Page 18 of Business Casual
What’s wrong with me is I embarrassed myself in front of Charlie Milford last night. I was rejected in front of a spruce tree, and then I had to cart my drunk sister home without our parents seeing.
I feel like I am somehow reliving my high school days, with an extra dose of rejection.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” I mutter.
“Then why are you making that face?”
Because I have no idea what Charlie is thinking. Because I tipped the scales of our relationship and asked for something purely physical, and I’ve unlocked a part of my brain that can’t stop thinking about it. Charlie told me last night that I broke him, but I think I broke myself.
I glance at Vanessa. I can only see her eyes overtop the couch, like a grumpy little crocodile sitting in still water.
“I don’t know, Ness. Life?”
She nods sagely. “I get it.”
I shuffle to the fridge and pull out a bowl of cut strawberries for myself, the egg carton and some bacon for my sister. I’m eager for a subject change. “What’s going on with you and Nathan?”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Nathan,” she seethes.
“Yes, him.”
“He’s an idiot.”
“So you’ve said.” Almost eighty-two times, set to the tune of various early nineties sitcom theme songs. “He wants to date you?”
She heaves her body off the couch, graceful as a dancer even in her debauched state. In the early afternoon light, the wine stains on her dress are more noticeable. My blanket drags behind her on the floor. I’m pretty sure there’s a drool stain on my upholstery.
She limps her way to the kitchen and slides onto a wooden stool I stole from Beckett’s greenhouse. She plucks a strawberry out of the carton and takes a bite. “He told me he loved me.”
“I’m guessing you don’t return those feelings.”
She sighs. “I don’t. I’m not convincedhehas those feelings. I think he’s mistaken proximity for intimacy all these years. He told me we pair well together and that’s fine with dancing, but—I don’t know. I told him I didn’t feel the same, and he said—” She rubs two fingers across her forehead and sighs. “He said some shitty things.”
“What sort of shitty things?” My hand clenches on the handle of the cast-iron pan I’m using to fry up some bacon. I may be the youngest of four, but I am just as fiercely protective of my siblings as they are of me.
She waves her hand, but I don’t miss the wince. “It doesn’t matter now.”
It matters to me. “Do you want me to key his car?”
Her mouth twitches with a suppressed grin. “No, I don’t want you to key his car.” She reaches for another strawberry. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.”
“Fair.” I flip the bacon. Beckett will help me key his car. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Well”—she sighs—“not much to be done. He’s not my partner anymore. No coming back from that one. And I don’t want to compete solo. Maybe it’s time to hang up my dance shoes.”
My hands freeze over the pan. Vanessa has been dancing her whole life. My mom likes to joke that she did a samba right out of the womb. I can’t imagine her giving it up.
She sneaks a piece of crispy, burnt-edge bacon. “Don’t look at me like that. There are plenty of ways to dance without competing. I’ll figure it out.”
“And I’ll key his car.”
“Deal.”
We settle into the routine of coffee and breakfast with minimal pained groans from Vanessa at the counter. I crack open the window above the sink to let in the crisp autumn air, and she turns on theradio to something that bursts with static. It used to sit in my dad’s workshop, and I like keeping it here for company, a thumbprint smudged in paint over the volume dial that I like to fit mine to. Some of the weightless, ambling feeling making my lungs feel tight fades as Nessa chatters away on the other side of the countertop, nimbly chopping fruit and refilling my cup with fresh coffee.
I watch the trees outside my window wave back and forth in a meandering breeze, their leaves just starting to turn a brilliant, sunburnt red.
I wonder what Charlie is up to this morning. If he’s on his way back to New York or if he’s staying for the pumpkin-cinnamon streusel waffles they serve at the diner during the fall. How late he stayed at the wedding and if he ever figured out he had pine needles stuck in his hair.
