Sweet Nothing (18 page)

“You’re nice lots of ways.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, so are you.” I slide the veggies into the pan, and they make a satisfying sizzle. “Like when you made me dinner last night. And then breakfast this morning. Did I thank you for that, by the way?”

“Probably. I just couldn’t hear it, with your tires squealing in my driveway.” He pauses. “Hey, are you okay? You sound like you’re crying.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly. “Onions. I’m making dinner for the roommates, as an apology for going AWOL last night.”

“Partly my fault. But it was worth it.”

“Agreed.” I find a fresh cutting board and start to chop the avocado. “I didn’t see you at school today. You didn’t play hooky, did you?”

“I was there. Just stuck in my studio, working on stuff. Dr. Goodwin wants some more art for his office, so I told him I’d pull together a few things. His space is pretty bare right now.” I can hear him crunching on something. Tortilla chips, maybe. I find my own bag of blue corn chips and tear it open. “Am I invited for dinner, or am I doomed to eat leftover risotto?” He sniffs and lets out a shuddery sigh.

I turn down the heat, then add shrimp to the vegetables. “I think this should be a girls’ night. But after we finish up here, you could come over for coffee or something.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I was just kidding. I still have work to do. You guys have fun.”

“Don’t work too hard.”

“Won’t. Later, pretty girl.”

I end the call regretfully, staring at the blank screen long after we’ve both hung up. There’s a longing inside me that has only intensified with the sound of his voice. Already, I miss him. Which is ridiculous, since we were just having breakfast together a matter of hours ago. But there’s something about being around him that makes me need him even more.

I unroll flour tortillas and spoon veggies, shrimp, and cheese into them. Then I pick some of the shrimp out again, to give Gwen a vegetarian option. After I wrap the enchiladas, I sprinkle more cheese on top and slide them into the oven, all the while thinking about Luke. I know there are issues: my lies, his ex and the fact that he has a daughter. But when I’m not around him, none of that matters. Or maybe I don’t want it to matter.

“Hello?” I hear the door open in the hall, and soon Waverly and Gwen are ditching their bags on the kitchen table.

“Ooh! Something smells kick-ass.” Gwen gives me an approving smile and reaches for the oven door handle.

“No. Way.” I swat her with my wine-soaked dishtowel. At least she’s back to normal Gwen, and doesn’t seem as pissed as she did this morning. “They’re enchiladas, and you can have them when they’re ready. For now, have some wine and the guacamole will be ready in a sec.”

“Deal.” Gwen pours two glasses and hands one to Waverly while I chop and mash and squeeze. “So without further ado, can you
please
tell us what you were doing at Luke’s last night?”

I tell them everything. Almost everything. I don’t mention the car crash that killed Luke’s parents, or the fact that his relationship with Ashley started with a one-night stand. I just tell them that he and Ashley met in college, and that she got pregnant unexpectedly. I speak quickly, almost desperately. I just want the story out there, and I want to know what they think. Or I don’t, depending on their verdicts.

“I’m sorry, but I just don’t see how this makes things that much better.” Waverly says when I’m finished. “I mean, okay, he doesn’t have a wife. Congratulations. But he
lied
to you. Are you sure you can get past that?”

My stomach churns. “He didn’t lie, exactly. He was worried what I would think. He wanted to find the right time to talk about it.” I finish the guacamole and we head outside to the patio. “It’s not like he owed me his entire life story in the first couple dates.”

“It’s a kid!” Waverly’s voice is shrill. I feel my body tensing in defense of Luke. “As in, a person! You don’t think he owed it to you to tell you that?” She lifts a matchbox from the table and strikes a match against the box so hard, it snaps in two. It takes her three tries to light the tropical-scented pillar candles in the center of the table.

“Eventually, of course! Obviously. But in the first couple dates? I don’t know.”

“Rationalizing,” Waverly diagnoses.

I bite my lip, hard.

“Okay. Okay.” Gwen takes the seat between us. “Everybody have some guacamole. Get drunk. Whatever.”

“What do you think, Gwen?” I cringe. “Do you think he’s an asshole?” I haven’t realized until now how much I care about what the girls think. It bothers me that Waverly doesn’t trust Luke.

