The Rest of Us: A Novel by Jessica Lott

separation was a good thing?”
    “That was before he replaced me. Like I was nothing. ”
    “I’ll invite Rick and Nosh over—those idiots will distract you. Don’t take any bong hits.”
    “I wish he knew what this felt like!” I looked up from the table. “Maybe he thinks I don’t care because I haven’t been showing it. Maybe I should ask him to meet me—”
    “Oh, no,” Hallie said. “ No. Believe me—he knows you care. He knows you better than you think. Cry as much as you want but stay away from him.”
    She went to the phone. By the time the guys showed up, I was back in my room. They called to me, but I refused to come downstairs.
    The next night, after thinking it over, I decided to go to Rhinehart’s house. I waited until Hallie went into the bathroom, and then, my pulse beating wildly, I snuck out. Manic energy carried me all the way to the edge of his lawn. The lights were on, curtain drawn. That’s when I started to have doubts. What if he was in there with her? I ducked over to the garage and peeped in the double-paned window. His car was next to the mower and the gasoline containers. Trampling his ivy, I made my way over to the living room window and peered through the open sliver between the curtains. My breath caught. He was alone, sitting in the armchair in the corner, reading, one pinkie against the wing of his nose, as when he was deep in thought. Relaxed. Peaceful, almost. I was suddenly furious. I tore around to the side door and slammed into the living room.
    He jerked, dropping his book. “Tatie! You scared the crap out of me.”
    I was unable to move from the doorway. He took off his reading glasses, while I watched his hands.
    “You look a little wild. You haven’t come to kill me have you?” He hesitated. “Is that my shirt you have on?”
    I hadn’t even thought about my clothes. I was still in the CarharttsI’d been wearing for several days, and an old shirt of Rhinehart’s. Hoping, in a vague voodoo way, that it would make him long for me.
    “I want the things I gave you back,” I blurted out.
    “What things?”
    “My book of Renaissance paintings.”
    “Have you been wandering about in the yard? You have something stuck in your hair, a leaf.”
    When he stood up, I instinctively jerked forward to return the hug. He didn’t move, and I stopped mid-motion. I began to sob, taking air in big, gulping breaths.
    “Oh, Tatie.”
    “I saw you today,” I choked out. “I saw you with someone. On campus.”
    “One of my students?”
    “It wasn’t just a student! I know who she is.”
    I waited for his eyes to shuttle around as he came up with an excuse. His face looked naked without its glasses. But instead he looked at me with something like pity. “You can’t be making yourself ill over this. I get jealous of you, too, but I try and understand that you need to live your life independent of mine.”
    My heart surged to hear he was jealous, and to cover it I said, “Fuck that. You have no respect for me.”
    “I do, and I’m sensitive to your feelings, trust me.” He sighed. “I sometimes forget how young you are.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “It’s just that these situations feel completely overwhelming before we get better trained in heartache.”
    I lost my mother I wanted to shout at him, what could be a bigger grief than that? But I didn’t want to get us off track. “Natasha’s not even pretty! She smells like cabbage. I can’t believe you!”
    My hands over my face, I bent towards him. He didn’t touch me. Instead, he said, almost to himself, “I’d thought you’d held this theory for weeks now.”
    “Why? Who’d you hear it from?”
    He winced slightly. “Natasha had mentioned that you glare at her. In class. I said that couldn’t be—it’s so unlike you, but I had wondered about it.”
    The horror of my situation hit me. They had discussed me! Probably in bed! I started crying again.
    Rhinehart patted my tangled hair. I hated myself