chapter twenty-two
IT’S BEEN A week since the bathtub. In the days since, Scott has been trying to pretend that everything is completely and totally okay by practicing rigorous self-control and ensuring a safe distance between us. Two couch cushions away. Avoidance of small spaces. At all times. In fact, he nearly dropped his water bottle when our fingers lightly touched upon exchange, as if my skin was lava.
As much as I’m keen to abide by the old-fashioned “courting” arrangement, I am a millennial, after all. Instant gratification is beyond tempting, particularly when he brushes against me, dutifully spotting me as I do my squat sets.
But today, I have no time to reflect on my pent-up sexual frustration, because I’ve been tasked to gallivant around the greater Boston area to pick up décor items Grandma Flo found dirt cheap on Facebook Marketplace (her new obsession), as if she needs an excuse to buy more junk.
Centerpieces and miscellaneous décor are about the only things Grandma is not inheriting from what was formerly Tara’s wedding. Apparently, Tara’s décor lady issued a partial refund after she broke down crying in her office days after the wedding was canceled.
Fetching items from random people online is always an adventure. And Scott has volunteered to join me, despite delaying me by an hour and a half with no explanation.
When I pick him up, he mumbles a bored “Hey,” but makes no eye contact.
He’s hardly speaking, aside from one-word answers. He’s the opposite of his normal, happy-go-lucky, smiles-when-he-talks self. He doesn’t even crack a smile when I blast “Thong Song” by Sisqó at maximum volume. Listening to the dirty anthems of our millennial youth in ridged, thick silence is hella awkward. And it’s not just my imagination that he’s also pressed as far as possible into the passenger window, scrolling on his phone for thirty long minutes while we’re stuck in traffic.
I sneak a sideways glance at him while committing the ultimate crime of lowering the volume on Beyoncé. “You know, you didn’t have to come if you were going to be a miserable twerp the entire time.”
He arches his brow at me for a split second. “A miserable twerp? That’s a new one.”
“I stand by it.” I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “Seriously though, just say the word and I’ll drop you back off.”
He keeps his stare locked straight ahead. “No. I want to hang out with you.” His tone does little to reverse my clouding doubt.
But though I’m curious about why he’s acting like an emo sixteen-year-old boy tormented by thoughts of his mortality, I have little time to dwell, because we’ve reached our first stop. We’re picking up a box of unused votive candles from a man sporting a hideous beige turtleneck that might as well be a federal offense, as Mel would say. His name is Spike. Why Grandma thought it would be safe to send me to the address of a man named Spike is beyond me.
On our way to the second destination, we’ve advanced to making stilted small talk about the oppressively humid weather like sixty-five-year-old retirees. Or random coworkers who have absolutely nothing in common forced together on some dreadful business road trip, which strangely sounds kind of hot.
I try to push his behavior to the back of my mind as I journey inside to retrieve faux greenery from a seemingly cheery lady with bountiful mom-energy who insists I come in and peruse the other décor for sale. But when I hear pounding and exorcist-style screaming coming from a door to what I assume is the basement, I bolt, feigning digestive distress. When I return to the vehicle, alive to tell my tale, Scott barely even looks up from his phone. Had I perished inside that house, he’d have been none the wiser.
Thankfully, the third stop is uneventful, save for the heavy, hideous candelabras Scott has to Tetris into the trunk of my car.
The final task is to pick up lanterns and fairy lights from a farmhouse wedding venue that has closed its doors for good.
When we arrive, it’s abundantly clear why the venue is out of business. It literally looks like a scene from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The barn is dilapidated, and quite frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s haunted. There are a bunch of sketchy-looking farm tools left for dead, decomposing around the premises among weeds extending to my belly button. I don’t even want to think about how many wild creatures are lurking about. It doesn’t help that the encroaching darkness is casting eerie shadows every which way.
Scott puts his hand out in front of me as we approach the barn, as if expecting some sort of attack. “Are we sure we’re in the right place?”
When we knock on the barn door, there is no answer. I don’t think there is another human being for miles. It’s located on a property deep down an unkempt dirt road, if you can even call it a road, what with the dense bush on both sides. In fact, it doesn’t even appear on Google Maps. I’m surprised we found it in the dark of night.
I cast my gaze around, listening to the swish of the leaves blowing in the wind. A long string of lanterns droops in between a big oak tree and the roof of the barn. I seriously pray those are not the lights I’ve been sent to fetch.
I call Grandma Flo.
“Grandma?”
“Hi, dear, how are you?”
“I’m okay. Look, Scott and I have gone around to get your décor and—” I cut myself off the moment I remember Scott’s talk with Martin and his request that we take things slow in the lead-up to the wedding. While I’ve been tempted to ask Flo about this sudden change of opinion, we haven’t had any one-on-one time over the past week.
