Beautiful Graves, page 14
Hearing him say that is pure agony. Not only because it highlights how deeply Dom cares about me, but also because it reminds me that Joe feels nothing toward me anymore.
“This is morally dicey.” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Everything about this situation is morally fucked. I know it, you know it. Let’s just keep our distance and pretend like Spain never happened,” he says bitterly. “I still need to wrap my head around this. Promise you won’t say anything.”
My back is against the wall. I can tell Joe wants to protect his brother. I want that too. But the lie sits heavy on my chest.
Joe’s eyes scan me, never leaving my face, begging for confirmation.
I cave in and nod. This is the least I can do. “All right. Yeah. I promise.”
He leans forward and presses his cold lips against my forehead. I close my eyes. “Thank you,” he breathes.
Before I can answer, Joe thunders toward the door, pushes it open, and disappears, leaving me in a cloud of cigarette smoke.
For the first time in six years, my heart cracks open.
And all the tar-like, gooey grief pours out.
FOURTEEN
Christmas Day comes and goes without a hitch. Joe and I perfect the art of ignoring one another yet glaring at each other throughout. We’ve come up with a few looks so far. The This is so crazy, right? look, as well as the What did we ever do to deserve this? glare. When he gives me the I know he is not the one; I can see it on your face glance, I am almost tempted to repay him with a By the way, your brother is great in bed stare.
I’m surprised no one mentions how much we glare at each other. Neither of us is making an effort to conceal what’s happening. And when Gemma asks if Joe and I can help tidy up the kitchen together while everyone else is on dining room duty, I wash the dishes and he dries them, and all we do is whisper-shout.
“You’re being obvious,” I hiss at him.
“That’s not the greatest sin to commit. I could be mean, bitter, short tempered . . .”
“I hate that this is happening,” I groan, handing him a dripping plate.
“You know.” He runs a towel over it. “Strangely enough, I hated it more when this wasn’t happening.”
Does this mean he is glad to see me? That he still cares? I daren’t ask. It’s an unfair question to ask him, and one of devastating consequences to me.
The next morning, Dom and I pack our bags, say our goodbyes, and leave. During the ride home, I think about my conversation with Joe and decide that he is not wrong. Telling Dom what happened between us would achieve nothing but heartache. It is likely Dom wouldn’t end things with me, but he would always know, and it would always haunt him.
He’d imagine us kissing, writhing, groaning, gripping.
When I get back home, the apartment is empty. It’s better that way. I still have to digest Nora and Colt’s conversation about me. I have an urge to tell them that I’m fine. That they can move in together. That she can leave. I’m not lonely at all. But the truth is, all I have is Dom, and even that looks like a big fat question mark right now.
Time stutters throughout the day. Dom has a shift at the hospital, and I find myself pacing my room, back and forth. My thoughts revolve around Joe, but I tell myself it’s natural. It’s just the shock. It’ll wear off. Dom is my reality. He is the man I’m in love with.
I want to prove Joe wrong about me, and I don’t even know why.
Struck by an unexplainable desire to do something with my hands, I take out the fuck-you box Dad sent me and pour its contents onto my comforter. There’s an old camera Mom gave me when I was a preteen and dabbled in amateur photography, and the sketches of the graves I drew. There are also Polaroid pictures of Mom and me in her gallery. Pictures from our Alcatraz tour and eating ice cream in Union Square, crossing the Golden Gate Bridge on our bikes, and riding the back of the cable car. Mom always said it was a travesty that big-city people never saw their home through tourists’ eyes. We loved to do the corny stuff on our free weekends, when Renn and Dad were busy hitting the waves.
I miss her so much I can’t breathe. I collapse on my comforter, next to all the memories of her, and weep. Once my tears start flooding, so do the memories. But in all this pain there is also a seed of hope. I am reminded of who I am, and more importantly—who I can become.
