Good Girl
Page 63
“Somehow this feels unfair,” Finn says, going to the window of the bedroom and glaring down at my new Ford. “I lend you my truck for two fucking months, and how do you repay me? You get a better truck.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were borrowing a car whose air-conditioning actually worked for that entire time,” Vaughn says. I glance down at my feet to see Ranger’s tail going crazy, and I know Vaughn’s just shared a piece of his nasty organic protein bar.
“Be honest, Country Club, how old were you when the doctor pulled the silver spoon out of your ass? I think they waited too long.”
“You know that things like AC and toilet paper are no longer considered luxuries, right?” Vaughn asks.
“Wish I woulda known that when I used all those fancy papers from your briefcase to wipe my ass.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, putting the crook of my arm over my face in irritation. “Guys. I can’t today. Shut the fuck up.”
Finn crouches down. “Dude, are you crying?”
I kick at him, connecting with his kneecap, but he takes it like a man and kicks me back.
“Oh, good, flashbacks to third grade,” Vaughn mutters.
“Why, you have a wedgie?” Finn asks. “I’m guessing that happened a lot in your youth. Hey, how’s your Labradoodle search going?”
I give the wrench one last twist, holding my breath, then releasing it when I realize the leak’s fixed.
“Didn’t you already fix this?” Vaughn asks as I scoot out from under the sink.
“Not this one.”
“And we’re fixing this one now because…?”
“Because,” I say, standing and brushing off my hands, “nobody’s going to buy this dump if the plumbing leaks.”
“News flash, bro—nobody’s going to buy this dump anyway,” Vaughn says.
Finn studies me. “Thought you were keeping it.”
“Yeah, well, that was before,” I say, bending down to load my tools back into the box. Ranger licks my face, and I give him a distracted pet.
“Before the incident?”
“How about we not call it that?” I snap.
“Sorry. The debacle,” Finn says.
Vaughn staggers back. “Debacle? Big word for a little brain. But yeah, what are we calling it?” he asks me.
“Nothing. Because we’re not talking about it,” I say.
It’s been nearly two weeks since Jenny disappeared from this house. From this state.
From my life.
It took me exactly twenty minutes of being here alone without her to realize I couldn’t do it. I still want the solitude and the fixer-upper, but not this one. There’s too much of her here.
Too much of us.
“You talk to her?” Vaughn asks.
I glance up. “What part of ‘we’re not talking about it’ went over your head?”
“What part of ‘quit being a moron’ isn’t getting through to yours?” Finn says, taking Vaughn’s side. For once.
I drop the wrench back into the box with a clatter and stand, looking between the two of them. “What exactly is it that you two want me to do? Chase her down? Send her flowers? I lied to her, and she left. End of story.”
“If that was the end of the story, then I wouldn’t be counting the number of words you’ve said all week on one hand.”
“Let me simplify it for you,” I say. “Here’s two words, conveyed with one finger.”
I flip him off, then start to move toward the door, but they both move with me, blocking my exit. Hell, even Ranger seems to be in on this, although he at least gives me an apologetic wag.
“What is this?” I grumble, looking between their too-innocent expressions. “An intervention?”
“Pretty much,” Finn says, pulling out his cellphone. “There’s something you need to hear.”
Vaughn nods in agreement, and I resist the urge—barely—to knock them both over the head with the toolbox. Still, they’re my best friends, and they’re right about me being shitty company the past week.
Jenny leaving was the best thing, at least in the long haul. The inevitable thing. I know that. But somehow it’s so much shittier than I ever imagined. I don’t eat. Don’t sleep.
I can’t listen to the radio because it reminds me of her, can’t read because it reminds me that the last time I tried to read a book she burst out of the closet and tied me to the bed.
I can’t even watch TV, because the girl’s everywhere. They just announced that she’d be singing at the Super Bowl halftime show next year, for God’s sake. Now the girl is even ruining football.
I wait impatiently for Finn to do whatever he’s doing on his phone, and I’m a little surprised when he starts playing the opening notes of a quiet song.
“You’ve heard this?” Finn asks me, giving a quick glance at Vaughn. Never a good sign.
“No, why?” I say.
Then I know.
“Turn it off,” I say, the second I hear her voice.
I try to move around them, but Finn’s hand finds the center of my chest, shoving me back, his face angry. “For fuck’s sake, man, just listen.”
I do, because apparently it’s the only way to get out of this damned room, out of this house, but I try to shut myself off. From the sound of her voice, the strum of her guitar, and the memory of the way she looked when she played, when she sang.
