Ace of Hearts, page 7
“I won’t let him. If he wants to get at you, he’ll have to get through me first.”
I believed him. For all that he drove me up the wall sometimes, for all that we hurt each other now and then, it was something I knew with absolute certainty. We had each other’s backs, always.
The smell of burning waffles sent me racing for the kitchen—the first batch was cold from sitting on the counter while I had my meltdown, and the second batch was so charred I just dumped it in the trash.
Felix slid a plate onto the table, looking at me expectantly.
“I can’t. You go ahead.” I sat at the table with a glass of ice water, my arm curled around my raw, aching stomach like somehow it would hold all my broken pieces in place.
Felix shoveled the waffles into his mouth, closing his eyes and sighing.
“If I had known you cooked, I’d have begged to be your roomie years ago.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but I wasn’t surprised. Neither did mine.
“Of course I cook. What have you been doing for the last three years? Subsisting on cereal and ramen?”
“Don’t knock ramen! It comes in a variety of flavors, and it’s quick and cheap.”
“Well, as long as you’re here, you’re welcome to any and all meals.”
I left the invitation open, wondering if it was too subtle for him to catch. We didn’t have to annul after he graduated. We could keep this arrangement up. I really am selfish. I cringed. I’d happily keep him here to myself, though I was a dead-end future, not worth the investment. No kids, no intimacy—nothing to offer.
“Speaking of cooking, we missed Thanksgiving.” He sighed.
“I don’t celebrate that.”
“What? Why not?”
“I’m plenty thankful the other 364 days. I don’t need a day to be thankful. But it is totally acceptable to put up Christmas decorations.”
“There’s a waffle lot of cleanup to do—” He grinned, and I swatted him with a towel, scowling. “So why don’t you put on some music and I’ll do the dishes and we can start hanging lights and stuff?”
I left him to it, turning my cell volume all the way up and putting on an acoustic Christmas radio station while I jogged up the stairs to get the artificial tree out of the laundry room, where it spent ten or eleven months every year collecting dust in the closet by the dryer. The mixing bowl and plate and utensils clinked in the kitchen while I sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting branches based on the color of the tape wrapped around their stems, marveling at how quickly I had come down from my panic. It usually lasted for hours.
I wasn’t back to normal, but I was functional. That was a huge feat.
“Not a real one?” Felix asked from the door.
“I’m not murdering a tree just so it can die slowly in my living room. Also, I hate cleaning up the needles in the carpet.”
He started rooting through a saggy cardboard box full of garlands and tangled strands of lights that played music when you flipped a switch near the plug, went over to the stairs and wound silver and blue tinsel around the rail, then layered the bulbs on top of it so they sparkled, casting tiny little reflections of light all over.
“You have a lot of Christmas decorations.”
I wrestled the boughs of the tree into shape. “You know Christmas is my favorite.”
He took the topper—an old, bristly silver star on a white plastic cone, covered in rainbow lights—and placed it on the top without even having to stretch. Tall people were the worst. I hummed along with “The Holly and the Ivy,” carefully taking ornaments out of their tissue paper packaging and placing them strategically on the tree using little green metal hooks.
“Princess ballerinas. Space Jam. Spun glass hearts. Indiana Jones. Your taste is really…eclectic, isn’t it?”
I stuck my tongue out. “Keep talking—I dare you. See if I cook you any breakfast tomorrow.”
This was enough to make him behave, apparently. He had grown up seeing all these ornaments at my house, but I had never been allowed to hang them all at once—like some deranged decorator with wildly different tastes—because it looked “gaudy” and “tacky,” according to my mom. I grabbed handfuls of iridescent tinsel icicles and draped them artfully across the plastic needles.
“I could make my mom’s snickerdoodles,” he offered tentatively.
I froze. He never talked about her. Sometimes, I wondered if he even really remembered her. The Morlan family was divided by a firm before and after. Before was filled with Mrs. Morlan’s warm hugs that smelled like cinnamon, her gentle hands putting Band-Aids on our knees when we fell off our bikes, her habit of whipping up a batch of cookie dough for us to eat raw. After was filled with sorrow and pain, Mr. Morlan trying to be two people while his wife sat in jail for one moment of poor judgment.
