16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Now
When we turn the corner at the end of Theo’s long, private drive, I can’t help but be surprised at what I see. The two-story farmhouse isn’t a mansion, but it’s certainly not the humble cabin I envisioned. From what I can tell in the dark, it looks recently constructed, with a wraparound porch, an attached three-car garage, and chimneys on either side of the gabled roof.
We park in the garage, which is also occupied by shelving, some boxes, and a riding mower. I have long given up on wearing my heels; I climb out of his truck barefoot, letting the shoes dangle from my fingertips, and watch as he hoists my bags from the back. I quietly follow him through the interior garage door.
“I’ll show you the guest room first,” he says, leading me through a spacious kitchen and a cozy living room. I want to stop, to sink in these new surroundings and square them with the new image of Theo I’ve been piecing together in my mind, but he keeps moving, turning up a flight of carpeted stairs and making me follow.
“Did you build this house?”
“From the ground up,” Theo says proudly.
We emerge onto the landing. The hallway stretches in both directions, but Theo takes a right and steps into the first open door. “Flip the light on, will you?”
I feel along the wall for the light switch and do as he asks. The walls are plain and beige, the twin bed covered in a solid navy-blue duvet. The oak nightstand is empty aside from a small orb-shaped lamp. There’s no evidence, really, that the room has ever been used.
Theo puts my two suitcases down at the foot of the bed. As if reading my mind, he says, “I think you’re going to be the first person to sleep in here who isn’t drunk off their ass.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry. I changed the sheets.” He gestures to the closet in the corner. “There’s a few hangers in there if you want to put stuff up. There’s a bathroom down the hall and I don’t really use it, so feel free to take over in there.”
“I won’t be here long.” I let my shoes and purse drop to the carpeted floor. “Just until I figure something else out.”
“Well, as long as you need,” says Theo.
I cross to the closet and peer inside, acting as if I haven’t noticed the pity in his eyes. In those surreal, adrenaline-fueled moments after I tossed Daniel’s ring out the window, I didn’t ask if I could stay with Theo. He didn’t offer. But it was tacitly understood that I would be coming home with him, and so I directed him to my mom’s house, and we set off to grab my belongings.
I was haphazardly tossing things in my suitcase when Mom called for the first time. When I didn’t answer, she called a second time, and a third, and then left a voicemail. I didn’t bother listening to the audio of her scathing disapproval—I just turned my phone off and went back to Theo’s truck, which he drove to his house without any further discussion.
Now that the adrenaline of dumping Daniel has worn off, I'm left staring at the stark truth I don’t want to face: I haven’t had a penny of my own money in years. Every credit card I have access to belongs to Daniel or Mom. My name isn’t on the lease for the apartment we’ve been living in together. Being with Daniel these past few years made it so that I’ve always had a safety net. Now that it’s gone, I’m freefalling.
“I have a friend in New York.” My mind starts racing, trying to think of where I can possibly go from here. “I haven’t talked to her in a year or so—her fiancé was friends with Daniel, but she caught him cheating and they broke up. If I called her—”
“Sass.”
There are a few empty hangers in the closet, like Theo said. I grab them in one hand and toss them on the bed. “Last I heard, she was living in the East Village. I think she’d let me sleep on her couch. Or, well, I could use the money I have in my checking account to find a short-term rental and—”
“Sass.”
I step around him, reaching for one of my suitcases. “Brock and Dad live in Arkansas now. I don't talk to them much, but maybe—"
“ Nina .”
His tone is firm, bordering on sharp. I draw back, empty-handed, and snap, “What?”
“As long,” he repeats, stressing each word, “as you need.”
I try to keep the tension in my body—an act of stubborn, willful resistance—but his hazel gaze disarms me. Understanding passes through the air between us, and all I can say is, “Thank you.”
Theo nods, and I hoist a suitcase onto the bed. I fling it open and begin pulling out the clothes that I hurriedly tossed inside an hour ago. Even as I busy myself with laying the clothes flat on the bed, I’m still very aware of Theo’s presence next to me.
When all the clothes have been laid out and I’m ready to transfer them onto hangers, Theo is still staring at me. I slowly turn to face him. “Yes?”
“Did Daniel ever hurt you?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“He left a bruise on your arm,” Theo says, and I look down to see that there is, in fact, a small dark spot blooming on my skin. “And he said some pretty messed-up shit.”
I pick up a green silk top and mindlessly run my hand over the wrinkles. It’ll need to be ironed, but I won’t worry about that now. “He’s never grabbed me before,” I tell Theo, being honest. “And I’ve never seen him fly off the handle like that, either.”
