Depths (16 page)

“When you’re writing your thesis paper on fourth wave feminist poetry, you’ll be able to forgo potato peeling duties too.” She grins at me, and I raise my eyebrows at the ashtray, full of butts.

“So, I guess Spirit cigarettes are pretty poetic and all, but how is actual paper coming? Haven’t you been working on it for, like, two years now?” I hand the cig over and she takes a drag, brushing the tangle of chin-length curls away from her face.

“Shut up, please. Not everyone majored in finance. You have no idea how much I wish I’d just chosen something I didn’t have to…
think
about so much.” She takes another drag and grins, smoke coming through her teeth. “No offense. You know I think you’re brilliant.”

“None taken. Sorry the fourth wave is kicking your ass and all.” I look around her room and try to ignore the morose faces of Virginia Woolf, Audre Lourde, and Maya Angelou glowering at me from the posters on her wall. I can remember when there were only surfing posters and a few Sports Illustrated hotties gracing these humble walls. I’m sure Gloria Steinem would have a heart attack from her spot on the bookshelf if she knew how many centerfolds used to occupy wall space in here. “So, I feel like I haven’t talked to you in weeks.”

“I know.” She sighs and pulls her boney knees up to her chest. “I feel like I haven’t even really been home, ya’ know? I’ve just been trapped in my own head. But enough about me. How is everything going with you?”

“Same old,” I lie.

“You’re lying to me, little brother.” She pokes me with her toe. “Still stuck on Kensley?”

The thing I love about Cece is that she can push away her own feelings when it comes to helping me out. Because she hated Kensley with an open ferocity that made it hard for them to be in the same room together. But, since we broke up, Cece hasn’t uttered even one shitty word about her. Even though I know she’s got an entire arsenal hidden behind her cheerful smiles.

“Not at all.” I lean back on her bed, arms behind my head, and stare at the ceiling I stared at for so many nights growing up in this house. “There’s this girl…”

“The girl in the band?” she asks, her voice low and gentle.

Now I feel like an even bigger asshole for attempting to bring Maren up. Cece and I have barely talked in the last few weeks, but I already cried about Kensley
and
Tracey to her. I’m obviously an asshole who can make myself fall in love with any girl, no matter how un-mutual the feeling is.

“Never mind,” I grumble.

She stubs the cigarette out and pushes up the sleeves of her hideous alpaca wool sweater. “Oh, Co, did you fall in love again? Don’t look all embarrassed. You’ve got a good heart.”

Worse even than having my sister realize what an asshole of love I am is having her imagine that I was thinking with my ‘heart’ when everything went crazy with Maren.

“It’s idiotic, is what it is,” I finally admit. “And it’s not a good heart. It’s an insane heart, and it’s getting my ass in trouble left and right. I’m done with girls for a while.”

She snorts and hides her pack of cigarettes back under her mattress, then leans over me to put her ashtray on the huge window ledge and tosses a Lifesaver in her mouth before she throws me the roll.

I bite into the minty ring and ask, “What? You don’t think I can swear off girls?”

“You swearing off girls is as likely as Genie swearing off sex. Or Lydia swearing off being an asshole. I heard Genie’s door slam. I assume Lydia said something douchey?” Cece sighs when I nod.

“Nail on the head. And Mom was pissed for all of two seconds before Lydia managed to turn it all around and make it about her shitty life.” I pop another Lifesaver in my mouth and crunch down. “Is Enzo making it for dinner?”

“Enzo is, I think, at some film festival with that girl…what’s her name again?” Cece scrunches up her nose like she can’t remember our brother’s girlfriend’s name. “Bambi? Is that it?”

“Just because you think she should be dancing on a pole doesn’t mean you can rename her,” I say, but I can’t help laughing. Cece has always been protective over me, Enzo, and Genevieve when it comes to dating, and she’s driven away more boyfriends and girlfriends than we can count. “Her name is Fawn.”

“Ah. Fawn. I remember now.” She holds out her hand and I pull her to her feet. “Spicy latkes?” she asks.

