All You Never Wanted (23 page)

“Don’t look at those. They’re dumb.” I sat up—
Ouch! What had Gabby done to my ribs?
—and threw a pillow at him. It smacked his arm and fell softly to the carpet.

“Why not?”

“They’re from another time. They’re someone else I was growing up to be.”

“You don’t think you grew up to be yourself?”

“I did. But I’ve got a ghost,” I told him. “And my ghost was a trophy-collecting nerd.”

Joshua picked up a plaque. An essay contest where I’d placed second.

“Put it down. And come lie next to me for a second?” I shoved over to give him space. “I’m not feeling that great.”

He turned. “You don’t want me to stay, Thea. You don’t. You’re just used to thinking you want what your sister has.”

“She doesn’t know what she has.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“She doesn’t.” This story in my head is too hot to touch. I grabbed it anyway. “She told me she sees you as Mr. Almost. The guy who’s cute and cool but not quite it. Usually in the movies he’s the one before the right one. In movies, they show it with something small. Like how he watches too much TV. Or how he slurps his cereal.”

“Aw, shut up. She didn’t say that.” His voice is higher-pitched than usual. I know he’s wounded. “You’re making up stuff, like how you said about the cops.”

“And the way she looks at you. Like you’re nothing. Just some drifter, some slacker who decided to stick to her.” I paused. I knew that would hurt.

“Shut up,” he said.

“But I know what I want,” I told him. “I know my own mind.”

“You want what Alex wants,” he said. “It’s the little-sister complex. I’ve got a mess of kid brothers and sisters, remember.”

“You’re not giving me any credit. For example, right now, I want you to stay. Right here. With me.” My emotions felt held together by Scotch tape and toothpicks. Nothing strong, nothing sure. “Please?” Did he need me to beg him? Did he need the extra push?

And what did I want? My body felt sore. My eyes were scratchy and pinging with light. But I could also see Gia at the Figure Eight. Her trembling mouth. Her pained eyes. I heard the story, barely whispered from her lips.
“He got violent.”

It excited me. It excited me too much. It’s like a gift, to see something that hasn’t happened just as clearly as if it already did.

“I want you to stay with me,” I said. “I promise.”

“Uh-uh.” He moved toward me. Sat on the side of the bed. Stared at me. As if he’d been working all day to solve this problem of me, but it had defeated him. I pressed my hand against his thigh to feel its flex. “Maybe you do. But if you do want me to stay, you shouldn’t.”

Tonight, more than ever, Joshua ached for value. Worth.
Proof that he was better than a drifter, better than the guy before the right guy came along.

He deserved it.

Alex deserved it. They’d both rejected me. I could do what I wanted.

“Except I do want you to stay.”

“But you shouldn’t.” His breath was warm and near.

And when he leaned over, his body strong, surprisingly forceful in his weight and his intention, I was ready. Honestly, I was pretty much ready for every single thing that might happen or might not. Nothing, nothing was going to shock me tonight.

She reads his text. Rereads it. Life interrupts. Gabby and Thea—it was bound to happen. She dealt with it from a distance, her mind locked on those five words. Again and again she reads his text, and it never makes more than the same amount of sense.

Ha-ha
, she finally types.
You must be in Kansas by now
.

Or not. Maybe there’s been a delay and Xander’s plane has been waiting for takeoff all this time?

She sends her text. Herds Gabby and Mimi into Russ’s capable care, then treks through the house. The damage is done and there’s nothing to do but survey it. Red wine is splattered like a sacrifice over the front hall carpet. Spilled cups of beer and soggy corn chips are crushed in there, too. A puddle in the corner looks like someone’s upended a jar of applesauce, but it’s more likely vomit. She doesn’t get close enough to confirm. They’ll have to get professional carpet cleaners to come in. And that won’t be cheap.

Someone had the obnoxious idea of lighting all the candles in the antique silver candelabras. Now they are burned to nubs, and the dripping paraffin has formed hard pools of wax on the lacquered table surface.

Another thousand dollars to restain the wood. The tab on this thing feels endless.

