The Infinite Moment of Us (26 page)

always.

“Ugh,” she said to Tessa. “Why is love so hard?”

“Huh?” Tessa said.

Wren groaned, not wanting to voice her thoughts.

But this was Tessa, she reminded herself. Tessa wouldn’t

judge her—or if she did, she’d tell Wren why, and ulti-

mately Wren would feel better. She came clean, saying,

“Ugh! I am having
feelings
, bad feelings, and I don’t like them!”

“Bad feelings about what? Love? Charlie?”

“Why won’t he go with me?”

“To Guatemala?”

“Yes, to Guatemala. Duh!”

Tessa’s head lolled toward Wren. “Did you just say

‘duh’?”

“Maybe.”

“And you’re how old? Eighteen?”

Wren splashed her. “
Duh
.”

“Well, that’s embarrassing. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t

want to go—because you say ‘duh.’”

“Oh, please.”

Tessa tilted her face to the sun and didn’t reply.

“What?” Wren said. “Am I being selfish? I’m being self-

ish, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”

Wren sighed. “I love Charlie for being so loyal to his

family. I do. I just don’t love the fact that he’s choosing

them over me.”

“That’s what he said?” Tessa said. “‘I pick them over

you’?”

“No, never.” Wren hit her float with her fist. “And I
know
I’m not being fair. Charlie helps Chris with the shop, and

he helps with Dev, and he loves them all, and
they’re a good
family
. God, maybe I want that. Maybe I want that with Charlie? I do want that with Charlie!”

“Well, here’s a crazy idea: Instead of wishing Charlie

would go with you, why don’t you stay here?”

Hopelessness welled within Wren, because what seemed

so simple in words didn’t feel so simple in action. “Because

I can’t, Tessa. I already said yes. I already sent in my forms.”

“And that stopped you from withdrawing from Emory,

too, huh?”

“Forget it,” Wren said.

“No, tell me.”

“Ugh. Withdrawing from Emory was different from

withdrawing from Project Unity because . . . because . . .

I don’t
know
. Because of my parents, because of Atlanta, because of everything! I don’t know!”

She fought back tears. Why in the world was she fight-

ing back tears?

“Hey,” Tessa said gently. “Wren. Shhh.”

“Everything sucks,” Wren said.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does, and I’m such a jerk. I’m such a selfish jerk.”

Tessa propped herself up on her forearm. She gave Wren

a hard look. “Wren. Stop beating yourself up. I didn’t mean

to make you flip out, and I’m glad you’re taking care of

your own needs for once. I just . . .” She exhaled. “It’s not

as complicated as you think, that’s all.”

“It
is
,” Wren said.

Tessa was quiet. She flopped back onto her float.

Wren looked at the tops of the trees bordering P.G.’s

yard. Atlanta was a city within a forest; there was green

everywhere. When she was younger, her parents had taken

her to Aspen one winter break, and on the drive from the

airport to the ski lodge, Wren was struck by the lack of

trees. She felt unhinged, as if she, her parents, and the

rental car could fly off the road at any moment, sucked

into the vast gray sky.

She wondered what Guatemala would be like. She’d

seen pictures of the youth hostel and spoken to the regional

director on the phone. The hostel looked an awful lot like

the YMCA here in Atlanta. She’d have Internet access,

which was good. She’d have hot water. She’d be sharing a

room with three other girls, and she’d be sharing a com-

munal living area and kitchen with about a dozen other

kids, guys and girls. It seemed real and not real at the same

time.

Then again, the cotton-candy world of P.G.’s backyard

seemed real and not real, too. Lazy pool days. Foam lounge

chairs and floating snack tables stocked with Oreos.

“Starrla threw a naked Barbie onto my lawn,” she told

the clouds.

“O-o-o-okay, that’s creepy and stalkerish,” Tessa said.

She paused. “Why naked, d’you suppose?”

Wren trailed her fingers in the water. She had no clue,

although, in her experience, most Barbies ended up naked

over time. She didn’t want one of Starrla’s old Barbies in

her yard, that’s all.