Theo nods, but his expression is still troubled. “He’s not coming near my house. If you decide you want to work things out—”
“I don’t,” I interrupt. It’s as much for my benefit as his, because even though I know I’ve done the right thing, there will always be that part of me that yearns for stability, security, and—unfortunately—my mother's approval. “I’m not going to be with someone who hurts me.”
“Good. You shouldn’t.”
There’s an undercurrent of skepticism in his words, though. I resent the fact that we’re still so in tune with each other—that we both know there’s something the other isn’t saying. It would be so much simpler if we could both take this conversation at face value, say goodnight, and move on.
I toss aside the shirt I’m holding and turn on him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Just say it.”
“What?” Theo feigns confusion.
“You tell me. I’m a doormat? A sellout? I know it’s something like that.”
“No,” he says, the word a slow drawl. “No. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine .”
With a frustrated sigh, he threads his fingers together and rests them on top of his head. “All of this just doesn’t seem like you, okay? I know it’s been ten years—”
“Yes, it has been,” I snap. “We’ve been apart for a long time. This might be a surprise to you, but I haven’t been making my life choices based on whether eighteen-year-old Theo would’ve approved.”
“No,” Theo says sharply, “I think you’ve been making them based on whether Kelly would approve.”
I bite my tongue to keep the fuck off inside, since I’m standing in his guest room with nowhere else to go. But my voice still drips with venom when I say, “I’m tired. I’d like to go to bed now.”
“Okay.” Theo seems to sense that he’s pushed me to my limit and that now would be a good time to back off. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I turn back to the bed and resume shoving my clothes on hangers as quickly as possible. Theo’s footsteps retreat, and the door closes gently behind him, leaving me alone.
Later, when I’m laying in bed watching the ceiling fan rotate above me, my phone buzzes with a text from Theo.
I’m glad you’re here, it says.
I give it a few minutes before typing out a reply. You know Queen Kelly would NOT approve.
She sure wouldn’t, he replies. That’s how you know you’re in the right place.
***
Theo’s guest bed is exhilaratingly soft—or maybe I’m just excessively tired. Either way, I sleep like a rock through the night, and when the first beams of sunlight wake me, I stumble to the window and yank the curtains closed. Then I collapse back onto the mattress, letting it swallow me up, and remain dead to the world for another few hours.
When I wake up again, the LED clock on the nightstand reads 11:37. I groan into the pillow but force myself out of bed and down the hall to the bathroom. As I wrangle my hair into a bun and apply a light layer of makeup, I listen for any clue as to what Theo might be up to. The house is quiet, though, and when I go downstairs, I find that all the lights are off and he is nowhere to be seen.
In the kitchen, I get a glass of water and then slide onto a stool at the center island. I sit there for a minute, sipping my water and staring out the kitchen window at Theo’s backyard—rolling emerald, no fence, perfectly maintained—before heaving a sigh and powering on my phone.
The notifications come in one after the other, my phone vibrating several times in quick succession. When it’s done, I take stock of the damage: Six texts. Five missed calls. Two voicemails. All from my mother—apparently, Daniel meant it when he said he was done with me.
I scroll through her texts.
What is going on?
Answer your phone.
Don’t throw your life away like this.
Did you get cold feet? Theo Hoyt is not worth sacrificing your future. Call me and let’s talk about it.
I snort at her feeble attempt to sound understanding.
Are you planning to just leave my car out there in the middle of nowhere?
Nina Lynn Sullivan, call me back RIGHT NOW.
I roll my eyes and pull up the voicemails. The first one, which she left while I was back at her house packing, is a firm scolding: “I just spoke to Daniel and he told me what happened. I have no idea what you think you’re doing here, but he’s very upset with you, and at the very least, you owe him an apology. Really, you ought to be doing whatever it takes to fix things with him. This is childish behavior. It’s time to start acting like an adult.”
The second voicemail is from fifteen minutes after the final text, and it’s short: “I’m done with this. You’re on your own, Nina Lynn.”
“Crazy bitch,” I mutter as I delete the messages.
There is no communication from Daniel, and since I have no desire to change that, I set my phone to the side and study Theo’s kitchen. It’s neat and orderly: the counters clear of crumbs, the fridge bearing two plain silver magnets that hold nothing. There’s a small, older TV tucked into the corner next to a high-end mixer; it’s the only thing that doesn’t blend with the sleek, modern theme.
I wander into the living room, which is clean but not quite as meticulous as the kitchen. There’s a dark sectional facing the big-screen TV, a couple of throw blankets tossed haphazardly on the back, and a fireplace on the right side of the room. On the coffee table are several remotes and a tin of dominos, which triggers the memory of sitting in the backroom with Theo as he taught me how to play.
