“I think I’m going to go,” I tell Logan, prompting him to unwrap himself from the dark-skinned brunette he’s obviously taken a liking to.
“Nah, you can’t leave yet, not until—oh, there they are!” he calls and points.
I turn around to see two girls in trench coats coming toward us. No fucking way.
The crowded living room bursts into clapping and cheering.
“I don’t do strippers,” I tell him.
“Oh, come on! How’d you even know they were strippers?” He laughs.
“They’re in fucking trench coats and high heels!” This is so fucking stupid.
“Come on, man, Tessa won’t care!” Logan adds.
“That’s not the point,” I growl, even though it is. It’s not the only point, but it’s the biggest.
“Is this the birthday boy?” one of the girls says.
Her bright red lipstick is giving me a headache already. “No, no, no. I’m not,” I lie and bolt out the door.
“Come on, Hardin!” a few voices call.
Hell no, I’m not turning around. Tessa will lose her shit if she thought I was around strippers. I can practically hear her screaming at me about it now. I wish she’d answered when I called. I try to call her one more time as Nate attempts to call my other line. I’m not going back in there, no way in hell. I’ve participated in the birthday festivities long enough.
I bet she’s mad at me right now for not calling her earlier, but I never know when I should call and when I shouldn’t. I don’t want to push her, but I don’t want to give her too much space either. It’s a difficult line to walk, and I have no fucking balance.
I check my phone one more time, and see that the Hey I sent her is the last message sent or received. Looks like it’s me and that lonely-ass apartment again.
Happy fucking birthday to me.
chapter one hundred and nine
TESSA
I wake up to a strange alarm, and it takes me a few seconds to remember I shut my phone off last night because of Hardin. Then I remember how I’d sat at the kitchen counter, my excitement dying a little with each passing minute, only to have him never show up at all.
I wash my face and get myself ready for the long drive to Vance; the one thing I really miss about the apartment is the shorter drive. And Hardin. And the bookshelves that cover the wall. And the small but perfect kitchen. And that lamp. And Hardin.
When I walk downstairs, Karen is the only one in the kitchen. My eyes go directly to the cake with the number thirteen in candles and the stupid scribble that used to say Hardin but now has shifted as a result of sitting out all night and looks like it says Hell.
Maybe it does.
“He wasn’t able to make it,” I tell her without meeting her eyes.
“Yeah . . . I deduced.” She gives me a sympathetic smile and wipes her glasses on her apron.
She’s the perfect housewife, she’s always cooking or cleaning something, but more than that, she’s so kind and she loves her husband and family, even her rude stepson, dearly.
“It’s fine.” I shrug and fill a mug with coffee.
“You know you don’t always have to be fine, honey.”
“I know. But it’s easier to be fine,” I tell her, and she nods.
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she tells me, and I nearly laugh at the irony of her using the words that Hardin always uses against me.
“Anyway, we’re thinking of taking a trip to the beach next week. If you want to come, that would be lovely.” One of the things I love about Landon’s mother is that she never pushes me to talk about anything.
“The beach? In February?” I ask.
“We have a boat that we like to take out before it gets too warm. We go whale watching, and it’s really neat; you should come.”
“Really?” I’ve never been on a boat before, and the thought terrifies me, but whale watching does sound interesting. “Yeah, okay.”
“Great! We’ll have a really nice time,” she assures me, and heads into the living room.
I finally turn my phone back on when I get to Vance. I need to stop turning it off when I’m angry. I can just ignore Hardin’s calls next time. If something happened with my mother and she couldn’t get ahold of me, I’d feel terrible.
Kimberly and Christian are leaning into each other in the hall when I step off of the elevator. He whispers something into her ear and she giggles before he tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles widely as he kisses her, both of them still smiling.
I hurry to my office to call my mother, figuring it’s time, but she doesn’t answer. The manuscript I begin to read pisses me off within the first five pages. When I skim through the last few pages, I see I do and sigh. I’m sick of the same old story: girl meets boy, boy loves her, one problem gets in the way, they make up, get married, have kids, the end. I toss the pages into the trash without reading further. I feel bad for not giving it much of a chance, but it’s not working for me.
I need a realistic story, where there are real problems, more than one fight, and even a breakup. A real one. People hurt each other and keep coming back for more . . . including me, of course. I realize this now.
Christian walks past my office and I take a deep breath before getting up to follow him. I smooth my skirt and try to practice what to say to him about Seattle. I hope Hardin didn’t ruin my chance to go.
“Mr. Vance?” I knock lightly at his door.
“Tessa? Come on in,” he says with a smile.
“Sorry for bothering you, but I was wondering if you have a few minutes to talk about something?” I ask, and he waves for me to sit down. “I was wondering about Seattle, if there’s any chance that I could transfer there? I understand if it’s too late, but I’d really like to go, and Trevor mentioned it to me and I was just thinking that it could be a really great opportunity for me if—”
Christian raises his hand and laughs, stopping me. “You really want to go?” he asks with a smile. “Seattle’s a much different place from here.” His green eyes are soft, but I get the feeling he isn’t convinced.
