15. now
now
I’m here early. When I left my apartment, it seemed like a good idea.
I could get my food, find a table I liked, and orient myself before having to face Atlas.
Now, I feel stupid. I’ve only given myself extra time to worry and overthink and spiral, all while sitting alone in the middle of a busy cafeteria.
People probably think I don’t have friends.
My phone buzzes. I shove my tray to the side and read Hayden’s message.
should be home around seven. want to get pizza?
Sure.
Also, I’m about to meet with Atlas because we’re going to do Nat’s list together. Don’t worry, I already told him we probably won’t be friends again and that we definitely won’t ever be more than friends.
It sounds childish, but I send it anyway.
The little typing bubbles pop up beneath my message.
I roll my lips together as I wait and wait and wait for her reply.
The bubbles abruptly disappear, replaced with a giant, grinning picture of Hayden.
She’s calling me, and I’m debating whether to answer when a tray knocks against mine.
Atlas slides into the seat across from me.
Sorry, I’ll call you later!
“How long have you been here?” Atlas asks, barely holding back a smile. He looks good today, of course. He always looks good. His dark hair is carefully tousled, and he’s wearing a navy shirt. He’s cleanly shaven, and I decide that’s why my attention keeps snagging on his lips.
“Only a couple minutes.” I grab the folder from the bench and place it on the table. Rather than meeting his knowing gaze, I take out my edited version of Nat’s final list. “Thanks for meeting me, by the way. I figured this would be easier to coordinate in person.”
I slide the list between us, and he silently looks over my revisions.
Even before he’s finished, my cheeks flare with heat.
I’m exposing too much, needlessly embarrassing myself.
Number six, stop running. Who even says that?
But creating an updated version, where I put some other task for number six, felt ingenuous.
Worse, it felt like running, the exact thing I’m supposed to be resolving.
Thankfully, Atlas doesn’t comment on number six at all. Instead, he taps his name, written on the seventh line.
“My parents will be devastated. Phoebe too.” He’s smiling as he says it. “They’ve missed you too, you know.”
I swallow. I know he’s teasing me—at least, I think he’s teasing me—but the guilt clenches all the same. Before I spiral too far, Atlas speaks again.
“Maybe you should add something for number eight. I mean, she had the number there and everything.”
“Maybe…” Adjusting her list was one thing. Unavoidable, really, since I couldn’t stop hanging out with someone I’ve hardly met. Adding to it feels like a betrayal somehow. “Let’s just start with the seven.”
“Well, Bumbershoot will be easy.” Atlas moves the list on top of the folder, making room for his tray in front of him.
While I opted for pasta with red sauce and a salad I probably won’t eat, he got two hamburgers and a heaping of French fries.
“I checked the dates. That’s at the end of this month. ”
“Yeah, I was thinking we’d do that last.” I take a bite of pasta and quickly regret my choice of food. I’m not cultured enough to eat pasta without looking like a doofus. It takes me three times to get the spaghetti on my fork properly, just to avoid slurping the noodles.
Salad it is, I guess.
“That’s only a month to do everything else.” Atlas glances at the list again. “You think that’s enough time?”
“I mean, we don’t want to go skinny dipping in October.” My cheeks heat, because, duh, I’m talking about us doing something naked together. Not a big deal. We’re both twenty-one, and well, we have seen each other naked. We’ll go at night too, no need to actually see Atlas’s penis.
Stop thinking about his penis.
“We can plan a weekend trip for Cannon Beach,” Atlas says, tapping the third item. He doesn’t seem at all flustered by the fact we’re going to swim naked together.
Maybe because I made it clear we’ll never go there again.
Maybe because he’s sleeping with that girl from our piano lecture.
Or maybe because he doesn’t want to sleep with me anymore.
“What sport are you thinking?” he asks.
Naked swimming, I want to say. What I actually say is: “I don’t know. Maybe basketball? Since you already know how to play, you could teach me. Right?”
He stares at me, unblinking. The slight dusting of pink is back, but he doesn’t break eye contact.
Even when I’ve lowered my eyes to the list, his remain on me.
He used to play basketball all the time in high school with Ryan.
The boys’ coach desperately wanted Atlas to join their team, but he always refused.
People have been asking whether I play basketball my whole life, he’d told me once. I’m tall so they assume I’ll be good at it. It’s too much pressure. Besides, I like swimming.
