Sweet Nothing (17 page)

“Oh, my God.” I toss off the throw. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night. Good, I think. Did I finish an entire bottle of wine? I definitely don’t remember finishing the bottle all by myself. I remember eating, and kissing, and talking, maybe having a glass or two more, but a
bottle
? There’s a dull hum at the base of my skull. “What time is it?” My cell is face down on the coffee table, next to my glasses. I lunge for the phone.

“Relax, you’re fine.” Luke’s voice comes from the kitchen. “We’re not that late.”

I whirl around to see him carrying two coffee mugs to the dining room table. He’s wearing plaid pajama bottoms and a gray t-shirt. Did he sleep next to me on the couch? Upstairs? “But what time—” I check my cell.
6:30.
“Not that late? Are you serious?” I scramble off the couch, searching for my shoes. “Have you seen my sandals?”

“They’re by the door. Have some coffee first.”

“No time for coffee.” On the way to the door, I almost trip over a small wooden newspaper rack next to the couch. “OW. Shit. Oh my God, I’m so late.”

“Hey.” Luke intercepts me before I reach my shoes. “Chill out about the footwear for a second, okay?” He grips me by the shoulders. “Have breakfast with me for fifteen minutes. You’ll be home in enough time to change and get to school before first period.”

“But I won’t have time to shower,” I protest half-heartedly, leaning against him. He smells like flour and honey.

“So you’ll be a little dirty today,” he murmurs into my ear. “I like the idea of you getting a little dirty.” He bites the lobe gently.

I shudder and wrap my arms tight around him. We fit perfectly. “You say that now. But by this afternoon, it won’t be pretty.”

“You’re always pretty. And besides, I made my Yiayia’s tiganites. You don’t want to insult my Yiayia, do you?”

“Okay,” I pull back slightly. “I have no idea what half of the words in that sentence mean. Speak English, man.”

“I made my grandmother’s pancakes. And you have to try them. They’re awesome.”

The place does smell incredible. For a second, I let myself fantasize that it’s a Saturday morning. That we have nowhere to be. I wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him. To go back to bed with him. To taste him.

“Hey.” He snaps, just inches from my nose. “Wake up, pretty girl.”

“Sorry.” I can feel my face getting warm. “Well, I wouldn’t want to insult Yiayia.”

“Good.” He kisses my cheekbone, my earlobe, and my jaw. Stirring me. “Now go sit down. Breakfast is ready.”

Reluctantly, I tear myself away and take my place at the dining room table while Luke busies himself in the kitchen. I watch him flipping pancakes and spooning yogurt and honey into ceramic containers. He’s humming something under his breath as he works. A tune I don’t recognize.

“So, hypothetically, if I wanted to know what happened last night…” I reach for my coffee mug, which is clearly homemade. Probably by one of Luke’s students, judging from the sagging handle that’s not quite wide enough to fit two fingers.

“What do you think happened last night?”

“Um…” I sip my coffee. It’s rich and dark, with a hint of flavor. Hazelnut, I think. It spreads through me quickly, tugging the last bits of sleep away. “I had a perfectly appropriate amount to drink, and then I went to sleep on your couch like the lady I am?”

His laugh bounces from the ceiling. “Try again.”

“Okay, okay. I’ve got it. I had a perfectly appropriate amount to drink, you threw yourself shamelessly at me, I let you down gently, and then I went to sleep on your couch. Like the lady I am.”

“Well, that scenario makes me want to curl into a ball and weep.” He carries two plates to the table, piled high with pancakes.

“Weep?” I snort. “Ooh. Yum. What’s on top of the pancakes?”

“Yes, weep. And greek yogurt, honey, and crushed walnuts.” Luke rests the plates on the table, then sits down next to me.

“Sounds great. Thanks for breakfast. And for…”

“For making sure you were comfortable after we talked for a while, kissed for a while, and fell asleep early? And for then going upstairs to my own bed, like the gentleman I am?”

“Ohhh, right. Now I remember how lame we are.”

“Not lame!” Luke protests. “I had a really good time last night, actually. A great time. I just… I know the last couple of days have been kind of rough. I wanted to give you your space.”

I smile at him and take my first bite. The pancakes are fluffy and sweet. “These are amazing. Seriously, really good.”

“Cool.” He looks proud. “Yiayia taught me how to make pretty much everything she makes. Which means I’ve got a lot of good meals up here.” He taps his temple with his index finger. “So maybe you’ll let me cook for you again?”

