Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (29 page)

Please?”

“Sure,” he said, and I could feel us start to speed up, like he’d

just stepped on the gas again.

Somewhere, in the part of my mind that wasn’t focusing all

its effort on keeping the nausea at bay, I could tell that I was

making absolutely the worst impression possible, and that I had

effectively ruined our night. But I could think about that once I

was at home and a bathroom was within easy reach. I didn’t have

the capacity for it now.

I could feel the truck’s tires were now crunching over gravel

and I opened my eyes and saw we were fi nally back at Bruce’s

house. “Um,” I said as Josh pulled around in front of the house.

“I’m so sorry about this . . .”

“No,” Josh said. “It’s okay, really.” He ran his hand across his

face. “Actually—” He killed the engine and the lights fl ared, letting

me see that he no longer looked so good. In fact, he looked pale

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and clammy, and I could see perspiration beading on his forehead.

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“I’m not actually feeling so well myself. Can I . . . um . . . come in

for a second?”

I nodded, no longer caring about embarrassing myself, just

needing to get inside as quickly as possible. “Hurry,” I said. I got

out of the car and ran for the door, Josh right behind me. I turned

the key in the lock with shaky hands, then stepped inside, clos-

ing the door behind us and immediately starting to take the stairs

to my room.

“Um,” Josh called, swaying slightly, looking unsure— and sicker

than ever.

“Follow me,” I yelled, and hustled up the stairs. When I reached

the landing, I pointed to the guest room on the other side of the

hallway from me. I wanted Josh absolutely as far as possible away

from what I feared was about to happen, and soon. “Guest room,”

I yelled. “Bathroom’s attached.”

“Thanks,” he called weakly, heading that direction. I ran to-

ward my own room, made it inside, and slammed the door be-

hind me.

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11:09 PM

Hey. You okay?

Josh Bridges

11:11 PM

Not really L

Josh Bridges

11:13 PM

You?

Me

11:14 PM

A little better. But it would have been

hard to be worse.

Josh Bridges

11:16 PM

I hear that.

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Me

12:19 AM

Left extra T-shirt and sweats

outside your door just in case.

Josh Bridges

12:21 AM

Thank you! These are great.

Josh Bridges

12:25 AM

They’re just a little big.

Josh Bridges

12:26 AM

Also, is this a sloth on the T-shirt??

Me

12:28 AM

Afraid so J

Josh Bridges

12:45 AM

Feel like venturing out? I think I’m up for it.

Me

12:47 AM

Meet you downstairs in fi ve.

By the time I descended the staircase, Josh was already wait-

ing, sitting on the bottom step. I ran my hands through my hair

as I took the last three steps to meet him and he stood and smiled

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weakly at me. “Hey.”

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“Hey,” he replied. I looked at him and couldn’t help letting out

a small laugh. Josh was wearing what I’d found for him in the

promotional bins in Bruce’s offi ce—

a navy T-shirt and gray

sweatpants, both size XXL. There was a cartoon sloth stretched

across the T-shirt, and a meerkat took up one of the legs of the

sweatpants. Both had been promotional tie- ins for
Time Stands

Still,
the only movie in the series that didn’t feature time travel.

It also featured cartoon animals who don’t move very much—

meerkats, sloths, ostriches, possums. It had been the only one in

the franchise to do badly, but in retrospect, I couldn’t believe

anyone had been surprised about this.

Josh looked much like I knew I did— pale and tired. What had

happened once I’d made it into my room hadn’t been pretty, but

it appeared to be mostly over now, and I was trying not to dwell

on it. I was also planning never to eat seafood— or pretty much any-

thing else— ever again. It seemed like the worst of the food poison-

ing was over, and I was just praying that it wouldn’t come back.

“It’s a good look for you,” I said, nodding at his ensemble, and

he laughed faintly.

“Thanks,” he said. “Um, why do you have these?”

“We’re staying with a family friend,” I said, after a tiny mo-

ment in which I’d considered how best to reveal the Bruce infor-

mation. Truthfully, I had been worried about bringing Josh this

far inside of my real life here at Bruce’s. But everyone was away,

there would be nobody there to call me Gemma and give up the

game, and there really wasn’t anything else to do. I was supposed

to leave Josh, sick, outside? It wasn’t even a possibility. And,

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frankly, I was feeling far too wiped out for subterfuge or coming

up with excuses. It seemed safest to go with a vague version of

the truth. “This is his house. He produces those movies.”

“Oh,” Josh said. He glanced around, suddenly looking wor-

ried. “Is it okay that I’m here?” he asked. He lowered his voice,

even though he hadn’t been speaking that loudly to begin with.

“Are we going to wake someone up?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s just me here. Everyone else is in the

city for the weekend.” In other circumstances, I knew this might

seem somehow suggestive, like I was spelling out that we were in

the house alone together. But I honestly felt so tired and gross

that the idea of romance barely even crossed my mind, and at the

moment I could not think of anything less appealing.

“Got it,” he said. “Well, thanks for lending me these. I’ll be

sure to return them.”

