My Favorite Half-Night Stand(42)
But the thing about old houses is that they’re loud. The heat clanks its way up the ductwork, steel expanding and contracting before being silenced by the hiss of warmed air. The windows stick, the frames protesting being separated from the sash. The floors creak with every step, particularly when you’re trying to be quiet.
I’ve spent enough weekends here to know which boards squeak, and which steps to avoid, but Bailey, the Campbell family’s schnauzer, is clearly not up to speed on the Sneaking Around plan. I manage to tiptoe past a row of closed doors and make it as far as the landing before Bailey comes barreling down the hall, almost knocking us both down the stairs.
We end up at the bottom a lot faster and a whole lot noisier than I’d intended, but when I strain to listen, I don’t hear a thing. No footsteps or voices, just the faintest sounds of snores from upstairs.
Sweet.
My purse is where I left it, and rather than risk Bailey and the creaky stairs again, I pull out a chair, plug in my phone, and quietly settle in at the dining room table.
It takes a moment for the screen to come to life, but when it does, the notification is still there, waiting. I take a quick look around like I’m about to commit a crime, and open Reid’s message.
From: Reid C.
Sent: 3:14 am, April 1
It’s late right now, too late—or too early—I’m sure, to be writing, but I really couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to thank you for your lovely message. First of all, your dad sounds like an amazing guy, I’d love to hear more about him. And I hope this doesn’t show too much of what a terrible human I am, but I hope that Tessa is waitressing in a polluted truck stop somewhere now.
You’re right about parents surprising us. Back when my parents were newly married, there weren’t many houses nearby. Coming here was the first time my city-slicker mom had ever lived in what she considered to be country, and she was completely out of her element. She’s nothing like that now, but Dad likes to tell stories of her screeching at the sound of a coyote, or running at the sight of a raccoon near the garbage bins. She also knew that accidents happened on farms all the time—my dad lost his arm here when he was a teenager—and so she worried about having two small children at home, and us being so far away from a hospital. When my sister was still just a baby, Mom would have me do these drills to prepare for an emergency. What would I do if Rayme got bitten by a spider? What if she fell down the steep stairs? What would I do if I didn’t know where Mom was? Of course, “I would find the candy bars you hide in the cupboard and eat them before you came back” wasn’t what she was looking for, so we memorized my dad’s cell phone number together, and practiced calling 911.
Even then I thought it was silly, but one day I found Rayme on the floor, and her lips were purple. I ran to my mom in a panic. In the calmest voice she’s ever used, she told me it was okay. She called 911 and turned Rayme over on her lap, carefully hitting her between the shoulder blades and softly telling her to come on, breathe.
Turns out, Rayme had swallowed one of my Legos, and only once it was out and Rayme was crying again did my mom burst into tears. I must have been nine at the time, but I never looked at my mom the same way again.
That was a much longer story than I’d intended, but being here, with my parents and my friends, I’m glad I remembered that. I feel like I’ve been giving Mom sort of a hard time lately, and maybe I needed to remember how badass she was when I was little.
Speaking of my friends, I can’t tell you what it’s like being here with them again. I think it’s easy to become complacent and maybe forget how important people are to you. I’m not sure if I gave you Millie’s name or not but we’ve been hanging out a lot and . . . she’s the most amazing and confusing person I’ve ever known. It’s late now, but maybe I can tell you about her next time. Thanks for listening, C, and I hope you have a great end to your weekend.
R.
I sit back in my chair. I don’t even know what to call this emotion in my chest. Fondness melted with anger and hurt. This wasn’t just a quick note after he was with me. This is a letter.
I bend, cupping my forehead. How much leeway do I get here to be mad? On the one hand, we’d just had sex—twice—and then he left to go write another woman. On the other hand, I am that woman, and am lying to him every time I pretend I’m not. Neither of us is innocent here, but at least I’m only sleeping with Reid and writing Reid. He’s sleeping with me and writing two other—!
I scroll back through his message again, zooming in.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
I swallow a scream when I turn and see Ed standing over me with a leftover rib in his hand. His eyes are glued to my screen.
“Working!” I shove the phone into my pocket, hoping he doesn’t notice the way the cord is stretched taut between me the wall. I rest a casual elbow on the table and absently twist a piece of my hair. “I just needed to get my laptop.”
Ed makes Disappointed Seth Rogen Face at me. “So where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Frowning, I track him as he walks to where my laptop bag is still hanging by the door, and back as he sets it on the table. God damn it.
Ed pulls out the chair next to me and sits. He takes a bite of rib, chews, swallows, thinks. “It’s funny because it looks like you’re pretending to be Catherine, and it sounds like you had sex with Reid last night.”