Beautiful Graves, page 13
“And you are Seph?” I ask pointedly, gathering my wits.
“That’s what my family calls me.” He is polite, but he’s by no means the same guy who kissed me six years ago like the world was ending. “Drive was good?”
“Sure.”
He turns to his dad, seemingly done with our conversation. “I’m getting a Guinness.”
“Make it two, punk.” Brad chuckles.
“Anything for you, D?” Joe/Seph asks, jerking his chin toward his older brother. Dom shakes his head, watching the two of us alertly. He must’ve picked up on the off vibes between us. “I’m saving myself for the eggnog. I’m trying to convince Lynne to have some.”
“Not in this lifetime, buddy.” I smile. My cheeks feel as stiff as clay.
“Why don’t we all get a drink? I’m sure Lynne could use a glass of something too.” Gemma herds us all into the kitchen.
I can’t stop myself this time. “It’s Everlynne. Or Ever. Dom’s the only one who calls me Lynne, really.” I don’t know why I’m telling them this. It’s not like this would win Joe over. And it’s not like there’s anything to win over. I’m with his brother now. Case closed.
And then it hits me. I slept with his brother. I slept with two brothers, six years apart. They make up 66.67 percent of my sexual partners. Since the only other partner I’ve slept with was Sean.
I guess you could say you’re a Graves digger, I hear Pippa cackling in my head. Pippa. I want to call and tell her what I’ve just found out. I need her advice.
It doesn’t help that Joe and I could have technically been together right now. That I cut it off suddenly, viciously. After I came back from Spain, we texted every day, all day. The last text exchange we had was unassuming. I still remember it by heart.
Joe: Thinking of cutting my trip short.
Ever: Interesting.
Joe: Is it?
Ever: I mean, I’m sure your family misses you.
Joe: And they’ll have me, for a day and some change. Then I’m heading west.
Ever: Goldrush?
Joe: Better than gold. See, there’s this girl.
Ever: There’s always a girl. Tell me more.
Joe: She is hot, she is into rad music, and she gets me.
Ever: Does she have a name?
Joe: Yes.
Joe: Mainstream.
Ever: LOL. I hate you.
Joe: While we’re on the subject of feelings, well, hold onto your butt cheeks, because I have a confession to make.
He started typing more, but I never saw what he wrote. I never replied.
Now the device I used to talk to him with is sitting at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, collecting rust and seaweed.
And I’m sitting right here, with a strange family, celebrating Mom’s absolute favorite holiday away from home.
Back in reality, we settle at the table. It is laden with sweet potato and fruitcake pies as well as wine and beer. “Just to nudge your appetite in the right direction before dinner.” Gemma’s church bells laughter rings through the warm, decorated room. I opt for wine and drain the first glass before the pies are cut. Dom silently pours me another one, throwing me a worried look. I have to keep myself together. But every time I glance Joe’s way, he is staring at me with what I’m beginning to recognize as awe and confusion, nursing his bottle of Guinness.
The memories must be rushing back to him now. How I ghosted him for no reason at all and disappeared from the face of the earth.
Dom, Gemma, and Brad are all engaged in small talk. About the bad traffic on our way here, and things to do in Dover during Christmas, and Oh, do you remember that time Mrs. Pavel’s house caught on fire when the kids lit up the chimney because they were scared of Santa? Tuning them out is no trouble at all.
The more I stare at Joe, the more I realize how my memory hasn’t done him any justice. He is not half as gorgeous as Dominic, yet I am drawn to him more. To his too-sharp nose, and the ears that poke out a little, and the curve of his lips that are always tilted in a slightly mocking grin. He is built like a quarterback. Muscular and sturdy and sun kissed, golden everywhere.
I can’t believe this is the third time we’ve met like this. Through kismet. Without meaning to. And that every single time we do, something gets in the way of our togetherness.
There are so many things I want to say to him, so many things I want to ask, to explain, but now is not the time. I doubt there will ever be a time.
Side note: I have to tell Dom. Immediately. Crap. What a mess.
