Maybe Someday (19 page)

Sydney: I want to try it. Put it on mute, and we’ll deaf-watch it together.

I laugh. Deaf-watch? That’s a new one. I point the remote to the TV and press the mute button. She turns her attention back to the TV, but once again, I fail to look away from her.

I don’t understand my sudden obsession with staring at her, but I can’t seem to stop. She’s several feet away. We aren’t touching. We aren’t speaking. She isn’t even looking at me. Yet the simple fact that I’m staring at her makes me feel incredibly guilty, as if I’m doing something wrong. Staring is harmless, so why do I feel so guilty?

I attempt to talk myself out of the feelings of guilt, but deep down, I know exactly what’s happening.

I don’t feel guilty simply because I’m staring at her. I feel guilty for how it’s making me feel.

• • •

This makes twice in a row I’ve been woken up like this. I push away the hand that’s slapping me and open my eyes. Warren is standing over me. He slaps a piece of paper on my chest, then whacks his hand against the side of my head. He walks to the front door and grabs his keys, then leaves for work.

Why is he going to work this early?

I pick up my phone, and it says 6:00
A
.
M
.
I guess he’s
not
leaving early.

I sit up on the couch and see Sydney still curled up at the other end, sound asleep. I pull the paper from Warren off my chest and look down at it.

How about you go to your room and sleep in the bed with your girlfriend!

I wad up the note and stand, then take it to the trash can and bury it. I go back to the couch, put my hand on Sydney’s shoulder, and shake her awake. She rolls onto her back and rubs her eyes, then looks up at me.

She smiles when she sees me. That’s it. All she did just now was smile, but all of a sudden, my chest is on fire, and it feels as if a wave of heat just rolled down the entire length of my body. I recognize this feeling, and it’s not good. It’s not good at all. I haven’t felt this way since I was nineteen.

Since I first began developing feelings for Maggie.

I point to Sydney’s room to let her know she should go to bed, then quickly turn around and head into my bedroom. I pull off my jeans and T-shirt and softly slide into bed next to Maggie. I wrap my arms around her, pull her against my chest, and spend the next half hour falling asleep to a broken record of reminders.

You’re in love with Maggie.

Maggie’s perfect for you.

You’re perfect for her.

She needs you.

You’re happy when you’re with her.

You’re with the one and only girl you’re meant to be with.

10.

Sydney

It’s been two weeks since Ridge and I have worked on lyrics together. A few days after Maggie went home, Ridge ended up leaving for six days because of a family emergency. He was vague about what the emergency was, but it reminded me of when I still lived with Tori and he was absent from his balcony for several days. A family emergency was his excuse then, too.

Based on conversations I’ve heard Warren have on the phone with Brennan, I know it didn’t have anything to do with Brennan. But he’s never mentioned having family other than Brennan. When Ridge returned a few days ago, I asked him if everything was okay and he said things were fine. He didn’t seem to want to share any details, and I’m trying to remind myself that his personal life is none of my concern.

I’ve immersed myself in school, and every now and then, I’ll attempt to write lyrics on my own, but it isn’t the same when I don’t have the music to go along with it. Ridge has been home for a few days now, but he’s spent most of his time in his room catching up on work, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s kept his distance for other reasons.

I’ve been hanging out with Warren a lot and have learned more about his relationship with Bridgette. I haven’t had any more interactions with her, so as far as I know, she still assumes I’m deaf.

Based on what Warren has told me, their relationship is anything but typical. Warren never met Bridgette before she moved in six months ago, but she’s a longtime friend of Brennan’s. Warren says that he and Bridgette don’t get along at all, and during the day, they live separate lives. But at night, it’s a completely different story. He has tried to go into more detail than I care to hear, so I force him to shut up when he begins to overshare.

I’m really wishing he would shut up right now, because he’s in the midst of one of his oversharing moments. I have to leave for class in half an hour, and I’m trying to finish reading a last-minute chapter, but he’s intent on telling me all about last night and how he wouldn’t let her take her Hooters uniform off because he likes to role-play, and oh, my God, why does he think I care to hear this?

Luckily, Bridgette walks out of her room, and it’s more than likely the first time I’ve ever been happy to see her.

“Good morning, Bridgette,” Warren says, his eyes following her across the living room. “Sleep well?”

“Screw you, Warren,” she says in return.

I’m beginning to understand that this is their typical morning greeting. She walks into the kitchen and glances at me, then at Warren seated next to me on the couch. She narrows her eyes at him and turns toward the refrigerator. Ridge is at the dining-room table, concentrating on his laptop.

“I don’t like how she’s up your ass all the time,” Bridgette says with her back to me.

Warren looks at me and laughs. Apparently, Bridgette still assumes I can’t hear her, but I’m not finding much humor in the fact that she’s talking shit about me.

She spins around and eyes Warren. “You think that’s funny?” she says to him. “The girl obviously has it bad for you, and you can’t even respect me enough to distance yourself from her until I’m out of the house?” She turns her back to us again. “First she gives Ridge some sob story so he’ll let her move in, and now she’s taking advantage of the fact that you know sign language so she can flirt with you.”

“Bridgette, stop.” Warren isn’t laughing anymore, because he can see how white my knuckles are, clasped around my book. I think he’s afraid Bridgette’s about to get hit upside the head with a hardback. He’s right to be afraid.

“
You
stop, Warren,” she says, turning back around to face him. “Either stop crawling into bed with me at night or stop shacking up on the couch with
her
during the day.”

