He takes a long drink of water, so I elaborate. “It’s just a lot, you know? But not all of it’s bad. Not all of it’s good, either. My brain and my heart are still fucked up over Lucy, even though I know—I fucking know—she’s better off without me. And today was good, so good. But this shit with my dad is hard to carry sometimes.”
Ty slides into the booth and it’s clear by the expression on his face that he’s heard our conversation. “That’s why you’ll never carry it alone, Whit,” Ty assures me.
Grief is not a contest. But my three closest friends have known loss, so Ty’s words are far from hollow. His own dad died when he was only thirteen and no one else in his family is anyone worth knowing. Knox’s father never knew about him, and his mother is, as he likes to say, Satan’s younger, meaner sister. Booker’s wounds aren’t quite so easy to see. On the surface, the Zabeks are the perfect all-American family. And that’s exactly where the danger lies. The lengths his dad is willing to go to just to preserve that image? Well, it’s not doing anyone any favors.
So when my friends say they’re here for me, I believe them. Today’s a perfect case in point.
“Look, Whit,” Booker clears his throat. “Maybe you should talk to your mom, let her know what’s going on.”
I stare at him as though he’s lost his mind.
“Not the stuff with Lucy—that’s between you two,” Ty intervenes. “But Booker’s right. You need to let your mom know how heavily all of this is weighing on you.”
Before he even finishes his sentence, I’m shaking my head. “Not gonna happen. She’s been through enough. And she’s happy now. The last damn thing she needs is another reminder that her kid is fucked up. I’m fine—seriously. It’s a lot, like I said. But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Thankfully, our server appears with our food, and we busy ourselves by stuffing our faces.
“Jesus, Book. Did you get a side of hard-boiled eggs with your Caesar salad?” Ty asks.
“Yeah, you can’t have too much protein. Especially on a road trip. But they gave me croutons,” he grimaces, plucking them off his salad and onto a napkin. I pop them into my mouth like the crunchy little nuggets of goodness they are.
After devouring both his fries and his French Toast, Ty leans against the back of the booth. “So are you going to tell us what went down with Lucy? Or even what the hell you were doing driving her to Wisconsin?”
I’ve been avoiding this question all day, not because I want to keep anything from them, but because I just don’t want to think about it. But I can’t avoid it any longer. And I can’t tell them anything except the truth. “She missed her flight back to school, so I offered to drive her,” I say, dipping an onion ring in some ketchup. “I should probably also mention that the reason she overslept and missed her flight is because she and I were up half the night fucking each other’s brains out.” I shove the onion ring in my mouth as they both stare at me.
But I’m not finished with my story.
“So we left Maryland bound for Wisconsin and nearly killed each other before we got to the end of Pennsylvania. Did you know some people don’t eat in their cars? Anyway, we made it to Ohio and stopped for the night. I was hanging out in her room, watching the Caps while she was in the shower. She needed me to grab her clothes, and…yeah. Back to fucking like bunnies.” I tell them all about the VD Lounge and how I have a new best friend named Vicki. I tell them about New Year’s and our fight. And about making up. And driving her back. And saying goodbye.
“You really love her, don’t you?” Booker asks, though he already knows the answer. “I can see it now. I mean, you’ve lusted after Lucy since middle school, but your feelings now, they’re genuine.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledge. “Who the hell was I kidding? But she's right. We'd never work. And it's more than the fact that we're related now.”
Ty coughs, “Bullshit. You are not related. Your parents have been married for a month or two. A forbidden incestuous affair that does not make. I mean, even Cathy and Heathcliff—ok, never mind, bad example. But still, you two aren’t related. Your kids won’t be at risk for genetic disorders.”
I laugh mirthlessly. “Our kids? Damn, getting engaged has messed with your brain. Lucy doesn’t want to be in the same state as me right now, let alone bear my children. And it doesn't matter that we’re not technically related. That's how she sees it. And then there’s the way she sees me. I'm the clown. The jester. Not the leading man.”
We sit in silence and finish our meal. Booker nabs an illicit onion ring from my plate and looks at me.
“Lucy’s great. I love her, and you know that. But if she can’t see how freaking lucky she is to even have a shot with you, then she’s not nearly as smart as everybody thinks she is.”
Ty raises his nearly empty glass of Coke. “Amen. Whit, if she thinks you’re a clown, then she doesn’t know you at all.”
I don’t have my girl. But I have my boys. And I’m grateful.
Chapter 18
Lucy
January is flyingby in a haze of spreadsheets, strategy sessions, and blisters from the stupid closed-toe heels I have to wear daily.
I’ve been back at school a little over two weeks, but my trip with Whit feels like a lifetime ago. I only knew Road trip Lucy for about four days, but God, do I miss her. What I wouldn’t give to curl up in bed with Caleb right now. Or even sit across from him at my tiny kitchen table. Instead, I’m sitting across from my laptop, eating ramen, and counting the hours until I can fall asleep. “Seven,” I mutter, knowing I’d rather it be five, but I have a ton of work to do.
“Um, what?” My roommate, Nora, looks at me curiously.
We don’t talk much, but that makes sense since we don’t interact much. Our schedules are opposite, and she spends most weekends back home with her boyfriend. She’s nice enough, though, and we split the bills amicably, so I can't complain.
“Sorry, I was just thinking out loud.”
