“Have a wonderful afternoon, Professor Mercer,” she says in finality as she links her arm with mine, and disappears behind the stacks, toward the exit.
Outside, in the last traces of the afternoon sunlight, she knocks her closed fist to mine, walking backward, away from me, as she says, “espresso machine. Two days.” She runs a manicured finger along her throat. “Or else.”
I smile.
She waves. “Wish me luck.”
“Luck.”
She can have it. I don’t need it. I’m going to show Cade that there is a wonderful life waiting for him, outside the rules he’s boxed himself in with. I’ll help him open thebook inside of himself, and read his own story, discover his own truths.
But before all that, I’m going to go to a wedding with him, and have hours upon hours of Cade Mercer and his slutty little glasses pressed into a tuxedo.
I have all the luck, I’m not sure there’s any left for Tara.
CHAPTER
NINE
CADE
Though the seatingchart has long since been completed, I turn up on my sister’s door step under the guise of wedding planning, when in truth, I just need to talk.
“Cade,” Zennie says as she scoots up to my sister in the doorway, looping her arms around Kat’s waist. My sister rests her hands on Zennie’s. “Hello again,” she smiles, and the two of them step aside to let me in, without so much as a question as to why I’m here.
I had a small excuse ready, and all. It was going to be about making sure I selected the right entree for Noah.
I don’t even know what the options are, so I’m relieved that I’m not forced to ready an excuse.
Once inside, Zennie kisses my cheek, but begs off because she’s got muffins in the oven, and dinner on thestove. On the couch, without asking, Kat fills a glass with whiskey and slips it in my hand, taking a seat across from me instead of next to me.
“You have that twitchy look,” she finally says as I sip the expensive drink, one I’m sure our dad gifted her.
“You aren’t drinking with me?” I take another sip and enjoy the heady burn that kneads the edge out of my senses.
She smiles, and sits up, pouring the drink into her waiting glass. “Twist my arm, why don’t you?” Another soft but knowing smile. “What’s up?”
I finish my drink, and extend my glass for a refill. Kat shakes her head. “Not yet. And whatever it is, you don’t need to be drunk to tell me.” Her leather pants squeak against the edge of the coffee table as she leans forward. “It’s me, Cade.”
“I know.” I shake my head and stare at the bottom of my glass, sadly empty, devoid of liquid courage. “It’s not that I feel weird talking to you about…” About what? “This,” I decide is the best word. My clothes suddenly feel a bit too snug, and my skin feels a few degrees too warm, and this room just doesn’t have enough oxygen. “This is hard to talk about, period.”
Finally, I allow my eyes to lift and meet hers, the same pair I’ve looked into hundreds of times over the years. Planning secret sneak-outs, corroborating our stories, deciding what to get Dad for his birthday, listening as she spilled her guts when she realized she doesn’t like boys—those eyes are my constant, she is my best friend. Not tomention, if there’s anyone who can relate to not quite understanding yourself or your feelings, it’s her.
She sinks back against the couch, palms on her thighs. Those knowing eyes hold onto mine.
I let out a sigh that brings no relief. “I…” I look down at my toes, the soft suede of my dress shoes a contrast to the harsh, stamped concrete floors.
“Cade.” My name comes out soft, in a way she reserves for tender moments. I hate that in a matter of seconds, things have devolved to her using that voice.
I lift my gaze and meet hers, knowing that she is here for me, she is safe, and she may understand what I’m about to say.
“From a young age, I knew I was different. I knew that I wasn’t gonna be like Sutton, or you, even.”
Her dyed-dark eyebrows pull together as she steeples her hands beneath her chin, listening intently. It’s just the body language I need to continue.
“I mean, you and Sutton were both interested in pursuing relationships.” I scratch at the side of my jaw, remembering all the dates Kat went on in those early days of high school. Even Sutton did pretty well, dating a few girls in his AP History class, and three cheerleaders. I shake my head. “I had zero interest in that. Like, ever.”
Our eyes come together, and in unison, we mimic our dad. “A late bloomer.”
