Love and Other Words
Page 27
“I wanted to ask you something.”
My chest is a jungle; my heart is the drum. Am I thrilled or terrified?
“Just wondering when we could get together next,” he says.
“Oh.” I blink over his shoulder to the towering eucalyptus trees swaying in the darkening sky. “I think I have some time off around Thanksgiving.”
He nods, and my heart droops a little. Why did I say that? Thanksgiving feels really far away.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Andreas is getting married in December —”
“December?” It seems an odd month for a wedding. Also, much farther away than Thanksgiving, if that’s when he’s thinking we’ll hang out next.
“New Year’s Eve, actually,” he clarifies, “and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”
New Year’s.
New Year’s.
He’s really asking me that.
And from the look in his eyes, I know that he’s aware of the weight of that date.
But instead of addressing that beast, I ask, “You don’t want to hang out until December?”
I watch the thrill of this pass through his hazel eyes. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “I’m free pretty much anytime you want to hang out. But since it’s a holiday I wanted to ask ahead of time if you’d come.”
“I can’t come as your date.”
Elliot shakes his head. “I’m not asking you on a date, Macy, while your fiancé and future stepdaughter are climbing into the car right there.”
“So, just…” I flail, searching for words, “to come with you?”
“Yeah,” he says, “to come with me. To Healdsburg.” Then he adds, “For the weekend.”
His shoulders drop back down as if it’s so simple.
Come along.
We’ll carpool.
It’ll be fun.
But the words settle between us, and I hear them in a different tone the longer I fail to reply.
Come away with me for the weekend.
Forty-eight hours with Elliot.
What will things be like between us in two and a half months, when they’re already so muddled now?
I blink over his shoulder to where Sean is buckling Phoebe into the Prius.
“Everyone would love to see you, and I’m the best man so it’d be nice to have a friend there with me,” he says, struggling to pull the conversation back from the brink of death. “Mom and Dad asked about you… they’re going insane knowing we’re back in touch.”
“I need to ask Sean what the plans are,” I say lamely. “He might have some art showing or event already in the books.”
Elliot nods. “Of course.”
“Can I let you know?”
“Of course,” he says with a small smile, a rumble of thunder bringing his attention to the sky. When he looks back down at me, I feel about as stable as the billowing rain clouds overhead. For a brief moment I imagine hugging him. I would wrap my arms around his neck and press my face there, breathing him in. He would bend closer, letting out that tiny little grunt of relief he always made. I want it so intensely it makes my mouth water, and I have to force myself to take a step back.
“I better…” I say, motioning over my shoulder.
“I know,” he says, watching me, expression tight.
Another rip of thunder.
“Have a good night, Elliot.”
And I finally turn to go.
then
saturday, july 9
twelve years ago
W
e were lying on the flat roof over his garage, basking in the sun. It was a summer break routine we’d had for nearly two weeks now: meet on the roof at ten, lunch around noon, swimming in the river, home to our families for the rest of the evening.
For as much as he enjoyed my company, Dad liked the quiet of solitude. Or maybe a teenage daughter was exhaustingly alien to him. Either way, he seemed content to let me stay out doing whatever I wanted with the Petropoulos kids until the bugs grew louder and the sky grew dark.
Andreas was on one side of me, Elliot on the other. One brother playing something on his PSP, the other reading Proust.
“You two cannot possibly be related,” I mumbled, turning the page of my book.
“He’s a loser.” Andreas laughed. “No game to speak of.”
“He’s a meathead,” Elliot said, and then grinned at me. “Ruled by his —”
A horn honked below in the driveway and we all sat up to see a rusty Pontiac come to a crunching stop on the gravel.
“Oh,” Elliot said, glancing at me and then jumping up. “Shit. Shit.” He spun in a half circle, fisting the front of his hair and looking like he was panicking, then climbed into the window to the family room. A minute later he appeared in the front yard. A girl climbed out of the car and handed Elliot a stack of papers.
She was medium height, with thick dark hair in a cute bob and an average, pretty face. Vaguely familiar. Sporty but not thick. With boobs.
I growled internally.