There’s nothing Lulette and Hector can do to salvage this wreck. There’s no hiding from it. She feels sick for Arthur. Hugely depressed that this is the best she could do by him. At the same time, she has always despised Camelot. Tonight has been like watching someone pull the hair of the brattiest girl in the class. She hasn’t raised a hand against Camelot, but she has been an accomplice.

She sat back and watched it happen.

Outside, the whale is beached at an angle on the lawn. She takes measured archaeologist’s steps around it. Stares at it through the darkness as she nibbles from a bag of Cheez Doodles. Who gave her these? How many has she eaten? How long has she been eating and not thinking about what she was eating?

She drops the bag on the grass.

Her pocket buzzes.

Like the sudden, unexpected illumination of a glowing lantern. Is it true? Could it possibly be true? Hope lights the darkness inside her. Her mouth is tangy with Cheez Doodles and that’s kind of funny, too. She’s eaten half a bag of crappy cheese-product puffs, and so what? Nothing matters.

The whale, the wine, the wax, the money, the damage, the breakup. None of it matters.

Not if Xander is here.

She stays outside. Away from bodies, away from noise. Then it strikes her—maybe he’s joking? Maybe it’s a prank, to see if she’ll actually trek to the pool house?

She picks her way around the perimeter of Camelot. Please let it be true. Please please please let it. Her anticipation feels delicate, and breakable as glass.

At the library, Alex pauses. The sprawling patio is still clinging to late-night stragglers at its edges. Stone urns have been overturned, and dirt has erupted in mounds. Farther from her, kids are sitting around the garden or around the koi pond, feet dunked, talking soft secrets.

Behind them, every window of the pool house is dark.

She moves toward it. Breathing in the fragrant spring night. Somewhere in the main house, Joshua is lying low. Her friends are, too. On her last check, they’d resettled from the kitchen into the more comfortable servants’ lounge, where they’d turned it into an informal VIP lair, the better to watch cable television in
peace. And yet the night is charged. There’s a collective thrill-slash-horror in what’s happened to Camelot. Before she slipped away again, she’d heard them whispering.

Have you been out there? Every room got soooo trashed
.

I feel bad for the parents
.

Shh. They’ve got the cash
.

She doesn’t look too worried
.

“She” meaning Alex. She hadn’t listened long. She is listening harder for the sound of her world opening up.

Step by step. Staving off the disappointment.

A new text will come in any minute—
Kidding! I’m miles away. Nice knowing you, poor little rich girl
.

No. Xander doesn’t think that. He might think other thoughts about her. But he has no hate notes, no hate thoughts for her.

Everything about Camelot is ostentatious, and the pool house isn’t any different. It’s like a suburban replica of a Las Vegas replica of a Roman replica. Three times removed from authenticity. Gaudy and gilded and inlaid and tiled. Arthur could never refuse the extra anything.

When she doesn’t see him, her heart sinks.

Oh my God I was right, he’s not here and I’m such a fool
.

She twirls in a circle, around and around, and her brain feels like it’s running in circles, too. She swears under her breath.

“Hey. That was
my
name you just cursed.”

She jumps. “Oh my God!”

He’s been watching her all this while. He’s on one of the chaise lounges that he must have dragged out of place to its position against the mosaic wall.

“Sorry I didn’t … You’re really here.” She approaches almost
timidly. Perching on the edge of the chaise. Incredible. Here he is. She’s amazed—he’s like an apparition. “Why are you down here in the pool house?”

Xander has changed to a plain white T-shirt. She is intoxicated by it, by its fresh-laundry smell on his skin. She wants him to pull her close. To kiss him, be kissed by him. She is so startled by all the things she wants from him.

“I almost rang your bell, but I knew Joshua was there. And I didn’t want to make your life more complicated.” He looks around. “So I came here.”

“And you in the pool house
doesn’t
make my life complicated?”

“I’m not staying. I just wanted to ask you something.” He grins. The dimple in the darkness. “Alex, I want you to come with me.”