“So what do your parents do, Everlynne?” Gemma asks. The words teacher and construction-company owner flew around while I was ogling Joe.
“My dad is a CPA. He has his own firm. And my mom . . . she owned an art gallery.”
I hold my breath, hoping they don’t pick up on the past tense. Opening my family tragedy for discussion is not something I’m keen on doing. Especially not in front of Joe. Luckily, Gemma and Brad don’t dwell on it. “I’ve been to San Francisco twice, and both times I was amazed by how foggy it is. This is not how one imagines the Golden State, you know?” Gemma says.
Smiling, I force myself to concentrate on the conversation, which requires ignoring the loud voices in my head that shout IT’S JOE and DOM IS GOING TO BE FREAKED OUT and YOU HAVE TO TALK TO BOTH OF THEM.
“Yeah. All coastal cities are breezy. San Diego’s the same. It’s when you go inland where it gets the-depths-of-hell hot.”
“Wicked hot.” Dom taps my nose, grinning. “You’re a New Englander now, remember?”
I force out a laugh, but all I want is for this portion of the evening to be over so I can finally be alone with Dom and bring him up to speed. Christ-MESS indeed.
The evening stretches across minutes, and hours, then days, and finally years. At some point, I struggle to remember myself before entering this house. After hopping into the shower and getting ready for dinner, Dom and I are subjected to a seven-course meal. Then we drink homemade cocktails by the fire and open the door to the Christmas carolers (Dom is right: they are good). Then we all bundle up and go to see the Christmas lights downtown. We go by foot, and Dom holds my hand so I won’t slip on the melting snow. Gemma insists on taking pictures of Dom and me hugging in front of a massive Christmas tree, blinding us with the camera flash.
Even though people surround me, I’ve never felt more alone. I wonder what Dad and Renn are doing right now. Are they by themselves? Did they go to Aunt Mimi’s for the holiday?
I marvel at the fact that every family has its own DNA. Its unique traditions, inside jokes, its inborn oddness. The Lawsons, for instance, are big on eating a quick early Christmas meal, opening all the presents before midnight, and then completing, through a team effort, a two-thousand-piece puzzle by morning. The Graveses, apparently, like to cram every single Christmas tradition known to mankind into one day.
Joe and I carefully ignore one another throughout the entire never-ending ordeal.
By the time we get back home, it is close to midnight. Gemma leads us to Dom’s old room, babbling energetically. It’s a beautiful room, with a queen-size bed, one blue accent wall, and navy gingham curtains.
I don’t let myself wonder what Joe’s room looks like.
Dom closes the door, but not before kissing his mom good night. I sit on the edge of his bed and brace myself for the most awkward conversation in my life.
So, funny story. Do you know your brother? Yeah, the only one you got. Well, turns out, we used to date slash sleep together slash I was kind of, sort of, crazy in love with him.
Yeah, no. The announcement can definitely use a few tweaks before I make it.
When Dom starts getting undressed and slides into his pajamas, I wonder if I should tell him without consulting Joe first. It’s his secret to tell too. Causing sibling issues is the last thing I want to do here. That would be the second family for me to break apart. That’s one hidden talent I did not want to discover about myself.
“So? What’d you think?” Dom slips under the covers. It’s my turn to stand up and prepare for bed.
“It was great. Your family is lovely.”
“Told you.” Dom props his chin on his hand as he watches me take off my bra. His gaze glides along my upper body, lingering on my chest. He kicks off his blanket, and I catch his erection twitching behind his pajama bottoms. He wants to have sex. I throw my bra on his face, pretending to laugh. “Get your mind out of the gutter. Your parents are two doors down.”
“Three,” he corrects, nuzzling his nose against my neck. “It’s all bathrooms and guest rooms. Seph’s room is the closest, and I’ve heard him banging girls through this wall enough times to mistake this place for a brothel. Dude had prolific adolescent years. It’s payback time. What do you say? Help me even out the score.”
Nausea washes over me. It feels like he’s punched me in the gut. Thinking about Joe with other women hurts like we are still together. Like the last six years didn’t happen. Of course, there’s no way my current boyfriend can know that.
