Our Little Secret(18)
“HP, how drunk are you?”
“Three out of ten. Six, maybe.”
“I couldn’t kiss you properly because I’m sad.”
“That’s lame. You kissed me with your mouth all tight. Like a cat’s ass kissing.” He pointed at his lips, pursed and tense.
“HP!” I shoved him and he stumbled off the keg. “I don’t know how to be.” I smeared my palms on the thighs of my pants. “If I’m excited about going to Oxford, that’s horrible because I’m leaving you. And if I dread Oxford, that’s horrible because I’m going and I should make the most of it. That’s what you always say.”
HP burped and covered his mouth as he sat back down next to me.
“And meanwhile my parents are hovering behind my head, trying to implant every single feeling I have. I’m stuck. Aren’t you? I mean”—I glanced at him carefully—“what do you want? Are we gonna be together while we’re apart?”
“Depends. Are you in love with me?”
I pulled away from him. He held up both hands like a foiled bank robber.
“Hey, it’s worth an ask.”
Of course I was in love with HP, but if I told him now, would it matter? I’d always thought when I arrived at the moment of actually saying the sentence out loud, it would have more ceremony than a slimy beer patio with the guy swaying drunk.
HP let out a frustrated moan, loud and low like a barn animal. “I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss this.”
My mother told me I should never kiss a boy if he’s drunk, but I found myself moving towards HP’s mouth, the taste of him smoky and raw. There was that flicker again as we slid into hunger, his hands tugging into my hair, both of us breathing fast as our hands moved over and under each other’s clothes. I knew the ridges of him so well now, the grooves in his stomach and chest. I straddled his lap and he wrapped his arms all the way around me. Everything surrounding us fell away, irrelevant.
When we finally left the bar, the streets were empty. Our high school looked ghost-lit: one tennis ball sat in a drain out front. The Tastee Delite had closed shop and boarded its windows; NO KASH CEPT OVERNITE read the latest sign.
We drifted to his house and climbed into the back of his truck—we didn’t even need to drive it anywhere. Above us, the stars glinted.
“Sometimes I think,” said HP, bobbling my head on his chest with every word, “that the sky’s just a dark blanket, and behind it is totally bright light. Those stars are just little pinprick holes in the cloth, letting us see what’s behind.” He sniffed. “See? I’m deep, too.”
The crook of his neck smelled fresh, like a swimming pool. “I am in love with you. I just didn’t want to say it with you shitfaced outside a bar.”
He put his arm behind his head for a pillow. “I knew it.”
“When I’m in Oxford, I’m not going to talk to any guys. Just so you know.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to talk to girls?”
He sat up. “I don’t know, LJ, that’s asking a lot. I mean, I can’t make any promises. For instance, I might have to talk to my mom.” We held hands, our fingers moving in and around each other’s. “Listen.” He bunched himself up to sit straighter. “I don’t want you to spend the whole time thinking about me and Cove.”
“I will, though.”
“Well . . .” He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll be thinking about you, too, but we shouldn’t be dating while you’re away.”
I stared at him hard.
“Wait. Fuck. I can’t get words so they sound right.” He spread his hands like a concert pianist. “Go to England and see what happens. I’ll be here, not dating anyone. When you come home, we can see where we’re at. Was that better? I think that went better.”
“Are you in love with me?”
“Yes.”
How was he always so certain of everything?
“Okay,” I murmured. “We’ll play it by ear. Like you’d ever stick to a plan anyway.”
Together we slipped into exhausted sleep. When crows woke me the next morning, the pinprick stars were all gone. Clouds scuffed above me, their edges torn.
Detective Novak, I know all you want is to tick boxes on your checklist so you can close my file, but the truth of HP and me is more complex than anyone is allowing in here. What HP and I had was complete happiness. This isn’t a love story. Or at the very least it’s not only a love story. It’s also a tale of utter reliance—that’s what you need to understand. First. Before we move on.
You might think that everything I’ve told you just builds more of a motive for me to harm Saskia, but I’m innocent of whatever may or may not have happened to her. What I’m trying to say, Detective, is that HP had a hold on me. I needed him and I don’t mind admitting that. I never felt as safe as when he was around. Of the coatrack versions of me, he always pulled out the best one, and if you’re going to understand anything else I tell you today, you need to fully appreciate how much there was to lose if I lost him.
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7
“Utter reliance?” Novak inspects his fingernails, polishes one with the soft pad of his thumb. “From what I’ve heard so far, your life is pretty darn swell. What would you have to worry about? Here’s a girl at the top of her graduating class, who’s beautiful—no, don’t squirm—whose parents want nothing but the best for her and send her to an Ivy League college—internationally—to give her the greatest of starts. It doesn’t really read like a sob story.”