All We Can Do Is Wait(49)

Scott was so cute—a little sloppy, a little crooked, but handsome, decent, and humble seeming. So unlike the boys that she and Jason knew, in their world, with their highborn snobbiness and their seen-it-all jadedness. Jason was one of them, wasn’t he? That’s all he was. He was just another one of those boys, Alexa thought, letting a laugh escape.

“What?” Scott asked eagerly, maybe wanting to laugh at something in that moment too.

Alexa shook her head. “Nothing, it’s nothing. I just . . . I don’t know. I sort of realized something. I had an epiphany.”

Scott gestured toward the stained glass window. “Power of the chapel.”

Alexa laughed again. It felt good, even if the laughter was followed by little needles of guilt. She looked at Scott, at the faint fuzz coming in on his lip and jawline, a scar near his right eye, deep and long. She pointed to it. “What’s that from?”

Scott touched the scar, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh. Soccer. Got elbowed by some asshole from Needham. Blood everywhere. It was gnarly.”

Alexa reached out, ran her thumb along the line of it. “Must have hurt,” she said, feeling Scott lean into her hand. They looked at each other, the chapel lights dim, and Alexa let herself imagine that they were in some other world, some other dimension where nothing bad had happened and this could just be an exciting moment before a nice kiss. But there was no such place, or if there was, it was impossible to get to from where they were, power of the chapel or not. So she pulled her hand away and said, “Aimee’s lucky. You’re a really nice guy, Scott.”

Scott, seeming to understand that the moment was over, the spell broken, sat back, nodded. “Uh, thanks. I’m the lucky one, really. She’s the best.”

“And she’s going to be O.K.”

“She’s gonna be fine.”

Alexa heard people behind her and turned to see an older woman and a younger woman, a mother and daughter maybe, making their way into the chapel. They’d both been crying, from the looks of it, and the mother was leaning on her daughter for support. Alexa felt nosy again, like she was seeing something she shouldn’t. “Let’s go,” she said to Scott, feeling her anxiety welling up. “We should go back. There might be news.”

They walked the hallways in silence, rode the slow elevator without speaking. They were almost back to the emergency waiting room when Scott said, “Alexa, wait.” She stopped, not sure what was about to happen. He looked her in the eyes, some mix of worry and determination on his face. He opened his mouth, started to say something, but then stopped. He sighed.

“What is it, Scott?” Alexa asked.

He shifted his weight. Shrugged. “Nothing. Never mind. It’s just . . . They’re going to be fine too,” he finally said. “Your parents.”

Alexa nodded. She hadn’t liked it when Jason had assured her that everything was going to be O.K., and though she wasn’t mad at Scott, had no reason to be mad at him, she didn’t like his saying it either. It felt almost condescending, or patronizing. Still, for the first time all day, something in her agreed with the sentiment. She smiled at him. “Thank you, Scott. I know.”

They walked the rest of the way to the waiting room, and saw Morgan and Jason talking to a couple about Alexa’s parents’ age. They looked distraught and were still wearing their jackets, like they’d just gotten there. The woman was showing Morgan and Jason something on her phone, and they were shaking their heads.

“Hey,” Alexa said, and all four turned to look at her. Scott was hanging back, but when the woman saw him, her eyes widened with what looked to be shock.

“Scott?” she said, walking quickly toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Alexa reeled around to look at Scott, who was beet red, flustered. “Mrs. Peck, I was just—”

The man had caught up to the woman now. “Scott, is everything O.K.?”

Scott just stood there, his face ashen.

Alexa waited for Scott to answer, but when he didn’t, she jumped in. “He’s . . . um. He’s waiting for his girlfriend, Aimee.”

Scott gave Alexa a panicked look, and Aimee’s mother balked. “Scott, what are you—”“

“Mrs. Peck, let me explain.” Scott paused, gathered his thoughts. “I just wanted to make sure she’s all right. I won’t bother her, I won’t bother you. Please just let me stay.”

Alexa stared at Scott, not knowing what to think. “Scott?” she asked.

He looked her, looking pitiful and ashamed. “She’s not . . . We’re not . . . I still love her.” He turned to Aimee’s parents. “I still love her. I know we broke up, but I still love her.”

Aimee’s mother was crying now, turning and walking away from Scott, her husband following after her.

“I still love her,” Scott whimpered, to no one, to himself. Maybe to Alexa, who suddenly felt sick.

“Alexa?” Scott said, his voice cracking. And, not knowing exactly why, all Alexa could do was laugh.





Chapter Twelve


    Scott



SAM STEIN’S PARTY was a shitshow. He lived in a big Victorian at the end of a dead-end street off of Waverly, the kind of dark and rambling old house that was always drafty and chilly in the winter, even with an expensive heating system installed. The night of the party, though, the house was hot with a crush of bodies, music blaring and kids occupying almost every possible square inch. Scott and Pete took an Uber over together, Pete talking a big game about getting laid that night, Scott still stormy and sad about his fight with Aimee.