“Do you want me to tell her to knock it off?” Tessa

asked. “Do you want me to wave my new gun around and

be scary?”

“You’re not capable of being scary, and you don’t have a

new gun,” Wren said.

“I might.”

“You don’t.”

“But P.G.’s taken me shooting five times so far. I’m get-

ting really good.”

“You almost hit the target?”

“I almost hit the target! Yes! And P.G.’s cousin is twen-

ty-one, which means he could legally buy that cute pink

Glock. Remember that cute pink Glock? He could give it

as a gift to P.G.—you can
own
a gun when you’re eighteen, but you have to be twenty-one to
buy
one—and P.G. could give it as a gift to me. I could wave it in Starrla’s face and say, ‘Hey! You! Enough with the naked Barbies, you!’”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Wren said.

“Well, neither are you,” Tessa pointed out. “Unless—

did you tell Charlie this time?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Why would I?”

“God, you’re hopeless.”

“I know.”

“And Starrla is a nutcase. She is a loose cannon just wait-

ing to go off.”

“I know, which is why Charlie should say
Adios, amigo

and come with me.” Wren said it without any conviction,

knowing she was going down a dead end but stuck none-

theless with her melancholy. “He’d be rid of her forever.

Just kidding—I know it’ll never happen.”

“Which brings me again to my brilliant idea,” Tessa said.

“Which is—just brainstorming—
you stay here
.”

Wren closed her eyes.

“Wren, tell me one thing,” Tessa said.

“What?”

“Did you ever say to Charlie, using real words, ‘I feel

like you’re choosing your family over me, and it makes me

really sad’?”

“No. I would never.”

“Well, Charlie isn’t a mind reader, you know.”

“I know.” Hopeless, hopeless. It was totally hopeless.

She lifted her hand from the pool, sprinkling water onto

her tummy. She did it again, sprinkling water on her chest,

and she made a conscious effort to think about the good

things she had with Charlie.

Cool water. Warm skin. The time Charlie pressed the

chilled champagne flute to her breasts.

Keeping her movements slight, she bent one knee

to allow her legs to splay open. She skimmed her hand

through the pool. She closed her eyes and let droplets

fall from her fingers onto the tender stretch of her thigh.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

Often, after making love with Charlie, she could smell

his scent on her skin. And there was a particular spot on

the innermost part of her leg—soft and pale—for Charlie

only. He stroked that spot with a downward motion, and

the pleasure drew heat to the most private parts of her.

When her breathing quickened, he noticed, because he

always noticed.

“I love it when you squirm,” he would murmur, per-

haps putting his mouth to her breast. Sucking. Nibbling.

Tugging.

There had been times, afterward, when she felt embar-

rassed by how she twisted and turned, how she arched her

spine, imploring him wordlessly to have his way with her

because there was nothing she wanted more.

On the pool float, she shifted positions, curling her toes.

You are at P.G.’s house, she reminded herself. You are out-

side! In the open air!

She felt better, though. And being outside in the open air

hadn’t stopped her before. Not when she was with Charlie.

“Hey, I
am
sorry you’re sad,” Tessa said.

“I’m all right,” Wren said. “But thanks.”

“Well, if it helps, P.G. doesn’t do everything I want him

to, either.”

“Tessa, I do not want Charlie to do everything I want him

to. God.” She gazed at her friend. “What does P.G. not do?”

“He hasn’t bought me that sweet pink Glock, for one.”

“Ha.”

“He went to play golf with his buds instead of hang-

ing with us. He’s claiming he’s not going to go through

Rush. And he refuses to unfriend Colleen even though I’ve

told him specifically that it makes me sad. He really should

unfriend her, right?”

“Yes,” Wren said. “Absolutely.” Colleen was a girl P.G.

had slept with multiple times before he and Tessa became a

couple. P.G. insisted that he and Colleen had never “dated,”

that Colleen meant nothing to him, and that it didn’t feel

right to him to unfriend her out of the blue for no good

reason.

“Whatever,” Tessa said. “But do you know what I think

we should do?”

