Page 82 of Cuts like a Knife
“The fish from yesterday was amazing,” I say. “Please tell your mother for me. I really liked it.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell her.”
Soon, we’ve arrived at our little home away from home and Damon has pulled away again.
Standing in the little living room inside, looking around at the limits of the accommodations, I feel like I have to say something.
“About yesterday—” I start.
“Let me guess,” interrupts Drew. “It was a mistake and you don’t want me to get the wrong idea?”
“Well … yeah,” I admit.
“Lex, you say this all the time. Every time. You’ve been doing this forever. It’s the same thing you used to say every time we hooked up as teenagers. And you’ve been saying it consistently every time we’ve hooked up in the last year. More than a year, actually.”
“Well…” I say, wondering if I’ve really been that repetitive and that predictable, or if Drew is exaggerating. “Well, then why haven’t you listened to me?”
There. The question helps me regain my footing, and I feel slightly triumphant, like I’ve scored a point in the perpetual game of tennis Drew and I are always playing.
But for once, he doesn’t look like he’s enjoying the back and forth. He rubs his temples with one hand and falls into a sitting position on the little loveseat.
“Because, Lex. You don’t mean it. You say one thing and do another. Over and over and over again. Then you tell me it was a mistake. Then you come back for more. You’re giving me whiplash.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” I say.
“I’m not. Are we ever going to get past this? We’re adults, aren’t we? Why can’t we just be together? Try this thing for real? You want to. We’re a good match. We always have been.”
“I disagree. We’ve always been a bad match. We make no sense. You’re too young for me. And you’re Gray’s best friend.”
“If either of those things really mattered, you never would have slept with me in the first place.”
“You don’t really know me,” I say.
“Not that again. Lex. I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re not the enigma you think you are.”
He has an answer to everything. He always has.
“You’re a flirt! You flirt with everyone. My sisters. My mom. Does that seem normal to you?”
“Because you told me to! It was your idea!”
“It was not,” I say.
“It was so!”
“Andrew,” I say.
“Alexis,” he counters.
We stare each other down.
“I never told you to flirt with my mother. I would never have said that. That’s completely insane.”
“Well, call the loony bin because you said it. We were under the dinghy. Summer at the camp. Sardines. Is any of this sounding familiar? I wanted to kiss you and you said no because I was too much of a flirt. Your mom had called me a Lothario-in-training, remember? And then all out of nowhere, you changed your mind — that’s kind of a thing with you, Lex, changing your mind, and it’s getting old.”
“I don’t remember that263.”
“Yes you do. First you said no, then you said yes, I could kiss you. So I said, great, and also, to be nice, I said that I would stop flirting so much. It was just something I was trying out anyway. I didn’t mean it. So I said I’d stop. For you. Since it was one of the reasons you cited. For why we couldn’t be together. And then — don’t pretend not to remember this part too— you told me not to. You told me to keep flirting. With everybody. With Claire, with Di, with your mom. To like, hide what was really happening. Between us.”