Back then, I’d teased him. I thought his explanation was silly. Now, for whatever reason, I get it. I swallow, trying to shake the past off like an itchy blanket. I’m not certain it works, but I look up at Atlas with the most unbothered expression I can muster.
“Or should we pick a sport you haven’t done too?” I ask. “We could try golf, I guess.”
“Basketball is good,” he says with a decisive nod. “I’ll teach you how to play, and I won’t hold it against you when you lose your temper.”
“I won’t lose my temper. I’m not that competitive anymore.” I roll my eyes. “Believe it or not, I’ve evolved since we were sixteen.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed.” Atlas mutters. His attention briefly moves over me, eyes dark with desire. Even once he’s returned to the list, the tips of his ears are tinged pink.
My stomach swoops. This is the closest he’s come to acknowledging he’s still attracted to me. I force myself to focus on Nat’s list. Flipping it to its blank side, I quickly jot out a timeline.
Week One: Try a new sport
Week Two: Cannon Beach road trip (plus skinny dipping?)
Week Three: Do something we’ve never done before (ideas??)
Week Four: Bumbershoot Music Festival
“What do you think?” I slide the list across the table. Atlas has already devoured his first burger and he’s a decent way into his second. Meanwhile, I haven’t had another bite. My salad has only grown less appealing the longer I’ve sat here.
“Looks good.” He pauses to eat a fry, chewing slowly. “Plenty of time to figure out what you want to do for week three.”
I nod and tuck the list back into its folder.
We’ve only been sitting here for ten minutes, and we already have a tentative schedule in place.
This took far less time than I expected, and now we’re stuck looking at each other.
I could have proposed any schedule, and he would have agreed, so why did I ask him to meet me in person?
Because you wanted an excuse to see him, a voice taunts within my mind. Because you didn’t want him to go to lunch with that girl from Advanced Functional Piano.
“Phoebe and Todd are all moved into their place,” Atlas says after a lull of quiet. He’s cleared his plate, as if by magic. He holds the last remaining fry and pops it into his mouth. “Got the dog run installed too.”
I didn’t know Phoebe and her new husband have a house.
I didn’t know they have a dog. I can’t decide whether Atlas is aware of that, or whether he thinks I’m keeping tabs on his entire family.
Admitting I haven’t kept up on his sister feels too much like admitting I’ve only been keeping up with him.
“Are they staying in Idaho?” It’s weird talking about his family, this all-too-familiar group of strangers. Sixteen-year-old me would be absolutely shocked at how little twenty-one-year-old me knows about the Blake family. Back then, I dreamt of neighboring houses and weekly Sunday dinners.
“Nah, Todd wanted to be closer to his family. They’re in Wyoming now.” His mouth quirks as he looks at me. Now that I’ve put away Nat’s list, there’s nothing else for me to focus on. Not unless I want to start shoveling pasta in my mouth and look like an uncivilized cave dweller.
“Oh, nice.” I swallow. Atlas seems comfortable in the silence that falls over us, but I can’t stop fidgeting.
I’m desperate for something else to say, something to end the stretching quiet.
When I finally come up with a question, I regret asking before it’s fully left my mouth.
“Are you dating that girl from class? The brunette?”
Atlas’s mouth parts in surprise. And of course, what an unhinged, weird thing for me to ask. Of all the topics that exist in the universe, that was one of the worst. Hell, even bringing up Nat’s disappearance would be less awkward than this.
“Riley?” he asks. When I nod, a slow smile breaks across his face. He’s full-on grinning at me, eyes creased at the edges. Smug. The asshole looks smug.
“Uh, yeah. I think that’s her name.” My mind is working too slowly. Surely there’s a way to make this less weird, but if there is, I’m nowhere near finding it.
“No, I’m not dating Riley,” he says. When I don’t say anything more—because really, what is there to say at this point?—he tilts his head, leaning closer. That damn, smug smile is firmly in place. “I’m not dating anyone, Violet.”
“Okay.” I stab a forkful of salad and take an oversized bite. I do it to buy time, to try to close this conversation I so horridly opened.
“I’m single,” he adds. “Completely available.”
“And I’m completely uninterested.” I’m chewing my first bite, but I stab another forkful of salad.
“Of course.” He’s smiling at me like we’ve got an unspoken secret between us.
It’s my fault for bringing up Riley, and now he’s looking at me like there’s a chance.
