s pretty. I like it. My mom would hate it.
Both Oliver and I look at Tennyson, who’s just staring at the door, trepidation all over his face. He knows. He can feel it too, that everything is about to change.
Sam’s a few feet behind us, farther away than I’d like him to be—but what can we do here? I glance back at him to steady myself. The left side of his perfect mouth tugs upward and he gives me a quick wink, which was bad of him to do, but it was admittedly weak of me to look at him in the first place. I know doing it was incredibly revealing, but I’m relying on my brothers being too absorbed in their own concerns to pick up on anything, and I needed the assurance.
“You do it.” I elbow Tennyson.
He breaths in and out through his nose once, jaw clenched, lips pressed tight together—and then he knocks.
I was sort of expecting a quiet, warm-up knock, but it’s loud. That knock means business; there’s no pussyfooting around with the knock.
There’s movement behind the door, and I feel myself straighten up.
It opens, and I pull my head back in surprise.
She’s young. My age, maybe a tiny bit older. Dark brown hair, brown skin, big brown eyes. Probably biracial. Undeniably gorgeous.
She raises her big, bold eyebrows inquisitively. “Can I help you?”
No one says anything for a good four seconds.
“Are you Alexis Beauchêne?” Tennyson finally asks.
AU4. Her brows lower in confusion, but not utter. She knows the name; I can tell that much.
“No,” she says, looking at us suspiciously.
“Well, does she live here?” Oliver asks, shrugging.
AU4 again. “Look, who are you?”
I suspect then, Alexis Beauchêne does in fact live here. I step forward. “Do you know William Carter?” I ask.
AU1 and AU24. An inner brow lift and a nervous pressing of the lips together—so that’s a hard yes. “Um—”
“Are you having an affair with him?” I ask before she has time to answer.
Immediately her brows go low and her mouth pulls open—disgust. AU9. AU16.
“No.” She eyes me, annoyed.
“Look.” Tennyson steps forward. “Where can we find Alexis? We need to talk to her.”
“Why?” She folds her arms over her chest. It’s both defensive and creating a boundary.
Oliver frowns. “We just do!”
Her body language tells me we’re not going to get anywhere with her like this. Her feet are firm and planted apart on the ground, her arms are still folded over her chest, and she’s blocking the doorway. She knows something, or she’s protecting someone.
I nod my chin behind her. “Is she in there?”
She shakes her head, annoyed, and gestures to the street. “You need to leave.”
I watch her for a few seconds. “He’s dead,” I announce rather unceremoniously, as is my way, apparently—but this time, I do it on purpose, so I can watch the way her face moves with the news. It all goes slack, except her eyebrows, which lift in shock. She blinks a lot.
“What?” she whispers. “I—”
She steadies herself against the doorframe. She has an emotional connection with our dad, that’s for sure. You don’t react like that to a stranger’s death.
“He’s our father, by the way,” I say, and our eyes lock in this funny way.
She mutters something in French under her breath, then looks between me and my brothers with these sort of glazed-over eyes. “When?”
“Two Fridays ago.”
“Oh, mon dieu.” She shakes her head again—breathing quickened. This girl really knew our dad. Though nothing about her behavior makes me think their relationship is sexual, and thank God because, again, she looks about our age.
“Funeral was on Monday,” Tennyson tells her.
She lifts her hand to her face in quiet shock. “Oh, seigneur.”
We all wait in silence for a few moments, watching this stranger grieve our father. It’s so peculiar and so detached that I fight all my impulses to turn around and find Sam’s eyes to ground me like I know they would if I’d let them.
“Where is she?” I ask again, trying to stay focused.
The girl stares at me for a few long seconds, before she finally says, “Out of town.”
“Till when?”
She opens her mouth and nothing comes out.
“Can you contact her?” I ask, getting impatient. “Get her to come back?”
“Yes.” She nods, barely. “Um—tomorrow. If you give me your number, I’ll—”
Tennyson hands her his business card before she can even get her sentence all the way out. He would have business cards, wouldn’t he?
She glances down at the card and then back at my brother.
“I’ll text you later after I—” the girl’s voice trails off again.
Tennyson nods anyway. “Okay.”
I’m the first to turn away from her.
Walking down the steps, my arm brushes against Sam’s, and it burns me with this confusing want and sadness.
“I’m sorry,” she calls after us. “I’m so sorry. Your father was such a good man…”
I look back up at her. “What’s your name?”
“Maya.”
I press my tongue into my bottom lip. “Maya, I think we knew very different men.”