“Yeah, I’m positive. I really would love to go . . .” I would. I honestly would. Wouldn’t I?
“And Hardin? Would he be coming along?” He pulls at the knot on his tie, loosening the printed material around his neck.
Should I tell him that Hardin refuses to go? That his place in my future is as unsure as it could be and he’s stubborn and paranoid? Instead I go with “We’re still discussing.”
Vance meets my eyes. “I would love to bring you to Seattle with us.” Then after a beat he adds, “Hardin, too. He can tag along, maybe even get his old job back,” Christian says, then laughs. “If he can keep his mouth shut.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course. You should have spoken up sooner.” He plays with his tie a little longer before completely removing it and laying it on his desk.
“Thank you so much! I really appreciate it,” I say and mean it.
“Do you have any idea when you’ll be ready to go? Kim, Trevor, and myself will be leaving in about two weeks, but you can join us whenever you’re ready. I know you have to transfer colleges. I’ll work with you as much as I can.”
“Two weeks should be good,” I answer before I can think about it.
“Great, this is just great. Kim will be happier than ever.” He smiles and I watch his eyes shift to the picture of Kimberly and Smith on his desk.
“Thank you again, this means so much to me,” I tell him before leaving his office. Seattle. Two weeks. I’m moving to Seattle in two freaking weeks. I’m ready.
Aren’t I?
Of course I am, I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. I just never expected it to happen so soon.
chapter one hundred and ten
TESSA
I wait outside of Zed’s apartment, hoping he won’t be too much longer. I really need to talk to him, and he said he was on his way home from work. I stopped to grab a coff
ee on my way to kill some time. After waiting a few minutes, he pulls up, his truck blaring something amazingly loud. When he climbs out of it, he looks so good dressed in black jeans and a red T-shirt with cutoff sleeves that I’m momentarily distracted from my purpose.
“Tessa!” he says with a big smile and invites me inside. After getting me another coffee and himself a soda, we go into the living room.
“Zed, I have something to tell you, I think. But I want to tell you something else first,” I say.
He puts his hands behind his head and leans against the back of the couch. “Is it about the party?”
“You went?” I ask, putting my news on hold. I sit down on the chair across from the couch.
“Yeah, for a while, but once those strippers showed up, I left.” Zed rubs the back of his neck. My breath is lost.
“Strippers?” I croak, sitting my cup of coffee on the table before I drop the hot liquid onto my lap.
“Yeah, everyone was so wasted, and on top of that they had strippers. That’s not my thing, so I got out of there.” He shrugs.
I was baking Hardin a cake and planning to spend his birthday with him while he was getting wasted with strippers?
“Did anything else happen at the party?” I ask, changing the subject again. I can’t get the strippers out of my head. How could Hardin stand me up for that?
“Not really, it was just the typical party. Have you talked to Hardin?” he asks, his eyes focused on his can of soda as his finger pushes the tab back and forth.
“No, I . . .” I don’t want to admit that he stood me up.
“What were you going to say?” Zed questions.
“He said he was going to come over but he didn’t show.”
“That’s low.” He shakes his head.
“I know, and you know what the worst part is? That we had a really good time on our date and I thought he was really going to start putting me first.” Zed’s eyes are full of sympathy when I look at him.
“Then he chose a party over going to see you,” he adds.
“Yeah . . .” I really don’t know what else to say.
“I think that really shows what type of person he is and that he isn’t going to change. You know?” Is he right?
“I know. I just really wish he’d talked to me about it or told me he just didn’t want to come over instead of leaving me sitting there for hours waiting on him.” My fingers play with the edges of the table, picking at the peeling wood.
“I don’t think you should talk to him about it; if he thought you were worth his time, he would have showed and not left you waiting.”
“I know you’re right, but this is the main problem in our relationship. We don’t talk about things, we both jump to conclusions that lead to yelling and one of us leaving,” I say. I know Zed is only trying to help, but I really want Hardin to explain to me, to my face, why hanging out with strippers was more important than me.
“I thought you didn’t have a relationship anymore?”
“We do . . . well, we don’t, but . . . I don’t even know how to explain it.” I’m mentally exhausted and Zed’s presence sometimes confuses me even more.
“It’s your choice, I just wish you wouldn’t waste any more time on him.” He sighs and gets up from the couch.
“I know,” I whisper and check my phone for a message from Hardin. There isn’t one.
“Are you hungry?” Zed asks me from the kitchen, and I hear his empty can hit the trash.
chapter one hundred and eleven
HARDIN
This apartment is so goddamned empty.
I hate sitting here without her. I miss her legs resting on my lap as she studies and I steal unnoticed glances at her while pretending to work. I miss the way she would obnoxiously poke my arm with her pen until I snatched it from her and held it above her head, and then she’d act so annoyed, but I knew she was only bugging me to get me to pay attention to her. The way she would climb on my lap to retrieve the object always led to the same thing, every time, which was obviously a good thing for me.
“Fuck,” I say to myself and set my binder down. I haven’t gotten shit done today, or yesterday, or the past two weeks really.