“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were borrowing a car whose air-conditioning actually worked for that entire time,” Vaughn says. I glance down at my feet to see Ranger’s tail going crazy, and I know Vaughn’s just shared a piece of his nasty organic protein bar.
“Be honest, Country Club, how old were you when the doctor pulled the silver spoon out of your ass? I think they waited too long.”
“You know that things like AC and toilet paper are no longer considered luxuries, right?” Vaughn asks.
“Wish I woulda known that when I used all those fancy papers from your briefcase to wipe my ass.”
“Oh my God,” I mutter, putting the crook of my arm over my face in irritation. “Guys. I can’t today. Shut the fuck up.”
Finn crouches down. “Dude, are you crying?”
I kick at him, connecting with his kneecap, but he takes it like a man and kicks me back.
“Oh, good, flashbacks to third grade,” Vaughn mutters.
“Why, you have a wedgie?” Finn asks. “I’m guessing that happened a lot in your youth. Hey, how’s your Labradoodle search going?”
I give the wrench one last twist, holding my breath, then releasing it when I realize the leak’s fixed.
“Didn’t you already fix this?” Vaughn asks as I scoot out from under the sink.
“Not this one.”
“And we’re fixing this one now because…?”
“Because,” I say, standing and brushing off my hands, “nobody’s going to buy this dump if the plumbing leaks.”
“News flash, bro—nobody’s going to buy this dump anyway,” Vaughn says.
Finn studies me. “Thought you were keeping it.”
“Yeah, well, that was before,” I say, bending down to load my tools back into the box. Ranger licks my face, and I give him a distracted pet.
“Before the incident?”
“How about we not call it that?” I snap.
“Sorry. The debacle,” Finn says.
Vaughn staggers back. “Debacle? Big word for a little brain. But yeah, what are we calling it?” he asks me.
“Nothing. Because we’re not talking about it,” I say.
It’s been nearly two weeks since Jenny disappeared from this house. From this state.
From my life.
It took me exactly twenty minutes of being here alone without her to realize I couldn’t do it. I still want the solitude and the fixer-upper, but not this one. There’s too much of her here.
Too much of us.
“You talk to her?” Vaughn asks.
I glance up. “What part of ‘we’re not talking about it’ went over your head?”
“What part of ‘quit being a moron’ isn’t getting through to yours?” Finn says, taking Vaughn’s side. For once.
I drop the wrench back into the box with a clatter and stand, looking between the two of them. “What exactly is it that you two want me to do? Chase her down? Send her flowers? I lied to her, and she left. End of story.”
“If that was the end of the story, then I wouldn’t be counting the number of words you’ve said all week on one hand.”
“Let me simplify it for you,” I say. “Here’s two words, conveyed with one finger.”
I flip him off, then start to move toward the door, but they both move with me, blocking my exit. Hell, even Ranger seems to be in on this, although he at least gives me an apologetic wag.
“What is this?” I grumble, looking between their too-innocent expressions. “An intervention?”
“Pretty much,” Finn says, pulling out his cellphone. “There’s something you need to hear.”
Vaughn nods in agreement, and I resist the urge—barely—to knock them both over the head with the toolbox. Still, they’re my best friends, and they’re right about me being shitty company the past week.
Jenny leaving was the best thing, at least in the long haul. The inevitable thing. I know that. But somehow it’s so much shittier than I ever imagined. I don’t eat. Don’t sleep.
I can’t listen to the radio because it reminds me of her, can’t read because it reminds me that the last time I tried to read a book she burst out of the closet and tied me to the bed.
I can’t even watch TV, because the girl’s everywhere. They just announced that she’d be singing at the Super Bowl halftime show next year, for God’s sake. Now the girl is even ruining football.
I wait impatiently for Finn to do whatever he’s doing on his phone, and I’m a little surprised when he starts playing the opening notes of a quiet song.
“You’ve heard this?” Finn asks me, giving a quick glance at Vaughn. Never a good sign.
“No, why?” I say.
Then I know.
“Turn it off,” I say, the second I hear her voice.
I try to move around them, but Finn’s hand finds the center of my chest, shoving me back, his face angry. “For fuck’s sake, man, just listen.”
I do, because apparently it’s the only way to get out of this damned room, out of this house, but I try to shut myself off. From the sound of her voice, the strum of her guitar, and the memory of the way she looked when she played, when she sang.
