Until Now (13 page)

My apartment hunt wasn’t going very well. Either the rent was too high, or the apartment was too dumpy, or the person who’d placed the ad looking for roommates came across as either intolerably unfriendly or
Single White Female
creepy. After a few unsuccessful inquiries, I resigned myself to staying at the Brogans for a little longer than I’d originally planned. Steve and Lynn didn’t seem to mind having me around, but the last thing I wanted to do was overstay my welcome. Still, it was only June; maybe there’d be more suitable prospects as end of summer drew near and college students started moving to the city in droves.

Now that I was sure that I’d be staying for a while longer (unless a miracle occurred), I finally decided to unpack my suitcases. I’d been living out of them for the past few weeks, always ready for a quick escape in case I secured a more long-term living arrangement or if Steve and Lynn declared that they’d had enough of me. But neither of those things were currently on the horizon.

“Okay,” I murmured to myself on Friday evening as I stood in Taylor’s old room, surveying the bursting luggage and boxes that contained everything I owned. Where to start? Shoes, I decided, and got to work, lining them up at the bottom of the closet. When I was a teenager, Alan used to give me a sizable allowance, most of which I’d spent on clothes and shoes. My collection was almost as ridiculous as my mother’s.

Next, I flung open one of the larger boxes, where I’d stowed books and pictures and everything that had been on my walls and mirror at the Redwood Hills house. I picked up the item on top, a cheap
Best Friends
picture frame containing an image of Taylor and me, age fourteen, standing in front of the giant tree in her backyard with our arms around each other’s shoulders. Smiling, I set it aside and reached into the box again.

This time, I brought out a wrinkled, dog-eared page that had been ripped out of a coloring book. Thomas the Tank Engine grinned up at me, a thick scribble of blue crayon obscuring one of his big round eyes. My throat ached with barely-controlled tears. I remembered when Drake had colored this picture, propped up on his knees at the kitchen table. He’d presented his finished masterpiece to me, so proud. I’d extolled his artistic talents and promised to cherish it forever.

Drake
, I thought, running a finger along the waxy lines of crayon. Did he miss me as much as I missed him? Did Lila? Were they really okay?

Without even thinking about it first, I placed the Thomas the Tank Engine picture back in the box, grabbed my cell phone, and punched in the number for Alan’s parents.

“Hello?” a deep male voice answered after several rings. The grandfather. I felt a surge of hope. Usually it was the grandmother who picked up my calls.

“I’d like to speak to my brother and sister,” I said, skipping the standard preamble.

“Who’s this, now?”

My hope hardened into impatience. How many older siblings did the twins
have
? “It’s Robin,” I said, forcing a civil tone. Pissing him off wouldn’t help. “Can I please speak to Drake and Lila?”

“Oh,” he replied, followed by a long pause. He was clearly thinking something over. When he spoke again, his voice sounded strong and resolute. “They’re in the bathtub right now, but maybe if you call back tomorrow…”

It really hit me then, the hard truth I knew deep down but didn’t want to believe. I was being purposely shut out. They’d never let me speak to them, not now, not tomorrow, not ever. My mother no longer existed in their lives, and neither did I.

“Please,” I said, my eyes glued to Drake’s colored masterpiece, lying face-up in the box. “I just need to hear for myself that they’re okay.”

“They’re fine,” the grandfather said, the inflection in his tone reminding me of Alan when
he
said those words. It was like they all followed the same placate-Robin script. “I’ll let them know you called.”

“Sure you will,” I muttered, then hit
end call
on my cell before tossing it on the rug beside me. Anger vibrated through me, making my hands shake. I hated them. Hated my mother for leaving, hated Alan for sending the twins away, hated the grandparents for trying to erase me from their lives. Hated them all.

My phone buzzed then with a new text, making me jump. I yanked it off the rug, thinking for a wild moment that it was the grandfather with a change of heart. Then I realized he wouldn’t be texting me. I looked at the screen and saw a message from Abby.