“Yup. Not that you should get any, lazy ass.” I start towards the kitchen, but Cece stops short and points to Genevieve’s door.

“I’ll take one for the team,” she whispers. “Consider yourself lucky that you got to peel potatoes instead.” She turns her curly head to the door and puts a hand on the knob.

I book it down the hall, leaving my sisters to deal with all that emotional craziness together. I may get a little down, but a few beers on Deo’s couch is as far as it goes. I don’t envy Cece right now. Genevieve takes things hard, and I bet she’s a crying, snotty, broken mess at the moment.

Damn Lydia.

“Cohen, I was just going to call you!” Mom cries when I get back to the kitchen. “Deo and Whit are on the back porch with Lydia. How is Genevieve?” Her eyes go soft, and I almost feel bad about snapping at her. But this always happens in my family.

“She’s okay. But you could have gone to check on her instead of letting Lydia steal the show as usual.”

She turns to the stove and clangs the pots on the stove. “I swear to God, you kids will be the death of me! I never had all this trouble when you were younger. You turned into adults, and you all went into your second infanthood. I’m done! Go on the porch with your friends, Cohen. I want to be alone for a damn minute!”

I don’t say another word. The hilarious irony of the entire situation is that Mom is just as emotional and frail as Genevieve. I don’t get why they can’t understand each other more, but maybe the answer is obvious: if they’re so similar, they probably don’t see their own ridiculousness.

I’m glad to get to leave my sister’s tears and my mother’s moodiness in the house. Outside, the sun is just about to set, the breeze is sweet and cool, and Whit holds out a beer for me with a smile as Deo and Lydia discuss the tenants of the new apartment’s downtown.

“….and they were supposed to be for the grad students in the law school, but they don’t have the money for them, so it’s all these coke-head rich brat drop-outs whose parents use the address to pretend their little losers are still in school.” Lydia takes a tiny sip of her white wine and gestures with the glass angrily. “It just pisses me off.”

“What do you care?” I demand. “You don’t live there.”

“But I
looked
at those apartments. And I work right around the corner. It’s just shady.” She sits up straighter, and I look for some sign that my sister is feeling bad about being the world’s biggest jerk, but she just looks full of herself. As usual.

“Hey, you never finished telling me how your date with Maren went,” Deo segues quickly. He knows when a Rodriguez throw-down is coming from years of watching them unfold, and I assume he doesn’t want to shock and horrify Whit.

“It was a date with Ally,” I grit out. “And there was no chemistry.”

“There was no chemistry?” Whit asks, smiling as she takes a long pull of beer and adds, “Or there was no chemistry between you and
Ally
?”

I should be pissed at Whit, but I have a hard time ever being pissed at her.

“Look, whatever there was, it was stupid. Maren has a boyfriend. Some finance douche who’s this big hot shot at Bingham and Walters, Jason, and—”

“Jason Nucci?” Lydia interrupts, practically spitting her wine out.

“Uh, actually, I think that
is
his name,” I say, realizing my sister probably comes into contact with all kinds of finance assholes like Jason since she works for one of the county’s most powerful law offices. They share a glass high-rise with several financial firms.

“I hope they just started dating, like, yesterday,” she says, crossing her legs and smirking.

“Why do say that?” I ask, my voice reined in. When Lydia gets that look on her face, it’s because she knows something that’s shocking as shit.

I both want to know and don’t want to know her big Jason secret.

“Well, it’s a rumor, of course. But it’s one that I’ve heard from
very
reliable sources. The talk is that after he slept with pretty much every girl in his office, he got one of the college interns pregnant, and there was this whole hush-hush abortion scandal.” My sister’s eyes are wide when she tells this, like she gives a shit. But I know she’s just totally excited to have a juicy gossip bone to chew on.

Usually I can ignore her love of talking shit about everyone under the sun, but this time, it’s about Maren.