She said something to Elliot and he nodded and then looked up at where Andreas and I sat watching them.
“Who is that?” I asked Andreas.
“Some chick named Emma from his school.”
“Emma? Prom Emma?” My insides froze. “Does he like her?”
Andreas looked at my face and laughed. “Oh, this is so good.”
“No, Andreas, don’t —” I hissed, frantic.
“Elliot,” he called out, ignoring me. “Bring your girlfriend up here to meet your other girlfriend!”
I closed my eyes and groaned.
When I looked back down at the ground, Emma was looking up at me, inspecting, eyes narrowed. Elliot was watching me, too, with a wide, terrified expression, and then looked at her.
I waved. I wasn’t going to play the petty game.
She waved back, calling out, “I’m Emma.”
“Hi, I’m Macy.”
“Did you just move here?”
“No,” I called down, “we live next door on the weekends and some vacations.”
“Elliot’s never mentioned you.”
Elliot looked at her in shock, and from the expression on his face I would have guessed he mentioned me plenty. Well. Apparently Emma was going to play the petty game.
“She’s my best friend, remember?” I heard Elliot say stiffly. “She goes to Berkeley High.”
Emma nodded and then looked back at him, putting her hand on his arm and laughing at something she whispered to him. He smiled, but it was his tight courteous expression.
I lay back down on my blanket, ignoring the nausea rising in my stomach. His words from only a week before – when he’d been on the brink of sleep on the roof and admitted quietly that he was more himself with me than anyone else – cycled through my mind.
I’d told him I felt that way, too. During the school year, my weekdays were a blur, hours smoothed together in a mess of homework and swim and crawling into bed hoping whatever I’d packed into my brain that day didn’t seep out onto my pillow at night. In a sense, my time away from him felt like going to work, and the weekends and summer were coming home – unwinding, being with Elliot and Dad, being myself. But then things like this happened – and I was reminded that most of Elliot’s world existed without me.
Several minutes passed before I heard the car start and drive away. Moments later, Elliot was climbing through the window back onto the roof. I quickly pushed my nose into my book.
My chest is a jungle; my heart is the drum. Am I thrilled or terrified?
“Just wondering when we could get together next,” he says.
“Oh.” I blink over his shoulder to the towering eucalyptus trees swaying in the darkening sky. “I think I have some time off around Thanksgiving.”
He nods, and my heart droops a little. Why did I say that? Thanksgiving feels really far away.
Clearing his throat, he says, “Andreas is getting married in December —”
“December?” It seems an odd month for a wedding. Also, much farther away than Thanksgiving, if that’s when he’s thinking we’ll hang out next.
“New Year’s Eve, actually,” he clarifies, “and I was wondering if you wanted to come with me.”
New Year’s.
New Year’s.
He’s really asking me that.
And from the look in his eyes, I know that he’s aware of the weight of that date.
But instead of addressing that beast, I ask, “You don’t want to hang out until December?”
I watch the thrill of this pass through his hazel eyes. “Of course I do.” He laughs. “I’m free pretty much anytime you want to hang out. But since it’s a holiday I wanted to ask ahead of time if you’d come.”
“I can’t come as your date.”
Elliot shakes his head. “I’m not asking you on a date, Macy, while your fiancé and future stepdaughter are climbing into the car right there.”
“So, just…” I flail, searching for words, “to come with you?”
“Yeah,” he says, “to come with me. To Healdsburg.” Then he adds, “For the weekend.”
His shoulders drop back down as if it’s so simple.
Come along.
We’ll carpool.
It’ll be fun.
But the words settle between us, and I hear them in a different tone the longer I fail to reply.
Come away with me for the weekend.
Forty-eight hours with Elliot.
What will things be like between us in two and a half months, when they’re already so muddled now?
I blink over his shoulder to where Sean is buckling Phoebe into the Prius.
“Everyone would love to see you, and I’m the best man so it’d be nice to have a friend there with me,” he says, struggling to pull the conversation back from the brink of death. “Mom and Dad asked about you… they’re going insane knowing we’re back in touch.”
“I need to ask Sean what the plans are,” I say lamely. “He might have some art showing or event already in the books.”
