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“It is. We’ve been in it almost every night.”
“I don’t want to know,” I say. I really don’t. If I had a hot tub at my house, I know exactly what I’d be doing in it with Cris “almost every night.” Not that I have the option to do anything with her any longer. My throat grows thick, making it hard to swallow.
“What’s going on with you, man?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I snap.
He doesn’t so much as flinch. “You are typically a macaron.”
He lost me. “A macaron.”
“Yeah, light and airy. And definitely more upbeat than you’ve been lately. Does this have anything to do with the conversation Viv had with Cris?”
“What did Cris say to Viv?” My ears perk.
“That’s a yes. And if you think I’m telling you, you’re insane.” He takes a pull from his water bottle and walks out to the yard to stand in the sunshine. I trail his steps, my feet sinking into the thick, plush green grass as I go. “Remember when you were thirteen and had that math competition? The televised one.”
It’s an odd turn of topic. I’d rather know what Viv and Cris talked about. If Cris is suffering from doubt and worry the way I am, or if she’s living her best life now that she doesn’t have to juggle me in another capacity other than boss/best friend. Did I make everything harder for her? I’d try and steer the conversation but I know instinctively I’d be wasting my time. When Nate digs in, he does so with an oak tree’s roots. He’s not going to tell me anything even if I do indulge him. But hey, it’s worth a shot.
“What was that show called?” he asks.
“Divide and Conquer,” I say.
“Right.” He chuckles. “So fucking dorky.”
“Hey, we were serious.” I came alive whenever we practiced. I was the best on our team—the ringer by a long shot. Numbers make sense to me. Which reminds me of the conversation about numbers Cris and I had at the restaurant. The morning I tried out some dirty talk and was thrilled down to my Ferragamos when she liked it. My naughty Firecracker. Only she’s not mine anymore. If she ever was. My shoulders sag.
“You don’t have to remind me how serious you were,” my brother says. “You made yourself so sick you didn’t eat for two days before the show.”
“Come on.” That can’t be true.
His eyebrows wing skyward. “Ask Lainey. She was finally able to coax you into having orange juice so you didn’t pass out on stage. I heard Will tell her he was sure you were going to fall off your chair. I was in the audience with them, willing you to succeed. Your face was paste white. The show went on, and remarkably, so did you. Live TV, and you pulled it out in the clutch.”
I feel a smile curl my lips, the first in days. I recall the weight of the buzzer in my grip, the way the answers flashed on the screen of my mind. We slayed it. The other team was fast, but we were faster.
My smile fades when he shakes his head and adds, “Before then, God, you were miserable.”
“Is there a point to this tale other than my humiliation?” I sip my Sprite and my stomach gurgles in protest.
“What do you think’s going on here?” He points at my glass. “You and Cris split up and you can’t eat.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes,” I say with a certainty I don’t feel. Just because I skipped lunch and dinner yesterday and couldn’t hold down the piece of toast this morning doesn’t mean anything. “I have a bug or something. I’m fine. Cris was right. She’s always right. She is my life coach, you know.” I stare at him, silently begging him to share a snippet of what she said to Vivian.
“Yeah, and she’s up to her eyeballs in you, just like you’re up to your eyeballs in her. How can either of you see anything clearly when you’re drowning in each other?”
Holy shit. I can’t believe that worked. Before I can cling to hope, I shake my head. He can’t be right. Maybe I need to point out I’m the one freezing my ass off while clinging to the door Cris is safely floating on. Somehow though, I don’t think he’ll understand. I could lose the Titanic references and try and explain some other way. Explain how she and I have everything under control and eventually life will return to normal. There may be dregs from our sexual relationship, but they won’t last forever.
In the end, I don’t explain. I tell him what’s been looping my brain like a stock car on a racetrack. “She’s getting married once. I’m getting married never. That’s what she told me when I suggested we keep doing what we were doing.”
His eyebrows rise. “You wanted more.”
Those words are a punch to the sternum. I fight for my next breath. “I don’t want more. Not like you mean.”
“You sure about that, Pukey?”