“How do the candelabras look?” she asks excitedly, apparently unbothered at the mention of Scott.
“Um, they’re nice,” I flat-out lie. “Anyway, I’m at—”
“Did you get the greenery for five dollars? I really don’t think it was worth ten.”
“We compromised at seven,” I lie again. After the exorcist sounds, the last thing I wanted to do was stick around and barter. “Anyway, I’m at the last stop at that wedding venue to pick up the lanterns and lights. But there’s no one here.”
“Really? Give me a minute.”
I can hear the clicking of her furious taps on her iPad. Scott has gone wandering around the premises while I wait, vulnerable and alone, searching for any sign of movement among the shadows. I fully expect something to emerge from the bushes and attack me, whether person, animal, or pissed-off spirit with unfinished business.
“The lady just responded. They forgot we were coming to pick it up and they’re out of town. She said you can grab it all for free, given the inconvenience.”
I sigh, relieved when Scott comes back around the front, waiting. I force my gaze from his biceps straining against his navy fire department T-shirt back toward the height of the tree. “It’s literally still strung up in the trees. I don’t think I can get up there,” I say, taking stock of how high the lanterns are. Scott follows my gaze and shakes his head, silently telling me Don’t even think about trying it with his eyes.
Grandma Flo sighs with disappointment. “I just loved those lights. They’re a fortune in the stores.”
“You know what? Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out,” I reassure her.
“Thank you, Crystal. Love you, honey. Tell Scotty I said hi.”
“Will do. Bye, Grandma. Love you.” I turn to Scott, who’s standing with his arms crossed, seemingly dazed. “Think there’s a ladder somewhere around here?”
He turns, appraising the premises as if in slow motion. “Maybe. I’ll take a look. Stay here.”
I put my phone back in my pocket and wait, staring up at the massive tree. It must be fifteen or twenty feet tall, at least. Too tall to climb. Then again, I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge.
• • •
THIS WAS OFFICIALLY the worst idea of my life. It’s up there with the top three most moronic things I’ve ever done, including the time in kindergarten when I confidently ate a purple glue stick like it was a chocolate bar. I was sure of myself, scaling the tree like Spider-Man. I didn’t notice how high I’d climbed. And I’m not even within reach of the lanterns yet. Apparently, my fear of heights was also unknown to me. Until I looked down.
Scott made it worse when he emerged from the barn with a rickety-looking ladder that I doubt could hold more than one undersized, malnourished child, and berated me for climbing up.
Clutching the tree branch for dear life, trembling with lip-biting fear, I’m unable to let out a full breath or keep my eyes open. For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve tried to psych myself up for the descent, but I’m immobilized. The thought of moving my foot, or any part of my body, makes my stomach dip, as if I’m about to plummet to my death.
I never imagined I would die like this, falling from a tree outside an abandoned barn. Grandma is going to be devastated, both because of my untimely demise and because of the lack of magical lanterns at her wedding.
Scott leans the ladder against the foot of the tree and tests it. He squints up at me. “Stay exactly where you are.”
I keep my eyes squeezed shut until his voice gets louder and louder, signaling his increasing proximity. When I dare to open my eyes, he’s three feet below me, one foot still on the ladder, hand extended.
“Sweetheart, listen to me.”
“Don’t call me that,” I snap. The last thing I need is to digest bizarrely timed pet names when death is nigh.
He doesn’t appear fazed by my tone. “You need to let go of the branch very slowly and step down so you can grab my hand, okay?” His voice is slow and measured. He breaks eye contact as a few droplets of rain sprinkle over us. I hadn’t noticed the clouds coming in.
Within seconds, the dark sky opens up with a crack of ominous thunder. Rain cascades over us. It’s cold, falling in icy sheets.
My hand begins to shiver around the now-wet, slick tree branch. I practically begin to hyperventilate as the rain splatters off me. “No, I can’t let go.”
“You’ll be okay. I’m not going to let you fall. You just have to give me your hand. We’re going to go down together.”
“No. I’m going to die up here. I’m okay with it. I accept it. Tell my family I love them. Play Lizzo at my funeral,” I order. I clamp my eyes shut again as fat, juicy droplets seep under my lids, rendering me half blind. I’m officially convinced nature has it in for me.
“Alright. Which song? ‘Tempo’ seems funeral-appropriate.” He cracks the first smile I’ve seen out of him all day.
I briefly flash him the stink eye. “Yeah. If you want to give Grandma Flo a heart attack.”
“Crys, you’re not going to die.”
“I am.”
“You’re not. Do you trust me?”
That is the question, isn’t it? Technically, I’m still sketched out about that two a.m. phone call, as well as his weird mood today. But I do trust him, with my life. I know he won’t let me fall to my death. So I make a pact to myself. On the count of three, I’ll let go of this branch and step down.
One.
Two.
Three.
