Under the Same Stars(86)

“You have some impressive hardware,” Dad said, trying to sound upbeat. “A titanium plate, a handful of screws, and an anchor for the tendon.”

“Yes, it’s a shame no one will ever see,” I deadpanned.

“Fear not,” Da said. “I’ve insisted on a copy of the X-ray.”

Dad winked. “We can bring it out at parties.”

I smiled weakly. “When can we go home?”

“Soon,” Da told me. “They want you to rest a little longer, and then you’ll be discharged.”

I nodded, exhausted.

“We’re so sorry we weren’t home,” Da said, running a hand through my hair. “And we shouldn’t have left you alone, especially with Austin and the McCallisters also gone.”

“Probably not,” I said. “I’m clearly ill-equipped.” My eyes welled up. “But Katie came.”

“Yes,” they said. “Katie came.”

***

I wasn’t the most delightful patient. For the first two weeks after surgery, I wore a splint that was so tightly wrapped it felt like there was no blood circulating below my knee. After many a complaint, Da unwrapped and rewrapped the bandage to make me more comfortable, and I started sleeping on the family room couch so I wouldn’t need to be carried upstairs every night. Arthur, who loved the couch, looked absolutely affronted when he realized there was no space for him. He settled for his monogrammed dog bed in the corner.

School did not happen the first week. I stayed home and binged One Day on Netflix, which depressed me. The original Sex and the City series boosted my spirits, but calling my field hockey coaches made me miserable. “Here’s my dad,” I said like a little kid, handing the phone to Da when their questions got super specific.

I received so many texts and FaceTimed with teammates.

Connor brought my homework every day. He unpacked his backpack, and we worked together until dinnertime.

Natalie and Davis visited. She painted my nails while Davis played some hidden gems he’d discovered on Spotify.

Meredith and Wit sent me a box of sympathy fudge a couple days after the bridesmaid chat blew up from the news. OMFG, Amanda wrote one day, like she’d just had an epiphany. Will you be in a boot for the wedding?! Or still on crutches?!

I skimmed it in silence, but then openly performed my best imitation of Amanda. No one would hear me; today was unseasonably warm and sunny, so Da had moved my camp into the Garden.

“Respond that you’ll be in boot, but you’ll need a scooter to go down the aisle,” someone said, his smooth voice a stranger for so long. “You won’t be able to put any weight on it yet.”

A ripple rolled up my spine, I looked up from my phone to see Marco at the garden gate. Tousled brown hair, burgundy sweater, navy pants, and Chelsea boots. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. Here he was, finally, in the flesh.

“What are you doing here?” I choked out.

“My afternoon classes were canceled today,” he replied, settling on the edge of the koi fishpond. “Or, in other words, I had a scheduling conflict and could not attend them.”

He skipped, I thought, pulse quickening. He skipped class to see me.

“My mother has requested I be home for dinner,” Marco said as I resisted the urge to touch him. He was so close, close enough for me to reach out and rest my hand on his knee. “But I’m yours until then. We can do whatever you’d like.”

“Twenty questions?” I asked. “Can we play twenty questions?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

“Great,” I said, fire flaring in my heart. “My version, though.”

“What’s your version?”

I went in for the kill. “There are only three questions, not twenty, and I will be the one asking them.”

“Ah.” Marco rubbed the back of his neck. “I walked into that, didn’t I?”

I tried to keep my composure. “Sometimes I feel like we’re so close,” I said. “Last-thought-at-night, first-thought-in-the-morning close.” I thought about everything he’d shared, from how happy he was to shed his high school hoodies and prom king persona when he got to Princeton, to his dream of writing a book, to inviting me to Stone Harbor. “But then suddenly you’re drifting away, like you’ve changed your mind—you’d rather be nothing more than a guy I used to know.” I swallowed. “You can’t have it both ways, Marco. It’s not fair.”

Marco was silent for a moment, then caught my eyes and held them. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, right about to fall. “What’s the first question?”

I cleared my throat. “Why did you break up with Shelly again?”

“Because she’s toxic,” he said. “She’s arrogant, narcissistic, and manipulative.” He paused. “She also stole my laptop to email herself my manuscript.” He made a face as my eyes widened. “Apparently, she wanted to see if it was any good.”

I wished I could sew my mouth shut.

Marco smirked. “If you ask what it’s about, it counts as a question.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Maybe someday.” He winked, then prompted, “Next question?”

“Why did you get back together with Shelly when…?” I trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid. Why did you get back together with Shelly when you were thinking about me?