The Last Time We Were Us (12 page)

“Did he finger you?”

“Shh,” I snap. “Your parents are going to hear!”

“Oh, stop worrying. You need to relax. Amirite?”

The look on my face must say yes, because MacKenzie claps.

“And? Was it as awful as you feared?”

I shake my head. It was exciting, heart-pounding, and completely unlike anything else. I wasn’t really sure how long it was supposed to take, and eventually, I just pulled his hand away and we made out for a little bit more. I rejiggered my dress, and we went back downstairs.

“It was good,” I say. “But we didn’t have sex.”

She laughs. “You implied that much.”

As excited as I am, it feels like Innis has a part of me, a tiny part that no one else has.

And I don’t quite know what he’s going to do with it.

Chapter 11

M
Y PHONE BUZZES AS
I
WALK BACK FROM
M
AC
K
ENZIE
’
S
. My heart beats against my rib cage, because I want so badly for it to be Innis.
I still like you as much as before. I have not spent the morning carving a half notch into my bedpost.

It’s not.

you ignoring me?

I type back furiously.

what do you want?

I can see Jason typing. Whatever he wants, I can’t give it. He stops, then starts again.

to be your friend

Part of me wants to be all that we were to each other. But I can’t. Not after the promises I made to Mom and Lyla. Not after last night with Innis.

I type the words quickly.

sorry i can’t

It’s not until I’m back in my house, in my room, lying on my bed and replaying the night before, worrying that Innis won’t text, that my phone buzzes again. I pick it up, ready to tell Jason no.

As soon as I see the message, I feel warm all over and alive as hell. Because it’s not Jason, it’s Innis.

dinner tonight? on me?

I look at the clock, my fingers already antsy, because in five minutes, I know I’m going to text Innis back and say yes.

I
NNIS SAID HE’D
pick me up at seven, and Lyla gets off work at four on Saturdays, so that gives me just enough time to go over there and make peace with her. She looks surprised when she answers the door.

“Liz.” Her eyes flit to a deep lilac potted orchid in my hands, an expensive little olive branch. “You shouldn’t have.”

Except I should have. If I want Lyla to forget about everything, I
really
should have. Lyla loves grand gestures and hates cheap flowers. Luckily Mom floated me some money to help heal our sisterly rift, otherwise it would have equaled two hours of babysitting.

“Sit down.” She gestures to an off-white overstuffed sofa. “I’ll make some tea.”

“Is Benny here?” I plop down. Everything matches, from the pillows to the walls to the ribbon holding up the engagement photo she’s already gotten framed.

“He’s playing racquetball,” she calls from the kitchen.

My hope deflates a little. Lyla’s on her best behavior when Benny’s around, which isn’t really that good, but I’ll take what I can get.

She returns with two steaming cups, and I jump right in. “I want to talk about yesterday.”

Lyla’s pasted-on smile instantly goes flat. “It’s over,” she says. “Let’s just not.”

I take a sip, and it scalds the roof of my mouth. Lyla slips a coaster beneath it before I can put it down.

“I want to explain.”

“What’s there to explain? You said you weren’t going to see him anymore.”

“And I’m not.”

“So what, then?”

I know her tricks. Lyla
says
she doesn’t want to talk about it, but all that means is she doesn’t want to talk about it with me. Without a doubt, she spent two hours talking about everything with Erica yesterday.

“I just want you to know, what he did to Skip was horrible, and I get why you’re mad. But you know he was my best friend. And maybe they weren’t to you, but the Sullivans were like second parents to me. I wanted to see his dad again—that’s it.”

Lyla huffs. “I hope it was worth it.”

“Lyla,” I snap, “I didn’t screw your fiancé or spill red wine on your wedding dress. I went to see an old friend. It doesn’t make me a horrible person.”

She shakes her head and crosses her arms. “You know I thought I was going to marry Skip?”

“Every girl thinks she’s going to marry her high school sweetheart.”

“This was different.” Her voice cracks, and her eyes get glossy. “We loved each other. It wasn’t just about high school. We had plans. We were going to go to D.C. or Atlanta and really do something with our lives. He was going to be a model.”

