Portrait of Us (20 page)

If that happened to me and Matthew, it would crush me.

“You're not making it up,” I said. “I feel it too. But liking each other isn't enough to make us work.”

He thinned his lips and dropped his hand from my cheek, which cooled instantly. Then he stood and dumped his napkin in a nearby garbage can. Rain pounded on his head, slicking his hair to the sides of his face. Hot tears burned the insides of my eyes.

I wasn't a coward this time, hadn't run away from the conversation. I'd been honest and faced the truth he didn't want to face. But it didn't make my words hurt any less. It was one thing to let everything go and take a risk in art. Another thing completely to take a risk in a relationship.

“I hear what you're saying. You've made your point. I gotta go.” His words were quiet and flat. The warmth in his eyes was gone.

My chest tightened in remorse.

Then he left, and I stared at him walking off in the rain. I wanted to call for him to come back, but I kept my mouth shut. It was better this way—I'd saved us a lot of pain in the long term.

It wasn't until I felt wetness plop onto my shirt that I realized I was crying.

Chapter
Nineteen

A
soft knock on my
bedroom door jarred me out of my sleepy stupor. I glanced at the clock—it was close to midnight. Who was up this late?

The door peeked open. “Corinne, are you awake?”

“Charlie?” I rubbed a hand over my eyes.

The door closed behind him. I flipped on my bedside lamp, bathing the room in a soft golden glow.

Charlie's face was drawn. He shuffled over to the chair at my desk. “Did I wake you up?”

“I was just kinda lying here dozing.” I'd gone to bed at ten but had lain here for well over an hour, unable to sleep, still haunted by Matthew's eyes earlier today right before he'd walked away. Tomorrow was Saturday. I had to work at the bakery in the morning. But I couldn't get my brain to shut off. “What's wrong?”

Charlie had never come to my room this late. Had to be a big deal, whatever the problem was. Concern for my little brother filled my chest.

He sighed. “I need to talk to you. I couldn't fall asleep.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “What's going on?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. There was so much misery on his face that my heart went out to him. “It's about Maxine. I don't know what to do. She . . .” He paused. “Well, I saw her earlier today hanging out with some other guys at our school. And then one of them left but the other stayed, and they were sitting really close, and then the guy tried to hold her hand.”

Poor guy. “How did it make you feel?”

“Jealous!” he said, then dropped his voice, gaze darting to the door. Neither one of us wanted to wake our parents. “I realized I was really jealous. I didn't want him holding her hand.”

“So why don't you do something about it?” I grabbed my pillow and tucked it on my lap.

“Like what? I can't tell her she can't have other guy friends.”

I tilted my head. “What is it you want from your relationship with her?”

He shrugged. “I dunno.”

“I think you do know.” I raised an eyebrow. “You need to face it, Charlie. Face how you feel. Maxine has liked you for a while now.”

“No, she hasn't,” he protested. “We're just friends.”

“You are friends. But she wanted more. And when she realized
you didn't want more with her . . .” I let my words trail off. He knew what I was saying.

“But . . . maybe I do want more,” he said. “Maybe I just didn't realize it until now. Until I saw another guy with her.”

“Have you told her how you feel?”

His face scrunched up. “Uh, no. I can't.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll ruin everything. And . . . I don't know what I'll do if she's not my friend anymore.” His voice was so low I had to strain to hear him. “And what if she doesn't even like me anymore, and I tell her, and we stop being friends?”

My heart broke for him. “Oh, Charlie—girls don't get over crushes that quickly. Trust me.”

“They don't?” His face became a little less mopey.

I shook my head. “If she likes you, that won't go away for a while. But it will if you don't do something about it. You gotta tell her soon. Otherwise, you're going to be sitting here with this horrible feeling, regretting not sharing your feelings. And then it really
will
ruin your friendship.”

Suddenly I thought of Matthew. Had he been this nervous to talk to me today? I blinked. My eyes began to sting.

Stop it,
I ordered myself. This was about Charlie, not about me.

Charlie gave a short nod. “What do I say?”

“Keep it simple. Tell her you realized you like her and you want to date her.” My stomach gave a horrible twist. Basically the same convo I'd had earlier today. And it had gone so badly.

Because I was too practical to just jump in and trust.

But our situations were not the same, I reminded myself. My brother and Maxine had been friends forever. Had tons in common. They had a solid foundation, whereas Matthew and I didn't. A relationship between me and Matthew would be a huge risk. Charlie's relationship wouldn't be.

He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. In that moment, he looked less like a little lost kid and more like a guy who was growing into a teenager. My little brother, almost as tall as me. Soon he'd be navigating this on his own.

“It'll go fine,” I told him, hoping to ease the worry in his eyes. “She still likes you. She just needs to hear you say it.”

He stood and then, to my surprise, gave me a quick hug. Now I really was shocked—Charlie wasn't a hugger at all. “Thanks,” he said. “I'll tell her tomorrow.”

He quietly closed the door behind him.