His words rush at her and she doesn’t quite know what to do with them. “To Australia? That’s a lot of miles for a spontaneous trip.”

“There was never any Australia,” he admits. “I did that program last year. But there’s a one-year reunion in California next week. I was packing for that.”

Now he uses both his arms to pull her down. It’s the first kiss all over again. Heart-stopping, electric. In the next moment they’re on their sides, facing each other. This morning’s sleeping bag is a memory holding them together again.

And it feels just as right. Just as real.

“California.” She says it out loud. (To make it half true.)

“My plan’s to drive across the country. I’ve got all the cheap eats and landmarks marked. With a stop-off in Seattle.”

“You could go find Salvatore,” she says at the same time that he says, “Let’s leave now.”

Her instinct is yes. Immediate, absolute yes. She’s silent.

“Diaz,” says Xander. “Ohyeahyeah. You and me both.”

You and me both
.

“And you could smooth it over with your folks, right?” he asks. “Once we’re a couple of days out. Tell ’em it was part of SKiP.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Alex? Say something.”

“I can’t go anywhere,” she blurts. “Xander, I can barely get out of Connecticut. Some days, not even this house.”

The quiet is gentle. It accepts her words. Xander kisses her again. For a while, she needs the kissing more than the words. “But I was with you all day, remember?” he whispers. “And you did pretty great.”

If she doesn’t tell him now, she never will.

Each sentence rips her apart. The
Haute
internship, the fashion show. The wet carpet, the fire escape, her seared lungs. Peeling off her soaking clothes. Standing shaking in the subway. The ache of her shame. The ache of her hunger. The terror of seeing Pip in every passenger seat and rearview and bathroom mirror. Her knowledge that it’s all in her head. Her inability to pry it from her head.

Her body is trembling. The purge of confession.

“Alex,” he says. “Alex. It’s okay.” The rumble of his voice is already putting her back together. This bright brand-newness of them already making her whole. She’s glad she did it. She’s glad
she placed it between them. Now they can make it dissolve. Together.

“It was just an accident,” she says. “The worst, worst accident.”

“Nah.” He laughs. “You gotta think about it different. I think you meant to do it. On purpose, like a dog.”

“Shut up. It’s not funny.”

“Except it’s a little bit funny.” The smile is sweet, his voice nonmalicious. “You hated it there. So you marked the turf as ‘sucks.’ ”

She laughs in spite of herself. “Look, it’s not funny,” she repeats. “Really. I’m laughing, but it’s not. It’s been hellish for me.” And yet she’s letting herself laugh, too, because why not? With Xander, why not? And when she flattens her body against Xander’s, it feels like home. She lifts her chin to kiss him.

Lets him smooth her hair back from her face. So there’s that, for a while.

“Asking again. Road trip?”

“I can’t.”

“The boyfriend?”

“My sister.”

“Your sister? So many obstacles.”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

She might as well. She’s told him everything else. The wedding dress, the divided party, Gabby and Gavin, the lies that Thea spins like poison webs. The story pours out of her. Xander listens without comment, without interruption.

“And so,” he says, when she is finished, “what are you going to do about her? How can you help?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I want her to remember who she was before this life. Before we got everything we wanted in less time than it takes to wish for it.”

Xander rolls onto his back. She readjusts her body so that her ear is against his chest. “When a plane’s going down, you need to put the oxygen mask over your own face first,” he says. “You better know how to breathe before you can rescue anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” But Xander doesn’t know the pain of the plane going down and her family in it.

“I’m just saying, Alex. Save yourself.”

The desire to sleep is suddenly overwhelming. “We’d come back in a week or two, right?”

“If you want.”

“We can split the driving.”

“We can split the everything.”

And then she must have been asleep, sunk low and then dragged up from a deeper darkness. Xander’s arm is sleep-heavy over her.

“Wake up. I need to go back to the house,” she whispers. “I’ll meet you by your car.”

“Mmm,” he says, awake at once. “Yes. I like that answer. That’s the one I came for.” And he kisses her again, and it’s real, a message of himself from him to her body, before they stand, stretching. Preparing for this next step.