Page 38 of What’s Left of Us

I nod and tuck the list back into its folder. We’ve only been sitting here for ten minutes, and we already have a tentative schedule in place. This took far less time than I expected, and now we’re stuck looking at each other. I could have proposed any schedule, and he would have agreed, so why did I ask him to meet me in person?

Because you wanted an excuse to see him, a voice taunts within my mind. Because you didn’t want him to go to lunch with that girl from Advanced Functional Piano.

“Phoebe and Todd are all moved into their place,” Atlas says after a lull of quiet. He’s cleared his plate, as if by magic. He holds the last remaining fry and pops it into his mouth. “Got the dog run installed too.”

I didn’t know Phoebe and her new husband have a house. I didn’t know they have a dog. I can’t decide whether Atlas is aware of that, or whether he thinks I’m keeping tabs on his entire family. Admitting I haven’t kept up on his sister feels too much like admitting I’ve only been keeping up with him.

“Are they staying in Idaho?” It’s weird talking about his family, this all-too-familiar group of strangers. Sixteen-year-old me would be absolutely shocked at how little twenty-one-year-old me knows about the Blake family. Back then, I dreamt of neighboring houses and weekly Sunday dinners.

“Nah, Todd wanted to be closer to his family. They’re in Wyoming now.” His mouth quirks as he looks at me. Now that I’ve put away Nat’s list, there’s nothing else for me to focus on. Not unless I want to start shoveling pasta in my mouth and look like an uncivilized cave dweller.

“Oh, nice.” I swallow. Atlas seems comfortable in the silence that falls over us, but I can’t stop fidgeting. I’m desperate for something else to say, something to end the stretching quiet. When I finally come up with a question, I regret asking before it’s fully left my mouth. “Are you dating that girl from class? The brunette?”

Atlas’s mouth parts in surprise. And of course, what an unhinged, weird thing for me to ask. Of all the topics that exist in the universe, that was one of the worst. Hell, even bringing up Nat’s disappearance would be less awkward than this.

“Riley?” he asks. When I nod, a slow smile breaks across his face. He’s full-on grinning at me, eyes creased at the edges. Smug. The asshole looks smug.

“Uh, yeah. I think that’s her name.” My mind is working too slowly. Surely there’s a way to make this less weird, but if there is, I’m nowhere near finding it.

“No, I’m not dating Riley,” he says. When I don’t say anything more—because really, what is there to say at this point?—he tilts his head, leaning closer. That damn, smug smile is firmly in place. “I’m not dating anyone, Violet.”

“Okay.” I stab a forkful of salad and take an oversized bite. I do it to buy time, to try to close this conversation I so horridly opened.

“I’m single,” he adds. “Completely available.”

“And I’m completely uninterested.” I’m chewing my first bite, but I stab another forkful of salad.

“Of course.” He’s smiling at me like we’ve got an unspoken secret between us. It’s my fault for bringing up Riley, and now he’s looking at me like there’s a chance. It’s enough to kill me, to send my heart into cardiac arrest. I simply cannot allow it, and so I squash it in the most effective way I know.

“I’ve slept with people,” I announce, scowling up at him. “Several, actually.”

“Is that right?” His smile twists, but not into the frown I anticipate. No, he doesn't look disappointed at all. He’s smirking at me, even more predatory than before.

“Yes,” I say, and it comes out like an insult. He either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t care, and I can’t decide which would be more infuriating. I’m not lying though. I’ve slept with three men in the years we’ve been apart.

None of them were particularly good.

The first one was right after high school. We met at our summer job at the ice cream shop, and I cried after we hooked up, so overcome with guilt and self-loathing I never went out with him again. The other two were last year, under the gentle encouragement of Hayden. Those had been fine. They equated to a handful of dates, a couple of mediocre orgasms, and most importantly, zero tears. Until Atlas decided to waltz back into my life, I was convinced I’d healed from the heartbreak he caused.

Well, the heartbreak of losing him, that is.

Nothing will fix the heartbreak of losing Nat.

“So, we’re good here, right?” I ask. Before Atlas can answer, I’m on my feet, collecting the folder, my barely-touched tray, and my purse. I only make it a few steps toward the return cart before he catches my wrist. I hadn’t even seen him move.

“I’m taking off anyway. I’ve got a group study thing.” The playfulness has faded, replaced with discerning calculation. “You should finish your lunch.”

I grip the sides of my tray. I’m annoyed that he remembers I get self-conscious eating in public. And worse, that my heart lurches at his attention, desperate for more.

Before I can insist I’m done eating, Atlas is moving again. He grabs his backpack from beneath our table and slings it over his shoulder. Dropping his bare tray on the return cart, he offers me a parting smile. “See you next week, Vi.”

I don’t move from my spot until he disappears out of sight. Only then do I slink back to the table to finish my pasta.

I wake to the sound of Hayden rummaging around our kitchen. I don’t remember falling asleep on the couch, but outside, the sky has turned into a dark blend of purples and blues. I blink as I look around the house, disoriented.

“When did you get home?” I ask Hayden. She’s in a loose T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, which I highly doubt she’d been wearing on the bus. Her hair is held back with a thick headband and her makeup has been washed clean.

“Like, an hour ago,” she says, barely glancing at me. “If I was a murderer, you’d already be dead.”