Tell Me Not to Go Page 21

“I only dated him a few weeks, but yes. Just my luck.” She tries to smile but it doesn’t quite happen.

  “Does Keller know?”

  “I told him two days ago. You can imagine he was delighted.”

  “Well, that’s too damn bad.” I don’t know how I’m going to make it another day without doing something to Keller that I’d regret. I’m very glad that Andrea didn’t tell me this at work.

  “I can’t worry about him now. It’s just . . . I’m so scared about how I’m going to manage this. What am I going to do?”

  She loses the battle with her tears again and my inability to fix this for her is making me crazy. I know how terrifying this feels—how overwhelming. Feeling like your life has stopped on a dime. Like a giant window has slammed shut on every dream you ever had, every choice you were going to make. And instead you’re left with a crushing responsibility that you’re not sure you can handle.

  But there’s more than that. Even though I haven’t been a parent, I know there’s joy and hope and a love bigger than anything you’ve ever felt. Andrea hasn’t gotten to those parts yet, but hopefully she will.

  I scoot my chair closer and take her hand. “You can do it. If Keller doesn’t step up to help you, other people will. You’re not alone.”

  She pulls me into a hug, and I’m uneasy. Andrea’s head is too low on my shoulder, her hair is too light, her body too slim. But then she cries a little more, so I focus on calming her.

  “Thank you, Jeff,” she says, pulling back and wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry to dump all this on you.”

  “I’m your friend. I want to help.” Maybe I can get her past the terror and to a better place.

  Her smile is grateful, and the pain that’s been squeezing my insides since Sam left eases just a little.

  Chapter 27: Sam

  15 Days Without Him

  “I came all the way from Santa Cruz for this?”

  I stare at the paint samples taped to Jude’s bedroom wall.

  “I can’t take all this gray anymore. It’s like an asylum in here.” Lizzie puts her hair in a ponytail. With her ratty T-shirt and jean shorts, she looks ready to do battle with the paintbrush lying on the floor. I don’t look any better. She made me come over to help, even though I hate painting.

  “It’s cute that you think you’re going to paint this yourself,” Jude says, propped in the doorway like he’s posing for a photo. Son of a bitch even looks good in paint clothes. “Bad enough you’re changing the color.”

  “You said you liked the green I picked.” Lizzie prances over to him and wraps her arms around his waist. “It’s going to look awesome when it’s done.” She kisses him gently on the mouth and his eyes close. Damn, she’s good.

  “I guess it will,” he acquiesces. “But I told you I could hire a painter.”

  “What he means is he doesn’t trust me to get the corners perfect.” Lizzie smiles and turns to him. “It’s one room. No self-respecting Price would hire someone.”

  I miss Lizzie—and the other Price, too. We had to be out of campus housing five days ago, so I’m spending my last week in the Bay Area with my parents. Mom and Dad didn’t say anything, but they can tell I’m depressed. Mom’s been smothering me in Filipino comfort food since I got home, which is always a dead giveaway.

  “I’ll put the tarps down if Jude tapes,” I say. “I hate taping and his arms are as long as a chimpanzee’s.”

  Lizzie cracks open the primer, and before I know it I’m running the roller along one wall as we listen to indie rock. It’s nice, actually—spending these moments doing something normal with Lizzie and Jude. Feeling the rhythm of the paint roller as it skims the surface of the wall. Seeing the bland gray disappear under the crisp white of the primer.

  “You got some in your hair.” Lizzie flicks my ponytail.

  “And everywhere else,” I say, looking at my clothes.

  The doorbell rings and we almost miss it over the music. Jude runs out to the living room, turns the music down, and opens the door.

  Lizzie dips her brush in paint. “Have you thought any more about us driving with you down to LA? We are happy to load up the car and follow you.”

  I’m half focusing on what Lizzie is saying, and half listening to the rumbled discussion coming from the living room. I could have sworn I heard Jeff’s voice.