I change into a black hoodie and matching sweatpants, then get into bed. Dom wraps his arms around me instantly. He thrusts his cock between us. “He wants to say hi.”
I force out a hollow laugh, kissing his lips. “Manners dictate I say hi back. But I’m tired, and just trying to process today. In a good way.” It’s my first lie to him since we met. Up until now, I’ve only ever just selected what pieces of truth to tell him. “Rain check?”
He scans my face for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough to show me that he knows something is up. I hold my breath, waiting for him to say something.
“Always. Good night, babe. I love you.”
He hasn’t called me out on it. Phew.
“Love you too.”
For the next five hours I toss and turn, sleepless and tortured, waiting for a sign, for a clue, for a breath from Joe. Something to tell me what he is thinking, feeling.
Like all my prayers, this, too, remains unanswered.
THIRTEEN
Dawn breaks through the gray Massachusetts fog at about quarter past seven in the morning, washing Dom’s childhood room in cool hues of blue and pink. The moon slinks behind naked winter trees. I’ve been watching it retreating for long minutes through the window. Knowing sleep is not on the menu, I shove my feet into Dom’s slippers and tiptoe to the bay window overlooking the Graveses’ garden.
It’s largely pebbled, with flowerpots and wooden vegetable beds. There’s one round wrought-iron table by the fence, accompanied by two chairs, and next to it stands Joe, smoking a cigarette.
I gasp a little at the sight of him. The dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t slept either. It makes me feel validated. Like I’m not overreacting to what’s happening here. As if sensing my eyes on him, Joe lifts his gaze and meets my stare head-on, billowing a thick ribbon of smoke sideways. I swallow, waiting for his next move.
He doesn’t move.
He is daring me. I can see it in his eyes.
What are you going to do about our little problem, Ever?
One of us needs to move the next piece on the chessboard. And since it was me who disappeared on him, I might as well bite the bullet. Gingerly, I make my way out of Dom’s room and to the backyard.
A wave of frost hits my face as I slide the backyard door open. I stand at a safe distance from him, like he could bite me. Joe opens his soft pack of cigarettes, tilting it in my direction.
I shake my head. “I don’t smoke.”
And you know that, I don’t add.
He shrugs, taking a drag of his cigarette as he stares at the last traces of the moon before it evaporates behind the trees.
“So. Seph, huh?” I ask. This is not the strongest way to start clearing the air, but I’m not known for my eloquence in times of crisis.
“My family insists on shortening Joseph to Seph.” He is matter of fact. Not too friendly, but not short with me.
“That’s weird.”
“Blame my granddad. This was his nickname. I’m Joe to everyone else. What’s your excuse?” He refers to my new nickname.
“I’m Ever to everyone, but I’m guessing when Dom mentioned me, he said my name was Lynne.”
“You’re guessing correctly,” Joe says, still looking at the spot beyond the pine trees. I decide to call him Joe. I know what it feels like to be called by a name you’re not particularly fond of.
“Uh.” I rub at my forehead, looking around us. “I have to say, I’m low-key freaking out about what’s happening here.”
“Join the fucking club. We’ve got beer.”
I wish he’d just turn around and look at me. He is trying to keep his distance, and I’m guessing it is out of respect for his brother.
Silence rings between us. “What happened to the writing?” I ask, finally.
“I grew up, that’s what happened.” A sardonic smile touches his lips. His eyes sweep over me quickly, stealing one glance before he shifts his gaze back to the brown fence. “It was time to earn a paycheck.”
“Getting a paycheck and writing are not mutually exclusive. You can work and still be a published author,” I say.
Joe whips his head my way, flicking his cigarette into a puddle of muddy melted ice. Smoke fans from both his nostrils, and his eyes are narrowed into dangerous slits. “Tell me more about chasing your dream, Miss Giving Random Tours in Salem to Bored Teenagers. Glass house, baby.” He raps the glass door behind my shoulder.
I stumble back from the impact of his words. I’m not used to this version of him. The callous one. Then again, I’m not used to him at all.
“How do you know?”
