You Before Anyone Else (18 page)

He's laughing too hard to hear all of it. “Never in a million years would I have believed that if I didn't hear it coming from you. Does it pay decent?”

“Depends,” I say. “The Alexander Wang job paid really big. Several thousand.”

“To do what?” he demands. “Stand around in clothes and get your picture taken?”

I debate explaining hair and makeup, outfit changes, and castings, and then decide it's not worth it. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Don't ever tell my family that you gave up Princeton for that.” He shakes his head. “But it's cool that you're working. Caroline will hate that you're doing anything to prove responsibility.” He looks conflicted all over again, like I'm asking him to choose a side—I'm not. “This sucks.”

I put my fork down. “I'm not trying to take her away from you, you know that, right? I don't want to be with her like that. I never have. And neither has she—”

“Yeah, I know.” He looks away from me. “But we had it all figured out. And now she might change her mind, which is fine. I mean, fuck, I couldn't—I'd understand if she did. Want to keep it. And as much as I want to be with her, I'm not the right person if she's going to—” He shifts his gaze to me again. “I'm gonna be a doctor. I've got a long road ahead.”

“Basically, your love life is fucked up, and you're not allowed to complain about it, because her decision holds more weight than your feelings,” I say.

A grin spreads across his face. “That's a fucking brilliant summary. Did you think that up on your way over?”

“Nope,” I admit. “Completely created. On the spot.” But still true.

“You're not an idiot,” RJ says, which is his form of a compliment. “We both know you're not smart enough to get into Princeton without Dad's name, but you're not a dumbass. And you're a kick-ass piano player. Ever think about doing something with that?”

I look at him like he's nuts. RJ plays three instruments, all at an advanced level.

“Caroline's always talking about it. Plus, I've heard you play a couple times. Your execution isn't perfect, but you're instinctive or intuitive or whatever the hell it is,” he explains. “It's different from guys like me, learning so we have more to add to our applications, more awards…” He waves a hand at the walls in the kitchen. “Remember when you jumped onstage and played at the jazz club? That one dude who's super famous let you jam with him.”

“Pretty sure I was high that night,” I say dryly.

No better way to make a comfortable situation turn awkward than dropping this kind of shit into the mix.

“Right,” he says, probably remembering me hitting rock bottom later that night and needing his help to get home. It wasn't the only time that happened.

RJ picks at the chipped paint on the table. “I've known all along that you both would need to be there, to see it…before you could really decide. I haven't said that to Caroline, because I don't like to think about it, but I knew. If it were me, I couldn't decide until after.”

I let that sink in for several seconds before saying, “I take it you don't want me to mention that to your girlfriend?”

“Um, no.” RJ releases a breath and laughs. “But if you need something…you can, you know, ask me.”

“Thanks.”

I hang out at his place a little longer, and then I take off before his family comes home. I'm still shaken up from all the drama, from finally facing the reality of my choices out loud. I can't pick a place to go or to be, so I end up walking miles. Riding too many subways. Sitting at half a dozen parks, watching people with kids and trying to figure out what they're doing and why. I even debate sneaking into Caroline's room to try and fix things with her. But eventually, I figure out exactly who I need to talk to. Finley.

My heart speeds, remembering the way I left things.

God knows what she's thinking.

Finley

Elana's mom dumps more food onto my and Eve's plates, despite the fact that we haven't made a dent in the first serving. Elana has barely touched her food. She's picking at something stuck to the table—probably left from my brothers' visit—not willing to make eye contact with anyone. Especially Eve and Alex, who are eating on the couch, because this apartment table only has three chairs.

I knew it was weird between them, but I didn't realize Elana held this big of a grudge. So yeah, we've definitely reached a whole new level of awkward this evening.

Eve is conversing easily in French with Elana's mom, but she keeps glancing at Elana, hoping to get her to chime in. She and Alex tried to leave the second Elana and her mom returned, because it was obvious Elana was uncomfortable. But French Mama pulled out her frying pan—which makes no sense, considering all the prepared meals she stowed in the fridge—and everyone was sentenced to a country tour of French cuisine.

Normally, I would put more effort into keeping the peace—my dinner guest skills are excellent—but tonight, my mind is elsewhere.

I space out for a few minutes, my fork making circles through the buttery pasta on its own, and when I refocus on my surroundings, Eve is showing French Mama pictures on her laptop. I glance over at the couch. Alex's face is all scrunched up, like thinking really hard will make him suddenly understand French.

