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Forty-Eight
Magnolia
We head to one of the boys’ clubs later, for no real reason other than Julian feels like it.
I go find my friends because he needs to speak to Jonah in his office.
Seems precarious. I don’t like it much. It reminds me that Jonah does what Julian does.
I don’t even know what Julian does. He’s good at keeping those facts at bay, and I’d rather them be there, because without them he feels rather like a knight in shining everything, but I suspect that were I to receive confirmation from someone that, say, the immaculate print of Beach at Scheveningen in Stormy Weather in his office is in fact not a print, it might tarnish his image in my mind. Or maybe it wouldn’t, because something about him is a bit like Teflon, and all the bad slides right off him, no matter what it is he does.
I swan over to everyone assembled in the roped-off area.
I dive and half-sit next to/on top of Taura, squeezing her, grateful her chosen seat is next to BJ so I can be close to him too.
I lean forward to smile at Jordan and, as warmly as I can muster, say, “Hi.”
“Hey—” She smiles back. “Cool skirt.”
It’s the very short, very green sequin-embellished mini skirt from The Attico.
BJ’s eyes wander over me and the corset I’m wearing more than they should. “You’re in a lot of black these days.”
It’s because I’m doing a lot of mourning these days.
“I like your jumper,” I tell him. I rub the material from his sleeve between my fingers.
He smiles at me like no one else is around us — and I miss him so much. More than I can say, more than I can process really, because I’m not only in love with him — he’s also my best friend. And I wish I could crawl into his lap, curl up, face in his neck, tell him about all the ways this stupid boy broke my heart a few weeks ago, but I can’t because it’s him — so I tell him I love him with my blinking and he tells me he misses me with his question:
“What is it?” he asks, covering the logo on the front like I don’t already know.
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “Versace La Greca-print sweatshirt.” I feel its hem as though I don’t already know the answer. Graze his stomach as I do on purpose. No one knows but him. Want splinters up my arm like a broken bone. “Cotton.”
He gives me a sad smile. “Very good.”
Jordan leans over BJ a bit obnoxiously.
“What’s Julian like in bed?” she asks curiously as she stares over at the boy I’m sleeping with.
I suspect it’s an intentionally timed question.
She can’t see BJ’s face because he’s just watching me, but his eyes close like the question hurts him too.
I catch his eyes, try to tell him I’m sorry before I start, but then I remember that he did this.
Told me he loved me, had sex with me four times before we left that hotel, and then went home and had sex with this girl who’s asking me about the sexual prowess of the man I’m using as emotional Scotch Guard.
“An Olympian.” I nod.
BJ rolls his eyes, looking annoyed — all the softness between us a moment ago up in flames. “No.”
“Yes.” I nod.
Taura leans in, nodding too. “Yeah.”
“Really?” Jordan glances from me to Taura.
“Yep.” Taura nods firmly.
