The Party Crasher(50)

  And now we’re looking at each other in that way again. My spine is tingling. I’m in a kind of trance, lost in the connection between us. An outsider would probably see two people sitting in motionless silence. But if this isn’t dancing, nothing is. All my cells are swaying in time with his. All my cells are yearning for his. The feel of his skin, his hands, his mouth…I feel intoxicated. I want him. Desperately. Even as I simultaneously know that a lot of things I might want in life are not good choices.

  People give up smoking by associating cigarettes with some horrible food, don’t they? Therefore, I can give up Joe by associating with him with heartbreak. Which should be easy, because I already do.

  Somehow I wrench my eyes away from his, break the spell, and find a normal voice.

  “Well, that was a weird evening.”

  “Agreed.” Joe nods.

  “A commitment ceremony.” I wrinkle my nose. “What is that even?”

      Joe shrugs. “I guess it’s where you promise to, you know, be with each other. Stay with each other—”

  He breaks off, and I feel a warmth travel through me, all the way to my cheeks. Because that’s what we wanted, once upon a time.

  “Anyway.” I try to move the conversation on. “What they say is true. You don’t hear anything good about yourself if you eavesdrop.” I make a wry, comical face and Joe laughs.

  “What did you expect if you were a fly on the wall?”

  “Well, obviously I was hoping they might all say, Isn’t Effie brilliant? Isn’t she fabulous? Isn’t she the best member of this family? Joke,” I add quickly. “I’m joking.”

  “You are the best member of this family,” says Joe, straight-faced.

  I know he’s joking, too, but I still feel a kind of longing inside me. I used to be his best. And he was my best.

  Anyway. Whatever.

  “I once made the mistake of looking at some online comments about me,” Joe adds, more lightly. “I guess that’s the equivalent of hiding under the table and eavesdropping. I don’t recommend it.”

  “Oh God!” I clap a hand to my mouth. “But surely everyone loves you.”

  “Not the guy who wanted me to stuff my arrogant cock…” He pauses. “Don’t remember exactly where. Nowhere edifying. At least your family didn’t come out with anything like that.”

  I can’t help snorting with laughter. “That puts it in perspective.”

      I sip my champagne and look at Joe’s face, and suddenly I miss his wisdom. We used to talk everything through. He’s not like Bean—he doesn’t get anxious or overprotective. He just listens and gives his view. I’m still feeling raw after hearing myself discussed, and I want his take on it.

  “Joe, do you think I’m still the baby of the family?” I say in an embarrassed rush, and he lifts his eyes in surprise.

  “Maybe,” he says, after a few moments’ thought. “Although…quite hard not to be.”

  “Bean does far too much for me,” I say, stricken. “I just let her. She organizes everything and sorts out all the family arrangements and worries about me. She’s like a mother hen. She even orders me vitamins.”

  “Well, order her some vitamins, then.”

  This is such a Joe response, I can’t help laughing. Direct. Practical. To the point.

  “You have a solution to everything, don’t you?”

  “Not always.” A strange flicker passes over Joe’s face. “Not always.”

  There’s a weird little silence. Joe’s eyes meet mine directly and my throat tightens. Does he mean…? What does he mean? But then he looks away and the moment’s gone.

  “My sister sometimes comes to meet me for lunch at the hospital,” he continues casually. “And whenever she arrives, she says the same thing. ‘Little Joe! A doctor!’ And then she pinches my cheek. So I get it. Once the youngest, always the youngest.”

  “She doesn’t pinch your cheek!” I laugh.

  “She pinched my cheek once,” concedes Joe. “As a ‘joke,’ she said. I never let her forget it. My point is, you get cast in a role and it can be hard to escape. Baby of the family. Patriarch. Whatever.”

      “Nation’s heartthrob,” I can’t resist retorting, and he nods, his eyebrows raised ironically.

  “Nation’s heartthrob.”

  I eye him silently, mapping his familiar, real-life face onto the face that sometimes pops up in the media. I still can’t relate Joe—my Joe—with “Dr. Joe, national treasure.”

  “Some people are born into roles,” says Joe, as though reading my mind. “Others have roles thrust upon them. You know, I wasn’t even supposed to do that interview? I was a last-minute substitute.”

  “It must be…fun, though?” I venture. “The fame? All those people in love with you?”

  “It was shocking at first,” says Joe. “It felt ridiculous. Mad. Then it was interesting for about twenty minutes.” He shrugs. “But then it became a barrier to what I really want.”