Eve has a moment of panic and flips past a photo in her database. A glimpse of that picture is enough to get Elana looking up from the table.

“What was that?” Elana asks.

Eve tosses me an apologetic look. “Just some photos we took this morning for a school project. I took advantage of my
Cosmo
resources and Finley.”

“And Eddie,” I add, glancing at Eve, sending a silent message that I'm not bothered by the mention of the pictures. Honestly, I don't know if I'm upset. I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. Mostly, it's just confusion.

French Mama says something to Eve, gesturing a hand at me. Eve translates. “She wants to know how long you've been dancing.”

“My whole life,” I say, leaving out my nearly three-year vacation. “My mom was a dancer and a dance teacher.”

Eve translates this, and then Elana chimes in, adding to it. I think Elana must have said something about my mom not being alive, because French Mama gives me that look of sympathy I'm all too familiar with. I grip my cell phone—it's been in my hand for a few minutes now. Maybe I should text him?

Elana slides her chair over to get a closer look. “Wow, this is—” She stops, seeming to remember she'd made a vow of silence, due to present company. Then she looks right at me. “You're so cool in these pictures.”

I manage a laugh. “As opposed to real life?”

“Not what I meant,” Elana explains. “It's the whole hair down, all black clothes concept—you look edgy.”

Edgy. Huh. Who knew all I had to do was put on ballet shoes to achieve this look?

All three of them laugh at the next picture, so of course, I get up to look. It's one where Eddie is sitting down and I'm standing over him, pressing a pointe shoe to his chest, forcing him back.

“Definitely edgy here,” Eve says.

The more they flip through photos from this morning, the more I want to grab those shoes and put them on again, move the furniture, and dance that
Don Quixote
solo over and over again. It's so full of feeling and aggression—exactly what I need to release right now.

French Mama is the only relaxed one here. She doesn't seem to be aware of the fact that Elana hasn't exactly been on good terms with Eve and Alex. I'm guessing it's that logical thing again. She shouldn't be angry with them—they helped her. Even though Elana might not think she needed the parental supervision, obviously, her mom did. But to Elana, if not Alex and Eve, who is left to point the blame at? If she tells her mom, then her mom's going to tell her she's wrong.

Eve closes the file for this morning's shoot and opens another one, explaining something in French. Elana sinks back in her chair, unsure how to react when a picture of her pops up.

Eve has some amazing photos of Elana from last year. Her mom is just eating it all up, and even Elana seems impressed. Especially a series of shots of her hands while she was doing homework on set. After Eve promises to send the photos to her, French Mama steps away to clean up the dishes. Eve continues to show images to Elana. Alex watches them for a couple minutes, then steps away, and we both exchange a look. This is definitely progress for them.

Outside, dark clouds rush toward the building. I walk over to the window and look out at the sky. It's gonna storm soon.

“Doing okay?” Alex asks.

I pull my gaze from the window and shrug. “I guess.”

“What do you think he was supposed to sign but didn't?” Alex asks.

We've danced around the topic for hours now. Guess it's time to discuss it. I shake my head. “I don't know…paternity papers? Child support agreement? What else could it be?”

“That's what I was thinking too.” Alex looks down at his hands. “Or maybe he's stalling on even claiming rights. Like he's waiting for a test to confirm or something.”

“This is so Jerry Springer,” I joke. “But maybe…”

Except that theory doesn't match up with what I know about Eddie. Unless he's told everyone he'd own up to his fatherhood, and instead, he wants to run away. But he told me he was doing a good thing, not running away.

God, I don't know.

I catch Elana's eye, and she mouths,
Are you okay?
I nod. She doesn't need to worry about me. But later, I do need to tell her about meeting Toby Rhinehart. She's going to flip out. We should have gotten a picture.

We should have enjoyed the lack of drama last night a little bit more. I would have if I had known
this
was coming.

Outside, the rain comes down in sheets, hitting the pavement. People shift to stand under awnings and pull out umbrellas. Some just speed up their walk.

“I didn't know about the dancing stuff,” Alex says. “You doing anything with that?”

“A little training on my own, whenever an aerobics room is free at the gym.” I don't want to get into business plans and all that. Plus, it's obvious he's just trying to keep me occupied and talk about something other than Eddie Wells.

