Suffer Love (19 page)

I nod toward the field. “She was your girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah.” He narrows his eyes at my tone. I cringe a little, realizing I'm using that same tone Mom tried with me earlier. The I'm-going-to-weed-you-out tone.

“I'm guessing you wish that were still the case.”

He exhales, then blows a bubble with his bright pink gum. It pops and the residue coats his upper lip. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“What happened?”
Smooth, Sam. Very smooth.

“I fucked up. We'd been dating for a few weeks and she wanted me to meet her parents.”

“So?”

He snorts a bitter laugh. “Dude, her parents are both record label executives and live in this gated, rich-ass neighborhood. Each house has its own freaking zip code. My mom works two jobs and I've never even met my dad. He took off before the strip turned blue.”

I don't say anything, but I get this feeling in my gut like I inhaled a bag of Cheetos for breakfast.

“I freaked out and bailed at the last minute on the dinner Jenny planned. We had a huge fight, and I ended up at that party. I saw Hadley and she was . . . Christ, she was there and she's hot and I drank too much and my head was totally messed up. Then Jenny shows up and I was . . . well . . . occupied when she got there and I guess Sloane saw Hadley come out of the room we were in.”

My hands ball into fists. The idea of Josh with Hadley in a room makes me want to hit something. Hard. But as Josh casts another wistful eye at Jenny, my anger starts fizzling out. A foul ball soars into the dugout, narrowly missing beaning Josh in the head.

“You put Hadley in a really shitty position,” I say as he flips off Matt, the batter.

“I know, man. I didn't mean to. I've told Sloane to lay off, that it wasn't Hadley's fault.”

“Why'd you have to lie to her?”

“I don't know. I told you. I just wanted . . . I thought I needed . . .” His eyes drift back to Jenny before whispering weakly, “I don't know.”

I stay silent and watch as Josh yanks up a bat and heads to the batter's box. When someone pisses you off, it's so easy to forget they still have blood under their skin. Yeah, he acted like a dick, no doubt about it.

But.

And this is a big
but,
because I'd like nothing more than to make this all his fault.
But,
his mistake had a reason behind it—something that flipped a switch and changed him into a smooth-talking assclown without any common sense or a conscience.

I scan the outfield and spot Livy on the other side of the fence, viewing the game through her camera as she walks the perimeter, her pink streak catching the sun. I think about our parents, who sure as hell didn't have a fairy-tale marriage. Their conversational style consisted of loaded statements and comparisons of who did more around the house or for Livy and me. Long before my mom pulled the trigger on the gun that killed their marriage, they were effing miserable.

I check my phone again and there's a text from Hadley. Looking up to find Livy, I see Josh smack a line drive down the third base line, a thing of beauty. I glance back down at Hadley's text. My heart bolts into a sprint, feeling like I just clicked the safety off a loaded gun.

I'm already awake, lying in bed and staring at the undulating shadows the midmorning sun is casting on my wall, when my door creaks open. I roll over, expecting to see only Jinx's tail flicking at the air as she saunters toward me, but it's not my cat.

It's my mother.

I sit up, never shifting my eyes off of her. She looks tired, dressed in jeans and a navy sweater, her brown boots pulled up to mid-calf. The house was quiet when Sam dropped me off near dawn, and only my dad's car was in the garage, so I'm not sure when she got home. From the metallic, cold-weather smell she brings into my room, I'm guessing probably not too long ago.

Mom sits on the edge of my bed. Her eyes drift over my room, over swim trophies and honor roll certificates and pictures of Kat and me thumbtacked to my bulletin board. Over the one framed picture of our family I couldn't bring myself to put away—the three of us smiling and laughing at the Kite Festival two years ago.

She looks down at her hands, her thumb circling over her bare left ring finger.

“You're leaving, aren't you?” The question slips from my throat, but I don't even feel like I need to ask it. She certainly doesn't need to answer. The fact is like a living thing pushing in between us and taking up all the space in the room.

