“Please don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like it’s sordid or something. It’s not.”
“Then what is it? Because I’m confused,” she says, with such earnestness that it kills me. “No one at school knows why you two broke up. I asked around when I became friends with both of you. I got the same story from everyone: that one day you were together and the next, bam, broken up, no explanation, ever, and you went back to being friends like nothing happened.”
“That’s not how it was.”
“Then how was it?” she asks. “How is it? Because now I’m wondering if I’ve stepped into the middle of some prolonged break that’ll mend someday. And I’m not doing that, Nora. I am not the bi diversion in act one of the rom-com where you end up back with the hot guy in act three.”
“You aren’t a diversion from anything,” I say fiercely, because I don’t know how to deal with hearing her fear like that. “There’s nothing to be diverted from. You . . .” I let out a breath. “You terrify me,” I blurt out, because that? That is the truth.
And that is probably the wrong thing to say to her, because it makes her scowl.
“That’s not something you want your girlfriend to tell you.”
“You make me want to tell you everything, right here, right now,” I continue. “Every mistake I’ve made. Every secret. Every scar and bruise and thing that’s hurt me. Being with you . . . I didn’t know things could be like this. I am terrified of fucking it up. If I do tell you everything about me and my mistakes, I’m afraid that will fuck it up. But it’s not because I’m pining for Wes or he’s pining for me. Did you see how he was looking at Amanda giving her speech last week? That’s what he looks like when he’s pining.”
“He really needs to just ask her out,” Iris mutters.
“I know. She’s great.”
“How do you think she’d react to your living arrangement?” Iris asks, and God, she is sharp like a brand-new box cutter . . . the kind you have to assemble yourself and pray you don’t slice your fingers in the process.
“He’s my best friend,” I say.
“So you both have told me.”
“His dad sucks, Iris.”
“I know they don’t get along,” she says like it’s some offhand thing. “But—”
“No, Iris, listen,” I say slowly, staring at her, trying to convey the truth beyond my words, because if I use my words, I’m betraying him. “His dad sucks. Do you understand?”
Her head tilts, her ponytail swinging free of her shoulders at the movement.
The back door bangs open before she can tell me, and we both turn at the noise just in time to see Wes streaking across the scrubby lawn and cannonballing into the pool, splashing us both with water.
Iris shrieks and jumps to her feet, and I just sputter as he bobs up out of the water, delighted.
“Wes! This belt has eighty-year-old gelatin sequins! They gum up if they get wet.” Iris shakes her head, fanning her skirt in front of her to better dry it. “You’re so—” She glances up, and her voice dies right out when she sees them.
He took his shirt off before he jumped into the pool. He doesn’t take his shirt off in front of people. He doesn’t go swimming anymore unless he’s here with me and Lee. He’s been careful for a long time.
But he’s not careful right now, and Iris sits down hard on the yellow chaise cushions with a soft “oh.”
He has shorts on, thank God. And he’s splashing around in the water like a human-sized golden retriever, so he doesn’t see or hear or realize. My eyes are on Iris as her horrified gaze fixes to his shoulders, and there’s no way I can even begin to spin the truth into fiction when she finally tears herself free of the shock.
I try to see the scars through first-time eyes, but I know him and them too well. My heart has a piece of Wes wrapped around it like a bandage. My skin will hold the memory of him as permanent, because you don’t forget the first person to touch you with love after life’s taught you all touch is fear and pain.
I say her name, trying to break her of the spell of Oh, God, what happened? When she whips toward me, whatever anger there was before has flipped to concern.
“Are you okay?” I ask her. “Do you want some water or . . .”
She shakes her head, staring at the ground as she puzzles it out. Her eyebrows are drawn together so hard, I wonder if the V between them will scrunch there permanently.