“I wanted my life back the way it was before I met you.” Jesse’s words came out in a rush. “I didn’t want to give up traveling. Or to fly home and go to college. I didn’t want to give my parents the satisfaction.”
“Then why did you come to see me?” Lucy asked. “And why are you still here?”
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.
“Why?” she repeated.
Jesse moved in closer. “You know why,” he said. Then, before she could think better of it, Lucy was in his arms again, standing on tiptoe to receive his kiss. Italy came rushing back to her: the golden sun, the crumbling stone, the crowds, the paper lanterns drifting through the sky above the Arno, the dusty smell of the train station platform where she’d kissed him good-bye. Everything that had happened between that moment and this one seemed to vanish.
“Oh,” she said when she could breathe again. “No.”
“Don’t you mean yes?” he asked with a small, wry smile.
She hesitated, seeking the will to turn him away. But the memories kept coming: the softness of his hair, the feel of his fingertips on her skin, how he’d made her feel again and again in the bed they’d shared in Rome. “Not here,” she heard herself whisper.
“Where, then?” he murmured.
The words escaped Lucy’s lips before she could think better of them. “My roommate’s away,” she said. The logistics came to her in a rush. “Room 315, Woodruff Hall. I’ll go up first.” She slipped from his arms. “Give me ten minutes, then come up.”
What am I doing? she asked herself as she hurried away. It’s not too late to change my mind. I could go back and tell him no.
But with the feel of his kiss still on her lips, she didn’t seem able to stop herself. Instead, Lucy steeled herself in case she ran into someone she knew, and kept walking, up the front steps and into the overly bright lobby.
Lucky for her, Sarah and Glory seemed to be out. Lucy left the door to the suite ajar, then slipped into her room, relieved to hear the door click shut behind her. Who am I? she thought. Sneaking around. Kissing someone who isn’t my boyfriend. Inviting him up to my room. Her side of the room, as usual, was a disaster area, especially in contrast with Brittany’s. Lucy gazed down at the tangled sheets and blankets of her bed. Am I really going to do this? she wondered.
A few minutes later, Jesse slipped into Lucy’s room and shrugged his bag and guitar to the floor. She locked the door behind him. A moment later they were sitting side by side on her bed, their bodies touching.
“I can’t think when you’re this close,” she told him.
“Don’t think.” His hand found hers, and she rested her head on his shoulder.
“But I’m so confused,” she murmured.
“I’m not.” He pressed her hand to his cheek. A moment later, he was kissing her again, nibbling on her collarbone and unbuttoning her blouse, and instead of stopping him she was helping him tug it over her head. His eyes drinking her in, he slipped out of his leather jacket and pulled off his T-shirt. If she’d said no, if she’d told him to go away, she wouldn’t be seeing him like this—so tender and defenseless, and so familiar. She wouldn’t be nestling back into his arms, feeling the tickle of his breath on her skin. She wouldn’t be letting his hands, his lips, his tongue erase every other thought from her mind.
Though it would have been wiser to send Jesse away afterward, nothing about what Lucy had done in the last few hours was remotely wise. So instead she fell asleep in his arms and woke to find him watching her, the morning sun flooding in through the slats of the pale pink venetian blinds her mother had bought for her dorm room.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
Self-conscious, Lucy pulled at the duvet to cover herself. “I must look like a wreck,” she said, running a hand through her tangled curls.
“Nothing like a wreck,” Jesse replied. “The opposite of a wreck.”
“I’ve got morning breath,” she added.
“So do I,” he countered. They were kissing again when a knock on the door made Lucy practically jump out of her skin.
“Who is it?” she called when she could speak.
“Did I wake you?” Sarah’s voice asked. “Want to go get breakfast with me and Glory? The dining hall closes in fifteen minutes.”
“No!” Lucy exclaimed, her voice coming out in a squeak. “I mean, thanks. But I’m going to sleep in.”
“Are you okay?” Sarah asked. “You sound strange.”
