Five days. Screw this. I’m not doing this anymore. I place my glass of orange juice on the kitchen counter with a clang and march over to August’s house. A travel mug of coffee in hand and my chin held high. I climb right through his window.
He’s sleeping and I unapologetically shake the shit out of him.
“Wake up, August Mariani. You wake up and talk to me.”
For a few seconds, he looks at me like he has no idea who I am or where we are. Swee blinks, too, the hair disheveled on the top of his flat head. I shove the travel mug at August, and even though he lifts a wary eyebrow, he accepts it.
“You and me,” I say, pointing at him. “We’re not fighting any more. We are done.”
“If we’re not fighting, then why are you yelling at me?” he asks in a gravelly morning voice and sits up.
“Look, I’m sorry. I was a total and complete jerk. I betrayed your trust. But I’m not going one more day without my best friend. So whatever you need me to do, say it now or forever hold your peace.”
For a second, he doesn’t reply. He just pats down his bedhead, which matches Swee’s, and puts on his pensive August expression. Then quietly, thoughtfully, he says, “You lied to me, Tiny.”
And the hurt in his eyes splits my heart right down the middle.
I sit on his bed, the fight draining out of me. “You have no idea how much I regret it.”
He nods. “You’re just . . .” He pauses, looking at Swee for answers. “You’re the only person I can trust. And when you lie to me, I have no one.”
Shattered. Heart obliterated.
“I’ll earn back your trust. I promise you that.” My voice is heavy.
“Tiny,” he sighs, “it’s fine.” Which is about as mushy as August gets.
“It’s not, though. I hurt you.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It wasn’t just you. It was a bad day. Terrible.”
Part of me already knew that my timing was off that afternoon; I just assumed he had a fight with his mom. “Tell me about this terrible day.”
“I kinda punched Kyle?”
My eyebrows launch up my forehead. “You did what?”
He glances at me but doesn’t maintain eye contact. “Mom needed me to drop some brushes off at the Kellermans’.”
“What?” I say again because August’s mom can be so clueless sometimes. “You should have called me.”
“I did.”
Once more I have that sinking feeling. He called me and I didn’t answer because I was at the beach with Bentley, which was the first thing I told him when I came over that day. Double fail. “Sorry again,” I say sheepishly.
He shrugs, not like he doesn’t care but like he’s over that realization already.
“So Kyle was there?”
He nods and takes a sip of coffee. “Pulled up just as I was leaving. Honestly, I don’t know what happened. He seemed bent on talking to me, tried to stop me. Grabbed my arm.”
I can actually see this play out in my head. All that tension bound up inside August bursting out when Kyle touched him.
“So yeah,” he says. “It was a bad day. Then my mom came home and tried to ground me like I’m ten.”
My eyes widen. This is not good news. We barely have a week left to save this case.
He must see the worry in my expression because he adds, “I doubt she’s actually going to enforce it. I kind of laid into her.”
The guilt that appears on his face makes me sad. He always beats himself up after they fight, even if what he said was true. No wonder he went silent. He took a hit from all directions, probably worst of all from himself.
“Did she lose her job?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, that’s good at least.” But it feels like too small of a win in comparison to everything else. I consider poking further into the Kyle thing, but the unsure look on his face tells me that it’s not the time. So instead, I say, “My dad’s party is in two days.”
“You have no idea how much I need that right now,” he says, releasing his breath.
I press my lips together. “About that,” I start and stop, once again with the worst timing ever, but given our fight over my lack of communication, there’s also no prolonging it. “It’s not just us this year.”
There is recognition in his eyes and he groans. “Seriously?”
I lift my hands. “I know what you’re thinking. But I swear, Bentley’s not who he appears to be.”
“And what if he’s exactly who he appears to be?”
I nod. This is the objection I was expecting when I first told him. “Look, give him a chance, that’s all I ask. I don’t expect you two to be besties. But if you spend a little time with him, I think you’ll be surprised.”
August stares at me dubiously. “So what are you saying? You guys are dating?”
My heart picks up its pace. “Kinda. Yeah.” I fidget with the edge of his rumpled comforter. “But Bentley coming to the party isn’t the thing you’re going to find most problematic.”
He looks at me sideways, like he’s not sure he even wants to know.
I have trouble holding eye contact. “It didn’t occur to me when I invited him that he didn’t know what we actually do for work.”
August looks up at the ceiling and shakes his head. “Damn it, Tiny.”
“Sorry again . . . again.”
His shoulders drop in defeat. “Have you told him?”
I shake my head. “I was waiting to talk to you first.”
And even though he doesn’t look happy about it, it seems like what I said matters.
Before he can answer, though, his phone buzzes on his nightstand. We both turn, and when Ella’s name flashes across his screen, my heart leaps in utter joy. Maybe things aren’t as broken as they seemed a minute ago. Maybe we can rectify this still.
August looks up at me, and it feels like he’s experiencing some sliver of the same emotion I am. His face seems to physically loosen. “Okay . . . as much as I really don’t like it, Bentley knowing is a million times better than him mentioning our fake internship in front of your parents,” he concedes. “We should have corrected that a year ago and just told everyone the same caterer story.”
I feel this in my bones. What were we ever thinking, trying to maintain not one but two false jobs. Ridiculous. August turns his attention to his phone, opening the message. I lean forward to read it.
Ella
August and I make eye contact.
“Ella reached out to you,” I say. “And it’s not to curse you out. This is best-case scenario. Best best case.”
His fingers hover over his keys, and he takes a big inhale, like it’s the first time he’s been able to breathe in days.
August
I sad-smile at his answer. Capturing people in everyday moments was always the thing he enjoyed most. He was never much for landscapes like his mom or the modern styles that employ straight lines and splattered paint you see in galleries. His art was simpler, emotional.
Ella
August
Ella
August
Ella
August
Ella
He momentarily hesitates.
August
For a second, I’m stunned. Because he’s telling the truth; I know by the uncertainty in his eyes. He’s actually considered painting again. And he’s considered it because of Ella. She’s helping him take a step toward resolving one of his biggest hang-ups. But how? She didn’t sit with him through his dark periods or buy him tickets to art museums that he refused to accept. She wasn’t there when he’d perch on the dock for hours staring at the water. She didn’t think up elaborate schemes to slowly pull him out from behind The Wall, create an entire business to help bring him closure. She just . . . exists, and while that appears to be enough, it’s also enormously unfair.
But instead of texting back, she calls him.
And when he sees her name flash across his screen, he gets out of bed so fast that you’d think he’d overslept for finals. “Uh, hey,” he says. “Hang on, Ella.” He turns to me, pressing the phone against his chest. “Mia, can you give me a sec?”
My shock doubles. He’s asking me to leave the room? For a case phone call? But given the fact that I’ve only just exited the doghouse, I’m not going to make a thing out of it.