Nothing Less

  “Shh.” I stroke her back. “Don’t apologize.” I tilt her chin up to my face.

  “Should I even be sad? I can’t decide if I’m sad or relieved. The only reason I think I’m sad is because he’s the last of my family. If he dies, do I even exist? I have no one, Landon.”

  I don’t tell her that she hasn’t really had him since she was a little girl. I don’t tell her that deep in my heart I’m not at all sad that he’s dying. Instead, I tell her that it’s okay to feel however she feels. I tell her that she doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for those reactions.

  “If I don’t go, no one else will. He won’t even have a funeral. How do people pay for funerals?” Dakota’s voice cracks, and I continue to hold her.

  I think about the members of Dakota’s family I’ve met in the past. She has an aunt somewhere in Ohio, her dad’s sister. Her grandparents on her dad’s side are dead, and her grandparents on her mom’s side don’t speak to her anymore. They used to call every week after her mom left, but the calls slowly stopped coming, and we concluded that they gave up hope that Yolanda would ever return from Chicago. Talking to Dakota must have reminded them of the loss of their daughter, and, selfishly, they withdrew from their grandkids.

  Carter’s funeral was nearly empty. Only Dakota and I were in the front row. A few teachers from school came and stayed for a couple of minutes, and Julian made an appearance, of course. He left in tears almost immediately. Three assholes from our school came and were chased out by Dakota before they even took a seat on a pew. Forgiveness was not to be found in that small church that day. Everyone else was gone before the service even started.

  Dakota’s dad didn’t bother to show up. Neither did Yolanda. No one cried; no one shared happy stories. The pastor pitied us, we could tell, but Dakota wanted to stay for the entire hour to remember her brother.

  “Do you think he’ll go to heaven? My dad says God doesn’t let people like him into heaven.” Dakota’s voice was as blank as her eyes.

  I tried to keep my voice down so the preacher wouldn’t hear my reply. “I don’t think your dad has any idea who God lets into heaven. If there’s a heaven, Carter’s there.”

  “I don’t know if I believe in God, Landon,” Dakota said, and not in a whisper. She wasn’t embarrassed to say that in a church.

  “You don’t have to,” I let her know.

  I held her tighter, and after ten minutes of silence I went up to the podium and recalled our best times with Carter. With only Dakota in the church, I told an hour of stories, our crazy adventures, the plans for our future; I didn’t stop talking until the pastor politely indicated I should wrap it up.

  The funeral for her father would be similar, only this time Dakota would be alone. No one to relive memories for her. I can only think of one positive memory of the man. I hate him more than I knew was possible, so I’m not sure I could bring myself to give him a respectful word or two. Not even in death.

  “Come with me. Can you come with me? I’ll help pay. I’ll figure out some way to help pay for some of it,” Dakota says suddenly.

  Come with her? To Michigan?

  “Please, Landon. I can’t do this alone.”

  Before I can answer, there’s a knock at the door.

  “Hardin,” I say. “Hardin’s here for the weekend.”

  Dakota peels her body away from mine and finally seems to notice my lack of clothing. “I’ll go.” She leans over and presses her lips to my cheek. “Please think about it. I would leave Monday. I’ll use the weekend to scrounge up some money. Please consider it and let me know by Sunday.”

  “Okay.” Too much is going on in my brain for me to say anything more.

  Dakota follows me to the door, and when I open it, Hardin’s standing in the doorway, a black duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. His long hair is messy, and he’s taller than I remember. His eyes scan Dakota, then me, and he raises an eyebrow.

  “Well, hello, Landon. Delilah.” He walks past us into the apartment.

  Dakota’s eyes are swollen, and she doesn’t bother responding. Without another word, she hugs me tight and leaves me standing in the doorway. After a moment of watching her go, I walk inside, closing the door behind me.

  A little too loudly for my liking, Hardin asks, “Why was she here? I thought you were fucking the other one?” He tosses his bag onto the couch and walks around the living room, studying every inch like it’s a crime scene.

  “I need some advice,” I say with a sigh.