“I’m fine. I’m just…” Lucy sought the words that would send Sarah away without making her more suspicious. “I have a headache.” She watched Jesse watching her lie. “I took some ibuprofen. I’m going to stay in bed till it goes away.”
“Want me to bring you back something?” Sarah asked. “One of those blueberry-streusel muffins you like?”
Lucy’s stomach lurched. “No. Thanks, though. I just need to rest.”
That seemed to pacify Sarah. When she was gone, Lucy exhaled audibly. She aimed a small, apologetic smile in Jesse’s direction.
But Jesse looked puzzled. “Why did you lie to your friend?” He inclined his head in the direction of Lucy’s door.
“You know why.” Lucy felt for something to cover herself with and grabbed a satin kimono from her desk chair. “As far as my friends know, I’m seeing Shane.” It was hard to even say his name to Jesse. “And anyway, is it any of her business that you spent the night?”
“It just feels weird,” Jesse said. “Like I’m some kind of dirty secret.”
Lucy jumped to her feet, holding the kimono closed. “It’s not you,” she said. “It’s me. I cheated on my boyfriend. That’s not like me. I’ve never… I wouldn’t…” But what more could she say? She would. And she had.
“Your boyfriend?” Jesse looked hurt. “You can still think of him like that?”
Just then, in a cosmic piece of bad timing, Lucy’s phone rang. She fumbled for it, found it on the floor in the pocket of last night’s jeans, gave it a quick look, and ignored the call.
“That’s him, isn’t it?” Jesse said. “Aren’t you going to take his call?”
“Right now?” she asked.
“Don’t you need to talk to him?”
Lucy looked at him, confused.
“To break up with him?” he added.
“Over the phone? Wouldn’t that be cruel?” Though to tell the truth, it felt like it would be just as cruel in person.
“You are going to tell him, right?” Jesse asked. “About us?”
“Yes,” Lucy said, wondering how on earth she could ever find the words to tell Shane she’d cheated on him.
“When?” While Lucy struggled for an answer, Jesse started searching the floor for his clothes. When he straightened up, tangled jeans in his arms, he noticed Lucy’s half-packed suitcase spread out on Brittany’s bed. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Oh, God.” She sank to the bed and covered her eyes with her hands. “That’s tonight.”
“What’s tonight? Where are you going?”
“To New York.” Lucy tried to keep her voice light. But when Jesse didn’t seem satisfied, she confessed everything in a rush. “With Shane. It’s supposed to be our first weekend away together. He’s been planning it for a long time, and he bought tickets to a Broadway show, and the whole thing probably cost him a fortune, and…”
But Jesse was yanking on his pants. “You’re not planning on going through with that?” he asked. “Tell me you’re not. Not after last night. You can’t.”
“Now you’re telling me what I can and can’t do?” Irritated, Lucy turned her back to him, yanked the sash of her robe so hard it hurt, and knotted it closed.
“That’s not what I meant.” Jesse pulled his shirt back on. “You know it’s not.”
“Because it feels to me like everyone’s always trying to tell me what to do,” Lucy said, her voice peevish.
“I’m not one of those people.” Jesse came to her on bare feet and p
ulled her to his chest. “Lucy, you know I’m not.”
She rested against him for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was muffled. “I don’t know what to tell him.”
“The truth,” Jesse replied, his hands smoothing her hair. “Just tell him the truth.”
In Jesse’s arms, Lucy thought of Shane. He hadn’t done anything wrong, not a single thing, and he’d been there for her when Jesse was missing in action. She couldn’t imagine hurting Shane. Did he really need to know what she’d done?
“You can’t have us both, Lucy,” Jesse said.
His words rubbed Lucy the wrong way. “Who says I’m trying to?” She wriggled free from his arms. “And anyway, you haven’t said one word about what happens next. Are you going to stick around? Or are you flying back to Italy?”
Jesse jammed his feet into his sneakers without stooping to untie them. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said.