“Well, then why didn’t you?” I ask. “It’s not like he was freaking paralyzed. People get past way worse than that. Not everyone can be a model, anyway.”

“God, Liz, is that what you think of me?” Her eyes properly tear up now, and her hands reach to dry her face. “That I broke it off because he didn’t look perfect anymore? I wanted to be with him. I tried. It wasn’t just his face, it was everything. He was so angry, and he didn’t want to see me, he didn’t want to touch me or kiss me, and he sure didn’t want me to touch him. He broke up with
me.
”

“What?” I ask, before I can stop myself. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” she yells. “Don’t you remember? I could barely get out of bed and go to school. I should have been thinking about college and spending every weekend with Skip. I was a mess.”

I do remember. I remember her tears, her fights with my mother. I remember terse phone calls and the visits to the hospital. And then I remember one night when Lyla wouldn’t come down for dinner, and Mom, who’s strict about things like that, telling me to leave her. That she and Skip had broken up. After that, we didn’t say his name in the house.

And in my idiocy or naivety or jealousy of Lyla’s utter perfectness, I assumed she’d been the one to make the choice. Because, Lord, it’s hard to imagine someone making it for her.

“I thought you were upset.” I run my finger around the rim of the teacup, avoiding Lyla’s eyes. “I didn’t think—”

“You thought I was shallow enough to end it with the love of my life because he got hurt?”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

She stands up and gets a tissue and wipes her tears. It leaves mascara trails underneath her eyes. “Well, now you do. Now do you understand why I’d be upset?”

I nod. “I’m sorry, Lyla. I really am so sorry.”

That’s when Benny walks in, with a chipper hello. He’s dripping with sweat and wearing a cheesy exercise headband. He looks ridiculous in that way that makes everyone warm up to him instantly.

Lyla quickly rearranges her face. “Hey, baby.” Her voice is as sweet and smooth as whipped butter. I think of the song that always comes on Dad’s oldies station, “Love the One You’re With.” Suddenly, I wonder if Benny is just her fall-back, if even after everything, Skip’s the one she’d be with if she had the choice.

“I should probably go.” I stand up.

She looks at Benny, then looks at me. “Yeah. You probably should.”

D
AD’S IN FULL
Dad Mode that evening, his face stern as he opens the door for Innis.

Innis wears a button-down lavender shirt over jeans. His face is freshly shaven and his curly hair is rocking the slightest bit of gel.

“Hello, Mr. Grant.” He shakes my dad’s hand.

“Nice to see you, Innis,” Dad says, and I can tell by his tone of voice that Innis used just the right amount of firmness. Dad cares about things like that: Not firm enough is weak and ambivalent. Too firm is like you’re angry, got something to prove.

Dad ushers him in, and Innis’s face breaks into a smile as he looks at me.

“Hi, Liz.” His eyes lock on mine. “You look beautiful.” I don’t even care if it’s fake and solely for acquiring the Dad Seal of Approval. Innis has never called me beautiful before.

Mom grins and tucks a bit of hair behind her ears, while Dad proceeds through the list of questions he always used with Lyla’s dates:
Where are you going? How long have you been driving? What does punctual mean to you?

Innis passes with flying colors, and after a kiss on my mother’s cheek and a hug from Dad, I’m walking down the front sidewalk and past the elm that Jason and I would use as home base for our more involved games of hide-and-seek. The summer air kisses my bare legs and shoulders, and my sundress flutters around me just the way I want it to.

I feel pretty and lucky, and I know that things are changing, that this is new.

Innis makes a point of opening the car door for me before he goes to the other side, pulling away slowly while I wave at my parents, but once we’re a few blocks down the road, out of sight, out of earshot, he revs it, and we’re flying with the windows down, my hair blowing around me, every strand I fussed over getting completely messed up, but I feel so alive it doesn’t matter.

“So how’d I do?” His voice is a little bit gruffer, a whole lot more Innis.

“I think you totally charmed them,” I say.

He laughs. “Parents tend to like me.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

W
E PARK IN
one of the spots downtown, among the rows of perfectly spaced trees and brick sidewalks. Along the street, I recognize a couple of cars.

