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“Thanks.” I plucked the bottle from his hand, gurgling most of the water and drinking the rest. “Sorry, what were we talking about again?”
Brent smiled tiredly, shaking his head. He looked so sad, for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “Nothing, Lara. Absolutely nothing.”
Alex came back home and drove straight from the airport to see me. He had a backpack full of presents for me. He admitted shyly that he had to pay for extra baggage because he couldn’t help but buy me the entire continent of Europe with a side of fries.
For Alex it was akin to admitting to rape—remember, he was all about the non-consumer lifestyle—so it meant a lot to me.
He bought me everything, from books I wanted, Gothic dresses from Berlin, faux leather boots from Poland, cute notebooks, postcards, knickknacks.
My parents were so happy to see me happy they even skipped the door-must-always-open rule for the hour he was there, allowing us some much-needed heavy petting time.
Alex and I spent the rest of the summer together. We went to gigs and rehearsals, ate out, had picnics, read together, watched movies, and made out. A lot.
The last week of summer break, Alex and I grabbed a six pack and went to the beach. Getting drunk in front of the sunset was one of our favorite pastimes. Fun and economical. And if we got too drunk for him to drive, we could always take a nap on the sand until we slept it off.
We were digging our toes in the sand and talking when Brent passed us by. He wasn’t alone. His arm was linked with someone else’s. A woman whom I assumed was his mother. She had no hair, no eyebrows, and a little scarf wrapped around her smooth head. She looked frail, but beautiful.
I choked on my beer. A hazy version of our beach party conversation slammed into me. The pieces of the puzzle began falling in place.
“Hey, Lara.” Brent stopped and smiled.
Alex’s spine erected. Like a guard dog who just heard a twig cracking in the otherwise deafening silence. I stood up, dusting my skirt off.
“Hey, B. What’s up? Oh, hi, I’m Lara. I smiled warmly at his mother, offering her my hand. She introduced herself as Brent’s mom. No name. That was her title—his mom. My heart cracked into a million pieces, and guilt washed over me. Weeks ago, when Brent was trying to have a heart-to-heart with me, to unload, I was so drunk I cared more about making it to the trash can so I could throw up than listening to him.
“This is my boyfriend, Alex.” I motioned toward Alex, who was still sitting down, glaring daggers at Brent. He hadn’t been jealous when it was Ryan making up stupid rumors (the first round, anyway), but it was obvious he minded Brent’s presence in my life.
“The one who went to Europe for a month.” Brent sent Alex an unreadable look.
Alex shot him a scowl. “Yup. Back now, as you can see.”
“She missed you a lot,” Brent said conversationally. I didn’t know how, or why exactly, but it certainly sounded like taunting. Alex’s scowl pulled into an intense glare.
“The feeling was mutual.”
I felt so bad, so guilty about not knowing about Brent’s mom, I squeezed his arm.
“Hey, talk to me when you get the chance, okay? Let’s grab some coffee or something.”
Brent nodded. “Sure. Have fun, you two.”
When I plopped back down, Alex stared at me like I’d slapped him.
“Coffee or something?” he echoed. There was venom in his voice.
I rolled my eyes. “We’re just friends.”
“Fuck that.”
“Oh my gosh.” I laughed. “You cannot be for real. You just pranced all over Europe like a total bachelor. Don’t tell me you didn’t have drinks with other girls.”
“I didn’t,” he said, dead serious. “You can ask Mark.”
Mark was his stupid cousin from Sweden.
“Sure.” I clapped cheerfully, taking my phone out of my purse. “Let me just give him a call, since I have his number, and since this is totally something I would do.”
“Why are we fighting?” He furrowed his eyebrows, confused.
“I don’t know,” I yelled. “Maybe because you’re a fucking hypocrite who is moving to Sweden next year and still giving me shit about having guy friends.”
“Not next year.” He shook his head. “The year after. I need to take a stupid pre-med course. I just found out from Mark when we were in Germany.”
“Oh. Great. Thanks for keeping me in the loop.”
He was still leaving.
Still going.
Still turning his back on this love.
No matter how much we ached for each other.
For my sweet sixteen, Alex got me a…what the hell was that, anyway?
“Is that alphabet pasta on your inner forearm?” My eyebrows pulled in concentration, as Alex showed me his brand new tattoo, still wrapped in cling film, all shiny, the ink fresh and prominent.
“It’s honeycomb.” He scowled at me, clearly offended. “You know, Honeypie, honeycomb.”
