You Owe Me a Murder(43)

She had to have the right atmosphere. Her office was full of smelly candles, crystals, and a big antique typewriter, an Underwood, that she’d found on eBay to use as inspiration. It was less like a real working space and more like a Pinterest post of an author’s office.

My dad would get this pained expression when she’d start talking about writing her book, as if he wished he were a traveling dentist and could get out of town until the whole thing blew over. Both of us always tried to pick up more chores around the house to give her some extra time to work on her book, but if she ever saw a dish in the sink, she’d still break into tears and stomp off, declaring that no one took her seriously as an artist.

My mom’s muse was a real bitch.

But one thing that she always said stuck with me: Each word makes a difference.

Take the term “dating.”

It’s certainly not the only way you can describe that type of interaction. It wasn’t the perfect way to describe my relationship with Connor. Even I knew that—?but I wasn’t a writer like my mom. I didn’t have any other words to express what had gone on between us. It was so convoluted I didn’t know how to understand it myself, let alone communicate what had happened to anyone else.



* * *





“How did you and Connor connect?”

I was brought abruptly back into the excruciating present. The smell of coffee, so alluring only moments ago, was now making me nauseated.

“We worked together—?summer job,” I mumbled.

I had fallen hard for Connor, which was a bit unexpected considering I’d known him for years. Our lockers were near each other, and sophomore year we’d even been lab partners. I have no memory of my heart going pitter-patter as we dissected our fetal pig or mastered how to use the ancient microscopes. We hung out in different crowds, but we had similarities, too. Smart, not popular, but not unpopular, either.

Detective Sharma looked down at her notebook. “That was the Science Center, correct?” She waited for my nod. “I bet that beat waiting tables.”

“Yeah. They do a summer camp for kids. We were responsible for setting up experiments for the campers, creating balloon-powered boats and making their hair stand up with the plasma globe, that kind of thing.”

Detective Sharma tossed the final bite of croissant into her mouth and then brushed off her lips. “Was it love at first sight?”

“No.” I couldn’t bear to look over at Alex. I could feel the other Student Scholars listening intently and my skin crawled. “We connected at a party.”

I hadn’t planned on going—?I didn’t even know why I told Connor that I’d be there. It wasn’t my kind of thing, but with Emily out of town I was bored and lonely.

As soon as I got there, I wished I hadn’t gone. I felt awkward and out of place. The fact that I worked with Connor didn’t make me a part of his crowd. I kept drinking red Solo cup after red Solo cup of punch that seemed to be equal parts juice and vodka.

Detective Sharma smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “So, you knew him from work, but the sparks flew at this party?”

I nodded. I had been pretty far gone when Connor finally showed up and sat next to me, but what had really set my head spinning was when he leaned over and kissed me. Just like that. One minute we were talking about what we thought of our boss, and the next second we were making out.

There was no way I was telling Detective Sharma the complete truth. I didn’t want the words in my mouth. I had had sex with Connor that night. Just like that. And just like that, I’d fallen for him . . . or at least for the idea of him, for whom I wanted him to be.

I would ache when I saw him at work, as if every atom in my body were tearing itself free to be closer to him. When he was near, I would close my eyes and inhale his smell. Pulling it deep inside myself, breath after breath, growing lightheaded with the scent.

“We got together at the party,” I said simply. The barista called out Sophie’s name, but I didn’t look over. I could tell the entire group was hanging on my every word, and I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing I cared.

“But the relationship didn’t really take off.”

“I guess not,” I murmured. We had gotten together a few more times over the next week. But it wasn’t until later that I realized we rarely did anything other than make out. But I refused to see it—?it was as if by being with him I was going to be this totally different person. The kind of person that Connor dated. I didn’t let myself realize that he was never worth my attention.

I shrugged. “He was suddenly busy all the time. He was avoiding me. The more he tried to distance himself, the harder I tried to make things work.” I left out that it was around then that he announced he was going to England. And when I gave up the science award.

“I understood that he indicated that you were too serious for him, it had just been a lark, a bit of fun. That he needed his space and didn’t want a girlfriend.”

Or at the very least he didn’t want me. My teeth clenched. Connor had said he was sorry if he’d given me the wrong impression. He was so calm about it. As if it were no big thing. As if he hadn’t reached in and pulled my heart from my chest and tossed it into a garbage disposal.

“From Connor’s perspective, we’d never gone out. We’d been coworkers with benefits. That wasn’t how I saw things. I was hurt.”