She presses both hands to her mouth and exhales slowly. “I'm sorry about last night. I should've left a note or called you, but I was upset and tired and I . . . I need a break, Hadley. I need some time.”

Her words crack something inside me. This isn't how this is supposed to go. We're supposed to deal with this—Mom and me together. Crying together. Getting mad together.
Anything
together. “Why doesn't
he
leave? This is his fault. You shouldn't have to leave.”

“He offered.
I
need to go, Hadley. I need out of this house for a while, away from . . .”

“From me,” I fill in for her. It doesn't even matter if that's not what she was going to say. That's what it
feels
like. I want to beg her to stay. Beg her not to leave me alone, but she's already gone. She's been gone for six months.

“No. Honey,
no.
You've done nothing wrong. I know I'm not handling this the right way, but I . . . I don't know what else to do at this point.” She turns toward me, ducking her head so she snags my eyes with hers. “Your father and I love you. Nothing can change that, okay? Ever.”

I nod, feeling more like a complication to their problems than loved.

“I'll be at a hotel nearby.” She gets up, stretching out a hand to smooth over my hair, but from where she's standing, she can't quite reach, and her arm falls back to her side. At the door, she turns back. “I'll call you soon.” Then she clicks the door closed behind her. I listen to her footsteps recede down the hall, clomp down the stairs, thump over the hardwood in the kitchen, and fade away.

I'm still balled up in my blankets when my phone pings on my nightstand. I clench my teeth as I reach for it. It's probably Kat. Our little spat last night seems like forever ago, but I'm still not sure I'm ready to talk to her yet.

But it's not Kat.

It's Sam.

Hey.
I'm here if you need me.

That's all it says. I stare at his message and my chest tightens up even more.

If you need me.

Oh, God. A wave of panic washes over me and I lie back down. I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, remembering the way he kissed me, how his fingertips studied me like I was an intricate piece of art. Last night was the first time in so long that I've felt comfortable in my own skin. I wasn't worried or scared or angry. I was just . . . me. But now my mother is gone, really gone, and something old and dark and ugly is creeping up on me again, and I want to talk to Sam so badly my teeth ache.

And that scares the crap out of me.

Sitting up, my fingers scramble over my phone. Ready or not, I tap Kat's name. She answers and I start talking before she can stop me. I pretend that the last ten minutes of our previous conversation never happened and fill her in on everything about Mom.

“Wow, Hadley. I had no idea things had gotten that bad. Why didn't you tell me?”

I pick at a loose thread on my comforter. “I didn't tell anyone.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Thanks, but I'm fine.”

“Sure.” Several short intakes of breath buzz in my ear, evidence Kat is trying to figure out how to say something awkward.

“What? Just say it.”

“Okay. Sorry. It's just . . . is she, like,
leaving
leaving? For good?”

I flop back onto the bed. A thin layer of dust is coating the ceiling fan. “I don't know, Kat.”

“What can I do?”

“Just talk to me for a while.”

“About what?”

“Anything.”

“Okay. How's your dad handling—”

“Except that.”

“All right, fine. Well . . .” She drawls the word into about three syllables and I can tell her lips are curling into a shy smile. “Ajay drove me home last night.”

“Yes, this I know. And?”

“And we sat in his car and talked until almost two in the morning.”

“Really. You like him?”

“I don't know. Maybe. But, God, he's completely delicious.”

I laugh, even though it feels almost like swearing in church on a day like today. “Now
that
deserves a meow.”

“Please don't.”

“What's up with that Sara girl?”

“Oh.
Her.
They just broke up and she's not happy about it. At all.”

“You don't say.”

“I'm serious,” Kat says, oblivious to my sarcasm. “He hinted that it's all pretty recent and he's still sort of recovering, but has no interest in getting back with her.”

“What about
Rob?
”

She sighs. “I don't know. Rob is still Rob, but he seems even more unattainable after talking to Ajay. I'm not sure the real Rob could measure up with the guy in my head.”

“I could've told you that two years ago.”