  “Is that Jeff?” Lizzie asks, hearing what I do. Her head whips back toward me. “I didn’t invite him over. I swear.”

  When will I learn about being too curious for my own good? Do I hide in the room like a normal woman would? No. Instead, Lizzie and I bolt out of the room to find out what’s going on.

  It takes a minute for my brain to compute what I’m seeing. Jude is trying to usher Jeff out the door. Jeff is grabbing a pair of sunglasses—his by the look of them—out of Jude’s hand. I remember Jeff wearing those in my parents’ backyard and an ache starts deep in the vicinity of my heart. But the real ass-kicking pain is yet to come—and my brain is trying to avoid it like a giant pothole on the road to hell. Because right next to Jeff is Andrea, looking beautiful in a cornflower-blue sundress.

  Jeff looks up, his brown eyes meeting mine, and everything stops. Time, breath, thought—at a complete standstill. And then his eyes fill with panic—an admission of guilt if ever there were one. Except, what does he have to feel guilty for? Not a damn thing.

  My mouth doesn’t agree. “Well, that didn’t take long.”

  Jude stares at Lizzie, and they exchange that concerned look people get when you’re going off the rails.

  “It’s not like that,” Jeff says.

  To his credit, he doesn’t treat me like I’m ready for the psych ward. He just dives right in, calm and collected as usual. And that only infuriates me more. How dare he stay calm when my heart is splintering?

  And then there’s Andrea, who played her hand so perfectly. She actually had me fooled that she was a cool chick. I stare her down.

  “Congrats, Andrea. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Sam,” Lizzie whispers behind me, trying to avert disaster. She places her hand on my back.

  “We should go,” Andrea says to Jeff, and I have such a strong sense of déjà vu.

  Didn’t I just do this? Am I on some cosmic loop, doomed to repeat the “girl meets happy ex and his new-and-improved woman” scene?

  “Oh, no. Allow me,” I say, and my voice sounds really loud.

  I grasp my purse lying on the hall table and throw it over my shoulder. I shove past Jeff, hoping I get paint on his arm along the way.

  “You were the one who wanted it to end,” he says behind me, his voice as angry as a gravel burn.

  When I turn around, the set of his shoulders tells me he regrets saying that. I don’t know if it’s because he knows it hurt me, or because he hates losing his cool.

  “Thanks for making me feel good about my decision.”

  I take one last look at his face as it falls and then slam the door.

  When I got home, my mom took one look at me and pulled me into a bear hug. She and Dad did their best to counsel me, but eventually I got sick of talking and asked for some space. They took off to the movies, and now I’m sitting in the hot tub, submerged in warmth as I stare at the stars.

  I’ve reminded myself about eighteen times today that Jeff has every right to do what—and who—he wants. Rational Sam understands that I made this devil’s bargain with Jeff in the first place. That I’m the one that broke things off. That I never told him how I really felt about him. Emotional Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t give a shit. And right now, emotional Sam reigns supreme.

  I curse Jeff to the heavens with so much self-pity that it’s humorous. What an idiot I was, thinking I could keep my feelings out of it. When in the sweet hell have I ever been able to do that?

  There’s a knock on the door, which is strange for this time of night. It’s probably our neighbor, Mrs. Miller. She’s older and stops by a lot to see Mom. I call out her name, nice and
loud, since I won’t be able to dry off and get to the front door in time. Good thing I’m wearing my bathing suit. I hear a rustling in the bushes as someone comes through the side gate, so I get out of the tub and wrap a towel around myself.

  A head peeks around the corner, and it’s so unexpected that I almost fall backward into the water again.

  “Luke?”

  “Hey.”

  He tries to straighten up and look normal, but his button-up shirt is untucked, he has a leaf in his hair, and he looks like he’s been on a three-day bender. He’s usually immaculate, with a face so clean cut and earnest it looks like he’s swearing on a Bible. You know what they say about looks being deceiving.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Luke and I used to come to my parents’ house often, but that was years ago. Seeing him here right now is like finding an octopus in your bathtub.