  Hardin stops at the chair and touches a pair of Tessa’s pajama pants. His fingers run over the fuzzy material, tracing the edges of the clouds.

  “Put some clothes on first. I don’t give advice while someone’s naked. Not with you, at least.”

  I roll my eyes and walk back to my bedroom to get dressed and deal with the storm coming my way.

  chapter

  Six

  I CAN’T TELL IF I’M a slob or not. I wear sweatpants a lot, but mostly because they’re comfortable. If I were a woman, I could never wear heels and tight dresses. I would be like Tessa: yoga pants and tank tops all the time. I grab a blue T-shirt and gray sweatpants and decide to shelve the issue for later thought.

  When I return to the living room, Hardin is sitting on the couch, his laptop open and a pen held between his teeth.

  “Already working?” I ask. What the hell is he working on, anyway?

  Sitting down on the chair, I watch him ruffle through a stack of papers on the table. A cup of coffee, half-empty, is sitting next to his shiny laptop. There’s a sticker—for a band, I assume—covering the Apple logo. I glance to my laptop on the edge of the coffee table and compare the two of them. His with a metal-band sticker, thorns and roses, and mine emblazoned with a HUFFLEPUFF FOR LIFE sticker. In my defense, mine is pretty damn cute, and also funny because I’m not a Hufflepuff. Some silly online quiz told me I was, so I tried to own it. I bought the sticker and everything, but deep down I know I’m a Gryffindor through and through.

  “Yeah. It took you long enough to get dressed,” he complains.

  Hardin complaining? Such a surprise.

  I toss a pillow at him, and he grumbles something under his breath. “Where’s Tess?”

  “Working. She’s staying busy while you’re here.”

  He lets out a huff but otherwise stays quiet. I can see the pain haunting his green eyes. I can hear the quickness of his breathing at the mention of her.

  “How busy? What time does she get home usually?” he asks.

  I hesitate. I need to keep my feet on neutral ground here. “Tonight she’ll be home around two.”

  Hardin closes his laptop and leans toward me as if he’s going to stand up. “Two? In the morning?”

  “Yeah. She’s closing tonight. And working a double shift during the day.”

  “Two in the morning is ridiculous. There’s no reason for her to be working until the fucking morning.” Hardin gathers the loose pages and shoves them back into his binder.

  “I can’t control how much she works. Neither can you.”

  He sighs and nods, clearly not wanting an argument. “So, what’s up with you? Why was Delilah here looking like someone killed her puppy?”

  Such grace Hardin Scott has, let me tell you. “Her dad’s dying.”

  I watch his face fall slightly. “Oh, my bad.”

  I shake my head and lean back against the chair. My hair is messy under my fingertips. “She’s going back to Michigan and wants me to go. Monday.”

  Hardin crosses one leg over his knee and brushes his hair back. He hasn’t gotten it cut since the last time I saw him. “What about Nora? Are you guys still hooking up?”

  So he does know her name . . . “No. She stormed out of here about a week ago saying that I was too wrapped up in Dakota to see that she liked me. She hasn’t been here since.”

  “So you have the clearance there. If she hasn’t been here or talked to you, you’re free to do what you want. If you feel guilty, ask yo
urself why.”

  Okay: Why do I feel guilty? Nora got upset with me over something I couldn’t help. Would she have rather had me cheat on Dakota with her? I couldn’t pay attention to Nora’s feelings for me because first, in Washington, I was in love with Dakota, and then, since I’ve moved here, I’ve been mourning the end of my relationship with Dakota. I understand why Nora felt embarrassed and angry. I would feel the same way if I was ignored, but it’s not like I was upsetting her on purpose. I still can’t believe someone like Nora would even give me the time of day, and yet she did; and somehow I managed to mess that up, too.

  “Maybe I should just stay away from both of them. Being single isn’t so bad.”

  I close my eyes and consider this. Maybe I should be alone. Someone like me is good alone. I already have too many people to worry about. Tessa, my mom, my baby sister (who will be here in just a few weeks), Hardin, Dakota . . . Can I add another name to the list?

  “Being single fucking sucks, dude,” Hardin chimes in. “Trust me, it fucking sucks.”