His hand wraps around mine, filling me with warmth and comfort despite the cold rain pelting us.
Climbing the tree was fast, but my descent is twice as fast on the ladder. He strokes my now-dripping hair and prattles on casually, as if I’m not being rescued from a tree by a member of the Boston Fire Department. Something about how Albus Doodledore ate his new lifting shoes. Truthfully, I’m not really listening, because I’m too busy freaking the heck out with each terrifying step down this rickety-ass ladder.
I don’t dare open my eyes until Scott whispers that we’re back on the ground. When the decrepit barn comes into view, I realize I’m clutching him around the torso so hard I can feel his ribs. He has to firmly pry my hand away from him to loosen my grip. My fingernails have probably left permanent indents all over his abdomen. Yes, despite the terror, I shamelessly take full advantage of this poor excuse to touch him.
“Jesus, you’ve been working on your grip strength. You almost broke my ribs,” he tells me through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” His even tone calms me slightly. “But why did you try to climb that tree when I told you not to? Couldn’t you have just waited for me to find the ladder?”
I untangle my arms from him, taking a step back to shoot a wistful glance at the lanterns swaying in the rain. At least I made a valiant effort to save Grandma Flo a few dollars. “I was desperate.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find others. Let’s get out of the rain.”
By the time we reach my car, we’re utterly soaked.
The seat squishes as Scott leans in, cranking the heat. “Glad I got to hang out with you today, even if you almost broke your neck.” The soothing sound of his voice in my ear does something to my body. Everything tenses and prickles, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just the chill of my wet clothes.
I lean my forehead against the steering wheel for a moment before turning the windshield wipers to full speed. “I’m an idiot. Thanks for rescuing me. I shouldn’t have done that.”
When I look up, he gives me a small shrug, as if to say, Shit happens.
“Still up for an extra-long movie tonight?” I ask, backing out of the laneway. The other day, he’d agreed to losing his Titanic virginity. Apparently, he’s never seen the movie in full. Like a typical boy, he’s only ever watched the scene where Jack paints topless Rose like One of His French Girls.
I expect him to say no, but surprisingly, he nods. “Yeah, I am.”
I white-knuckle the steering wheel, unable to contain my invading worries. “You sure? Because you’ve been weird with me all day.”
He gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure, Crys. I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else today.”
• • •
MY APARTMENT BUILDING is quiet, save for the squeak of the original hardwood underneath our wet steps, and the droplets of water ricocheting off the hallway floor outside my door.
My chest heaves as I wring my hair out, as well as my dress and jacket, both of which are now pressed to me like a second skin.
Scott doesn’t bother to wring his clothes out. He just watches me, forehead creased, as if he wants to say something.
When I lean against the door, he takes a step forward, closing the distance between us. I let out a shaky breath when he sets his palm on the door beside my head. His eyes drift from my face and downward.
“Do you want me to dry your clothes before we start the movie?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.
His eyes reach mine again. “Yeah. Thanks.”
We head inside. Save for the beam of light from the stove illuminating the kitchen, the living room is empty and dark, which tells me Tara’s on night shift. Our clothes squish as he follows me down the hallway toward the closet, which contains my stacked washer and dryer.
With each step, my heart rate quickens at the mere thought of us stripping out of our wet clothes. It’s beating so loudly, I’m convinced Scott can hear it.
I halt and he crashes into my backside upon my abrupt stop. “I have nothing for you to wear in the meantime.” My words come out shaky, not just because I’m shivering, but from the mere proximity of him and the hardness of his chest practically flush against me.
Silence lingers before he speaks over my shoulder. “True. No worries. I’ll head home and change.” I expect him to back away, but he doesn’t.
I ache at the thought of him leaving right now. I don’t think I could physically let him, no matter how loud my logic screams Stop.
Thanks to a complete lack of self-control, I back into him. I expect him to back away and remind me we’re not allowed to touch. But he doesn’t. He readily accepts me, pulling me tight against his chest, as if he needs me there. Warmth fills me everywhere, to the point that I’m no longer shivering from the rain.
We stay like this in the hallway for a few breaths as he nuzzles his face into my neck. He presses a trail of small, prohibited kisses onto my shoulder before he spins me around so we’re face-to-face.
Our gazes connect, searching, before I dissolve into a puddle on the floor. He glides his fingertips up and down my spine. He leans his forehead against mine, just as he did in the fire truck.
“I have a confession,” he says.
I gulp, bracing myself for the worst. “What?”
“If I don’t kiss you in five seconds, I’m gonna lose it,” he tells me in a low whisper.
I think of the rules we’re about to break. Literally every single one we’ve ever made. Those thoughts hover for all of one second before I banish them to the murky depths of my mind. Goodbye, logic. You won’t be missed.
I glance upward to meet his fiery gaze. “Then do it.”
I haven’t even finished saying it when his mouth collides with mine.