“So let me get this straight. You expect me to break up with Shane when you can’t even tell me where you’re going to be next week?” Lucy’s voice got higher with every word.
“Either you’re in love with this Shane guy or you’re not,” Jesse said through clenched teeth.
“It’s not that simple,” Lucy said.
“But it is,” Jesse told her. “Either last night was a lie or it wasn’t.”
It wasn’t, Lucy thought, but she was too angry to say the words out loud. “Nothing’s that simple,” she said.
Jesse snatched up his leather jacket. “Some things are.”
They faced off for a long minute. Was he waiting for Lucy to say more? I won’t, she thought. Not until he tells me if he’s staying.
Finally, he reached for the doorknob. “I guess that’s it, then.”
“I guess it is.”
“Don’t worry,” he said over his shoulder. “I won’t let anyone see me leave.”
And before she could say another word, he was gone.
“It’s okay,” Lucy whispered to herself. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.” If Jesse was going to be difficult, if he wasn’t even going to try to understand what she was going through, it simplified things. This way she’d never have to break up with Shane. And nobody would need to know about the night she’d just spent with Jesse. Being with him had been a mistake, Lucy decided. She would learn from it and never do anything that reckless, stupid, and selfish again. Jesse would leave town. He’d go back to playing music in the streets and seeing the world, and before long he’d have forgotten her.
While Lucy showered and dressed, she tried not to obsess over how Jesse was out there somewhere, stalking away from her in the morning sunlight, thinking she was a coward and a conformist. Thinking she didn’t care about him. I do care—enough to let him go back to Europe, where he’s happy. She pulled on the fuzzy sweater she planned to wear to New York City. I just hope he realizes it someday.
XXV
When Lucy could trust her voice, she called Shane back; together they decided he would arrive at one that afternoon to pick her up. If he heard anything strange or unsettling in her tone, he didn’t mention it. Because she couldn’t concentrate, eat, or make conversation, Lucy buried the sheets she and Jesse had just slept on in her laundry hamper and lugged it down to the laundry room. While she finished packing, she blasted music, trying to chase all thoughts of Jesse out of her head.
By noon, Lucy’s bag was packed, and there was nothing left to do but fret about the coming weekend. She was picking through her jewelry box, trying to decide which earrings to wear, when her phone buzzed. Lucy lunged for it. For a wild, hopeful second, she thought it might be Jesse. She didn’t expect him to change his mind, but it would be nice to hear him say he’d at least forgiven her.
But the text was from Shane. Leaving now, it read. See you soon. That was just the kind of guy Shane was, the thoughtful kind who called to let you know he was on his way. Not the type who fell off the face of the earth and then appeared on a girl’s doorstep without warning. It took Lucy forever to settle on her sapphire earrings. As she put on mascara, she thought with rising anxiety of what lay ahead—the two-hour drive to New York City and the Upper West Side apartment where she was supposed to do with her boyfriend the things that she had just done with Jesse. She thought of Shane, who had every reason to expect she was as happy about this weekend as he was. She pictured his silver-gray eyes, the line of his jaw, his hands steady on the wheel of his car.
You cheated on him, she told her reflection. You should tell him and suffer the consequences. Her curls were drying into a wild frizz. She gathered them together and twisted them into a bun, trying to look like someone who had every detail of her life under control.
Shane doesn’t need to know, Lucy thought. I’ll never do anything like that again. Jesse’s gone. I’ve learned my lesson. But the girl in the mirror looked back with doubt in her eyes.
Just then the phone rang. Again, Lucy lunged for it.
“Lucy. This is your father.”
“Dad,” Lucy said. Her father never called. She knew right away this wasn’t going to be good news. “Is Mom okay?”
“Yes,” he said, impatience in his voice. “Your mother’s fine.”
“Is something wrong, then?”
“That’s why I’m calling. The Forsythe alumni magazine arrived this morning. Are you aware that your photo is in it?”