Having a few people over tonight. Want to come?

I’d heard about Abby’s parties. Had seen the pictures on Facebook of her and her friends, grinning and glassy-eyed, their lips curled around bottles and shot glasses and bongs. For a personal trainer, she sure did have a lot of unhealthy habits. Then again, I could say the same for myself as an aspiring dietitian. Still, in spite of this, I didn’t even hesitate as I typed in my reply.

I’ll be there in an hour
.

* * *

Abby lived on the eighth floor of a ten-floor building in a sketchy area of the city. She shared the compact two-bedroom apartment with her best friend from high school, Deena, who waitressed at a popular seafood place on the waterfront. She must have been there tonight, because the only people present in the apartment when I showed up were Abby and some guy.

“That was quick,” she said as she ushered me inside and gave me a quick hug hello. “Are you okay? You look a little shaken up. Did that creepy guy who lives down the hall try to lure you into his apartment? Because I swear, he does that to me and Deena every—”

“I’m fine,” I cut in, shedding my jacket. Underneath, I wore a long, banded tank top over black leggings.

“You sure?” She hung up my jacket in the tiny hall closet and then faced me again, still concerned.

I nodded and smiled widely. Abby knew nothing about my recent family troubles. With her, I liked to keep things surface-deep and fun.

“Okay,” she said, letting it go. She led me into the living room and motioned toward the scratched leather couch, where a dark-haired man was lounging with a beer. “You remember Damien from when we went to Fusion a couple of weeks ago.”

Of course. The guy Abby had practically dry-humped on the dance floor. The one who tried to get us to kiss. “Hi,” I said brightly, though I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him again.

He nodded at me and downed the rest of his beer, eyes never leaving my legs. Abby seized my arm and pulled me toward the little galley kitchen. “Let’s go mix up some daiquiris,” she said, glancing at her beeping phone. “My friends are on their way over right now.”

“Mine too,” Damien said with a smile in my direction. Was he referring to his friend Cody? Mr. Trouble himself, who I knew had my number but had never contacted me after that night at Fusion? My stomach clenched with…something. Excitement? Dread? Determination?

I needed a drink.

“Cheers,” Abby said once we both had a frozen daiquiri in hand.

“Cheers.”

We clinked glasses and took some very unladylike sips. The rum burned a path to my empty stomach, where it settled into a pool of warmth. Much better. I didn’t even mind when Damien joined us in the kitchen and held up his phone to take a picture of us. Abby and I posed sportingly, heads together as we raised our drinks. Damien captured the image and then immediately started tapping away on his phone.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked.

He grinned. “Just texting a little preview to my boy.”

“You remember Cody, right?” Abby said, cocking a blond eyebrow. “Damien texted him earlier to let him know you were going to be here and he got all excited.” She laughed. “I think he had plans already, but he cancelled them so he could come here instead.”

“Yeah, I remember him,” I admitted, keeping my voice flat. He hadn’t called me, after all, so I couldn’t have made
too
much of an impression on him. I was surprised that he was so eager to see me tonight.

A few minutes later, Abby’s friends arrived in a flurry of laughter and perfume and cigarette smoke mixed with fresh air. Abby introduced me to everyone as “Robin, my partner in crime at Bay Street Fitness.” The women greeted me enthusiastically and then proceeded to the kitchen for drinks. Someone turned on the stereo, and soon the place felt like a mini version of Fusion. I wondered how Abby’s neighbors tolerated it, then remembered her telling me once that her upstairs neighbor was old and deaf, and the guy who lived below her was rarely there. As for the rest of the floor, maybe they were heavy partiers themselves. It was that kind of building.

Damien’s friends showed up at around eleven, most of them already smelling like they’d showered in beer. Including Cody, who headed straight for me as I stood near the stove, working on my fourth drink. Or was it the fifth? I’d lost count.