Looking at him blurs my doubts, and I know that’s dangerous. But I let myself take him in—his wide, open eyes; the way they seem brighter when he looks at me. The man wants to take care of me. And everything in me wants to let him. For once, I don’t want to be the responsible one. The one who’s tending to Aria or trying to protect everyone from my mother. For once, I want someone to tend to me. Is that so selfish?

“Yeah. Sure, I think.” I wrap my hands around my coffee mug and breathe in the earthy, sweet steam rising from the cup. “Listen, Luke, I—”

“It’s okay. I’m not saying anything, except that I like cooking for you. And I’m just hoping you’ll let me do it again. No pressure.”

I nod.

“Good.” His gaze slides to a spot just over my head. “Okay. A little pressure, actually. Because I’ve been talking too much and we’re now officially late.”

I check the clock in the kitchen. “LUKE!”

“I know, I know. Go on. I’ll clean this stuff up.” He shoves back his chair and hurries to the door, scooping up my sandals. “No time for these. Here.”

“I hate you for this, by the way. Some of us teach first period, you know.” I toss back the rest of my coffee like a freshman girl downing a shot at her first dive bar. “Have you seen my bag? Wait. Got it.”

“Hate me? How could you hate a man who cooks for you?” He dumps my shoes into my arms and gives me a quick kiss on the mouth. “See you at school.”

“Yeah. See you there.” I stash my shoes in my bag and hurry outside to my car, clawing through the depths of my purse to find my keys. Once I find them, it’s a matter of milliseconds before I’m peeling out of Luke’s driveway so fast, I smell smoke and rubber. Oops.

I glance into my rearview as I turn onto the street. He’s still standing in the doorway in his pajamas. His hair is messy and wild from sleep, like he’s a little kid who’s just awakened from a nap. He lifts his hand in an easy wave.

The cottage is silent when I burst through the front door, slinging my sandals under the table in the entryway and making a mad dash for my bathroom. I turn the brushed silver handles inside the shower and jump in before the water has time to warm, dunking my head beneath the frigid spray. I wash my hair but have no time to shave. Pants. I need pants.

Once I’m out of the shower, I throw on the first pair of non-jeans I can find: Yellow, wide-legged linen trousers. My black silk tee from last night is wrinkled, so I hang it in the shower and turn on the hot water while I apply tinted moisturizer and a little blush. Spritz my damp hair with sea salt spray and even manage a little mascara. By the time I’ve finished brushing my teeth, the tee is still wrinkled. I toss it on, grab the sandals by the door, and am back in the car in less than 12 minutes, according to my cell phone. For the first time this morning, I notice a barrage of texts from Gwen and Waverly. I ignore them. I can explain at lunch.

The halls are bustling when I get to school, my chest burning from the parking lot-to-classroom sprint.

“Woah, Ms. Sloane! You okay?” Josh Marville asks when I barely avoid slamming into him outside my classroom.

“Yeah. Yes. Of course, Josh. Just… running a little late.” A bead of water slips down the back of my neck. I give my hair a shake.

“Oh.” He tries to hide a smile. “’Cause, um, you know you still have ten minutes ‘till the first bell, right?”

“Right. Of course,” I lie. “Just wanted to make sure I was here in case anybody needed extra help. Need any extra help, Josh?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Okay, then. Well, I’ll take that as a sign that I’m doing my job.” I give him a quick smile, then dive into my classroom, slamming the door against the noise behind me.

“Well, well, well.” I hear Waverly’s voice before I see her, sitting with her coffee in the first desk by the window. Gwen’s sitting on my desk in a black shift dress and ankle boots, flipping through my textbook. “Look who’s not dead in a ditch somewhere, Gwennie!”

Gwen closes the textbook hard enough to make me jump.

“Oh, God. I’m—I should have texted you.” I glance back and forth between them. They both look pissed. “I just… I forgot, and then I fell asleep, and this morning I was running so late that I…” My protests sound pathetic, so I stop. Tuck my bag under my desk and slide next to Gwen. “I should have called. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Or even answered a text, Elle.” Gwen’s tone is harsh. “You could have been in trouble, and we wouldn’t have known until this morning. That’s really shitty.” Her eyes are glassy.

“I know. I just saw the texts a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry.” I rest my head on her shoulder and wrap my arms around her waist, squeezing tight. “It will never happen again.”

