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“Have you looked at it?” he asks her. I’m not sure what they’re talking about.
“Yesterday. It’s so cute and in the perfect location. It’s been fully redone on the inside, and I just know you’re going to love it.”
“Bryce, did you get to see the house?” he asks.
“No, I stayed with Granny.”
Clay looks back at Juliet, and she shrugs one shoulder. “I’d rather things just be finalized so he’s not confused.”
Clay nods his head.
“Did you put an offer in?” He picks up the sandwich and takes a bite out of it. I can’t help but watch his biceps under his shirt, his mouth, his face. I feel like I’ve rarely had an opportunity to just look at him, and since his focus is solely on his sister, now’s my chance. I also realize they’re talking about a house. She must be moving here from Nashville.
“I did.” She grins. She’s so happy, and as he lowers his sandwich, he studies her, and then in return, after whatever he sees on her face, he smiles too.
“Good.”
That’s all he says, but that’s all she needs to hear. Her excitement is palpable; too bad I can’t share it with them, with her. I’m certain if the circumstances were different, she and I would be friends.
In the end, Juliet and Bryce don’t stay long. Everyone eats, the three of them talk, and I basically watch from my spot on the couch. I’m not included at all. It’s as if I’m not even here, and with each tick of the clock, I wish I were anywhere but here. They’ve made me feel one hundred percent worse than I already do, and I’ve lost any appetite I had.
I get it. Clearly, the Justin thing bothered him enough to talk about with her, but not once have they asked me to enlighten them on what was going on. It’s like they’ve already deliberated about me at some point and have made up their minds, made assumptions, and what they don’t even realize is that the two of them together have made me feel like the worst kind of outsider, all the way through the moment she leaves when she leans in and gives him a hug.
“Y’all have fun now,” she says. That’s her way of saying goodbye to me, her eyes cutting to me for just a second. I don’t think I’m supposed to hear the next part when she leans closer to him and says, “But not too much fun,” but I do. They pin each other with an unspoken shared look, my breath catches as a large knot forms in my throat, and then she’s gone.
The door closes behind them, and Clay walks back into the kitchen to clean up. He still doesn’t even acknowledge me, and my sinuses begin to sting and my eyes begin to burn. If I could melt into this couch and disappear, I would.
“Can you just stop being angry with me?” I blurt out, and he raises his head to look at me. I blink hard to prevent my eyes from flooding with disappointed tears. They’ve hurt my feelings, and I’m literally doing the best I can.
“I’m not angry with you,” he says as he swipes the sandwich wrappers and shoves them into the garbage can.
“Really?” I shift on the couch so I’m facing him fully. “Then what would you call your . . . whatever toward me today, yesterday, the last year? I mean the two of you didn’t speak to me at all. At all, Clay. Do you know how that makes me feel?” My chin quivers and I snap my teeth together to stop it.
He picks up a dish towel and starts wiping down the counter as he thinks about what I’ve said, stalls—whatever, I don’t even know. And then, without looking at me and without acknowledging how they treated me during lunch, he says, “I’m not angry. I’m indifferent. I told you this before.”
Indifferent. That’s his answer. Dread drops like a rock to the bottom of my stomach, and my chest starts to ache more than it already did. How can he be indifferent? That implies he has zero interest, concern, or emotions toward me at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. It’s like he goes out of his way to make me feel insignificant, or better yet, branded with a scarlet A.
With my heart racing, I can no longer be sitting, so I stand. He clocks the movement and glances at me, and that’s when I can’t hold it in anymore.
“That’s such crap. The people in the ski lodge, co-workers, flight attendants—these are people you should feel indifferent toward, yet I don’t see you being rude to them. To them you are kind and considerate. What about me?” I point to myself and realize I’m shaking.
His cheeks flush a rosy pink, he stops cleaning, and his arms drop down by his sides. “I’m not rude to you, and you’re here, aren’t you?”
There’s a slight edge to his tone, and he stares at me like having this conversation pains him and he wants to flee. And yeah, I’m here all right, in hostile territory. I know he doesn’t want me here, and even though I am, I’m still unwelcome. He’s made that clear, and it makes me feel worse.
Looking out the window, I see the frost on the glass has melted under the midday sun. The sky is blue, just like yesterday, and although I haven’t heard from the plumber, it’s time for me to go. I look across the lake at my house and feel a longing of homesickness so bad I can hardly breathe. I didn’t feel necessarily at ease being here with him. I had hoped that might change, but after seeing and feeling Juliet’s reaction toward me, I feel completely unwanted, totally rejected. No one should have to feel like this. I’m not a bad person.
That lump in my throat grows larger. I turn away from him and start walking toward the stairs. I don’t want him to look at me. Maybe he and Juliet aren’t wrong to treat me this way; I suppose all this is my fault anyway. I didn’t tell him about Justin, and really, I’m the only one to blame. Even so, I would never go out of my way to make someone feel the way they’ve made me feel, especially him.
My eyes continue to fill and my ribcage constricts. I just liked Clay so much, and it feels awful to know he doesn’t like me at all.
Not even a little bit.
Indifferent.
“You know what, I’m going to head downstairs and pack my stuff. It shouldn’t take long. Maybe you can just take me back to my house? Or if not, I’ll call someone. I’ll be fine there.”
“You have no water,” he says.
