Georgie, All Along (38)
He pities me.
“I didn’t mean to do that,” I blurt, which is so inane that I have to squeeze my eyes shut for a second. “I wasn’t thinking.”
That doesn’t sound much better, but it’s certainly more true. If I’d been thinking, I would’ve remembered that Levi had asked for simple, and kissing’s not it. I would’ve remembered that only hours ago, I’d resolved to put him out of my mind and focus on myself. I would’ve remembered that I’ve still got his brother’s business card in the back pocket of a pair of pants I left in a heap on my parents’ bedroom floor.
I hadn’t been thinking.
I’d been feeling. Feeling like someone finally understood me, and feeling strangely thrilled it was him. Feeling like he was strong and sensitive and sweeter than I expected. I’d been feeling, for once, like I was full of wanting.
But that doesn’t mean I should’ve kissed him.
I see his throat bob in a thick swallow, see the fingers on his right hand flex. In his left, he’s holding that stack of plates steady and still. I can tell he has no idea what to say, and honestly, fair enough.
“Did you need me to watch Hank tomorrow?” I ask, because it’s the least I can do—bring it back to what was supposed to be simple about this. Roommates. Dog sitting. Occasional meal sharing, though I’m pretty sure that won’t be happening again after tonight, which is too bad, because that pizza was fucking great.
He blinks, and for a second his eyes drop to my mouth. My brain scrambles in the same way it did in the seconds before I kissed him—in the seconds before I apparently misread everything about the moment. I won’t be making that mistake again; I can’t make that mistake again.
“I can keep him with me tomorrow,” Levi says.
I nod quickly, stepping to the side—away from the chair this time—and back again. “Great. That’s great.”
“Geor—” he begins, and not to sound too Los Angeles about this whole thing, but I literally cannot. I have to get away from this, immediately.
“You can text me if you end up needing me,” I say quickly, even as I’m taking another step back. “It’d be no problem.”
“Sure, but—”
“I need to run inside to use the restroom.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder, heedless of how unconvincing an exit strategy this is, even if it’s effective. No decent person—and Levi Fanning is decent; I know it down deep—is going to ask you if you’re lying about that.
It’s not until I’m in the house, in my parents’ bedroom, the door closed behind me, that I realize I’ve left him to clean up everything from dinner, without any real intention of ever going back out there. At least Levi’s efforts in the kitchen didn’t produce anything close to the mess I made two nights ago.
The mess you made just now, I chide myself, groaning quietly and covering my face with my hands. I’m contemplating my strategy for staying inside this room until the rapture, or at least until I hear Levi and Hank turn in for the night, when I hear a familiar, bubbling trill from my phone—the first time I’ve heard that particular tone in days and days. It’s Nadia’s text notification, and I’m ashamed at the gust of relieved anticipation that blows through me.
Please ask me for something, I’m thinking, as I move toward the nightstand. Please give me a reason to think about something I can do for you, instead of all the things I apparently can’t do for myself.
When I unlock the screen, I see that she’s texted multiple times, and that, too, is familiar—she often had a flurry of requests or ideas, as if the thought of one task for me to do would trip her into the thought of a dozen others. But the ten total messages here aren’t requests at all. There are two texts, each a bookend to the eight photographs in between.
Came into town today and have a good signal, so sending you some pictures! We are living the dream out here! I’ve never been happier or more relaxed.
Then: three nearly identical photographs of rose-gold sunsets over a cactus-dotted landscape. One picture of Nadia’s husband, Bill, standing beside a donkey, its back draped in a colorful blanket. Two photographs of white plates filled with delicious-looking food—brightly colored vegetables, thick cuts of meat, a swirl of creamy potatoes. One snapshot of a crystal-blue swimming pool surrounded by lounge chairs and potted succulents. Two selfies of Nadia, tanned and smiling, and one of Nadia and Bill, another rose-gold sunset as the backdrop, their hands holding half-empty wineglasses, toasting the camera.
Hope you are doing well, too! xo
I stare down at the phone, embarrassingly disappointed. I imagine what I’d type back if I was being totally honest. Due to recent events involving my hot, uninterested roommate, I’ll probably get started on digging a hole later! I might say. Or, Limped my way through living a teenage dream at an antiques store earlier; here’s a photo of an old weathervane that Satan himself might’ve made!
Still haven’t worked out what I want!
But Nadia doesn’t want to hear any of that, and anyway, I don’t want to tell her. She’s found happiness where she is, and she encouraged me to do the same. Before I got derailed—again—by Levi Fanning, I was getting somewhere. Sure, it’d been a rough start in Sott’s Mill, but things had turned around, hadn’t they?