Kat laughs. “Anyway, Ajay asked for my number.”

“Of course he did.”

“Although I doubt he'll use it.”

“I'm sure he will.”

“He just seems like an entirely different breed of boy and I'm just . . . I don't know. Me.”

“Obviously he likes you enough to get your number, Kat. But Sam did mention that Ajay has an unusual style of courting.” Last night, Sam and I talked about everything from my disastrous experimentation with the violin when I was seven to Sam's weird phobia of horses, including our best friends' clear interest in each other.

Kat snorts a laugh. “Courting?”

“That's the word Sam used.”

“Huh. I sort of like the sound of that.”

She babbles on happily, but I'm distracted, my mind drifting back to Mom's empty left ring finger. When did she stop wearing her wedding band? Did Dad notice? Is he still wearing his?

“Anyway, Ajay said Sam's family has been through a hard time,” Kat says. “You know anything about that?”

The question rips my thoughts off the diamond and sapphire band I used to covet as a little girl. “Um, yeah, actually. His mom . . .” I pause, chewing on my lower lip as Sam's story floats back to me.

“His mom what?” Kat asks.

“Well . . . his mom sort of cheated on his dad.”

“Really? Huh.”

“Huh what?”

“Well, that's weird, isn't it? Both of your parents had affairs.”

“Lots of people have affairs,” I say, but it's a whisper. Lots of people
do
have affairs. But it doesn't feel like that when it happens to your family. You feel like the only one. Alone in this weird reality that no one can really understand.

“When did he tell you all this?” Kat asks.

“We hung out last night.”

“What? When?”

Before I can answer, Dad calls my name from downstairs.

“I need to go,” I say, my stomach knotting up.

“Wait, why were you out with Sam?”

I blow out a breath, unsure if I want to talk about Sam yet. But I know Kat. She'll literally haunt my every step until I give her details. So I tell her everything about last night.

When I'm done, there's a long pause. Too long for Kat. “Hadley, he's a nice guy,” she finally says. Her voice is all wrong. She sounds . . . mad.

“I know that.”

“I thought you were sort of friends with him.”

I frown, totally confused. “I am.”

“But you made out with him. Which you and I both know pretty much means you'll never talk to him again.”

“Why would I never talk to him again? I like—”

“Do you talk to Josh? Or Henry? Or whoever else I may not even know about?”

“Kat, what the hell?”

But she keeps going, sounding close to tears. “I just don't get this, Had. Why do you have to do this with every guy you meet? You're acting like a—”

She cuts herself off with a huge sigh, but we both know what she was about to say. I knew Kat took major issue with some of the stuff I've done with guys, but I never believed she really looked down on me for it.

“I need to go,” I say, and then I end the call before she can respond.

My hands shake and my heart thunders as I get out of bed and throw on jeans and a sweater. I don't even bother to brush my hair. I find Dad in the kitchen, sipping coffee at the table and leafing through the paper as if it's any other Saturday. A light green box sits next to him, a sticker with a dark-green-lidded eye on it sealing it closed.

“Hi, honey,” he says a little too brightly. He nods toward the box. “I didn't know if you'd eaten breakfast yet, but I got your favorite cupcakes. I thought you might—”

“Cupcakes?”

He lifts his mug but doesn't drink, eyeing me over the rim. His wedding ring catches the recessed lights, briefly glowing white.

“They're just cupcakes, Hadley.”

My throat aches and I swallow what feels like a hundred unsatisfying gulps of air. They are
not
just cupcakes. Yesterday maybe they were just cupcakes. Six months ago, just cupcakes. Today they're a placation. A desperate scramble at anything to cover up the fact that he screwed up and Mom is gone.

“You think that's all it takes?” I ask. “Some chocolate and I'll just nod and say okay and sit down and dig in and smile like nothing happened?”

“Of course not.” He releases a sigh, squeezing his fingers into his eyes. “Jesus Christ. This is hard enough, Hadley. I don't need this right now.”