  “Umm, I don’t know, actually.” He runs his hand through his hair and doesn’t let go. I’ve never seen him so flustered before. Then again, that isn’t my problem to deal with.

  “You should probably run along then. You know, on account of us being enemies and all.”

  “It’s just, I . . .” he swallows hard, and his eyes water.

  Oh man, he’s in full meltdown mode.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I’ve been staying in a hotel for the past few days. I lied to Emily and told her I had to go away for work, but came to the coast instead. I’ve mostly been sitting on the beach getting high.”

  “Well that explains a few things, because you look like ass.”

  Luke lets out a small laugh. “I miss that, Sammie. Your honesty.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You once called me a ‘verbal disaster.’”

  “Yeah, well. I was wrong. About a lot of things. Can we go inside?”

  I rub my hands together. “Only because I’m freezing my ass off.”

  What did I do in a past life to deserve this? He follows me into the house, as I ponder how I’m going to get him out of here.

  “Are you still stoned?” I ask. Because if so, I’m calling him a cab ASAP.

  “No. I wanted to be sober when we talked.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess.”

  He makes himself at home in our living room, sprawling on the couch.

  I sit down on a wicker chair as far from him as possible. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Facebook. You posted a photo today and I recognized your parents’ Oaxacan wood carvings in the background.” He gives me a sheepish smile. “Well, you never blocked me, so . . .”

  My patience and my empathy are at an end. “What do you want from me? Because I’m pretty sure we’ve said all we need to say.”

  He puts his head in his hands. “I think I might be making a mistake. Emily’s great. She is. But we’re so young. And she can be so rigid.”

  There’s a faint ringing in my ears. It must be the sound of No effing way is this happening.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “You always knew me best, Sammie. You really got me.”

  My eyebrows raise high. “So much so that I had no idea you were banging my roommate. You have some fucking nerve coming here after what you did.”

  “You know I feel sick about that. I told you.” He scooches down the couch. “I’m so lost. When I saw you were here, I knew it was a sign. I know you can help me. Everyone expects me to marry her. The plans are all set. What should I do?”

  I think back to the night I first told Luke I loved him. We were sitting outside under a full moon, and his arm felt steady around my shoulders. I looked up into his eyes, and there were intelligence and affection shining through them. I thought he was so honorable. So together. But I hadn’t really known him. I was seeing what I wanted my first love to be, not what he was.

  Maybe, like everything else in life, love has a learning curve. Luke was the first guy I fell for, and maybe I should stop being so hard on myself for being wrong about him.

  I stand up. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Luke. Come with me.” I take his hand, shocked that it feels exactly the same as I remember—warm, dry, soft. He looks so grateful, as I lead him out of the living room, through the kitchen, toward the hallway where the bedrooms are. But then he becomes confused as we pass those and reach the front door.

  I step away from him, and wrap my towel more tightly around my waist. “I’m not your damn priest. Or your psychiatrist. Which you obviously need, if you think I’m going to give you advice. I don’t owe you shit.”

  I open the door and push him gently through it.

  He scowls at me. “I should have known you’d never forgive me. You never used to be so harsh.”

  “If you were really sorry, you would never have come here. What you are is a child. But you want forgiveness? Fine. I forgive you. Did a long time ago, actually. Doesn’t mean I need all this . . .” I wave my hand around him in a circle “ . . . drama. You made your bed, so go roll around in it.”

  I slam the door. After a minute, I hear his footsteps walking away. Elation washes over me, because that will be the last time I ever see him. Maybe even the last time I ever think about him. And I was being honest when I said I forgave him, because in the end, Luke did me a favor. He taught me never to put my dream second to someone else’s.

  I’ve taken two steps from the door when I hear a thump, then the sound of raised voices. I open the door and see two figures in the driveway, the street lamp bouncing off them as they struggle. One guy is taller, and he appears to be holding Luke up against his car.