Or rather, a lifetime of poor judgment that had finally caught up to her.
“I’d love that,” I said softly.
“Even…after, me and my dad would always make them. It’s just a Christmas thing.” He shrugged. “I know it’s only the end of November, but I figure since we’re already in the spirit…right?”
“Right.”
My family had always been nebulous. We existed close enough together that we could contact each other in case of emergency, but we all kept to ourselves. The Morlans were incredibly tightly knit. Felix called his dad every single night; his little sisters and brother thought he hung the moon. I had always sort of wished I was a Morlan, that I belonged somewhere. They had welcomed me into the fold even without any blood relation—Felix loved me, so by extension, they did too.
My phone buzzed, the music momentarily pausing before “I Saw Three Ships” resumed. Zach—who spelled out every word, which meant he wanted something. He ordinarily couldn’t be bothered, even when he knew it pushed my buttons.
7:47 PM
Hey Hesper. How’s married life treating you?
7:48 PM
Uh, fine? Why?
7:48 PM
Can’t I take an interest in my favorite employee/adopted daughter?
7:49 PM
Of course you can.
7:49 PM
But you hate texting.
7:49 PM
Soooo what’s the catch?
7:50 PM
Busted :(
7:52 PM
There is a thing
And if you did it for me
I would consider us even
7:53 PM
Because you owe me for being a witness for a fraudulent wedding right?
7:53 PM
Are you…blackmailing me?
7:55 PM
Come on, it’s not that bad. I just need you to take my spot on the scholarship gala committee.
I let out a little strangled noise of rage; Felix stuck his head around the corner, concern knitting his brow close.
“My boss is blackmailing me!”
“Like you wouldn’t do anything he asked you to anyway.”
“That’s not the point!”
The oven beeped and he retreated again.
8:00 PM
Meetings are Mondays and Wednesdays at 1 PM
8:01 PM
Best of luck, THANK YOU HESPER
“Thanks for nothin’,’’ I grumbled. I hated committees, and I really hated social gatherings. My phone vibrated again, and my inbox was flooded with forwarded emails from Zach about the gala committee.
He was on the decorating committee…which meant I was on the decorating committee. As jobs went, it wasn’t a horrible one. I would probably be climbing ladders and arranging vases full of feathers and glittery artificial flowers, ironing tablecloths, and sprinkling star-shaped confetti in Morrow’s colors all over. However, attendance at the event was required.
And it was themed. Good Lord.
I sidled into the kitchen, where Felix was sitting and waiting on his second batch of snickerdoodles to come out of the oven. One plate of hot cookies was already on the table, and I snatched one, breathing in deep and savoring the scent. It smelled like the Morlan house, more home than my own house had ever been growing up.
“Thank you.” I took a bite, closing my eyes. “Oh my God, I forgot how amazing these were.”
“They’re the one thing I can bake.” He got two mugs out of the cabinet and a carton of milk out of the fridge. “But with a recipe like this, who needs a bunch of fancy dishes?”
We filled our mugs with milk and toasted, devouring the entire first plate in a single sitting. He nudged his socked foot against mine. My phone vibrated again, and I wanted to fling it across the room until I saw it was a weather alert.
“Snow!” I shrieked so loud Felix almost dropped his drink.
“Geeze, Hes, speak up a little. Maybe the neighbors down the block didn’t hear you.”
He was smirking, trying to get a rise out of me, but nothing could spoil this. It was the first snow of the season. I grabbed my coat and jammed my boots on and ran out of the door. Nothing had accumulated yet, but it was magic, my breath coming out in small white puffs and falling flakes so big I could make out the delicate shapes of them. I held my arms out and twirled.
“You’re gonna freeze out here!” Felix shouted from the doorway, leaning out on his crutches again.