  I open my eyes and look at him. “You could have lied to make me feel better.”

  “Nope. I cannot tell a lie.” He raises his hand into the air as if he were swearing into the military.

  This makes me laugh. “Liar.”

  He shrugs and wears a wicked smile. “I’ve turned over a new leaf.”

  • • •

  A few hours later, Hardin returns from a meeting that he won’t tell me anything about. He says he’ll fill me in next week, when they call him with a follow-up. I’m curious, but part of me doesn’t want to know anything that I’ll just have to hide from Tessa anyway.

  Thinking that I have to work in the morning, I start to wonder what Hardin’s dinner plans are, and just as the thought crosses my mind, he walks into my room, without knocking.

  “I’m going to eat; want to come?” He smacks his hand against my foot.

  Before I sit up, I ask him where he’s going.

  “The Lookout,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “Tessa works there,” I remind him.

  He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I know.”

  Okay . . . ?

  “She’s keeping her distance from you for a reason. I don’t think—”

  He holds up a hand to interrupt me. “Look, I’m going whether you come or not. I just wanted to be nice and invite you. I know she works there, and I want to go. I’m going. Are you coming or not?”

  I groan and roll off my bed. “Fine. But that Robert guy works there, the one who—”

  “I know who he is. Even more reason for me to go.”

  The thing about Hardin is that when he makes up his mind, his mind is made up.

  Wow. The thing about me is that I’m great at explaining things.

  Seeing no other solution, I nod. “Let me put my shoes on.”

  He looks at my clothes, his eyes moving up and down. “You’re wearing that? Doesn’t Nadia work there?”

  “Yes, Nora works there. And, yes, I’m wearing this.”

  If Nora is working, I highly doubt she’s going to speak to me anyway, and my clothes are comfortable. Not as slick as Hardin’s all-black ensemble, but at least my pants let my dick breathe, unlike his tight jeans.

  • • •

  Ten minutes later, I’ve changed into dark jeans and a plaid button-up shirt. My sleeves are short and my pants are a little too tight, but Hardin sat on the couch refusing to let me leave wearing “pajamas,” and I’m too hungry to argue anymore.

  During the walk to the Lookout, Hardin asks about my classes, my job, and every other non-Tessa topic under the sun. He’s much more talkative now than he was when I first met him. He’s come a long way.

  We spot Tessa before she spots us. The Lookout is a modern restaurant with industrial-themed décor, and as we hit the hostess stand, Tessa is standing just behind a big metal tree that has clockwork on the limbs instead of leaves. The dessert display is right next to the hostess stand, and I can’t help but search for Nora’s dark hair. I see a flash of that gorgeous hair and olive skin as Hardin asks Robert for Tessa’s section, but she’s gone before I can get a good look.

  Ironically, Hardin acts as though he doesn’t have a clue who Robert is.

  “I’ll be right back,” Robert says, glancing at Hardin and then back to the other side of the restaurant. It’s not a big place; only about twenty tables line the walls.

  “What a fucking prick,” Hardin says to Robert’s back. I ignore Hardin’s annoyance.

  Nora appears from behind the counter, a tray of small cakes in her hands. Her hair is tied up high; messy strands frame her face. Her eyes are unfocused as she stares straight ahead.

  Does she know I’m here?

  Does she care?

  “Tessa,” I hear Hardin say.

  I keep my eyes on Nora. She opens the large display case and begins unloading the tray of cakes, lining them up neatly. She doesn’t look away from her task. It’s on the darker side in here, but I can tell she’s exhausted. I can see the low set of her shoulders from here.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Tessa-shaped figure approach, and when I turn my head to her, I say preemptively, “Hardin wanted to come here.” Just in case she’s uncomfortable, I want her to know this isn’t my doing. I’m just following along to keep the peace.

  Tessa doesn’t reply; her eyes are locked on Hardin.

  “We don’t have to stay and eat here if you’re busy,” I offer.

  I can’t read the energy between these two maniacs.

  Hardin’s fingers are wrapped around Tessa’s wrist and her eyes are bright, brighter than they’ve burned in months.