“We’ll forgive you,” Waverly says curtly, “if you tell us exactly where you were. And who you were with.” She crosses her legs, uncrosses them, then crosses them again. “Okay.” I straighten up and hop off the desk. No reason to be within arm’s length of either of them when I drop the bomb. “But don’t freak out. There’s more to this story than you guys know.”

“WE KNEW IT!” Waverly’s voice is shrill enough to crack a window. “You were with HIM? How could you go over there, after everything he did to you?”

I glance at Gwen.

“I kind of want to know the same thing,” she says sharply.

“I know, I know. It seems bad. But he’s not married and I just read the whole situation wrong and nothing happened last night. We were talking and we fell asleep. I swear, I’ll explain everything when we have time.” My eyes linger on Gwen. I know I should have called, but isn’t she overreacting?

“No wife?” Waverly’s nose crinkles. “Wait. What?”

“It’s not what we thought. Not what I thought. I’ll explain tonight. Let me make it up to you. I’ll make you guys dinner.”

“But he still lied to you, right?” Gwen asks.

“What do you mean, dinner? Like takeout?” Waverly says skeptically.

“No, I mean I’ll cook for you. And we’ll have dessert.” I ignore Gwen’s question. I know Luke lied. Or at least, he didn’t tell me everything. But to blame him for that would be hypocritical. And I want to believe that lies of omission aren’t really lies. They’re necessary survival tactics.

“What about booze?” Gwen narrows her eyes at me playfully. “Will there be booze at this apology dinner? Booze and dessert and groveling?”

“Wine. Cocktails. Chocolate. Groveling. Whatever you want,” I promise.

“Okay. We’re in,” Waverly announces as the bell rings. My door flies open and a student stampede spills inside.

“Gotta go. I’ve got AP Lit.” Gwen slides off the desk and points a finger at one of the students in the back. “Rob Feinman! That better not be gum in your mouth. And if it is, it better not be strawberry gum, because I will be forced to confiscate the rest of the pack immediately!”

A quiet dark-haired student in the back grins. It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile all year. “It’s just spearmint, Ms. Markley.”

“Gross. Never mind, then. Carry on.” When Gwen reaches the door, she turns around. “Ms. Sloane?”

“Yes, Ms. Markley?”

She lifts her planner to her lips, shielding them from the rest of the room. “Just…” She mouths the last two words. I can read them perfectly.

Be careful.

Elle,

So… I’m thinking of going to visit Dad. I just can’t stand the thought of him there, in that cell. I keep picturing something out of a TV show, but deep down, I know it’s way worse. You must think I’m ridiculous, right? To want to see him after what he’s done? But even he doesn’t deserve to feel completely alone. There’s nothing worse in the world.

Love you for infinity,

A

I go for a quick run after school, then shower and change into leggings and a tank top I stole from Aria’s closet a long time ago. She’s several inches taller than me, with a dancer’s body, and I’ve always liked the way her shirts are just a little long on me. Plus, despite the fact that I’ve held the top hostage for years now, it still smells like her.

“Okay.” I fling open the refrigerator and unearth the bags of groceries I bought during my free period. I went overboard: fresh shrimp for enchiladas. Avocado, chiles, tomatoes, red onion, cilantro, and limes for homemade guacamole. Chocolate-covered macaroons for dessert.

I prep the enchiladas, shelling the shrimp and chopping peppers, onion, and garlic. Then I turn on the stove and pour myself a glass of cold white wine while the pan heats. I haven’t thought about Aria’s Email this afternoon, mostly because I don’t want to. Why the sudden desire to visit our father in prison? Because she pities him? I can’t stand the thought of Aria having to see the inside of that place. Not that I’ve ever been, or even plan on going. But the image of Aria, sweet, fragile Aria, sitting across from my father in an orange jumpsuit, or he wears, makes my heart ache.

My cell rings on the counter and I jump, sending wine over the edge of my glass. I toss a dishrag on the floor and nudge it around with my foot.

“Hello?”

“It’s so funny how we do that, isn’t it? Say hello even though we already checked the screen, and we know who’s on the other line, unless of course the call is blocked. And I don’t know about you, but I’m just not gonna answer a blocked—”

“Hello, Luke.” I cut him off with a laugh. “Yes, I knew it was you, and yes, I said hello anyway, because, well, I’m nice that way.”