“I’m going to do you proud, Barbie Lawson,” I whisper, jamming my feet into my boots. I run downstairs and out the door in the pouring rain to the nearest hobby shop and slap the door open, a woman possessed. I buy a sketch pad, drawing pencils—I splurge on a thirty-five-piece set, with charcoals and pastels—and a pinboard with some pins. Then I make a beeline back home, brew myself a cup of green tea, like Mom and I used to drink, and for the first time in six years, do something that makes me happy.
I draw a gravestone.
For Mom.
When Nora comes home a day later, I tell her about the whole Joe-is-Seph debacle.
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.” Nora waves her hands frantically in front of my face. We’re on the couch. Loki is in my lap, purring like a broken laundry machine. I am 55 percent sure my roommate is either drunk or completely hungover and not in a state to digest all the information I’ve just thrown at her. She is currently holding her head, presumably to keep it from exploding.
“You’re telling me that the mysterious Graves brother, Seph, is actually Joe? Your Joe? And that he’s been living in Salem all along?”
I nod, watching her closely for a reaction.
“Damn, Ever! You are so unlucky!”
I don’t like her reaction. Which is okay. Nora is entitled to say whatever is on her mind. I’m the one who volunteered this information. But I cannot help but miss Pippa. Pippa has a knack for always knowing what to say. She’d know what to do. She’d take charge and give me an in-depth analysis, followed by step-by-step instructions on what to do. But I cut all ties with her after Mom died. Not that she had anything to do with it. I was too ashamed, too embarrassed, too unworthy to keep in touch with her.
“Okay, sorry, that was totally insensitive.” Nora pats my shoulder. “What I mean is, as much as I’m impressed by how you found each other after all these years, I’m sure you know you can’t be with him, right? With Joe, I mean.”
She looks me in the eye to make sure I don’t get any crazy ideas.
I look sideways and chuckle. “Of course not. What am I, insane?”
“Phew.” Nora wipes imaginary sweat from her forehead. “Because you need to stay with Dom. I mean, any girl would be lucky to have Dom, but you two seem especially good together. He gets you. You complete one another.”
The problem with listening to Nora’s advice is that I’m no longer sure if she is giving it to better my life or her own. I know how convenient it would be if Dom asked me to move in with him tomorrow morning. Which he might, by the looks of things.
“I mean . . . sometimes I wonder, you know.” I put it out there, in the universe.
“Wonder about what?” She angles her head.
“About Dom and me. If we’re really that good together, or if it’s just because we’re so . . .” Desperate to love someone. Anyone. I need Dom because he fills my life, so loving him is easy. He is my lifeline. As for why he picked me—I’m still not completely sure about that.
“Of course you’re good together. Do you think I don’t wonder about other guys every now and then? Because I do. All the time. But ultimately, Colt is the entire package for me.”
Yes, I want to say. But that’s the thing about relationships. Experience may vary.
“I don’t know if he’s the one,” I say, because it’s the honest-to-God truth. Especially now.
“Well, do you love him?” Nora asks.
“Yeah, of course.”
“And is the sex good?”
“The sex is great.”
“Do you think he’ll be a good dad?” Nora fires her questions in dazzling speed.
“Dom? He’s going to be perfect. A T-ball-coach type of dad.”
“Then there you have it. He’s the one. Final verdict.”
I don’t think it’s that simple, but I have a feeling Nora and I will be going in circles for eternity if I continue questioning my feelings. She is firmly on Team Dover (Dom and Ever). Loki jumps from my lap, heading for his bowl. Nora sighs dreamingly.
“What?” I look at her more closely now, noticing for the first time that she is not drunk nor hungover. She is glowing. Her smile is big enough to fit a banana into. Horizontally.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” She waves her hand in my face again—for the sixth time since she got in the door, actually—and I finally see it. The big, glaring, shiny diamond ring twinkling on her engagement finger.
I let out an ear-piercing shriek, and we both jump on the couch in unison, holding hands. Words fly in the air like confetti. Oh my God and Show me the ring again and You’re going to be a perfect bride and How did he do it?