It was obvious he was screwing around on Maren. But now he may have got some girl pregnant? Was it Ally? Was he with Maren when it happened? Does any of it really matter? The bottom line is, I now have another reason to hate this guy, and I can’t just ignore them.

Whether I want to date Maren of not, I don’t want to think of her being used by this fuckhead.

Genevieve stomps onto the deck just then, Cece behind her. Cece hugs Whit and Deo, and Genevieve gives them a tight smile. They both glare at Lydia, who sighs and crosses her arms.

“You okay?” I ask Genevieve lowly.

“Yeah.” She smiles, her eyes puffy and red. “I’m fine. Are you? You look like you’re ready to murder someone.”

“Cohen went on a double date with Maren, from the warehouse,” Lydia says. Genevieve waters down her glare so she can get more information. “I just told him that Maren’s boyfriend is, like, the biggest skank in the world and knocked some young girl up after sleeping with everyone in the law district.” She shudders. “What a creep.”

“You went out with Maren?” Genevieve asks, her face suddenly brightening. “I love her! I love you two together—”

“We’re not together,” I cut in quickly.

Too quickly.

Which Deo makes obvious to everyone by clearing his throat loudly.

“Oh.” Genevieve pushes her long hair back off her shoulders, the better to show her tiny little dress off for Deo’s benefit, I’m sure. I try not to judge my baby sister, but, damn, Whit is standing
right there
. Lydia may be a bitch, but sometimes she’s painfully right: Genevieve needs to calm her ass down around guys, Deo especially.

“I went on a double date,” I explain, relieved that Whit doesn’t seem to notice my little sister making an ass of herself and glowering when Deo wraps an arm around Whit’s shoulders. “And I’m upset because Maren is awesome. As a friend, of course. I didn’t get a good vibe from her boyfriend, and now I realize my gut was right.”

“You need to tell her,” Genevieve says, her face going all loopy and glowy even as I shake my head. “You should get together with her and tell her to her face, Cohen. She’s so nice. I love that girl, and I hate to think of her getting used like that.”

I lean back on the deck railing and remember the way I jumped Maren in my kitchen, like I was a damn panther in heat. I’ve managed to avoid her for a week, and that’s been working for me. The last thing I need is to be calling her with some rumor my sister told me about the guy she knows damn well is a tool.

Cece tugs Genevieve away from me. “Genie, I definitely think she needs to know, but maybe Cohen’s not the best person to tell her. I talked to her a thousand times when I used to do the shipment coordinating for Mom and Dad. She was always super friendly. I could ask her out to lunch if you want.”

This
is why Cece is hands down my favorite sister.

“Perfect,” I say at the same moment Genevieve wails, “No!”

Deo grins at my little sister, not realizing that she’s going to take that little look of comradery and weave it into some whole hidden love story. Can my life get any shittier?

And then it does.

“Um?” Everyone looks at Whit, who hasn’t said a word this whole time. “I’ve been trying to place the name since Lydia said it, and now I remember. Rocko was telling me that this asshole came in with the ugliest design for a tattoo of his
own
name. He said he was surprising his girlfriend with it for her birthday. I remember because I double-checked the books for Rocko. He asked if I could be there and just make sure the girl actually wanted to get it done once her boyfriend surprised her. Rocko hated the idea that she might get it just to make him happy or whatever.”

I’m shocked the bottle in my fist doesn’t crack apart.

“He’s going to give her a tattoo of
his
name after he treated her like total shit?” I growl. “When the hell is her birthday?”

“Wait.” Genevieve is scrolling through her phone. “Maren is my Facebook friend. Um, it’s Wednesday.” She raises her big doe eyes at me, and I have the worst thought ever: I think about how Genevieve would probably be awed enough by someone wanting her to get a tattoo like that, she’d go ahead and get it.

I don’t
think
Maren would be crazy enough. But I don’t know. Girls are weird about romantic gestures. And Maren
is
willingly dating a total douchebag.

“Cece, you need to talk to her,” I say, and Genevieve looks let down. I don’t give a shit.