  And he looks suspiciously like Jeff.

  “Hey,” I call out, and they both turn to me. Jeff steps back, and Luke takes that as his cue to get in the car and speed off. He practically runs over Jeff as he backs out.

  Jeff comes storming up the walkway, his hair a mess, his face furious. He looks me up and down and his eyes go even colder.

  “Have fun hot-tubbing?”

  “Not really your business. You have Andrea waiting in the car?”

  Jeff pushes past me and I close the door.

  “To think I drove all the way here to apologize.” He shakes his head, hands on his hips as they always are when he’s pissed. “What a jackass I am. And what a hypocrite you are—making me feel guilty while you’re spending time with that asshole.”

  For the second time in my life, I want to slap a guy. But for maybe the first time, I take the high road and calm the hell down.

  “Not that’s it’s any of your concern, but I didn’t invite Luke here. And I am not having conversations with two idiots in one night while wearing this wet bathing suit. Go sit down while I change.”

  I stomp off to my room and get into something dry. Then I sit on my bed and count to twenty—okay, sixty—so that I don’t completely lose it on Jeff. Not that he doesn’t deserve it.

  I must be taking a long time, because there is a tap on my door.

  “What?”

  “Let me come in.”

  I don’t say anything, so he opens the door. “Why are you hiding in your room?”

  “Why do you think?”

  Jeff sighs and sits down next to me on the bed. “I’m sorry. I recognized him from your photos, and I lost it.” He flings himself back on the bed and covers his eyes with his arm. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not always rational when it comes to you.”

  “He’s having cold feet. He doesn’t think he should marry Emily.”

  “And he asked you for advice?” Jeff’s eyes are still covered.

  “Thought I could help him figure his life out.”

  Jeff’s chuckle builds into a full-blown laugh.

  “What?”

  He turns on his side to stare at me, and damn if he doesn’t take my breath away. He looks unbuttoned, at ease, and a little undone. “That poor bastard. I bet you ripped him a new one.”

  “Yes, yes, I did.” I smile, and Jeff inhales at the sight of it. His hand to
uches my cheek, lingering there.

  “Don’t,” I whisper, all fun suddenly gone from this moment.

  “I can’t help it,” he says, his voice dark and low. But like the good guy he is, he pulls his hand away. “Look, Andrea is just a friend. She’s having a hard time right now and I’m helping her out. And I didn’t know you were at Jude’s house or I wouldn’t have come.”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re not mine to get jealous over.” I blink hard to stop the tears that are threatening to form.

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he says.

  The look in his eyes nearly undoes me, because he cares. I see now why all those girls fell in love with him, even though he didn’t love them back. His friendship, his warmth, are almost just as good. Almost.

  I pull myself together, because if I don’t, he’s going to try and comfort me, and I will let him.

  “I’m fine. I’m sorry for jumping down your throat. I just miss you.”

  “I’m sorry, too, for all the same reasons.” He takes a strand of my hair and runs it through his fingers.

  “You can’t keep touching me,” I say, not pulling away. “When you touch me I forget why we can’t be together.”

  He wraps his entire hand in my hair, bringing my face closer to his. “I’m usually the guy who does what he’s told. Who puts what he wants second. But what if I don’t want to be that guy tonight?”

  “Just be my Jeff—all of him,” I whisper.

  His mouth crashes into mine—punishing, unforgiving. And I’m done for; my heart, my body, they’re his.

  He groans and pulls me underneath him, and the relief of feeling his weight on me again is unbearable. I can’t get to his body fast enough, and we mangle each other’s clothes in our hurry to get them off. There’s the chest with the patch of blond hair that tickles me, the shoulders that are broad enough to cling to. The soft lips that trickle like water down my body.

  I lose myself to what he’s doing, until I lose myself completely.

  “You’re mine,” he says, moving back up, moving inside me. “Even if it’s only for tonight.”

  I lock eyes with him. “And you’re mine.”

  “Always have been.”