anything to do with why you graduated a year behind?”
Bingo!
“Sort of,” I shrugged, “but that’s a whole other story.” I rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t need to know that my parents were the ones who pulled the plug—or why.
“Okay,” he whispered as he kissed my forehead, “when you’re ready.”
* * *
“Ryker,” I smile through numb teeth, looking at Tosha, Liz, and Jo, “is an ex-boyfriend from college. He was hot. Remember, Tosh? Remember how absolutely heartbreakingly hot he was?”
“And with that, girls,” Tosha slams her hand on the bar with a forced smile, “concludes Natalie’s forty-five minutes of girls’ night. Come on, Champ, I’ll walk you home. Liz and Jo, I’ll catch up with you at the Pub.”
“The Pub? I want to go to the Pub, it’s been so loooong since I’ve been to the Pub,” I whine.
“We were just there for lunch, Nat. You’re drunk enough.” Tosha wraps her arm around my waist and leads me down the narrow steps of The Monkey Bar.
When we cross the street, she pulls me up the walk to the Jones Library and sits me on the cold stone stairs.
Tosha lights a cigarette. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
I grab her pack and take one for myself. She hands me her lighter without question. She’s patient while I slowly inhale two drags, begging my head to clear a little.
It’s Tosha. Don’t lie to her.
Wordlessly, I stare ahead to the parking lot next to the Amherst Cinema and extend my left arm—bottom side up—across her knees. She roughly grabs my arm, squeezing it hard. She starts to say something, but stops herself; instead she hums and runs her thumb across my skin. The cuts from last week have scabbed over and almost disappeared; but it’s clear they’re new—not the scars from ten years ago.
“What happened?” Tosha runs her hand through her hair and takes another drag. “You said you haven’t seen Ryker . . .”
“Jesus Christ, Tosh, this isn’t about Ryker.” I dramatically exhale smoke through my nose.
“Sure, but you went to Lucas’s grave last week—”
“Yeah . . . but . . . it’s not because of Ryker.” I rush.
“Does Eric know?”
“Of course Eric doesn’t know, Tosh. He barely knows about the last time, you know that. I haven’t cut since before I met him.”
“Until now.” She tilts her chin to my arm.
“I was so mad, Tosh.” Tears start trickling down my face. “Eric’s getting his Ph. fucking D. next month. I could be done with mine by now. That’s all I can think about—not that my husband is fulfilling his dream—that I’m not fulfilling mine.”
“Okaaaay,” she prompts, “that’s not explaining why I’m three seconds away from talking to Eric . . . or your mom—”
“Don’t start that shit, Tosh, I’m not a child.”
“I was there , Nat. It was ugly, and your boys don’t need to—”
“The boys? What about them? Just because I never wanted to be a mom doesn’t mean I’m not a damn good one.” I smash my cigarette against the stairs and jump to cross the street to get home.
Tosha grabs my hand as she stands. “I didn’t mean that, Nat, you know that. I just . . . I just mean that the last six months you’ve seemed to get sadder and sadder. I don’t want to lose you again. I haven’t said anything to Eric, or anything, but . . . Natalie, I want you to be healthy. Was that the only time?” She points her cigarette to my arm.
“Yeah,” I lie, “I feel better now that I told you.” We walk toward my building.
That was easy.
“Good thing I didn’t let you go to the Pub, sister, your husband’s up.” Tosh nods to my living room window, glowing with a light I’d turned off when I left.
Shit.
My head is swimming in a pool of tequila. “He’s a good man.” I point to the window.
She nods. “Yep.”
I have no idea if she believes that. Sure, he is a good guy, but Tosh was never head-over-heels for us. Also, she
Bingo!
“Sort of,” I shrugged, “but that’s a whole other story.” I rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t need to know that my parents were the ones who pulled the plug—or why.
“Okay,” he whispered as he kissed my forehead, “when you’re ready.”
* * *
“Ryker,” I smile through numb teeth, looking at Tosha, Liz, and Jo, “is an ex-boyfriend from college. He was hot. Remember, Tosh? Remember how absolutely heartbreakingly hot he was?”
“And with that, girls,” Tosha slams her hand on the bar with a forced smile, “concludes Natalie’s forty-five minutes of girls’ night. Come on, Champ, I’ll walk you home. Liz and Jo, I’ll catch up with you at the Pub.”
“The Pub? I want to go to the Pub, it’s been so loooong since I’ve been to the Pub,” I whine.
“We were just there for lunch, Nat. You’re drunk enough.” Tosha wraps her arm around my waist and leads me down the narrow steps of The Monkey Bar.
When we cross the street, she pulls me up the walk to the Jones Library and sits me on the cold stone stairs.
Tosha lights a cigarette. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
I grab her pack and take one for myself. She hands me her lighter without question. She’s patient while I slowly inhale two drags, begging my head to clear a little.
It’s Tosha. Don’t lie to her.
Wordlessly, I stare ahead to the parking lot next to the Amherst Cinema and extend my left arm—bottom side up—across her knees. She roughly grabs my arm, squeezing it hard. She starts to say something, but stops herself; instead she hums and runs her thumb across my skin. The cuts from last week have scabbed over and almost disappeared; but it’s clear they’re new—not the scars from ten years ago.
“What happened?” Tosha runs her hand through her hair and takes another drag. “You said you haven’t seen Ryker . . .”
“Jesus Christ, Tosh, this isn’t about Ryker.” I dramatically exhale smoke through my nose.
“Sure, but you went to Lucas’s grave last week—”
“Yeah . . . but . . . it’s not because of Ryker.” I rush.
“Does Eric know?”
“Of course Eric doesn’t know, Tosh. He barely knows about the last time, you know that. I haven’t cut since before I met him.”
“Until now.” She tilts her chin to my arm.
“I was so mad, Tosh.” Tears start trickling down my face. “Eric’s getting his Ph. fucking D. next month. I could be done with mine by now. That’s all I can think about—not that my husband is fulfilling his dream—that I’m not fulfilling mine.”
“Okaaaay,” she prompts, “that’s not explaining why I’m three seconds away from talking to Eric . . . or your mom—”
“Don’t start that shit, Tosh, I’m not a child.”
“I was there , Nat. It was ugly, and your boys don’t need to—”
“The boys? What about them? Just because I never wanted to be a mom doesn’t mean I’m not a damn good one.” I smash my cigarette against the stairs and jump to cross the street to get home.
Tosha grabs my hand as she stands. “I didn’t mean that, Nat, you know that. I just . . . I just mean that the last six months you’ve seemed to get sadder and sadder. I don’t want to lose you again. I haven’t said anything to Eric, or anything, but . . . Natalie, I want you to be healthy. Was that the only time?” She points her cigarette to my arm.
“Yeah,” I lie, “I feel better now that I told you.” We walk toward my building.
That was easy.
“Good thing I didn’t let you go to the Pub, sister, your husband’s up.” Tosh nods to my living room window, glowing with a light I’d turned off when I left.
Shit.
My head is swimming in a pool of tequila. “He’s a good man.” I point to the window.
She nods. “Yep.”
I have no idea if she believes that. Sure, he is a good guy, but Tosh was never head-over-heels for us. Also, she
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