“Wait a sec,” Wren said. “You’re up to something, aren’t

you?”

Tessa smiled. “My mom’s going to Santa Fe this week-

end. She’s going to a yoga retreat and won’t be back till late Sunday night, which means . . . drumroll, please . . . I’ll

have the house to myself.”

“And?”

“And I think we should have a dinner party.” She paddled

to Wren and reached over awkwardly, taking Wren’s hand

and linking their floats together. “It’ll cheer us up. It’ll be awesome. It can be a farewell party for you!”

“I don’t want a farewell party,” Wren said.

“Then we won’t call it that,” Tessa said, squeezing

Wren’s hand. “Guest list of four: you, me, P.G., and Char-

lie. You and I will make a wonderful meal, and maybe we’ll

have wine, maybe a little bubbly. Ooh, we could watch

Wizard of Oz
!”

“
The Wizard of Oz
?”

“Well, yeah, because there’s no place like home, silly.

But we don’t
have
to. We could just talk and laugh and just

. . . not worry about what happens next.”

“That sounds nice,” Wren admitted.

“And since my mom will be gone”—Tessa waggled her

eyebrows—“the guys could sleep over. P.G. and I would

sleep in my room, and you and Charlie could have one of

my brothers’ rooms since they’re both out of town. We

deserve a night like that, don’t you think?”

A dinner party did sound fun. A whole night with

Charlie sounded even more fun. And a whole night that

ended with the two of them in a bed together, followed by

a morning when they’d wake up—assuming they got any

sleep—and
still
be in bed together?

They’d be like . . . well, they would be like a husband

and wife, as dumb as that sounded.

“You can lie there like a lump, or you can say, ‘Yes, Tessa,

let’s throw a dinner party,’” Tessa said. “Your call.”

Wren rolled off her pool float and into the cool water,

which felt marvelous on her sunbaked skin. With cupped

hands and strong legs, she swam the length of the pool and

back. She emerged mermaid-style, tilting her face toward

the sky so that her wet hair hung heavily down her back.

She only had four days before she left for her new life.

She should enjoy the time she had left.

She rested her arms on Tessa’s float and said, “Yes, Tessa,

let’s throw a dinner party.”

“Hmm,” Tessa said, tapping her nose. “I am intrigued by

your ideas and would like to subscribe to your newsletter.”

She grinned and tapped Wren’s nose. “I’m in.”

c h a p t e r t w e n t y

Tessa’s house was smaller than Wren’s. That was the

first thing Charlie noticed when he arrived for the “verrr-

rrry fancy, grown-up-style dinner party,” as Wren had put

it. She’d winked to detract from the implied formality, but

Charlie could tell that the evening, with all the planning

Wren and Tessa had put into it, meant something to Wren.

It meant something to him, too. She was leaving in two

days, which he hated. He would take every minute with

her he could.

He greeted Tessa, who’d opened the front door to let

him in, and handed her a bouquet of orange tulips. “Hey,”

he said. “Thanks for having me over.”

“Oh, Charlie, what a gentleman,” Tessa exclaimed. “I

can’t believe you brought flowers!”

Charlie shrugged self-consciously. He’d looked up “din-

ner party etiquette” online.

“Come on in,” Tessa said, and Charlie stepped inside.

He knew from Wren that Tessa’s mom taught yoga. “A bit

floofy-doofy, but she’s nice,” Wren had said. The “floofy-

doofy” explained the dream catchers hanging in the

windows, the folk art, the butterfly wind chime. On the

mantel behind Tessa, Charlie spotted a collection of black

Santa Clauses. Huh. Christmas in August?

Christmas seemed far away, while August was relent-

lessly upon them. Two days, two days. The minutes, hours,

and days ticked by too fast.

“Wren, Charlie’s here!” Tessa called.

“He is?” Wren said, her voice coming from upstairs. She

appeared at the top of the steps. “Charlie! Hi!”

Charlie’s heart turned over. She was wearing what

he supposed might be called a cocktail dress. It was pale