Page 12 of All the Broken Pieces: Vol. 3

Chapter 10

Tim is over later that night, dinner in hand. This time, take out from a steak place. He came over right after school and dumped his stuff by the door, laptop, phone, wallet, keys. I know I’m going to get busted, but I need to know.

As Tim is grabbing paper plates, I stop him. “It’s steak. Let’s use real plates and silverware. Would you mind setting it up? I need to run upstairs for a second.”

“Sure,” he nods, placing the paper plates back into the cabinet and going about things.

I shuffle up the steps, snagging his bag on the way and clutching it to my chest. He might notice a missing phone. At least, that’s what I rationalize. I run into my bathroom and shut the door. The computer is out and on, screen glowing faster than I thought possible. I’ve been up here for two minutes so far. I pull up his Facebook page and click around, looking for credit card info—things that he may have directly charged using Facebook. But I don’t find anything. Then I see a spot that says something about ads. I click there and I’m taken to a screen that shows no history and asks me to set up an account.

A gush of air rushes out of my lungs and my spine curves in relief. It’s not him. He’s not the guy running the ads. It dawns on me that he could have a fake account, but I think I’ve taken this far enough. I know the guy. It’s not him.

I pad silently down the steps again, swing the computer bag softly to the spot on the floor, and round the corner into the kitchen. “Sorry. I needed to find some aspirin.” The lie slides off my tongue.

“Headache?”

“Sore foot. It gets fussy at the end of the day.” Which is true. I smile at him. The table is set with white linens, plates, silverware, and he’s just putting the food out. He reaches for a bottle of wine and pulls the cork before pouring me a glass.

“So.” I sit down across from him and clutch the wine like a lifeline. I’m not supposed to have it, but I hardly ever drink. So I make an exception. My life is turning a corner.

I’m treated to a grin. “So.” He looks at me from beneath dark lashes. The white t-shirt is plastered to his body. It’s so balmy tonight. His dark hair curls slightly at the ends from the humidity. He looks beautiful.

“I talked to Vi.”

“Yeah?” He cuts into his steak, not watching me.

My stomach flips as I tell him. “She said we should go together.” He stops cutting. Looks up. “Without her.”

An awkward smile that’s too toothy, almost bashful, is on his face. “What? Why would she say that?”

“Same reason you did, I guess.”

His gaze is locked on mine. “What reason is that?”

Silence. Something inside me twists gleefully. And a little frightened. Play your hand, slowly. Don’t freak him out. My eyes bore into his. I refuse to look away. Does he feel that way about me? I really thought that one encounter was heartbreak. Nothing more. Nothing to do with me. With us.

Throat tight, I manage to reply softly, “To say good-bye…to Zach.” I duck my head and break the intense gaze. Strangling my wine glass, I take a sip to steady my nerves.

“Right. But Vi could come for that. Was there something else?” He’s waiting, fork hanging in one hand, lips parted. Waiting.

I can’t tell what he thinks of me. There’s always been this kinship between us. I haven’t felt sexual for a long time. I’ve felt nothing. Dead inside. But him? Do I like him or is it that he reminds me of Zach? Well, the good things about the man.

Pressing my finger to the top of my wine glass, I trace the circle with the pad of my finger. Glancing up at him, heart pounding, I manage, “I don’t know. Do you know?”

It’s the best I can do to throw it back on him. Make him say it. Force his hand to make the first move. The room is so quiet that I can hear him breathe. A long exhale as if he’s been holding his breath. He sets down his silverware. “Abby,” he says my name and then stops. Like he wants to say more, but can’t. Won’t.

The silence is too much. I break it. Severing the chance at confessing the attraction that shouldn’t be there. The guilt I feel about it. How I savor his touch. When did this happen? Vi was right. And it’s not just that Tim likes me.

All this time, I thought anything affectionate I felt for Tim was transference. Old feelings for Zach, from way back in the beginning, before things got dark. Before I would wish I didn’t have to see him for days on end. Tim reminds me of Zach so much. And he makes me laugh like Zara.

Tim ignores my outburst, his eyes are searching for mine, waiting for me to lift my gaze so they can pin me in place and steal my breath. “Abby, are you suggesting that we—”

“No,” I laugh as if he were crazy. I swat a hand at him, and let my eyebrows creep up my face. “Oh, you thought I meant that. No, no. I just—”

His hand is on mine. His beautiful face searching mine for a truth that I’m trying to hide. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t want him seeing something that’s not there. I pull my hand away. “Abby.”

“Tim.”

He blurts out, “You’re not over him. When you are, yeah, I’m here. Is that it? Is that what you want to know?”