“There's a studio three blocks from here,” Alex explains. “Iris's Toes. Kind of a funky place. My roommate's girlfriend teaches there. She would definitely get you into a couple of Iris's adult classes for free. She's offered me the same thing several times. Eve too. Something about models helping the business…”

I hadn't thought about taking a class myself. Might be fun. Might be tangible proof how out of shape I am and how much my technique has suffered during the time off. My mom was a technique Nazi, so I've had the “bad technique will get you nowhere” mentality in my head practically since birth.

There's a knock on the door that seems to startle everyone—including me.

“Summer probably forgot her key again,” Elana says.

I walk over and look through the peephole. My stomach flips at the sight of Eddie's dark hair. I turn the dead bolt and open the door. He's soaking wet, his jeans clinging to him, his T-shirt now semitransparent. I exhale and finally let my gaze travel to his face. The lines on his forehead indicate stress or nerves. He turns those blue eyes on me before breathing out the word, “Hey.”

“Hey.” I work hard to keep my tone neutral. I don't know if I want him to see inside my head just yet.

“Do you think—” He glances over my shoulder, probably taking in the company. “Maybe we can…talk?”

Behind me, Eve is already packing up her laptop. She passes a silent question my way:
Should we go?
I nod. Not that I need her to leave, but just so she knows I'm okay with talking to him. I pull the door open all the way, and Eddie steps inside, giving an awkward wave to everyone. French Mama is the only one who doesn't wave back. Instead, she narrows her eyes at Eddie and tosses me a look of concern.

I lead him into my room right away, saving him from French Mama or attempting small talk while dripping wet. After handing him the towel from the back of my door, I'm perched at the edge of my bed, waiting for him to talk.

He starts to remove his T-shirt and then seems to think twice about it. Instead, he rubs the towel over his hair and makes a poor attempt to dry his shirt. Then he glances around for a safe place to sit and settles on leaning against the wall across from me. He looks so anxious, I almost say something to make him feel better but decide it's safer to wait for his answers.

“So…” I prompt, staying neutral. “The girl this morning? She's your…ex? Another one-night stand?” I'm hoping the last one isn't true, because Eddie told me he hadn't done that before, and if he lied about one thing, what else has he lied about?

“Caroline is my…” He exhales and twists the towel into a ball. “She's—I've known her my whole life. Our families are—
were
—friends.”

That still doesn't exactly answer the question, but I don't want to sound jealous, so I wait for him to offer more.

“Remember that party I told you about?” he asks. As if I could forget that revealing bit of information. “That was the same night that we—I mean, that she—”

“I get it.”

“Right.” He swallows. “We were both messed up. Really messed up. She just got dumped by an asshole, and I was fresh off one of my dad's famous ‘don't screw up your life or we'll be ashamed of you forever' dinners. I don't know why we decided
that
would help things. Especially considering we never went there before.”

It's hard to have this conversation under such polite and ambiguous conditions. “So you never had sex with her before that night. And you aren't together now, and you weren't after either?”

“No,” he says. “I mean yes. Yes, that's correct. Neither of us remember a whole lot about any of it. Obviously, we weren't—”

“Safe?” I supply.

“Yeah, and it was awful the next morning, not to mention the whole getting busted part.” He leans more weight on the wall, almost sagging against it. “And then my parents decided to buy my way out of the rumor mill by tossing Caroline's name out there. Our dads have been good friends since college, and we vacationed together, but it was that easy for him to just write them off.”

Jesus. These are the worst kind of people. But I need the rest of this story before we discuss Eddie's family. “And then she got some news?” I prompt.

He nods, his face haunted. “I told my parents right away, and they responded by suing the Davenports—Caroline's family. For slander. Assuming they were planning to tell people what happened. It turned into this big, complicated business thing. Neither of us knew our families were even communicating at all. Our schools were forty minutes away from each other, so we were together all the time—” He must have caught my reaction, because he clarifies, “Not
together
. Just being together. Talking. Trying to figure out what the fuck to do. And then we went to that clinic. Three different times. She couldn't go through with it, and then—”

He slides down the wall until he's seated on my floor, and when he looks up at me, I'm hit hard with the main reason he's here. In my room. With me. And it's not to offer me this explanation. Not to make sure I don't call him a cheater. It's because he literally has no one else.

“Do you think—” Eddie starts and then pauses, forcing his voice to come out even. “Do you think it matters that I wanted her to go through with it? Does that make me unqualified? Am I going to have to explain that to him when he gets older?”

He stares at me, waiting for my answer like it means something. And then my carefully placed wall crumbles, and I'm up, crossing the room and sitting in front of him.