Beautiful Graves(81)

Later that night, after Dad and Donna have served us an actual feast and cracked open a bottle of wine, I’m in my room again.

Loki is in my lap. He is starting to get used to it here. He certainly enjoys having a safe backyard, where he can work on his tan and collect gifts for us in the form of dead mice and hummingbirds.

I decide there is no point in postponing the inevitable. I owe Joe an apology. But calling seems so . . . inconsiderate. Almost penetrating. What if he doesn’t want to hear my voice after everything that happened?

I decide to write him a chain of text messages. That’ll give him time to digest, collect himself, and decide what to write back. If anything at all.

Ever: I just wanted to send you a sign of life, since I’ve been notoriously bad about doing that throughout our history. I’m okay. I’m in San Francisco. I’m with Dad and Renn, and Dad’s girlfriend, Donna, who owns a hot dog onesie, which should tell you everything you need to know about her as a person.

Ever: How are you doing? Are you still working at the dock? How are Gemma and Brad? Are you holding up?

Ever: Okay. I lied. I didn’t want to tell you how I was doing. It is selfish of me to assume that you still care. What I wanted to say is that I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I know having sex wasn’t in your plans. I know you regret it. I know you will have to live with what we did for the rest of your life. And I apologize for putting you in that position. It’s all on me. I seduced you (if you can call it that). I asked to drink. I made sure we were both sufficiently drunk.

Ever: I’m just really sorry. Miss you.

I let out a breath and wait.

I stare at the screen for a minute. Then ten more. Then twenty. And then an hour. At some point, I fall asleep, dropping the phone on my face. I’m so exhausted I don’t even have it in me to pick it up.

Sunday morning, I have one measly message waiting. Three words, and yet each of them weighs a ton.

Joe: I forgive you.





TWENTY-FOUR


On Monday, I open up the text messages from Pippa. I’m about to text her, then think better of it and call her. Unlike with Joe, I know Pippa has been waiting for me to pick up the phone and call. She deserves groveling and a good dose of squirming from yours truly. She’s waited long enough.

She answers on the fourth ring, yawning into my ear. “Lawson. It was so obvious that whenever you decided to call, it’d be when I have a day off and can sleep in.”

“Sorry.” I glance at my watch—it’s nine forty-five—as I’m pacing my tiny childhood room. “I can call again later. Or wait until you call me. Whatever works.”

“Christ on a crutch,” she snorts out. “So high strung. At least that didn’t change. What’s up?”

I’m stumbling all over myself trying to find the right words. I also suspect I’m crying again. I can’t help it. She is not giving me crap. She is not asking me where I’ve been the last six years. She is not making it difficult or awkward or awful.

I take a deep breath and try to sound as casual as she does.

“I’m in San Francisco.”

“Well, duh,” she yawns.

“You knew?” I ask, surprised.

“Renn told me.”

“You two talk?” I try to conceal my shock with a fake cough.

Pippa laughs harder. “Good to know you’re still doing that thing where you cough when you get nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” I lie.

“Really? So why don’t you take your fingernails out of your mouth, missy?”

I realize I’ve been munching on them and do just that, then wipe my hand over my shirt. I’m amazed I have made it this far without talking to Pippa. She is the closest thing to Mom I have. She knows every piece of me. Even the bad ones. Especially those.

“We try to catch up once a month for coffee, Renn and me,” she explains.

“Neither of you drink coffee,” I say flatly.

“I said coffee? I meant beer.”

“He is not twenty-one yet.”

“That’s not what his fake ID says.” She laughs.

My mood is instantly lifted, even though Joe brushed me off and basically told me to go screw myself in his last message, though not in so many words.

I forgive you is code for Don’t worry about me. Just stay on your side of the continent and leave me the heck alone.

It goes against what I want to do, but I have to respect his wishes.

There’s a brief silence between Pippa and me before she sighs. “Fine. You can take me out for drinks and lunch.”

I laugh. “Thank you. Where do you want to go? Your choice.”

But I already know. We have a spot. It is the best restaurant in all of San Francisco.

“Wayfare Tavern. And I’m ordering cocktails. A lot of cocktails. Watch me blow up that bill.”

“Go ham. When?” I ask.

“Noon. Don’t be late.”

She hangs up.

I stagger out of my room. It’s a Monday, and Renn is at college and Dad is at work. Donna is sitting in the kitchen, reading the paper and listening to the radio like it’s the nineties or something. She laughs at something the radio host says. She is pretty endearing, in a you-are-still-not-my-mom sort of way.

She glances beyond the rim of her reading glasses and smiles. “Hello, Ever. Would you like me to fix you a cup of coffee? Maybe an omelet?”