I have to take a minute to decide whether to open the door. Finally, I turn the deadbolt and face her. She’s still dressed from the party and she looks like she’s been crying. I wonder if anyone came out of this night unscathed.
“Man, your face,” she says almost immediately. “Sorry.” She winces and her discomfort at standing here with me is undeniable. “I don’t want to wake anyone up.”
I shake my head as I push the door back and motion for her to come in. We stare at each other for a minute. I know why she’s here, but I’m waiting for her to ask. I wonder how she knew where I lived. Maybe Clay. She’s been talking to him since they bonded over the art and science of bong construction. Her eyes move around the room, but she won’t find what she’s looking for.
“Is Drew here?”
I shake my head.
“Oh.” There’s no attempt to hide her disappointment. She takes a breath and her voice is sincere. “Are you okay?”
I’m going to start making people put a quarter in a jar every time they ask me that. I don’t even know what okay means.
I nod.
“I just wanted to see if he was alright,” she explains. “I don’t think he’s ever hit anybody before.”
I don’t think so, either.
“Is he alright?” There’s no concealing the concern in her voice or the fact that she knows Drew well enough to realize that this is a valid question.
I don’t nod or shake my head or even shrug. She has to ask him for that answer. I don’t have it.
“He loves you,” she says, reconciled.
I do nod for this, because I believe he does, but not the way she thinks. I need to write a note to explain it to her because she deserves to know, but before the conversation can go any further, there’s a key in the lock and Drew walks in. He stops dead when he sees Tierney and if I could take a picture of the expression that passes between them, I would, and then I’d shove it in both of their faces so they could never deny it again.
“I should go.” She looks from Drew to me with misguided resignation before turning to leave.
I walk over to Drew and squeeze his hand, tilting my head toward the door, and he follows her out onto the porch.
***
Josh
Less than an hour after Drew leaves, I’m in her driveway. It’s three-thirty in the morning. Margot gets home at six and I wonder how Sunshine is going to explain her face. I grab my phone out of the cup holder and shove it in my pocket. I still haven’t looked at it. I don’t want to see her name on the display and all of the what-ifs lit up behind it. I can’t face the reminder that if I had heard the phone, if I had picked it up, none of this would be happening.
I pass Tierney Lowell’s car leaving as I pull in. Drew is standing on the porch. I walk straight past him and open the door so he won’t have a chance to remind me that I’m not allowed to be here.
I don’t even have time to prepare, because as soon as I walk in, she’s there, standing in the kitchen. I’ve tried not to look at her for weeks. Seeing her, now, eviscerates me, rips me to pieces and sews me back together all wrong. I don’t know if it’s the cut by her eye or the bruise on her cheek or the expression on her face that does it, but I know that it’s done because everything inside me hurts.
“Go home,” Drew says from behind me, but I don’t turn away because I can’t stop looking at her.
“Just give us a minute.” I don’t know if I’m asking or telling.
“Not tonight, Josh,” he says. It’s not forceful, just defeated.
He’s right. I should leave. She shouldn’t have to deal with me on top of everything else. But I’m selfish. I want her to tell me she’s okay, even if I know that she’s not. I’ll take lies right now if she’ll give them to me.
“I just need one minute.” I’m talking to Drew, but I’m looking at her. My voice is soft, but my tone isn’t. I’m not going anywhere.
She nods to Drew, but he doesn’t look convinced. He figures, if he didn’t keep Kevin Leonard away from her tonight, at least he can save her from having to deal with me.
“Go home, Drew,” she says gently. “If your mom wakes up she’s going to be pissed. I’m good. I promise.” It’s such a lie, but it’s so natural; it’s like she’s been telling it for years.
Drew still doesn’t look happy, but he concedes. He walks over and hugs her just long enough to whisper I’m sorry in her ear and then he leaves.
“Does it hurt?” It’s a stupid question, asking a girl whose face is half swollen if it hurts, but it’s the first thing I can think to ask. She lifts the ice back up to her cheek and shakes her head.
“Not really.”
We both stand there, looking at each other across the kitchen, with all the things we’ve done to hurt each other littering the path between us.
She puts the ice down and pulls a foil-covered plate off of the top of the refrigerator. She removes the foil and puts the plate of sugar cookies on the table and tells me to sit.
“I know you said you were sick of them, but…”
I did tell her I was sick of them. It was over a month ago. She made like twelve batches in a week’s time because she said she couldn’t get the right balance between chewy and crunchy and I said she was crazy because they all seemed exactly the same to me. I finally told her that until she made me something with chocolate in it, I would not be tasting another sugar cookie.
“Did you finally get it right?” I have no clue what the point of this conversation is, but she’s my tangent girl and I’ll follow her if this is where she wants to go.
“I think so.” She shrugs like it’s really no big deal, even though we both know it was driving her crazy. “You tell me.”
She pushes the plate toward me. Her face is beat up. I just had sex with Leigh. We’re sitting at her table, in the middle of the night, and she’s making me critique her cookies.
“They taste,” I say, trying not to talk with my mouth full, “exactly like the last eight hundred you made me try.”
“I know they taste the same,” she says, undeterred, “but are they too crunchy?”
I exhale slowly, putting the cookie down on the table.
“So we’re going to talk about cookies.” I nod robotically, picking up a napkin and twisting it around in my hands.
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”