“Dom told me. What are you doing in Salem, anyway?”
“I didn’t go to Berkeley.” I offer this piece of information as concession. To show I’m not here to argue. That I want to explain.
“Why?” he asks.
“My mom died. A few days after I came back from Spain, actually.”
Finally, he drops the mask of indifference and looks at me. Really looks at me. His eyes are full. Full of things I want to dissect and drown in. For a second, I think he might hug me. But then he shoves his fists deep into his back pockets to stop himself, and my heart drops in my chest.
“Oh, shit. I’m really sorry, Ever.”
Ever. To hear my name on his lips again makes me want to shatter into rubble. It is the first time I feel like he is who I remember him to be. A boy who made me feel as bright and magnificent as the sun.
“Thank you.”
“How’d it happen?”
“She fell under a train at the BART.” I swallow hard. “To save me.”
Joe closes his eyes. “Double shit.”
Tears sting the back of my eyes. I haven’t told Dom how it happened. Or Nora. I haven’t told anyone. It’s so intimate . . . so violent . . .
Joe’s resolve breaks. Mine does too. Our bodies explode together in a desperate hug. It’s of the bone-crushing variety. Fingers clawing, bodies meshing together. So fierce and protective I never want to leave his arms. I shudder at his touch. I feel him shaking too. He strokes the back of my head. I weep until I run out of tears. Time evaporates into the atmosphere. Then I remember his shoulder is not mine to cry on.
Pulling away, I drink him in. I now know why I was drawn to Dom the first time we met. Both brothers have the same eyes. Marble blue, with gray dots.
Neither of us mentions that I stopped answering his texts and calls. That I disappeared from the face of the earth. I imagine he puts two and two together.
“I’m just glad you’re okay. Alive and safe. I wondered about that, you know,” I croak. His face turns steely again when he remembers how abruptly we parted ways. He takes a step back, putting space between us. “I’m sorry I—”
“Don’t,” he says, cutting me off. “You had a lot on your plate. And it’s for the best. We were kids. We rode the hormone train together. You got off first. Not your fault. It sucked at the time, but I got over it. I’m a big boy.”
It rips me open when he says that, even though I know it shouldn’t. Guilt consumes me. I feel horrible that Joe has to see his brother and me together. But I also feel terrible that Dom, unbeknownst to him, inserted himself into this messy situation.
“I’m happy with Dom,” I say quietly. Maybe happy is not the right word. I haven’t been happy in a long time. But existing hurts less when Dom’s around.
“Great,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s great. Dom’s a stand-up guy. He is kindhearted and responsible and, well, the better-looking one, if I’m honest.”
My nostrils flare. Why is he like that?
Like what? Loyal to his big brother and refusing to throw himself at you?
“Look, it’s no one’s fault it happened this way.” I don’t know why I’m saying this. He knows. He knows this is all a terrible coincidence.
“No. Now that I know why you disappeared, I can’t fault you for it. But even if you didn’t have a good reason, I’m hardly crushed.” An amused, crooked smirk touches his lips. I want to die. Perish. “It’s a surprise, is all. But we’re going to be grown-ups about it, so no harm done.”
“Well. We should probably tell him about what happened . . . ,” I say.
“Oh, Ever. Please.” Joe throws his head back and laughs. “I appreciate your overactive moral compass, but there’s nothing to tell. We fucked.”
The way he says the word fucked makes me want to slap him. I don’t believe that’s all we shared. I don’t believe he believes this was all we shared. But what are my options here? To convince him that what we had was good and real? What for? It’s not like we can go back. There will be no do-over for us. No chance to explain. To mend. To heal.
“Wouldn’t you want to know if you were in his shoes?” I ask.
Joe makes an Are you kidding me? face. The good news is, finally something has penetrated his indifference.
“No. I would be pissed if he told me. If I were in love with someone Dom screwed once under a full moon, and he shoved it in my face, I’d break his nose. Twice. Ignorance is bliss.”
Ignorance is bliss is the Antichrist of knowledge is power, which was what he told me the night we were together. Joe obviously did a one-eighty in the time we were apart.