  “No,” Tessa breathes out. “It’s okay, really.” She pulls away from Hardin’s grip and grabs two menus from behind the hostess stand.

  I follow Tessa to the table and glance back at Nora one more time. She still doesn’t look at me. I can’t tell whether she’s ignoring me or just doesn’t see me. How can she not notice me staring at her?

  Hardin and Tessa make small talk while I scoot into the booth, and Hardin pretends he doesn’t know how late Tessa works. He pretends that it doesn’t drive him crazy knowing she’s walking home that late. He tries to be normal around Tessa.

  “Is Sophia busy?” I ask when we order our food.

  Tessa nods. “She’s busy. Sorry.” Tessa doesn’t correct my use of Nora’s name. Does she know something’s going on? Am I a bad friend for hiding it from her?

  Tessa frowns, and Hardin leans toward her. Does he even notice the way his body moves in response to hers? When her fingers move to write down our order, his eyes watch intently; his shoulders rise and fall to match her breathing.

  These two make me sick. I’m a lonely schmuck, and these two are magnets drawn to each other. They will always be together. I know this is the truth. I can’t be a magnet; to be a magnet you have to have someone to latch onto.

  It’s a sad day when one wishes to be a magnet.

  When Tessa tells us that Nora wrote off our check, Hardin leaves an enormous tip that Tessa shoves back into my pocket as we’re leaving. During the meal, I couldn’t think about anything other than Nora’s proximity. I watched the walkway leading out of the kitchen the entire time. I didn’t even notice when I cleared my plate. The food was great, I’m sure.

  It drives me crazy that Nora knew I was here but didn’t come out to the table. I didn’t mean to hurt her, and I deserve the chance to explain myself. She had over an hour to at least walk by, wave, or smile politely.

  When we reach the door to leave, I pull on Hardin’s sleeve. “I’ll meet you back at my place.”

  Hardin doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t offer to stay with me. He just nods and walks away. I’m glad for it.

  I sit down on the bench outside the restaurant and check the time on my phone. It’s ten minutes past nine, and I have no idea when Nora’s shift is over. I’ll wait outside until she’s off, I decide. Even if it’s two in the morning. r />
  I look around the street and lean back against the cool brick. The fall air is calm and holds a slight chill. The sidewalks are nearly empty, which is not common for Brooklyn on a Friday night in September.

  While I wait, I try to think about what to say to Nora. How will I begin the conversation?

  • • •

  Two hours later, when Nora emerges from the Lookout, I still haven’t decided. She walks right past me, her long hair bouncing down her back. When she stops at the corner of the street, she unbraids her hair and shakes her head. She’s stunning, even beneath the unforgiving streetlights.

  I should make my presence known; I should call her name and face her instead of silently following her. But something inside stops me. Where is she going, anyway? Is she back at her apartment with Dakota?

  I don’t know, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out.

  Nora walks through the quiet blocks, turning down the smallest side streets. It worries me that she doesn’t notice she’s being followed. She hasn’t looked back once. She put earbuds in and seems to be content roaming Brooklyn at eleven at night without paying attention to her surroundings.

  She crosses to Nostrand Avenue, and I assume she’s going to take the subway. Should I be following her? Why doesn’t this feel creepy, watching her and shadowing her like a psychopath? Either way, I find myself crossing the street and following her down the steps of the subway entrance.

  I stay at least twenty feet behind her, and allow a group of people to come between us. Nora bobs her head to her music while she waits in line to scan her MetroCard.

  The train car is nearly empty when I step inside, and if Nora even glances around, she’ll see me. I take a seat next to an elderly woman reading a newspaper and hope that it will block me from Nora’s view a little bit. The car is eerily quiet, and when I cough, I decide that I’m not that great a stalker.

  Nora pulls her phone from her pocket and stares at the screen. She swipes and sighs and swipes again. Ten minutes later, she stands to get off, and I follow. We transfer to another train and forty-five minutes later are at Grand Central Terminal; I have no freaking clue where this woman is going, or why I’m still following her.