Elliot nods. “Of course.”
“Can I let you know?”
“Of course,” he says with a small smile, a rumble of thunder bringing his attention to the sky. When he looks back down at me, I feel about as stable as the billowing rain clouds overhead. For a brief moment I imagine hugging him. I would wrap my arms around his neck and press my face there, breathing him in. He would bend closer, letting out that tiny little grunt of relief he always made. I want it so intensely it makes my mouth water, and I have to force myself to take a step back.
“I better…” I say, motioning over my shoulder.
“I know,” he says, watching me, expression tight.
Another rip of thunder.
“Have a good night, Elliot.”
And I finally turn to go.
then
saturday, july 9
twelve years ago
W
e were lying on the flat roof over his garage, basking in the sun. It was a summer break routine we’d had for nearly two weeks now: meet on the roof at ten, lunch around noon, swimming in the river, home to our families for the rest of the evening.
For as much as he enjoyed my company, Dad liked the quiet of solitude. Or maybe a teenage daughter was exhaustingly alien to him. Either way, he seemed content to let me stay out doing whatever I wanted with the Petropoulos kids until the bugs grew louder and the sky grew dark.
Andreas was on one side of me, Elliot on the other. One brother playing something on his PSP, the other reading Proust.
“You two cannot possibly be related,” I mumbled, turning the page of my book.
“He’s a loser.” Andreas laughed. “No game to speak of.”
“He’s a meathead,” Elliot said, and then grinned at me. “Ruled by his —”
A horn honked below in the driveway and we all sat up to see a rusty Pontiac come to a crunching stop on the gravel.
“Oh,” Elliot said, glancing at me and then jumping up. “Shit. Shit.” He spun in a half circle, fisting the front of his hair and looking like he was panicking, then climbed into the window to the family room. A minute later he appeared in the front yard. A girl climbed out of the car and handed Elliot a stack of papers.
She was medium height, with thick dark hair in a cute bob and an average, pretty face. Vaguely familiar. Sporty but not thick. With boobs.
I growled internally.
She said something to Elliot and he nodded and then looked up at where Andreas and I sat watching them.
“Who is that?” I asked Andreas.
“Some chick named Emma from his school.”
“Emma? Prom Emma?” My insides froze. “Does he like her?”
Andreas looked at my face and laughed. “Oh, this is so good.”
“No, Andreas, don’t —” I hissed, frantic.
“Elliot,” he called out, ignoring me. “Bring your girlfriend up here to meet your other girlfriend!”
I closed my eyes and groaned.
When I looked back down at the ground, Emma was looking up at me, inspecting, eyes narrowed. Elliot was watching me, too, with a wide, terrified expression, and then looked at her.
I waved. I wasn’t going to play the petty game.
She waved back, calling out, “I’m Emma.”
“Hi, I’m Macy.”
“Did you just move here?”
“No,” I called down, “we live next door on the weekends and some vacations.”
“Elliot’s never mentioned you.”
Elliot looked at her in shock, and from the expression on his face I would have guessed he mentioned me plenty. Well. Apparently Emma was going to play the petty game.
“She’s my best friend, remember?” I heard Elliot say stiffly. “She goes to Berkeley High.”
Emma nodded and then looked back at him, putting her hand on his arm and laughing at something she whispered to him. He smiled, but it was his tight courteous expression.
I lay back down on my blanket, ignoring the nausea rising in my stomach. His words from only a week before – when he’d been on the brink of sleep on the roof and admitted quietly that he was more himself with me than anyone else – cycled through my mind.
I’d told him I felt that way, too. During the school year, my weekdays were a blur, hours smoothed together in a mess of homework and swim and crawling into bed hoping whatever I’d packed into my brain that day didn’t seep out onto my pillow at night. In a sense, my time away from him felt like going to work, and the weekends and summer were coming home – unwinding, being with Elliot and Dad, being myself. But then things like this happened – and I was reminded that most of Elliot’s world existed without me.
Several minutes passed before I heard the car start and drive away. Moments later, Elliot was climbing through the window back onto the roof. I quickly pushed my nose into my book.