There’s a bookshelf beside the fireplace. It mostly has books on it—and there’s the Amelia Earhart biography he mentioned—but one shelf is full of picture frames. They’re packed in densely, three or four deep, and I have to step closer to study them.
Most of the pictures are of Theo, Cecil, and Randi; some have other relatives in the mix. A picture of Theo in a suit catches my eye, and it takes a minute for me to realize who’s standing beside him: Quinton, his best friend from high school. It’s definitely recent; neither of them look like the teenagers I remember. They’re beaming at the camera, each holding a glass of scotch, and, upon closer inspection, I see a silver band on Quinton’s ring finger.
“Wow,” I say out loud, and I wonder who he married.
I nudge that picture to the side in order to see the one behind it, and as soon as I do, my breath catches in my throat. It’s a picture of Theo and I when we were kids—eleven and twelve, maybe. Theo stands on a stool in an aisle of the store. I sit on the floor in front of him. Theo’s foot is lifted in the air, as if he’s about to step on my head, while I smile cluelessly at the camera.
Beside it is another picture of us. We’re younger in this one—maybe early elementary school. We sit on a bench at the park, each holding a blue slushie. We’re beaming with our mouths wipe open, dye coloring our lips and teeth.
I swallow, unsure what to make of the fact that Theo has framed pictures of us on display in his living room, and it’s only then that I take notice of my birthmark. It’s visible and obvious in both photos, but it’s not engulfing my features like I always imagined—like my mother always told me it did. The birthmark is one part of my face, and not even the part I noticed first.
“Snooping?”
The voice comes out of nowhere, making me jump out of my skin. I whirl around to see Theo standing in the doorway.
“You scared the shit out of me,” I accuse, trying to catch my bearings.
“Noticed that.”
He’s not wearing his work polo today; instead, he’s dressed in a fitted white t-shirt and athletic shorts, his baseball cap currently facing the front.
He looks really good.
“Have you been at work?” I ask.
“Yeah. I usually go in for a few hours on Saturday morning. I got your mom’s car towed while I was there.”
I make a startled sound, a cross between a laugh and a gasp. “What?”
Theo shrugs. “Told the guy my cameras out front aren’t working and I don’t know who it belonged to, but it had been there for days.” He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before turning to leave the room. “Come in here.”
After another glance at the photos, I follow him out into the kitchen, where the island is now covered with plastic grocery bags.
“I stopped by the store on my way home,” Theo says. “If there’s anything else you need, we can go back later.”
Skeptically, I eye the pile of bags on the counter. “It looks like you already bought one of everything they had.”
He shrugs. “Pretty close.”
“I won’t be here long,” I feel compelled to remind him.
“Yeah, I know,” he says dismissively. “This is my normal weekly grocery order, Sass. Don’t get a big head.”
There’s no way one person could eat all this food in one week, but I let him deflect. We begin unloading the bags, and it isn’t long before I realize that in front of us is a parade of every food I liked when he last knew me. Cheese crackers. Mini powdered donuts. Portabella mushrooms and fresh green beans. Butterfly shrimp. Strawberries. Peanut butter granola. And…
“Red Vines!”
Theo looks amused at my excitement. “I figured those were a safe bet, even if you don’t like this other stuff anymore.”
“I haven’t had them in forever.” I reach for the package and look up at him. “Can I have one?”
"Of course you can," he says. "I bought them for you.”
“Right.” I tear open the package and pull out a piece. I bite into it, and as soon as I get a hit of the cherry flavor, I want more. I scarf it down—unladylike, for sure—and barely let myself breath before shoving a second piece right behind it.
Theo looks at me like he wants to say something else, then shakes his head, seeming to decide against it. “What about this other stuff?” he asks. “Is this enough for you to eat for a while?”
I almost laugh. “My diet for the past few years has been mostly salad. This is plenty.”
His eyes drift over my figure, and I try not to give any indication that I’ve noticed. “Salad?”
“The official meal of rich guys’ wives and girlfriends everywhere.”
“You look like you’ve barely gained weight since high school.”
“It’s not about what you look like,” I say sagely, and eat another Red Vine. “You have to give the appearance of being on a diet at all times.”
Theo opens the fridge and begins shoving food inside. “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.”
It had never seemed stupid to me when I was trying to blend in at Daniel’s work dinners, but here, in Theo’s kitchen, shoveling licorice into my mouth, I have a hard time disagreeing.
We finish putting the groceries away, falling into an easy rhythm that reminds me of days at the store and which honestly should not be so natural after all this time.
Then Theo leaves again—to mow his parents’ lawn, he says—and I wave my half-empty bag of Red Vines at him. “ Thanks again.”
He smiles at me—not a smirk, but a genuine, soft smile. “Not a problem."