“Hey. Not what I said,” Waverly huffs, stabbing the guacamole with a tortilla chip. “This guacamole is fucking awesome, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I rub my temples.

“I think everybody brings a life with them, you know?” Gwen says quietly. “Like, everybody has things they might do differently if they could.” She pinches the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and index finger and rolls it back and forth.

“You’re such a wise little yogi.” Waverly quips.

“My
point
is, we all have stuff in our life that we’re scared to show other people. That doesn’t make him a bad person. It just makes him human.”

I feel a lump forming in my throat. So I just nod.

“The important part is, what’re you gonna do with it?” Gwen tugs a few bobby pins from her hair and flicks them onto the table. Her topknot comes tumbling down. “Have you ever thought about dating somebody with a kid?”

I shake my head. “I’m not opposed to it, I guess. I just never thought about it before.”

“I can’t believe Luke Poulos is like, a dad.” Waverly draws her lips together in a tiny pout. I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or turned on.

I reach for the chips and scoop the biggest chunk of avocado from the bowl.

“It’s something you have to think about,” Gwen says.

“I know.” I can feel my chest getting tighter by the second. Of course it’s something I have to think about. I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since I found out.

“Disagree,” Waverly argues. “They just started dating. She doesn’t have to figure it out this very second.”

“But what if they fall in love, and then all the sudden she realizes she doesn’t want to be a stepmother, and then it sucks because they’re already in love and—”

“OHMYGOD!” I smack the table, making the dishes jump. “This is the most stressful dinner party I have ever thrown. EVER. Can we please not talk about this anymore? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you where I was last night, and it won’t happen again. Okay? Okay. Please eat your fucking guacamole.” I can’t tell if I’m about to burst out laughing, or burst into tears.

The girls are silent for a few seconds. Then Waverly stands up slowly, her lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile.

“Girl, somebody needs to get you another glass of wine. I’ll grab the bottle.”

“That’s her way of apologizing, you know.” After Waverly leaves, Gwen nudges me with a bare foot. “She doesn’t mean to be bitchy about Luke. She just wants to make sure you don’t get hurt. So do I, for that matter.”

“I know,” I say softly. The things Gwen said—about everyone bringing a life with them, about everyone having something they’re afraid to show—make me want to tell her everything. There’s a part of me that thinks she might even understand. And another part of me that knows no one could. Not Gwen. Not Luke. Because what I’ve done is incomprehensible.

“You know, I actually think Luke might make a pretty good dad.” Gwen pulls her long hair over one shoulder and starts to twist it in a single braid. “I bet that kid can produce some sweet finger paints.”

I laugh. “Yeah.” I imagine Luke sitting at his kitchen table with his little girl, hovering over her as she paints or draws. And then, suddenly, there’s a flash of my own father, reading to me before bed. We kept a paperback on my bedside table. Classics, mostly. I can feel my eyes starting to fill, and I blink away the tears.

“Hey. You don’t have to decide right away. You can give it some time.”

“I know. That’s not why I’m— I know.” I stop myself before it’s too late.

“One bottle of wine, coming up!” Waverly reappears outside with the bottle and three plates of enchiladas, stacked from her palm to her elbow. “And your enchiladas were ready, so I served the plates.”

“Woah. Where’d you learn to do that?” Gwen looks impressed. “Did you actually have a…
job
in high school?” She jumps up and relieves Waverly of two of the plates. I commandeer the bottle of wine and pour myself another glass.

Waverly snorts. “Please. I learned at summer camp. They made us help with the dishes and stuff.”

When we’re all seated with our food, Gwen raises her glass. “Everything looks really great, Ellie.”

“For sure,” Waverly says too brightly. Her way of smoothing things over, even though I’m not really mad. I’m not sure I have a right to be. If I had Waverly’s history with guys, I wouldn’t trust Luke either.

“Cheers.” We clink glasses.

“Okay, enough about this boy business. THIS is a seamless subject change,” Gwen announces grandly. “Hey, do you know what we haven’t taught Elle yet?” She catches Waverly’s eye and grins.

“Oh, I think I know what you’re referring to.” Waverly tosses her long blonde bangs away from her eyes, then whips her head toward me dramatically, soap-opera style. “This is a little game we like to call
Guess What Happened At Work Today?
.”