I drop my book onto my lap with a loud slap, then kick my feet up and down against the floor out of frustration, anger, and flat-out annoyance. I can’t put up with this girl for another second.

“Bridgette, please!” I yell. “Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut
up
! Christ! I don’t know why you think I’m deaf, and I’m definitely
not
a whore, and I’m not using sign language to flirt with Warren. I don’t even
know
sign language. And from now on, please stop yelling when you speak to me!”

Bridgette cocks her pretty little head, and her mouth hangs open in shock. She silently stares at me for several seconds. No one in the room makes a move. She turns her attention to Warren, and the anger in her eyes is replaced with hurt. She immediately looks away once the hurt takes over, and she heads straight back to her room.

I glance over to see Ridge staring at me, more than likely wondering what the hell just happened. I lean my head back against the couch and sigh.

I was hoping that would feel good, but it didn’t feel good at all.

“Well,” Warren says, “there goes my chance to act out all the role-playing scenes I’ve been imagining. Thanks a lot, Sydney.”

“Screw you, Warren,” I say, understanding a little bit where Bridgette’s attitude comes from.

I slide my book off my lap and stand up, then walk to Bridgette’s door. I knock, but she doesn’t open it. I knock again, turn the knob, and push the door slightly open to peek inside.

“Bridgette?”

A pillow meets the back of the door with a thud. “Get the hell out of my room!”

I ignore her and open the door a little further until I can see her. She’s sitting on her bed, with her knees pulled up to her chest. When she sees me coming into her room, she quickly wipes her eyes, then turns the other way.

She’s crying, and now I really feel shitty. I walk to her bed and sit on the edge of it, as far out of her reach as possible. I may feel bad, but I’m still scared to death of her.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She rolls her eyes and falls back onto the bed in a huff. “You are not,” she says. “I don’t blame you. I deserved it.”

I tilt my head. Did she really just admit that she deserved it? “I’m not gonna lie, Bridgette. You are kind of a bitch.”

She laughs softly, then folds her arm over her eyes. “God, I know. I just get so annoyed with people, but I can’t help it. It’s not like it’s my goal in life to be a bitch.”

I lie back on the bed with her. “So don’t be one, then. It takes way more effort to be a bitch than it does to not
be one.”

She shakes her head. “You can say that because you’re not a bitch.”

I sigh. She may not think I’m a bitch, but I sure have been feeling like one lately. “For what it’s worth, I’m more evil than you might think. I may not express my feelings in quite the same fashion as you, but I definitely have evil thoughts. And lately, evil intentions. I’m beginning to think I’m not as nice as I always thought I was.”

Bridgette doesn’t respond to my admission for a few quiet moments. She finally sighs heavily and sits up on the bed. “Can I ask you something? Now that I know you can actually answer me?”

I sit up, too, and nod.

“Are you and Warren . . .” She pauses. “You guys seem to get along really well, and I was curious if . . .”

I smile, because I know where she’s going with this, and I interrupt her string of thought. “Warren and I are friends, and we could never be more than friends. He’s sort of oddly infatuated with this bitchy Hooters waitress he knows.”

Bridgette smiles, but then she quickly stops smiling and looks straight at me. “How long has Warren known that I thought you were deaf?”

I think back on the past few weeks. “Since the morning after I moved in?” I wince, knowing Warren’s about to experience the side of Bridgette we all know too well. “But please go easy on him, Bridgette. As strangely as you two show it, he really does like you. He might even love you, but he was drunk when he said that, so I don’t know for sure.”

If it’s possible to hear a heart stop, I just heard hers come to a screeching halt. “He said that?”

I nod. “A couple of weeks ago. We were leaving the club, and he was wasted, but he said something about how he’s pretty sure he might love you. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, though.”

She drops her eyes to the floor and is quiet for several seconds, then looks back up at me. “You know, most things people say when they’re drunk are more accurate and honest than the things they say when they’re sober.”

I nod, unsure if that’s a true fact or just a Bridgette fact. She stands up and walks swiftly to the door, then swings it open.

Oh, no.

She’s about to kill Warren, and it’s partly my fault. I stand up and rush to the door, prepared to catch the blame for telling her what Warren said. However, once I reach the living room, she’s swinging her leg over his, sliding onto his lap. Warren’s eyes are wide, and he’s looking at her in fear, which tells me this isn’t one of her usual moves.

Bridgette takes Warren’s face in her hands, and he hesitantly brings his hands to her lower back. She sighs, staring him hard in the eyes. “I can’t believe I’m falling in love with such a stupid, stupid asshole,” she says to him.

He stares at her for several seconds while her comment registers, and then his hands fly up to the back of her head and he crashes their lips together. He scoots forward and stands with Bridgette wrapped around him. Then, without breaking for air, he takes her directly to his bedroom, where the door shuts behind them.

I’m smiling, because Bridgette is more than likely the only girl in existence who could pull off calling someone an asshole and in the same breath confess her love. And oddly enough, Warren is probably one of the few guys who would find that appealing.

They’re perfect for each other.

Ridge: How in the hell did you pull that one off? I was waiting for her to come out here and strangle him. You spend two minutes with her, and she’s all over him.

Me: She’s actually not as bad as she seems.

Ridge: Really?

Me: Well, maybe she is. But I guess I admire that about her. She’s true to herself.

Ridge smiles, sets his phone down, and drops his eyes back to his laptop. There’s something different about him now. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but I can see it in his eyes. He looks distraught. Or sad. Or maybe just tired?