The streetlamps illuminated tiny pools of light in the darkness, the points of snow shining. Nobody else was out in their yards or on the street. Everything was still, quiet, waiting for…something. Anything. I stuck out my tongue and let several fluffy clumps of snowflakes land on it.
I wanted every moment to feel like this—so full of potential, nothing pressing in on me or hovering over me, beautiful and silent. I pivoted on my toes one more time, my arms held out and my palms cupped upward, and caught Felix staring like he didn’t know me. His gaze was intense and confusing, and my heart stuttered.
“I wish I had a snowball to throw at you!”
He smiled. “Maybe in the morning.”
I jogged back to the door. He moved toward me rather than away and I wrapped my arms around him, struggling to keep us both from overbalancing. My face had been numb from the cold, but blood rushed to it, heating my cheeks as we stood in the open doorway, eyes wide, faces inches apart. Kissing was still germy, still gross, but I understood the appeal people must have seen in it. I certainly felt something, a tightness in my chest as I stared at his eyelashes, his cheekbones, his dimples, his perfect bowed lips. There was a little scar above his right eyebrow where he jumped out of a swing and landed badly when we were kids.
I don’t know how long we stood there. If he had leaned forward, I might have been willing to give kissing a try. He moved slowly, deliberately, and whispered in my ear.
“What do you get when you cross a snowman and a vampire?”
I burst out in a fit of giggles, half relieved and half disappointed.
“Hey, don’t laugh before the punch line!” He dropped his arms, stepping back. The spell was broken. The oven beeped insistently; the last batch of cookies ready. “Frostbite,” he added, anticlimactically, and I shut the door, shaken at the intensity of…whatever it was that had just happened.
He took the tray out of the oven, and we settled on the couch, flipping off the light switch and letting the soft rainbow glow from the Christmas tree wash over us. His face was half in shadow but I knew it as well as—maybe better than—I knew my own.
“I have to decorate for the New Year’s scholarship gala,” I said glumly. “And I have to attend. It’s from seven to ten on December 31st, and it’s, uh…themed.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Themed?”
“Midnight masquerade.” I covered my face with my hands, cringing. “And it’ll look very weird if I show up alone. So—do you think you could go? With me? To the gala?”
Excuse me while I crawl under the couch and never come back out. I was horrified. Could I have made that any more awkward?
“Of course,” he agreed easily. “Just like our old New Year’s Eve parties, but with costumes. Which masked man do you want as an escort? Tuxedo Mask? Phantom of the Opera?”
I laughed, some tangled knot inside me easing. It wasn’t weird, despite our tense moment on the threshold of the door—it was normal. It was just Hesper and Felix, the way it had always been. The way it would always be.
I stood up.
“Your knee will never heal right with you camping out on the couch. I have a king-sized bed, y’know—plenty of room. It’s not like we haven’t had sleepovers before.”
“Are you sure you’re comfortable with that? I don’t mind. I’m just grateful you’re letting me stay here.”
“You aren’t sleeping on my sofa for a year, Felix.”
“Thanks.” He stood up and stretched, then ambled over to the closet and dug through his laundry for the T-shirt and thin old pajama pants he slept in. “See you upstairs in a few.”
I took the stairs two at a time, nervous without understanding why—other than the fact that I was almost always nervous about something. If it wasn’t Felix, it would be something else. I locked the door, shucked my clothes and hastily shoved them in the hamper, changed into my pajamas. I unlocked it again when I heard his footsteps, slower and less even than they used to be, but he was improving, walking up the stairs on his own without his crutches or scooting up one step at a time. I pulled the covers up to my chin, acutely aware of every little noise and every inch of my skin. I had a side now. That was a thing.
Felix slipped inside, deliberately making noise so I wouldn’t be startled, and crawled up beside me, a good two feet of space between us. I wished this was marriage; I wished just being close to someone was enough. But I was pretending, a kid playing house, faking like I knew how to be a grown-up. This was everything I wanted, with none of the expectations I didn’t, but it wasn’t fair to Felix. It wasn’t what normal people wanted. So, in a year, once he graduated, I would let him go, knowing I would never have this again.
