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“Who was that?”
“Who was what?”
“That picture. On your phone. Who was the girl?”
He looked at me blankly, the picture of innocence. Something churned at the base of my stomach.
“I know her. It was Nina’s sister, wasn’t it? It was Grace.” There was a sharp edge to my voice.
He hesitated. It was just the merest pause. A fraction of a second. He used that time to think about whether or not he should lie to me. I saw him do it. He decided against it. He went with bruised innocence instead.
“Sure,” he said. “We’ve been in touch.”
“Do you really think that’s appropriate?” The words “send me a pic” rolled around in my mind, like an unpleasant aftertaste.
“Why not?” Simon said. “She’s sad and lonely and her parents are acting like crazy people.”
I stared at him. He sighed, like I was being deliberately stupid.
“Mom, she messaged me, okay? She reached out to me. She felt really bad about the way her parents were behaving. She knows that Nina and I were crazy about each other. She knows I’m not the kind of guy who would... do what they’re saying I did. She wanted to tell me that, and then we got to talking and she’s... Look, she has no one to talk to.”
Send me a pic. Send me a pic. I swallowed.
“Simon. She’s fifteen years old.”
He rolled his eyes. He was completely unembarrassed.
“I think I know that. I’m just being supportive. Nina wouldn’t want me to ghost her little sister.”
I stayed very still. The part of me that was his mother said that I believed him. Of course I believed him. Because what was the alternative? That he was flirting with Grace? Playing games with the fifteen-year-old sister of his missing girlfriend? I tried to shake it off. I tried to smile at him. But there was another part of me. It was the part that felt sick when I was fourteen years old and my dad’s friend looked at me for a little bit too long. It was the part of me that knew to avoid the skeevy guy who was looking for a roommate at rent that seemed too good to be true. The part of me that saw it coming just a second too late when the bar manager at my old job cornered me in the basement. That part of me was saying that something wasn’t right.
“Promise me right now that you’ll delete her number.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Promise me, Simon. In fact, I want to see you do it. Right now. In front of me.”
He widened his eyes at me, like I was being crazy.
“I mean it.”
“Why?”
“Because if people knew, if her parents knew, that you guys were in touch, they’d go batshit crazy. You’d better believe they’d go to the media and make you look like a pervert.” I told myself that was the only reason.
Simon made a face. “I don’t think so. People see what’s really going on here.”
“Simon.” My voice was sharp and raised. I took a half step forward.
“Oh my God. All right. If it means that much to you.” He lifted his phone, went to his contacts, and deleted Grace’s number.
“The messages too,” I said.
“Fine. Whatever.” He deleted them.
I hesitated. He could get her number again, easily. She’d probably message him. Or he could contact her through social media. I couldn’t police him. I couldn’t take his phone away.
“You should block her number,” I said.
