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We were silent for a while, watching the turtles swim slowly across the bottom of the sea. The silence, and him comfortably drinking without me, made me sing like a canary.
“I hurt my ankle running away from a restaurant. I thought I saw Bash—Sebastian and Hannah together, so I tried to leave, but knocked over a waiter who spilled ice cream on me.” I sighed.
He didn’t say anything, just rested back against the couch and handed me his beer. “But it wasn’t them, right? He and Hann—they weren’t on a date?” he asked softly, watching the sea turtles on the screen.
“No, I was wrong, which made me feel like even more of an idiot, so I just limped my pitiful self back home and took a shower. That’s my story.” I handed the bottle back to him.
He took a long sip, and then stared at the bottle. “I actually saw her today. It wasn’t a mistake; she was really there. She’s been at the hospital for a week, and I didn’t know. When I saw her, I almost had a panic attack in the elevator. So, which one of us is actually more pitiful?”
“What would you say to her if you came face to face with her? I’ve thought about it so many times, that big confrontation. That moment where I could just walk up to him and tell him how badly he hurt me, how…how I felt.”
He drank again. “Hi.”
“What? You'd just say hi?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Telling her I was hurt or showing anger just means I still care. It means in some way, I’m still connected to her. That’s why I want to just say hi, not like nothing happened, but like it is so far removed from my current reality that it no longer matters.” He looked proud of that thought, but the pride faded from his eyes. “I don’t think I will be able to do that, though, which is why I’m pitiful.”
“I still have you beat today, though,” I said.
He finally looked at me. “Why?”
“Because I embarrassed myself in front of the future true housewives of New York. What’s worse is, in three weeks I have to go to a wedding with all of them there. You would not believe how out of place I looked—”
“Oh, I can, believe me.” He laughed, finishing the rest of the beer.
“Hey! We are supposed to be helping each other here.”
“I thought we were just sulking.”
He had a point. “Can’t we do both? How do you know I looked out of place?”
“Well…” He tilted his head back.
“Well what?”
“You don’t really scream ‘I’m a millionaire’, now do you?”
“What does that mean? Am I supposed to wear a t-shirt or something?”
“That could help.” He laughed.
My hands rose and clenched in his face before I dropped them.
“No, but really. You have your own style; you wear combat boots with dresses. That’s fine, but don’t expect to be treated like an equal by people who live and breathe Prada.”
“I have heels.”
“But are they designer?”
I crossed my arms. “Why in the hell would I spend that much money on shoes?”
“That is it.” He pointed at me. ?
?Your first thought is the price, even though you could afford it. For people like them, their first thought is: does it look nice? You don’t fit in because you don’t fit in. You don’t see the world like they do.”
“You say them and they, but last I checked aren’t you filthy, stupid rich?”
He shook his head. “My family is rich. I, Eli, am just financially stable.”
