Goodbye Earl(17)

spend time together. How are you

feeling? Are you sleeping enough?

Drinking lots of water?



Wow. I’m fine. Yes, mom.



Stop that.



Sorry (not sorry). ☺



Have fun! Call me later. Ilu.



Ilu too.



She texted Leo.

Wyd?



Depends. Wyd?



Missing you, honestly.



Gross. I miss you too. Where’s

Esme this week?



Seattle. Last week was Vancouver.



For how much longer?



Few days? IDK. Can I come over

tonight?



Sure you feel up for it?



Absolutely.



Well, then you better.



Wanna sing together? Practice for

the wedding…IF we get around to it?



Dumb questions, Ro.



:p XO



Love.



Rosemarie put her phone in her pocket, and after she used the bathroom and washed her hands, she patted the cold water on her cheeks. She stared at her reflection so long she started to dissociate.

*



She went into the backyard and got a peek at the lunch spread. Fishy finger sandwiches and blue cheese romaine salads with rings of red onions. Big glass bowls of grapes and every kind of berry, plums, and peaches. More fruit floated in the pitchers of water in the middle of the tables. Too much. Her brain might’ve been hungry but her stomach wasn’t on board. She’d go home and nap instead. She told Ada and Kasey that and went upstairs to find Caro and tell her too. She moved toward Ada’s old bedroom and heard Caro behind the door, talking and crying. Rosemarie stood quietly listening. She wouldn’t usually eavesdrop, but Caro’s mood had been bordering on gloomy lately, and there was something odd about the way she’d said she’d had a fight with Trey. Something dark. Rosemarie didn’t want to think the worst, but her intuition was rarely wrong. She closed her eyes; she had to close her eyes whenever she thought about Caro hurting. Rosemarie couldn’t make out everything Caro was saying, but she heard the fear in her wavy voice, the pauses and trembling. When Rosemarie couldn’t stand it any longer, she pushed the door open.

“I’ve gotta go,” Caro said quickly, ending the call.

“Girl, what’s up? Was that Trey? Seriously, if this is still about last night, he needs to get over it.”

“No. It’s fine. I’m drunk and he’s an asshole sometimes no matter what I do,” Caro said, hugging her phone to her chest. When she looked up at the ceiling, she began sobbing.

Rosemarie put her arms around Caroline, closed her eyes. She didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t say anything at all. Just held her and let her cry.



Rosemarie convinced Caro to sleep it off. She’d seen Caro drunk plenty of times, but this time she was sad drunk. So early in the day too. While Rosemarie sat next to the pillow, petting Caro’s hair, she was in and out of sleep, apologizing. For being too drunk, for not asking about Esme enough. Caro even apologized for a stupid fight she and Rosemarie got into back in middle school over which famous artist to pick for their group project. Rosemarie wanted to do Van Gogh and Caro chose Georgia O’Keeffe. They had to do O’Keeffe since Rosemarie was outnumbered.

“I picked her because everything she painted was a vagina and I love vaginas. You love vaginas too, but I’m sorry, Roses,” Caro said.

Rosemarie cackled and touched Caro’s cheek.

“You’re right. You’re exactly right, sweet Caroline. I do love vaginas.” Rosemarie shushed her. “Go to sleep.”

“I’m very drunk.”

“I know. It’s all right. Drink some more water and take these. You’ll feel better, and I’ll see you later tonight,” Rosemarie said quietly. Caro sat up enough to swallow the ibuprofen. Rosemarie made her drink one more big gulp of water before she lay down again and closed her eyes.



Caro’s phone lit up with messages from Trey.

i get so mad at you

but you married me so it cant be

all bad bc

you love me

why else would we be together

i wasnt hurting for a fucking

woman when i asked you

i may swing by dukes

text me later

and yes the chicken was good



Rosemarie knew Caro’s passcode; RACK had always known one another’s favorite numbers and passwords. She put it in, and feeling guilty—but not guilty enough to not do it—she read the texts from Trey. Caro snuggled up in the blankets and rolled away from her. Rosemarie could smell the alcohol sweetening her sleeping breath, warming up the room. The song the bluegrass band was playing ended with a quick flair of fiddle, and another took its place. “Blue Moon of Kentucky.”

Rosemarie’s stomach hurt as she read through Trey’s nasty responses to Caroline. Rosemarie had never really known or liked Trey; none of them had except Caro, and obviously she saw something good in him, peeking out from behind the dark clouds of that much money and his family name. And although Trey’s looks were tolerable, Mr. Darcy’s words ran through Rosemarie’s head oftentimes when she saw him: Not handsome enough to tempt me.