“The rules are fairly self-explanatory.” Gwen takes a giant bite and makes an approving noise.

“Basically, we all say something that happened today, and whoever has the most outrageous story wins,” Waverly explains. “And just a little heads-up, I usually win.”

Gwen nods. “Because drama kids do some weird shit.”

“Like your poetry freaks are any better?”

“True,” Gwen concedes. “Okay. I’ll go first. Today at work, I assigned an investigative reporting project to my
Gazette
kids, and—”

Waverly yawns.

“No, listen. This is really good,” Gwen insists. “They’re supposed to dig up a story on campus. So Liam Guthrie comes to my room after school and says he’s going to report on the secret lives of members of the Allford community.”

I freeze.

“Says he spent his free period going through teachers’ trash cans when they weren’t in their rooms, and—get this—he’s convinced that the new science teacher has some sort of freaky contagious foot fungus.”

Waverly makes a gagging sound. I force a laugh. This is all I need: a whole team of story-hungry student reporters, trying to sniff out my secrets.

“We had a little mini-lesson on ethics. I told him to stop digging through peoples’ trash,” Gwen concludes.

“Good,” I mumble.

“I’ve totally got you beat on this one.” Waverly leans back in her chair, nursing her wine. “Today at work, I saw a faculty member—who shall remain nameless—lip-synching to a Bieber song in the faculty lounge when he thought nobody was there. When I jangled my keys, he acted all flustered, like he didn’t know how that song was playing on his iPad.”

“Pretty good, pretty good,” Gwen nods. “And by the way, we all know you’ll spill the faculty member’s identity after another glass of wine.”

“Who needs wine? It was Dr. Fritz. Weirdo.” Waverly turns to me. “Your turn.”

“Ummm… okay. Today at work….” I rack my brain, trying to come up with something good. But there’s only one thought that keeps surfacing, over and over. Not to be ignored.

Today, I fell just a little bit more for Luke Poulos.

Elle,

I haven’t heard from you since I said I was thinking of visiting Dad. Are you pissed at me or something? You get it, right? He is our dad, in spite of everything. Just like you’re my sister, no matter what. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think family is bigger than all of this. I want it to be, anyway.

Love you for infinity,

A

“So then, can somebody define opportunity cost for me? What do we mean when we use that term?” I ask in class the next morning. I take an extra long sip of coffee while most of my students offer nothing more than bleary-eyed stares. If I don’t chug my coffee, I’ll just end up answering my own question. I’ve always been uncomfortable with silence. Afraid of what will surface if I’m too still.

Finally, Vi Miller attempts to put me out of my misery. “It’s… the cost of…. an opportunity?” She squints and frowns, as if giving me an answer has been the most physically and emotionally taxing thing she’s done all morning.

“No shit,” somebody grumbles from the back.

“Hey!” I say sharply. “One more remark like that, and I’ll send the guilty one out for the day. With a zero. Have a little more respect for each other in here, okay? Got it?”

Silence. Vi Miller pouts and checks her hair for split ends.

“I
said,
GOT IT?”

“Got it,” everybody murmurs.

“Good. And yes, Vi. Opportunity cost is the cost of an opportunity. Can somebody elaborate on that, please?”

“It’s like when you have to make a choice,” Martha pipes up. “You have to pick one thing, which means you can’t pick your other choices. And the opportunity cost is what you’re giving up by not making those other choices.”

“Exactly,” I nod. “So for example, before I moved here, I had to decide whether to take this job, or to stay in New York. And I’m really, really glad I took this job, but the opportunity costs are hard, you know? Like leaving friends back home. Or… family.” I clear my throat.
Be careful.

The room is quiet.

“Give me an example that’s relevant to your life. A time when you had to make a choice, which meant that you had to give up the benefits of making the other choices.”

“College?” Hayden Santiago mumbles from the back row.

I freeze, not exactly sure I heard correctly. The kid hasn’t said a word all year, except to rat me out to his father. “Say more?” I wipe my glasses on the edge of the hot pink blouse I’d snagged from Waverly’s closet this morning, trying for casual. Trying not to look too excited.