“Is it?” Lucy’s voice came out shaky.
“There’s an article about Rent. It says you’re still in the cast.”
Lucy cleared her throat. It would be so easy to tell him that the reporter was working from old information, that the picture had been taken a few weeks back, that she’d quit the play as promised. “I can explain,” she began.
“Because I want you to know I wasn’t kidding around. If you didn’t quit that play, there will be serious consequences. You want a good dose of reality? Try getting a full-time job and putting yourself through college the way I did. You’ll see there isn’t time for fooling around with drama societies and glee clubs. Maybe you need to work in a restaurant, washing dishes every night, while the other kids at school party all weekend long.”
Lucy did a quick calculation. It wasn’t too late to turn things around. She could quit the play on Sunday afternoon and her father would never need to learn the truth. “But, Dad—”
“But nothing, Lucy. I’m deadly serious about this. I want to hear it from your own mouth. Did you or did you not disobey me?”
The thundering tone Lucy’s father took on when he was mad—like an emperor issuing demands to his subjects—could have sent Lucy into a panic. It always used to, when she was six and spilled her juice box on his computer keyboard, or when she was sixteen and arrived home half an hour late for curfew.
This time, though, she found herself standing up straighter, as if he could see her. “I didn’t quit the play.”
His voice got even deeper. “What did you just say?”
“I didn’t quit Rent,” she repeated. “I’m not going to.” Silence fell between them. She rushed to fill it. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. And what I want.”
More silence. Lucy kept going.
“I’m going to Forsythe and majoring in business, like you wanted. Why isn’t that enough for you? I don’t even like business. In fact, so far I hate it.” She gasped for air; apparently she’d been forgetting to breathe. “Why do you have to control everything in my life? Why can’t I keep this one thing that means so much to me?”
Her father interrupted, his voice cold. “So. You’ve made your decision.”
“Yes,” she told him. “I have.”
Lucy’s father began again, his tone more conciliatory this time. “I thought you were enjoying Forsythe. I got the impression you really love it there.”
“I do,” she said, not adding that the play was a huge part of why she loved Forsythe so much.
“Well, then,” he said, “I don’t understand. Why would you give th
at up just to be in one more play?”
“It’s not just one more play,” she said. “It’s the one I’ve always dreamed of being in.”
Her father gave an exasperated sigh. “I know you, Lucy,” he said. “There will always be just one more play you’ve always dreamed of being in.”
So what if there is? Lucy thought.
“We made a deal,” he added in the no-nonsense businessman’s voice he always used to talk about money. “If you don’t hold up your end, I won’t hold up mine. That’s how the world works. Which means I won’t be paying any more tuition.”
“I’ll take out student loans,” Lucy said.
“And how will you pay them back? You’ll be in debt for the rest of your life.”
“Then I’ll transfer to someplace less expensive. Or maybe find a school with a bigger theater department. One that will give me a scholarship.”
“Oh, please, Lucy.” Now he sounded flat-out exasperated. “Yes, you’re moderately talented.”
Moderately talented? Lucy recoiled as though he had slapped her face.
“But do you really think you’re good enough to—”
Unable to listen to another word, Lucy hung up. Then, in case her father tried to call her back, she turned her phone off and buried it in her purse. She flopped down onto her bed, expecting to have a good cry, but after a sniffle or two, she realized she was too mad for tears. Besides, she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Shane would be pulling up soon, expecting her to be on the sidewalk with her suitcase in tow.
She checked her mascara in the mirror and tucked a few renegade curls back into place. My hair is like my life, she thought. Completely out of control. She remembered the advice Jesse had given her back in Florence: Make your own choices. She’d certainly been trying that lately—and look how it had turned out.
By the time Lucy made it downstairs, Shane was already waiting, his car humming at the curb. As always, he jumped out to open the door for her. Then he bent to hoist her suitcase into the trunk. “Whoa! Was your bag this heavy when you traveled around Europe?”