It’s enough to kill me, to send my heart into cardiac arrest. I simply cannot allow it, and so I squash it in the most effective way I know.
“I’ve slept with people,” I announce, scowling up at him. “Several, actually.”
“Is that right?” His smile twists, but not into the frown I anticipate. No, he doesn't look disappointed at all. He’s smirking at me, even more predatory than before.
“Yes,” I say, and it comes out like an insult. He either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t care, and I can’t decide which would be more infuriating. I’m not lying though. I’ve slept with three men in the years we’ve been apart.
None of them were particularly good.
The first one was right after high school.
We met at our summer job at the ice cream shop, and I cried after we hooked up, so overcome with guilt and self-loathing I never went out with him again.
The other two were last year, under the gentle encouragement of Hayden.
Those had been fine. They equated to a handful of dates, a couple of mediocre orgasms, and most importantly, zero tears.
Until Atlas decided to waltz back into my life, I was convinced I’d healed from the heartbreak he caused.
Well, the heartbreak of losing him, that is.
Nothing will fix the heartbreak of losing Nat.
“So, we’re good here, right?” I ask. Before Atlas can answer, I’m on my feet, collecting the folder, my barely-touched tray, and my purse. I only make it a few steps toward the return cart before he catches my wrist. I hadn’t even seen him move.
“I’m taking off anyway. I’ve got a group study thing.” The playfulness has faded, replaced with discerning calculation. “You should finish your lunch.”
I grip the sides of my tray. I’m annoyed that he remembers I get self-conscious eating in public. And worse, that my heart lurches at his attention, desperate for more.
Before I can insist I’m done eating, Atlas is moving again. He grabs his backpack from beneath our table and slings it over his shoulder. Dropping his bare tray on the return cart, he offers me a parting smile. “See you next week, Vi.”
I don’t move from my spot until he disappears out of sight. Only then do I slink back to the table to finish my pasta.
I wake to the sound of Hayden rummaging around our kitchen. I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but outside, the sky has turned into a dark blend of purples and blues. I blink as I look around the house, disoriented.
“When did you get home?” I ask Hayden. She’s in a loose T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which I highly doubt she’d been wearing on the bus. Her hair is held back with a thick headband and her makeup has been washed clean.
“Like, an hour ago,” she says, barely glancing at me. “If I was a murderer, you’d already be dead.”
“Well, hopefully, a murderer wouldn’t have our house key.”
Hayden doesn’t reply. She’s too busy moving from one side of the kitchen to the other, noisily going through the cupboards. There are only a few ingredients on the counter, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out what she’s making.
“Margaritas?” I sit up higher on the couch. “Didn’t get enough to drink on the party bus?”
“It’s not for me.” Hayden finds what she’s looking for—a single packet of margarita mix from the back of our spice/medicine cabinet.
I lean forward and glance toward her bedroom, but the door is open.
“It’s for you,” Hayden snips. “Punishment for that ridiculous text you sent and the fact you immediately ghosted me after sending it.”
I flinch. She’s right. I forgot to call her after meeting with Atlas.
“No need to apologize,” she says, flapping her wrist. “This is going to make up for it.”
“I don’t need a margarita,” I say on a sigh. “I’ll just tell you—”
“So you’ve been saying,” she interrupts. “And yet, you haven’t told me much of anything.”
“I know.” There’s nothing else to say really. I have been promising Hayden more details for a week now, but every time I get close to the truth, my insides curdle like spoiled milk. It’s too much. Too nauseating to imagine revealing all the dark truths I’ve kept locked away for so long.
Rather than respond, Hayden focuses on the task at hand, which apparently involves killing me with excess alcohol.
I don’t drink often, and I certainly don’t drink extra-large wine glasses worth of margaritas.
I’m in the dog house far enough that I don’t protest when Hayden presses the nearly-overflowing glass in my hands.
I sigh and lick salt off the rim. Like most things, Hayden is an expert when it comes to her bartending skills.
“You don’t have to drink it,” she says as she sits on the other end of the couch. She sets her glass of water on the coffee table and stares at me. “You don’t have to tell me anything, either. But I feel like you really do want to tell me…and maybe it’s just too hard to do it while sober.”
I stare at her, jaw clenched, fighting a sudden rush of tears. I manage a shallow breath through my nose and then drink half the glass in one go.