It takes us ten minutes to stop crying and hugging and gasping at the huge diamond Colt chose for her. She tells me that it happened over the Christmas holiday. That she had begun unwrapping all her gifts, and Colt made her open the smallest one last. Her parents recorded the entire thing. And she and Colt are now trending on TikTok as a result. Then she shows me the video of Colt getting down on one knee while her mom shouts in the background, “Back straight, Nora!” and I cry and laugh all over again, because I’m happy—so happy for her—and because I want that kind of stability in my life too.
A little voice reminds me that I can, in fact, have it. I can choose perfect. All I have to do is turn my back on one night in Spain.
Hashtag Best Couple Ever.
FIFTEEN
Two days later, I cook Dom a meal at his place. I stick to my winning (and only) recipe. Pasta with a premade supermarket sauce and fried drumsticks coated with breadcrumbs. Dom has pulled numerous double shifts this week, covering for some people who took extended Christmas vacations. Since we didn’t do the deed at his parents’ house over Christmas, it has now been a week since we’ve had sex. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to have sex with him right now. I’m still tangled up in my feelings.
I hate that I’m hiding a secret from him. Which is why I try to compensate by being the girlfriend he deserves. Also, I’m aware that the clock is ticking and that Nora is a breath away from telling me she is moving out. She should move out. I’ve ruined enough lives in my short lifetime.
I’ve already done the calculations, and I can rent the place on my own. It’s probably for the best that I stay there for at least one more year. I can’t see myself taking big steps with Dom, with everything that’s going on.
“Food’s amazing, babe,” Dom moans as he tears into a drumstick. My mother always said you can tell a lot about a man by the way he eats his fried chicken, and Dom’s a savage when it comes to his meal. He licks his fingers and separates the meat from the bone, crushing the semihard parts with his teeth. Oil drips down his chin. He is like that during sex too. Hungry and raw and real. Yet in just about any other area in life, he is sweet, agreeable, almost placid; the two versions of him coexist, but I cannot help but suspect that he is one more than the other. What bothers me is I don’t know which part of him is real and which part is for show.
After Dom is done eating, I clear the table, wash the dishes, and massage his feet while we’re watching a movie adaptation of a book he forgot to read for his book club. We’re in his bed. At some point my earring disappears, and I crouch down and look for it on his floor. Dom puts the movie on pause and helps me. He shakes the blanket and the pillows. Pads along the hallway, squinting at the floor. He is at the edge of the hallway when my fingers touch a thin gold necklace under his bed. I grab it. It spills between my fingers, shimmering. It has the letter S on it.
Sally?
Sonya?
Slutbag?
“Dom?” I call out, angling the necklace here and there, watching as it glimmers under the streaks of sunlight pouring through the venetian blinds.
He strides over to his room. “Yeah, babe?”
Silently, I raise the golden necklace between us, waiting for an explanation. He reaches and plucks it from between my fingers, frowning.
“Whoops.”
“Indeed,” I say. “Care to explain?”
My heart is in my throat. I realize this is my out. If Dom has cheated on me, I can turn my back. Walk away. Not feel guilty about it . . . then what? Hit Joe up? Oh, hey, so your brother and I are over, and I was wondering if you wanna catch up?
What am I even thinking right now? I don’t want to break up with Dom. I love him. He is my safe haven.
Dom hands me back the necklace, ruffling his perfect hair. “It was before we got together. Way before. Her name was Sierra. It was one date. Tinder. I don’t usually do those, but I’d just lost a patient and was feeling really raw. Needless to say, I went and got checked afterward. Washed the linens five hundred times. Boiled them. The cleaner must’ve not reached under the bed. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”
Even though Dom has done nothing wrong (officially, anyway), I’m still a little put off by both the necklace and his explanation. I also feel a weird sense of disappointment to know there was no foul play. That means that he is perfect, after all. And perfect, as we all know, is where nothing grows.
“What, you don’t believe me?” He sounds shocked and hurt.