I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. I wish my situation were that easy—that I could just say, “Hey, Matthew. Who cares if it's a risk? Let's give it a shot.”

But there were so many factors that went against us. And that didn't even touch how my dad would react if I started dating a guy. He'd never let me get alone time with Matthew, insisting my schoolwork should always come first.

What did any of my struggle matter anyway? After that blowout today, it seemed pretty final. Matthew wasn't going to ask me to hang out anymore. No more impromptu texts or visits to the art
gallery. Our art classes were ending on Monday, and if he and I didn't win the competition, I wouldn't see him again until school started. We'd go back to the way we were before.

No, not back to that. It would be even worse, because back then, I didn't know what I was missing. His smile, his view of the world. The fluttery way he made me feel.

My chest grew heavy with sorrow. In this moment, when I could be completely honest with myself, I couldn't fathom going back to school and seeing him in class, in the lunchroom, remembering how things were this summer and knowing our distance was my fault. This would hurt far, far worse than I'd even realized.

So much for my noble ideals.

I grabbed a pillow and slammed it over my face, squealing with frustration. Why did everything turn so messy when you got older? And would my mind ever stop thinking about him?

Probably not for a long, long time.

“I missed you so much!” I said, hugging Ava as tight as I could.

She wrapped her arms around me and laughed, but the sound came out like a wheeze. “Corinne, I can't breathe.”

I loosened up a fraction. “Oh, sorry.” Pulling back, I held her at arm's length. She looked the same, but there was a sparkle in her eye, an easiness to her stance that hadn't been there before. Scotland had been good for her.

She did a few model poses for me, showing off her new kilt with a giggle. “Do you like it? It's done in our family's tartan pattern!”

I led her over to my bed. “You have to tell me all about it. We have some time before Mom gets us for dinner.” It was a Thursday, but Mom was getting off work early, so we were doing our family dinner tonight. A total bonus that Ava was crashing at our house this evening too.

I'd been anticipating this happy visit for what felt like forever. Between waiting anxiously for news about the competition and getting dead silence from Matthew since art class had ended last week, I'd been in a total moody slump.

We spent the next half hour talking about Ava's vacation—how her parents had found the origins of her family tree, including the small hometown her ancestors had lived in since the Middle Ages.

“Wow,” I breathed. “How amazing is that? What was it like, standing in the street of that hometown, knowing your family had lived there for generations?”

She shook her head, awe pouring from her eyes. “It was . . . unreal. The place felt ancient. I don't know how to describe it. Yeah, there were some modern conveniences, but so many of the buildings were hundreds of years old. I want to go back.”

“I would too. Did you meet any other cute guys while you were there? Whatever happened to the British guy in your hotel?”

She laughed. “Oh! I forgot all about him. He left for home the day after. But it didn't matter, because there was this one guy . . .” Ava told me all about the local who showed her around. “He had the most amazing blue eyes I'd ever seen.”

Matthew's eyes popped into my mind.

“What's wrong?” Ava frowned. “You got this . . . sad look on your face.”

I hadn't wanted to bother her with the details of what had happened. So I'd kept it all to myself. I tried to sum it up in as few words as possible, downplaying the way my heart couldn't seem to let him go. “Anyway, it was for the best,” I said, waving my hand in a dismissive manner. “We never would have made it work once school started.”

“You didn't even try?” She crossed her arms, disappointment clear on her face. “You just gave up?”

Defensiveness crept in. “I didn't
give up
. There wasn't anything
to
give up. We were just partners, and now that's done.” But even as I said it, my heart squeezed in regret. I couldn't deny it—I missed talking to him. Missed hearing his loud laugh.

She shook her head. “Girl, I don't understand you.”

“Look at how well it worked out for you,” I pointed out, reminding her of her ex. “You were heartbroken for weeks. I held you as you cried.” My own tears started rushing to the surface. I blinked them back.

“Oh, Corinne, you're not using that as a reason not to see him, are you? David and I never had a chance to begin with—we were doomed to fail before we even started. And not because we were so different,” she pressed on, holding up a hand to stop me from speaking, “but because he never liked me as much as I liked him.”

I stayed silent. Ava had never told me that before. “But . . . you said that . . .”

She swallowed, and a flush crept across her cheeks. “I said that because I was mortified. I was practically in love with him. It was easier at the time to blame our differences. I realize now that if he'd cared about me as much as I had about him, we would have made it work.”

I pressed a shaky hand to my throat. Regret slammed me in the chest, almost winded me. What had I done? Was it a mistake to toss away our chance at a relationship because of my fear?

Ava's face fell, and she studied me. “Oh, honey.” She rubbed my arm. “You fell hard, didn't you.”

There was a knock on the door.

I blinked and swiped at my face, forcing a smile to my lips. “Come in.”

My mom came in, the phone cradled to her chest. She had a strange look on her face. “It's for you.”

Who was calling me on the home phone? All of my friends had my cell phone number. I took it from her, shooting a quick glance at her hovering in the doorway, then at Ava. “Hello? This is Corinne.”