I’m still pissed that she didn’t respond to me last night, but more than anything I just want to see her. I’m pretty sure she’ll be at my father’s house, so I should just go by there and talk to her. If I call her she may not answer and that will make me more anxious, so I’ll just stop by.
I know I’m supposed to be giving her space, but, really . . . fuck space. It’s not working for me and I hope it’s not working for her either.
By the time I get to my father’s house, it’s almost seven and Tessa’s car isn’t here.
What the fuck.
She’s probably at the store or library with Landon or some shit. I’m proven wrong when I see Landon sitting on the couch with a textbook on his lap. Great.
“Where is she?” I ask him as soon as I enter the living room.
I almost sit down next to him but I decide to stand. That would be weird as fuck to just sit down with him.
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen her yet today,” he responds, barely looking up from his studies.
“Have you talked to her?” I ask him.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Why would I? Not everyone stalks her,” he says with a smile.
“Fuck off,” I huff.
“I really don’t know where she is,” Landon tells me.
“Well, I’ll wait here . . . I guess.” I walk into the kitchen and take a seat at the counter. Just because I sort of like him a little more now doesn’t mean I’m going to sit there and stare at him while he does his homework.
There’s a blob of chocolate on a plate in front of me with candles reading thirteen. Is this thing supposed to be someone’s birthday cake?
“Who’s shit cake is this in here?” I yell. I can’t make out the name, if that’s what the white icing was supposed to be.
“It’s your shit cake,” Karen answers me. When I turn around, she’s giving me a sarcastic smile.
I didn’t even see her come in. “Mine? It says ‘thirteen.’ ”
“Those were the only candles I had and Tessa really got a kick out of them,” she tells me. There’s something behind her voice that sounds off. Is she mad or something?
“Tessa? I’m confused.”
“She made that for you last night while she was waiting for you to get here,” she says, then turns her attention to the chicken she’s now carving.
“I didn’t come here.”
“I know you didn’t, but she was expecting you.” I stare at the hideous cake and feel like a complete ass. Why would she make me a cake without even asking me to come over? I’ll never understand that girl. The longer I stare at the cake she made, the more charming it becomes. I’ll admit it’s not easy on the eyes, but it may have been yesterday before it sat out all night.
I can picture her laughing to herself as she pushed the wrong-numbered candles in the top of the chocolate cake. I can picture her licking the cake batter off of the spoon and scrunching up her nose as she wrote out my name.
She made me a fucking cake and I went to that party. Could I be more of an asshole? “Where is she now?” I ask Karen.
“I have no idea, I’m not sure if she’ll be here for dinner.”
“Can I stay? For dinner?” I ask her.
“Of course you can, you don’t have to ask.” She turns around with a smile.
Her smile is a true testament to her character; she must think I’m an asshole, but she still smiles and welcomes me to stay for dinner.
BY DINNERTIME I’m going fucking crazy. I’m fidgeting in my seat, looking out the window every few seconds, about to call her a thousand times until she answers. Fucking crazy.
My father is talking to Landon about the upcoming baseball season and I really wish both of them would shut the fuck up.
Where the
hell is she?
I pull my phone out to finally text her as I hear the front door open. I’m on my feet before I realize it and everyone looks up at me.
“What?” I snap and head to the living room.
Relief washes over me when she practically stumbles in with books and what looks like a poster board in her hands.
As soon as she sees me, the objects begin to topple to the floor. I rush over to help her pick them up.
“Thanks.” She takes the books from my hands and starts to walk up the staircase.
“Where are you going?” I ask her.
“To put my stuff away . . .” She turns to answer but then turns back around.
I would normally start cussing at her, but I’m hoping to find out what’s wrong with her without yelling, for once. “Are you going to eat dinner?” I call after her.
“Yeah,” she answers simply, without turning around.
I bite my tongue and head back to the dining room.
“She’ll be down in a minute,” I say, and I swear I catch Karen smiling, but it disappears when I look at her.
Minutes feel like hours before Tessa finally takes a seat next to me at the table. Hopefully her sitting next to me is a good sign.
A few minutes later, I realize it’s not a good sign, since she hasn’t spoken to me once and she’s barely eating the food on her plate.
“I got all my paperwork squared away for NYU. I still can’t believe it,” Landon says, and his mum smiles with pride.
“You won’t be getting the family rate,” my father jokes, but only his wife actually laughs.
Tessa and Landon—both being the polite suck-ups they are—smile and attempt fake laughs, but I know better.
Once my father brings the conversation back to sports, I find my opening to talk to Tessa. “I saw that cake . . . I didn’t know . . .” I begin to whisper.
“Don’t. Not right now, please.” She frowns and gestures to the other people in the room.
“After dinner?” I ask and she nods.
It drives me insane as she picks at her food; I really just want to shove her forkful of potatoes into her mouth. This is why we have issues, because I daydream about force-feeding her. The dining room is filled with my father trying to bring us all together through small talk and shitty attempts at jokes. I ignore him the best I can and finish my dinner.