“No, I do. Of course I do!” I find myself apologizing. Now I feel bad. “It’s just . . . jarring.”
Dom takes the necklace from me, then makes a show of dumping it into the trash can. He claps his hands clean in a good riddance motion. “There. Done. Now let’s move on, please. This was before I knew you were in existence. Before I became your seventy-six-percent chance to marry. You’re a game changer, Lynne.”
“Speaking of game changers.” I muster a smile, chanting in my head It’s fine, it’s fine, everything is fine. “It’s supposed to be chances we don’t get married. You changed the rules.”
He hooks his finger around the collar of my shirt and pulls me into him in a savage kiss. “Maybe I play dirty.”
“I like dirty.”
I forget all about my missing earring, and the movie, and suddenly his teeth are skimming the side of my jaw, nibbling and biting softly as he makes his way to my breasts. Then he stops, remembering something.
“Have you called the people about the calligraphy class?”
My old friend, dread, pops in for a visit. It feels like I have a chore list, and that I’m failing miserably at tackling it.
“Nope. But I will, in February. January is always a busy month for me. Tours every day. Inventory in the shop. I couldn’t even find a time to jump on a plane and see my family.” That’s my version of the truth, and it’s a murky one. Technically, I haven’t been invited there since Christmas. “And I’m taking more shifts at the shop, now that Nora’s engaged and could move out on me any minute.”
And the kitchen sink, I hear Mom’s voice chuckling in my head. You’ve given him every excuse on planet earth why you don’t want to go to this course, other than the truth—that you’re not bloody interested in it!
“You know you can always move in here,” he says. “I mean, Loki already hinted he’d be down for it.”
“Thanks for offering. I don’t want either of us to feel pressured, though.”
“I don’t feel pressured. Do you feel pressured?” Dom asks.
I don’t know how to answer that. I mean . . . yes? No? Sometimes?
“No,” I say, finally, because it’s not his fault that I’m completely messed up and obsessed with his baby brother.
“It’s settled, then. When Nora moves out, you’re moving in with me.”
“Let’s pin this conversation,” I suggest.
Dom presses his thumb against an imaginary pinboard between us with his hand. “All right, but I’m not going to forget. You don’t have to be alone anymore. I’m here to help, babe.”
Something between appreciation and anxiety stirs in my chest. I lean to kiss him. With his hand pressed against the small of my back, he pulls me down on top of him. He splays my thighs on either side of his waist and pushes me down, taking charge. I can no longer postpone the inevitable. He reaches between us, under my skirt, and nudges my underwear to the side, his thumb rubbing against my entrance. I’m soaking wet. Even when my brain is unsure of Dom, my body has no doubts. I’m embarrassed and annoyed and, above all, confused.
He stares at me lazily, through hooded eyes. “I want to make love to you,” he says. And I can’t deny him. This is what we should be doing. A young, happy couple in our prime. I’ll get over Joe. Now that he is no longer a faded, romantic memory but a real person, always within reach, the glow of his greatness will diminish.
“I . . . ,” I start, but he is already inside me. Still fully clothed, after tugging his sweatpants down.
I gasp in surprise, digging my fingers into his shoulders and pulling back. Dom grabs my ass and pushes me over his erection, filling my insides until I feel my lips hitting the root of him.
“Ahhhh.” I throw my head back, the pleasure too intense, too addictive.
It is good, but it is also different. The entire time we have sex, I feel disconnected. Like I’m floating, hovering, not present in the situation. It almost feels like masturbation. We both come. When Dom collapses by my side, spent and sweaty, I realize we didn’t kiss the entire time we were having sex.
He picks up a lock of my hair and twirls it around his forefinger. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
“Hmm?” I smile up at him, feeling like a china doll. Precious and fragile and incredibly empty. I can feel the echo of each of my heartbeats.
“Seph suggested we all grab lunch sometime this week. Apparently, he’s feeling bad for not giving you enough attention during Christmas.”
I forget how to breathe. Or, at the very least, do it incorrectly. I’m heaving.
