under him, certain there was no way she could allow him to come any deeper inside of her, her hands splayed across his broad back damp with sweat, even then, she’d chewed on that name like a piece of tough meat that simply wouldn’t soften enough to be swallowed.
Laurel.
The next morning, as they’d spooned sugar into weak coffee at a table in the cafeteria, she’d demanded an answer.
“Who’s Laurel?”
“Who?”
“Laurel,” she said again. “Timmy said her name last night.”
He began sawing into an overcooked omelet. “What are you talking about?”
For a moment, Lexi had felt a deep sense of regret and embarrassment, as if she’d been heard talking in her sleep. Her voice came out soft and small, a voice she didn’t recognize and immediately disliked.
“Last night,” she said. “Timmy mentioned a girl. Laurel. I wondered who she was.”
Hudson had just stared at her. His expression had been so full of condemnation that Lexi had wanted to run from the cafeteria then and there, but instead she’d reached for her coffee and taken long sips, hoping the moment and her foolish inquisition would dissolve in the quiet.
“She’s just some girl Timmy knows,” Hudson said, stabbing a triangle of egg with his fork and dragging it through a puddle of ketchup. “Some girl whose party we went to once.”
Some girl
. The relief had been as soft as a down comforter, and Lexi had snuggled under it. Never minding the doubt that began to gnaw and scratch at the surface of her heart like a mouse.
• • •
I s there someone else?”
The question had come out, as all unfortunate questions do, on the phone a month later. Lexi had been folded into the window seat in her room on a snowy February night, bundled in a blanket and watching her reflection in the frosted glass as she’d held the receiver tightly, her heart racing in the quiet as she waited for Hudson’s answer.
He’d crumpled. “It’s not what I want,” he’d said. “
She’s
not what I want.”
Laurel. It had to be Laurel.
“What then?” Lexi had asked, that awful soft voice returning.
“My parents. Her parents. We’ve practically grown up together.”
“So have we,” Lexi said back.
“No, I mean from the time we were kids.”
We’re
still
kids
, she wanted to say, but tears blocked her voice. But he wasn’t a kid, and this proved it. Did he see her as a kid just because she’d chosen to stay on the Cape to attend community college and live at home until she could afford a place of her own? Outrage and hurt wound within her. Of course he did. Wasn’t it obvious?
Lexi swallowed. “Is she at Duke too?”
“Not right now. She’s abroad this year. Spain.”
Abroad. No wonder Lexi had never met her. Convenient.
Her mind began to spin, imagining scenes between Hudson and this Laurel who was supposed to be just “some girl,” the history they must have shared, the one that had been set in stone long before Lexi had stepped into Hudson’s world. She’d imagined her love for him like a handprint in soft cement, always permanent once dried. All this time there’d been someone else, another print.
Nausea turned her stomach, making her skin hot. She pressed her cheek against the frost-flecked glass to cool it and closed her eyes.
“Do you love her?” she whispered.
“I don’t want her the way I want you, Lex.”
“Come see me,” she pleaded, emboldened by his confession, choosing to ignore that he hadn’t answered her question. “Come for spring break. We’ll go to the Vineyard. I’ll get us one of those cottages in Menemsha and we won’t come out until they make us.”
He laughed at that, as if she might be kidding. Or worse, as if the idea were a preposterous one.
“I can’t. You know I’m going with Timmy to Aspen.”
“You can choose what you want,” she said. “It’s your life.”
“But I
do
want to go to Aspen, Lex.”
“I’m not talking about Aspen,” she
Laurel.
The next morning, as they’d spooned sugar into weak coffee at a table in the cafeteria, she’d demanded an answer.
“Who’s Laurel?”
“Who?”
“Laurel,” she said again. “Timmy said her name last night.”
He began sawing into an overcooked omelet. “What are you talking about?”
For a moment, Lexi had felt a deep sense of regret and embarrassment, as if she’d been heard talking in her sleep. Her voice came out soft and small, a voice she didn’t recognize and immediately disliked.
“Last night,” she said. “Timmy mentioned a girl. Laurel. I wondered who she was.”
Hudson had just stared at her. His expression had been so full of condemnation that Lexi had wanted to run from the cafeteria then and there, but instead she’d reached for her coffee and taken long sips, hoping the moment and her foolish inquisition would dissolve in the quiet.
“She’s just some girl Timmy knows,” Hudson said, stabbing a triangle of egg with his fork and dragging it through a puddle of ketchup. “Some girl whose party we went to once.”
Some girl
. The relief had been as soft as a down comforter, and Lexi had snuggled under it. Never minding the doubt that began to gnaw and scratch at the surface of her heart like a mouse.
• • •
I s there someone else?”
The question had come out, as all unfortunate questions do, on the phone a month later. Lexi had been folded into the window seat in her room on a snowy February night, bundled in a blanket and watching her reflection in the frosted glass as she’d held the receiver tightly, her heart racing in the quiet as she waited for Hudson’s answer.
He’d crumpled. “It’s not what I want,” he’d said. “
She’s
not what I want.”
Laurel. It had to be Laurel.
“What then?” Lexi had asked, that awful soft voice returning.
“My parents. Her parents. We’ve practically grown up together.”
“So have we,” Lexi said back.
“No, I mean from the time we were kids.”
We’re
still
kids
, she wanted to say, but tears blocked her voice. But he wasn’t a kid, and this proved it. Did he see her as a kid just because she’d chosen to stay on the Cape to attend community college and live at home until she could afford a place of her own? Outrage and hurt wound within her. Of course he did. Wasn’t it obvious?
Lexi swallowed. “Is she at Duke too?”
“Not right now. She’s abroad this year. Spain.”
Abroad. No wonder Lexi had never met her. Convenient.
Her mind began to spin, imagining scenes between Hudson and this Laurel who was supposed to be just “some girl,” the history they must have shared, the one that had been set in stone long before Lexi had stepped into Hudson’s world. She’d imagined her love for him like a handprint in soft cement, always permanent once dried. All this time there’d been someone else, another print.
Nausea turned her stomach, making her skin hot. She pressed her cheek against the frost-flecked glass to cool it and closed her eyes.
“Do you love her?” she whispered.
“I don’t want her the way I want you, Lex.”
“Come see me,” she pleaded, emboldened by his confession, choosing to ignore that he hadn’t answered her question. “Come for spring break. We’ll go to the Vineyard. I’ll get us one of those cottages in Menemsha and we won’t come out until they make us.”
He laughed at that, as if she might be kidding. Or worse, as if the idea were a preposterous one.
“I can’t. You know I’m going with Timmy to Aspen.”
“You can choose what you want,” she said. “It’s your life.”
“But I
do
want to go to Aspen, Lex.”
“I’m not talking about Aspen,” she
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