Mrs. Fletcher(70)

This reverie was disrupted by the sudden realization that she was being watched, that Julian was staring at her with the same sort of longing that she herself was directing toward Amanda. She turned in his direction, raising her glass in a silent toast, not wanting him to feel left out. He returned the gesture, gazing at her with soulful drunken sincerity.

Things were starting to get a little awkward when Margo finally extracted herself from a marathon kiss, brushing the hair from her eyes and blinking like she didn’t quite know where she was. She let out a long, slow, calming breath and straightened her skirt.

“Enough of that,” she said, fanning her face with one hand. “Anyone feel like dancing?”

*

Amber went to a house party with Cat and some of her artist friends, but she left on the early side, unable to connect with the festive mood. Everybody there was really excited about the Call-Out Wall—they thought it would be great to make it a permanent installation in the Student Center—and they found it hilarious that Brendan kept texting her, begging for a moment of her time, sounding more and more pathetic with each successive message.

Amber could appreciate the poetic justice of the situation—let him see how it felt to be silenced and powerless for once in his life, to be defined by other people—but it wasn’t as gratifying as she’d hoped it might be. In fact, the more she thought about Brendan the guiltier she felt, as if she’d done something bad to him, which was totally frustrating, because he didn’t deserve her sympathy or anyone else’s. It was just like her—just like a girl—to feel sorry for a guy she had every right to despise, and then to turn the blame back on herself.

She could have taken Cat’s advice and blocked his calls. That would have solved the problem of her constantly buzzing phone, and spared her his manipulative cries for help. But it seemed kind of harsh, and even a bit cowardly, to call someone out and then cut off all possibility of communication, as if they had no right to respond, as if they were dead to you.

Amber was tired and a little depressed. She just wanted to go to bed and forget this day had ever happened. But there was only one way she was going to be able to do that, and there was no use pretending otherwise. With a small shudder of resignation and distaste, she picked up her phone and touched her finger to his name. He answered in the middle of the first ring.

“Wow,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

“What do you want, Brendan?”

“I don’t know. Just to talk, I guess. I’ve been having a rough night.”

“Well,” she said, a little defensively. “I’ve had some rough nights lately myself.”

A nicer person might have picked up on her cue and asked what was wrong, maybe even expressed a little sympathy, but this was Brendan she was talking to.

“The art show,” he said. “That was really fucking brutal.”

“I’m sure it was. But you have to—”

“Do you really think that about me?” He sounded genuinely curious. “That I’m a huge disappointment?”

Amber hesitated. She’d known that Cat had been working on the Call-Out Wall all semester, but she hadn’t realized that Brendan was a part of the installation until two days ago, when she’d helped transport the paintings from the art building to the Student Center. She was startled when she pulled off a sheet of bubble wrap and saw his happy face with the words HORRIBLE HUMAN BEING written beneath it like a final verdict.

What the hell is this?

It’s my gift to you, Cat told her.

He’s not a horrible human being. He’s just—

Those were your words, Cat reminded her. That’s a direct quote.

Amber didn’t deny it. She’d said that about Brendan on the morning after their disastrous date, when she felt raw and betrayed, and Cat had been there for her, the way she always was, offering support and validation when Amber needed it most.

I was pissed. I just needed to vent.

You spoke your truth, Cat said. Don’t take it back now.

It doesn’t feel right, Amber had insisted.

Reluctantly, Cat proposed some alternate captions—DATE RAPIST? MISOGYNIST?—but Amber didn’t think those were accurate, either.

He was just a . . . huge disappointment, that’s all.

All right, Cat said. You’re being way too nice, but I’ll change it if that’s what you want.

That’s what I want, Amber had said, and she wasn’t about to retract her words a second time, or give Brendan a reason to think he’d been forgiven. She couldn’t even think about that night without feeling sick and degraded.

“Dude,” she told him. “You got off easy. It could have been a lot worse, believe me.”

“Amber,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s a little late for that.”

“I know. I’m just saying.”

“All right,” she sighed. “I should go. I’m wiped out.”

“Wait, Amber. I was just wondering—” His voice turned small and hopeless. “Could I come over and hang out with you for a while?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not to hook up,” he assured her. “I just don’t want to be alone right now.”

She almost laughed, but she could hear the pain in his voice.