“I really don’t think anyone’s going to miss them,” I said hon-

estly. I crossed the foyer and Josh followed, holding up his sweat-

pants by the extra room at the waistband to keep them from

falling down. When I reached the kitchen, I leaned against the

counter, a little exhausted by the trip. “Want something to

drink?” I asked as I pulled open the fridge door. “Or”— I winced

before saying it—“eat?”

Josh shook his head. “Nothing to eat,” he said fi rmly. “But

maybe some water or something?” I took out two bottles of water,

and then also pulled out a bottle of Gatorade so we wouldn’t get

dehydrated. Josh nodded when he saw the bottle. “Good call.”

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“Have you ever had food poisoning before?” I asked as I brought

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down glasses from the cabinet.

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“Nope,” Josh said. “You?” I shook my head and poured us both

glasses of the bright- orange liquid. “But it must have been the

lobster, right?” he asked, and I was glad that I could now hear

that word without getting nauseous.

“I think so,” I said, then realized what this meant. “Oh my

god, that means that it’s totally my fault you got sick too. I made

you try it.”

Josh shook his head and picked up the glass I pushed across

the counter toward him. “You didn’t make me do anything,” he

said. “I was just trying to impress you.”

The phrase seemed to hang in the air between us for a mo-

ment, and I looked down at the countertop, not sure how to re-

spond. “Well,” I said after a second of silence, “I’m sorry

anyway.”

“I’m sorry too,” Josh said. He gave me a small, rueful smile. “I

was the one who took you there. I hope the Crabby Lobster knows

they have a scathing online review coming their way.” He glanced

at the clock on the micro wave, then back at me. “Is it okay if I

stay a little longer?” he asked. “I’m not sure I’m up to driving

home just yet.”

“Of course,” I said. I certainly knew what he meant— suddenly,

just staying upright for this long was exhausting, and I didn’t

want Josh falling asleep at the wheel or something. “Stay as long

as you want.” I glanced through to the TV room and the leather

couches there, and didn’t think I had ever seen anything look as

appealing. “Hey, you want to watch something?”

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It soon became clear that Josh and I had very different taste

when it came to movies. Bruce had a huge digital collection,

and Josh was particularly impressed with the breadth of the ac-

tion movies and all their attendant sequels. I didn’t think I was

up for seeing buildings blowing up repeatedly, or buses being

driven recklessly across freeways, so I nixed all the ones that he

suggested. Josh, in turn, didn’t seem particularly interested in

romantic comedies, or my favorite girl- power movies that fea-

tured multiple make over montages. He claimed that he already

felt sick enough without needing to add to it. But we were going

back and forth about our choices, and I couldn’t help but think of

Teddy again— how mostly, we just watched his depressing docu-

mentaries, and I never pushed to see the movies I really wanted

to see, since I knew he would think they were frivolous.

Maybe I was just too tired and dehydrated to care what Josh

thought about my choices, but I was pushing hard for my chick

fl icks, just as Josh was stubbornly holding out for his action mov-

ies. I had begun to fear that we wouldn’t reach a consensus, when

I stopped at
The Princess Bride
.

“Hey,” Josh said, sitting up a little straighter. “I like that

movie.”

“Me too,” I said, selecting it and waiting for it to load. I hadn’t

seen it in years, but was more than willing to watch it again—

and plus, we’d agreed on something, so I was happy to go with it.

All that scrolling past different titles was beginning to make me

dizzy.

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The FBI warning fl ashed across the screen, and I sat back on

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my couch a little more. The couches in the TV room were at right

angles to each other, forming an L shape, and Josh and I were

each on our own couch. As the opening credits rolled, I relaxed a

little more, stretching out on the soft leather.

Fred Savage was complaining about not wanting to hear a

kissing story when Josh’s phone beeped. He picked it up, squinted

at it, then typed out a quick text and set the phone back down on

the coffee table, close enough that I could get a glimpse at the

screen.

“Everything okay?” I asked, after trying not to be nosy and

utterly failing.

Josh nodded. “It’s my sister. I had to text her so she wouldn’t

get worried when I didn’t come home, and I think she’s just

concerned.”

I leaned forward a tiny bit, telling myself I was only stretch-

ing, even though I knew it wasn’t the truth, because now I could

see his phone, and that he had a number of texts from Hallie.

Her texts seemed to get increasingly confused and worried.

What’s going on? Where are you? Why are you sick? What did you

eat?
The latest one was an offer to come by and pick him up, and

I saw just before the screen went dark that Josh had replied that

he was okay, and he was going to stay for a while. I felt a little

fl utter in my stomach when I read that, and it had nothing to do

with the food poisoning. Because if Josh had wanted to leave, he

could have, and he wouldn’t even have to drive. But he was choos-

ing to stay here, with me.

I looked over at him and saw that he was now lying down on

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the couch as well, and our heads were both at the end of our

couches where they met, which meant our heads were right near

each other.

“I haven’t seen this in a long time,” Josh said, and I looked