We get out and walk towards the pizza place on the corner. I spot Marisa and Alex—apparently, they’re still on today—standing at the edge of a circle of kids from school.

“Liz!” Marisa says, handing her greasy slice to Alex and rushing up to me, giving me a big hug. Apparently, we’re besties now? I scan the crowd for Alexis, but I don’t see her anywhere—all for the better.

“Did you guys come to nurse your hangovers, too?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. I nudge Innis with my elbow. “He’s keeping it secret.”

Marisa’s eyes light up in admiration, but she doesn’t have a chance to say anything, because that’s when Innis grabs my hand. “We’re actually going to Cafe Rouge,” he says.

“Seriously?” I ask. My parents only go on special occasions. I didn’t even think they let high school kids in.

We say our good-byes and he pushes me towards the door, his hand flat on the small of my back. I feel shivers, cool and jolting, down my spine. I turn my head to see Marisa raising her eyebrows and smiling. Even Alex looks impressed.

“You sure?” I catch his eyes, as he opens the door.

He plays it off like no other guy can, like he took dating lessons from one of those swanky old movie stars. “For you? Nothing less.”

People are crowded into the vestibule, waiting for their name to be called. Innis walks right up to the hostess, a tall, skinny girl with gorgeous dark hair and tasteful cleavage. She smiles right at him, ignores another guy trying to catch her attention. I wonder if he thinks she’s hot—MacKenzie says guys think about sex a million times a day—but the girl doesn’t seem to faze him.

“Innis.” She sets down the marker she uses to assign tables. “Good to see you.”

“Any way we can get a table for two tonight?” He nods to me.

“Of course.” She waves a young guy in a crisp white shirt over. “Enjoy your dinner.”

We follow the guy through linen-covered tables to a spot in the back. As soon as we’re alone, he’s back to regular old Innis. “I don’t know crap about French food, but it’s the nicest place in Bonneville, and my family knows the owner.”

We order safe things: roast chicken and carrots, steak and fries. We pronounce it all wrong, and we laugh at the number of forks, almost as many as in cotillion. There’s no way we’d get away with ordering wine, but I feel drunk anyway, on French food and Innis’s smiles and how delicious it is to be admired.

“I’m glad we’ve been hanging out,” Innis says, in between bites of steak.

“I’m glad we have, too.”

He takes a sip of water. “So you haven’t seen Jason again, have you?”

I shake my head instantaneously, even though it’s a lie. It’s a necessary one, the kind that makes everything a little bit easier for all the right reasons. It’s hardly even wrong.

“Good,” he says. “And you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to go beat him up or anything, even though he deserves it.”

“Good,” I say. “It’s not worth it anyway.”

But Innis has this smile on his face, mischievous, like a little kid caught with an empty package of Oreos.

“What?”

He smiles, grabs a fry from my plate, pops it into his mouth.

“What?” I ask again.

He shrugs. “I have my ways.”

“What do you mean?”

He casually takes a sip of water. “Nothing huge. Only Payton went to that gas station and keyed his truck.”

“Are you serious?” Just like that, the good feeling, the lightness I’ve had the whole meal is gone.

Innis laughs. “You sure didn’t think I wasn’t going to do anything, did you?”

“You said you wouldn’t go there.”

He shrugs. “And I didn’t. Payton did.”

I set my fork down. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

Innis’s tiny fork drops to his plate with a clang. “Why are
you
defending him?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

I unfold the napkin in my lap, refold it. Take a sip of water.

“Well?” he asks.

My bladder feels full.

“Are you trying to be friends with that prick? I thought you’d be happy, after everything with your sister.”

“I’m not friends with him.” I scramble for the right words. “I just think you should be careful.”

“
He’s
the one who should be careful.”

I think of Innis just last night, how he punched that junior right in the gut.

“What’s your deal with him, anyway? You still carrying a torch from middle school?”

I swallow, but my throat feels suddenly parched, like I can barely speak. “Middle school?”

“Jason always said you had a thing for him. That’s why he had to stop hanging out with you.”

It still hits like a blow, after all these years. Did I have a thing for him? He was the only boy I knew. When I imagined kissing someone, it was always Jason. I’m not sure if it’s because I really liked him, or if he was just there, but I liked him being around.