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CAL
“Lovefool”—The Cardigans
Later that night, I tossed and turned in bed.
Semus was vying to snatch the International Asshole Award from Row. Not only had he peed in every single pair of shoes I owned today, but he’d also decided to attack my feet whenever I had the audacity to shift in my own bed.
I couldn’t stop rewinding the disastrous Christmas lighting event in my head. Thinking about Kieran’s dislocated nose, which had been promptly relocated by Randy, who’d reassured him by saying, “No one has the right to look as good as you did, son. Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said that you need your face to be a li’l messed up to be truly beautiful?”
“I believe the quote is, there is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportions,” Kieran had muttered, hissing as his nose bone was jammed back into place. “And that was Edgar Allan Poe.”
“What a fancy pansy name,” Randy had mumbled into his gin bottle, which had been bundled in a brown paper bag.
I’d twisted my hair into a braid to do something with my hands. “Did you know that Edgar Allan Poe allegedly died of cholera, influenza, rabies, syphilis, and hyperglycemia?”
“Wow.” Dylan’s eyes had nearly bulged. “Clean living was obviously his passion.”
Allison was the one who had ended up hitting the button once Row had stalked off, disappearing in a cloud of hot, red anger. Yellow lights had engulfed Main Street. Allison had slipped into her Escalade soon after, accompanied by her assistant, Lucinda.
Mom and I had retired early. She’d asked questions about Row, so I’d had to pacify her by lying and saying Row and I were sort of dating.
Alexa, play “Little Lies” by Fleetwood Mac.
This lie wasn’t even a white one. It was a glaring neon lie. One that collapsed onto your head and killed you. But I’d had to find an excuse for why we were so intense together, and we want to have sex together but also want to kill each other was a pretty weak explanation.
That kiss with Kieran had hurt him, and to add salt to the wound, I had done what I always did when I felt threatened—I’d bricked up with anxiety, refusing to give him an inch or show him that I cared. Just like the night he had taken my virginity, I’d made him feel disposable and meaningless.
And the thought of Row feeling those things made me feel nauseous with guilt.
I needed to make this right. With the boy who’d made me a broccoli birthday cake. Who had taken my virginity because I’d wanted to get rid of it, even though he had wanted so much more than just that. Who had helped me face my trauma and fear in neon attire, just to make me smile. Who had an excellent track record of giving me employment, rides, and irresistible kisses whenever I needed them.
Flinging my legs off the bed, I raced downstairs, shoving my feet into my sneakers on my way to the door. I stopped by the ugly key bowl, squeezing a Juicy Tubes gloss to my lips and extracting Mom’s keys to her Subaru Crosstrek. I was sure she wouldn’t mind.
Sixty-six percent sure, to be exact.
I drove to the Half Mile Inn, my heart in my throat. I didn’t know what I was going to tell him. Only that it was time to lay it all out. I parked in front of the farmhouse-turned-inn. It was white, black-shuttered, and devastatingly charming. Pots and plants spilled out of every windowsill in vivid colors, and a handful of snow covered the roof, like a little hat. Dim yellow light danced from beyond the windows upstairs.
I got out and looked up at the moon. It glowed like a shiny pearl, round and full, achingly perfect against the dusky night. I swallowed hard, took my phone out, and put Row’s favorite song on. “You Really Got Me” by The Kinks.
The song flooded out of my phone. I raised my arm and held it toward the windows, waiting for Row’s face to appear.
It did appear.
But it did not appear happy.
He wore a white tee that clung to his tan, tatted arms as he slid the window up. “Christ, Dot, it’s two in the morning!”
“Time is an abstract concept!” I yelled back, grinning.
“Jail isn’t, and Gertie lives down the hall and is very trigger-happy. Turn that shit off.”
I did so dutifully, swallowing my mortification. Oops. Hadn’t thought that one through. “Sorry,” I winced.
“Is this retaliation for punching your little boyfriend?” His scowl deepened as he watched me from above.
