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He pulls a chair up beside me and slides the phone out of my hand. “No it’s not. What did your mom say?”
“You should go,” I reply. “You’re going to miss your tee time.”
He reaches his arm out and his hand circles my arm. The pad of his thumb, just the tiniest bit rough, runs over the smooth skin of my wrist. “What did she say?”
“She’s getting married.”
“Wow,” he blinks. “That’s … fast.”
“My dad’s getting married too, apparently,” I say flatly. The words don’t seem real. “He didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
He looks at me blankly. “Jesus, Elle. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “Me neither.”
“Let’s go do something today,” he suggests. “We could take the ferry to Cape May if you want. Have you ever been?”
“That’s sweet of you, James,” I say, with a smile that is small but real. “But you’ve already got plans.”
“Max will understand.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine. I’m working a double today anyhow.”
Max pokes his head out. “Dude. Let’s roll.”
James stands reluctantly. “You sure?”
I smile. “I’m fine.”
“Things aren’t always what they appear,” he says quietly. “Don’t start making interpretations about all this yet. Your parents love you. They just happen to be in a shitty place right now.”
What about you, though, James? I ask silently. Because you’re the one that hurts the most.
**
I generally hate working doubles, but today it’s a blessing, preventing me from dwelling on my mother’s impulsivity or the fact that my father seems to feel I’m a mistake he’s moving on from.
The house is dark when I get home. I assume that Max and James went out, which makes my stomach churn. The distress I felt this morning about my parents can’t begin to compare to what I will feel if James starts acting like Max: bringing girls home or just not coming home at all. I go to the kitchen, trying hard to talk myself off the ledge, just as the front door opens.
A moment later James stumbles in, his eyes unfocused. The relief I feel provokes a bizarre desire to burst into tears. I didn’t cry about my dad’s failure to invite me to his wedding, but this — James home alone — would be enough to make me weep for hours if I allowed it.
“Hi,” he says, bleary-eyed but still nervous. He’s as drunk as I’ve ever seen him, yet still remembers to be wary of me.
“You’re shit-faced,” I say, walking to the refrigerator.
”That’s possible,” he agrees.
“Where’s Max?”
“I left him,” says James, running a hand over his face. “I was worried about you. You were so sad earlier.”
I’m touched by this and I don’t want to be. “That’s sweet, James, but I’m fine.”
He walks forward and bangs his shoulder, then leans against the offending wall and stares at the ground.
“You need to go to bed,” I sigh. I set my water on the counter and go to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and attempting to pull him. A nearly impossible feat when he outweighs me by at least 80 pounds.
“Don’t,” he warns. He tries to shrug me off but staggers sideways instead, pulling me with him.