“Hey, good girl,” he said, grinning down at me. I’d almost forgotten how tall he was. And how hot.

“Do I know you?” I bit my straw and blinked up at him, eyes wide. He frowned, looking almost hurt. I laughed to let him know I was only joking, and something flashed in his eyes for a moment—embarrassment, maybe?—before his features relaxed into a smile again.

“Of course you know me.” He placed his hands against the stove on either side of me, blocking me in. “I’m hard to forget.”

Hot
and
arrogant. Unfortunately, just my type. I kept still in his little trap, breathing in his scent of beer, spicy cologne, and…was that women’s perfume emanating off his T-shirt? Either he liked that kind of thing, or he’d been pressed against a woman very recently. My guess was the latter.

“Ever hear of personal space?” I asked, bumping my hip against his left arm. When he didn’t move, I added, “I still have the use of my knee, you know.”

His eyes flashed again with an emotion I couldn’t pinpoint and he stepped back a few inches, out of ball-crushing distance. “You’re a tough one,” he said, smirking. “I like it.”

You would
, I thought. He seemed like the type who lived for the challenge, the thrill of the chase. Usually, guys like him lost interest after claiming the prize. But that didn’t concern me. Playing hard to get with a guy who so obviously thrived on it was a fun distraction.

“So what do you do?” I asked in a veiled attempt to distract him from his desire to get into my leggings.

“Do?”

“Do you work or go to college or…?”

“Yeah,” he said, which didn’t answer my question at all. Maybe he wasn’t too bright. “How about you?”

“Both. I go to Kinsley and work at Bay Street Fitness with Abby.”

He reached behind him to grab a fresh beer from the six-pack by the fridge. “What’s that, a gym?”

I refrained from pointing out that the “fitness” part of the title implied a gym. “Yeah. It’s really tough looking at sweaty, muscular guys all day, but I manage. I’ve learned a lot working there.”

“Really.” He swallowed half the beer in one gulp and moved in close again, his free hand drifting to my waist. “Like what?”

I placed my empty glass on the counter beside me and licked my lips. “Like the anatomical terms for muscles. This,” I said, touching a fingertip to the space where his neck met his shoulder, “is the trapezius muscle. And right about here…” My finger slid down to his chest. “…is the pectoralis major.”

Cody’s eyes darkened, and he pressed his groin against my hip. “How about this muscle?” he asked in my ear.

“I don’t know the exact term,” I replied casually, “but I’m pretty sure it translates to ‘stays in pants.’”

His laugh tickled my neck. “Whatever you say, good girl.”

I bristled at this ridiculous nickname. I’d show him
good girl
.

“You want to get out of here?” I asked, clutching the hem of his shirt. Again, I caught the scent of perfume, a potent reminder of the last woman who’d stood this close. Strangely, it didn’t deter me.

“What do you think?” He set his beer bottle next to my empty glass and took my hand, tugging it. “Your place?”

I shook my head. “I have, uh, roommates.” This wasn’t technically a lie. Taylor’s family
were
my roommates of sorts. Kind of.

“Yeah, me too,” he said quickly. “So we can’t go to my place either. Do you have a car?”

“I took the bus here. You?” He also seemed like the type to shirk the whole “drinking and driving is dangerous and illegal” thing.

“Taxi,” he said, his full lips thinning in disappointment.
I kissed those lips
, I thought, my brain scrambling for details. Had I enjoyed it? I couldn’t recall. The end of that night was a total, obliterating blur.

I was counting on tonight being the same.

“Just a sec,” I said, sliding away from him and into the hallway adjacent to the kitchen. Abby’s bedroom was wide open and filled with people, some sitting on the bed passing around a water bong and some sprawled on the floor, looking through old yearbooks and laughing hysterically. Deena’s bedroom door was closed and, upon further inspection, locked tight. That left the one and only bathroom, which was empty at the moment but wouldn’t be for long. However, I was now at the point of drunkenness during which the passage of time felt vague and elastic.