Outside, the snow continued to fall, and he turned on his side to watch it, facing me. Though he kept his distance, he reached out tentatively, slowly, like he was trying not to spook an easily frightened animal. I inched my fingers closer to his, the tips brushing, then he laced them together, warmth in the dark and the cold of the night.
“Good night, H.”
“Good night, Felix.”
His breathing dropped off quickly, slow and steady and even, his hand growing limp in mine as he slept. It didn’t come so easily to me. I stayed awake for a long time, watching the snowflakes and wishing and hoping and praying and pining without even knowing, for sure, what it was that I wanted.
Chapter Six
Felix
LIFE MOVED, EVEN when I wanted it to stand still while I figured out what the heck was going on. Hesper stayed home, settled on the couch with a book, and I took Calamity, driving for the first time since my injury, to my final prescribed physical therapy session. I would be on Hesper’s insurance soon, and she’d already looked into it—any future therapy would be covered by it, with a small co-pay due at each visit. But maybe I wouldn’t need too many more sessions, because in my first week working at the fitness center, I spent every second I wasn’t on the clock on a stationary bike, on an elliptical—anything to speed up my recovery.
“You’ve made astounding progress, Felix.” Ava, my therapist, smiled as I showed off my range of motion. It felt strange to have my brace off, to have my knee exposed to open air. All I could imagine was it buckling the wrong way again, the sickening feeling of the joint and tendons popping loose. Once you suffered an injury like that, you were more prone to reinjury.
But I wanted to walk. And I wouldn’t tell Ava this, or anyone else, but in a couple of weeks’ time I wanted to be able to dance. I wanted to surprise Hesper, to sweep her up in my arms and twirl her while she laughed at the gala. I had never been to any party fancy enough to be called a gala, and I didn’t know if dancing was even part of it, but it was a goal to work toward.
I had almost crossed a line the night it snowed, when Hesper ran outside and danced in the streetlight’s glow and had, for a moment at least, acted like she felt a spark between us. I hadn’t kissed her, but her eyes were wide and snow was stuck to her lashes and her lips were slightly parted like maybe it would have been okay to try. And did I want to? Did I want to kiss my best friend and screw everything up? This wasn’t the obligatory, ceremonial kiss I expected to happen at the courthouse. This was organic, created in a moment neither of us expected.
Instead, I had told her a joke to set her at ease, because I didn’t want to come on too strong. It had been the right thing to do. This was something I had always known about her: with Hesper, you had to move at a glacial pace. Was that something I was willing to do? Every girl I’d dated before hadn’t thought twice—kissing them was as easy as breathing.
Oh my God. I am not kissing my best friend. What the hell is wrong with me?
I had been in love before, and it didn’t feel like this. There was no wildfire of desperation between us. My judgment was clouded by how nice it was to have a routine with her—how I got to watch her try to muster outrage and struggle not to laugh when I punned at her; falling asleep holding hands; watching movies by the light of the Christmas tree, her legs draped across my lap and a bowl of popcorn between us.
“Something’s got you worked up.”
I jerked, realizing how much I had increased my pace on the bike, my leg throbbing. Ava’s eyebrows were delicately arched, her red hair pulled back in a long, straight ponytail. She was pretty, friendly, funny. So why didn’t I want to kiss her? I could have. I only wore my ring to Morrow. I was not in a relationship with Hesper.
Except the part where I kind of was. A one-sided one. Damnit.
“I guess I have to give you a clean bill of health. I’m very impressed at your work ethic.”
“Guess the original verdict still stands—no more football?”
“No more contact sports, period. You could take up golf—it’s a lot more challenging than you’d think, and it would be low-impact on your knee.”
I followed Ava to the counter by the door, where she keyed something into the computer on the desk. She reached across and gave me a firm handshake and a genuine smile, and I should have given her my number, but I didn’t, because she was wonderful but I already knew exactly what I wanted and she wasn’t it.
