I’m such a shit person. Will was so patient and understanding when I spontaneously broke down in front of him before — but what did I do after we watched his parents’ living room fall apart? Said I gotta go and barreled outside to the dock for a self-pity session.
But whatever. It’s not like he bothered to chase after me.
The dock is dry and warm against the back of my shirt. It’s strange to think this is the same surface Mom and I sprinted across during the monsoon this morning. I close my eyes as hard as I can and position my face directly into the sun. The heat permeates every pore, but it still doesn’t feel hot enough. I just want something to fucking burn me already.
Why does this hurt so much? I barely even knew the guy.
Maybe it’s not him I’m mourning as much as it is the distraction he gave me each time we were together. That magic eraser effect. Now I’m left to reckon with the fact that Mom and I have officially been busted and are just waiting around here for the cops to show. Because that’s the inevitable outcome of this whole thing, isn’t it? We were never going to not be found out. We just chose to delude ourselves with hope and lies.
Our revenge on Luke and Richard wasn’t revenge at all — it was suicide. At the end of the day, all they did was break our hearts. And in the eyes of the law, a heart isn’t a real thing. Not in the way that a house is a real thing. Break a heart, you’re just another asshole. Burn down a house, you’re a felon. These are basic facts. Maybe they’re not fair facts — but they are facts nonetheless.
My sun-drenched depression spiral is interrupted by the faint sound of footsteps on the far end of the dock.
I sit up and peel my eyes open, blocking out as much light as possible with my hand. Shayla saunters her way into my blurry field of vision, coming more into focus with each step forward. She’s wearing that same navy bikini from yesterday.
“Hey!” She sounds normal — clearly unaware of the crime scene in her living room. Otherwise I’m sure she’d be greeting me with a death threat right now. “What’s up?”
She plunks herself down next to me and leans back with her arms stretched out behind her. Her long, tan torso reminds me of a Kylie Jenner Instagram ad for Flat Tummy Tea.
“Not much.” I dip my feet in the translucent lake water. It’s freezing, but I’m numb anyway, so: perfect. “Just sitting.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “Shouldn’t you be making out with your big masculine boyfriend on a canoe or something right now?”
“Easy there, Sparky.” She makes a face. “Robbie went for a run. I saw you out here and thought I’d say hi before going back to the house. Maybe see if you and my brother have impregnated each other yet. Guessing the answer to that one is a no…”
“Why’d you throw me into the room with him that night, anyway?” I ask. “He and I clearly have nothing in common. Like, seriously? You thought he’d like me?”
“How? Why?”
“Will is like the Japanese lady from that Netflix show about decluttering,” she jokes. “He loves mess.”
All right. That was actually kind of funny. Too bad I’m incapable of laughter — and/or any expression of any human emotion whatsoever — right now.
“It’s that obvious, huh? That I’m a mess.”
“I’m kidding!” she says. “Damn. What the hell happened between you two? I thought you totally hit it off. Will was gushing about you all night last night. Seriously. He wouldn’t shut up.”
Fuck. That stings.
“He was? I don’t — whatever.” I kick my foot out and make a bitchy little splash. “It’s not like we were ever going to see each other again, anyway.”
“He didn’t ask you about this weekend?” she says. “When we’re back in the city and you’re back in Jersey?”
I heave a sigh in response.
She shrugs. “Well, he said he was gonna invite you to some comedy club in the West Village. He was Googling all night looking for the perfect spot. He got so excited when he finally found one. Apparently it’s hard to find an open mic night on a Saturday.”
This information hits me like a sucker punch to the rib cage. As if I didn’t regret the way I ended things with Will enough, now I have to hear evidence that he actually did want us to be in each other’s lives. Before I went all psycho and invited myself to move in with him.
“That’s nice” is all I can say.
For a few moments we don’t say anything, allowing the sound of water crashing against the dock to take the place of words.
Shayla finally breaks the silence. “That’s not even why I asked if you’re okay. I was talking about your mom.”
My legs tense up and my feet freeze in the water. Did I miss something?
“Robbie and I saw you throw your phones in the lake,” she says. “In the middle of the torrential downpour this morning. What the hell was that about?”
“Oh.” I try to come up with a list of reasons why two normal people might feel compelled to hurl their phones into a large body of water during a rainstorm, but can’t think of a single excuse that would make sense. “We needed to unplug.”
She seems to find this hilarious. “You ever hear of airplane mode?”
“I… don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sorry if I’m prying.” Shayla sits up and teases her hair. “Honestly? I’m jealous.”
“Of what?”
“You and your mom.”
This has to be a joke — a rich girl trying to act as though Mom and I have anything she could possibly be envious of. “Has it not been made painfully clear to you by now that we are poor?”
“Why does everything always have to be about money with you?” she asks.
Gee. I don’t know. Why don’t you and your perfect brother try not having any for once in your lives and then ask me again?
“I’m just saying,” Shayla continues before I can respond. “I wish I had a fun young mom. Or even a mom that was, like, ten percent more human.” She sighs. “I was basically raised by a rotating selection of nannies. I could never imagine going on a one-on-one trip with my mom. We’d run out of things to talk about within the first half hour of the car ride up.”
I crinkle my eyebrows at her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Who knows.” Her voice drifts and then comes back. “I’m just saying you’re lucky is all.”
Lucky seems like a bit of a stretch. Sure, Mom and I have always had a close relationship. But that’s literally all we’ve ever had. It’s a lot — but it’s not enough. The events of this week have made that abundantly clear.
“At least you have a dad,” I offer.
“He’s just as bad,” Shayla adds. “I mean. I don’t hate my parents. They obviously give me whatever I want” — she gestures toward the prematurely dewinterized boat rocking on the other side of the dock behind us — “but I’m just saying. Gia seems so cool.”
In the immortal words of Lady Gaga: I have to laugh. I’ve been called many things before, but cool is not one of them. Not that Shayla just called me cool, but saying something about Mom is basically the same as saying it about me. Has being criminals given us some kind of hip new aura we weren’t aware of?
“Even watching you two go psycho down here in the rain earlier,” Shayla continues. “I was like, ‘Damn. That looks fun. I wanna be friends with her.’” She pauses. “Oh, my God. Can I be friends with her? Can you make that happen?”
“We’re fighting right now.”
“Why?” she asks.
“It’s stupid.” I barely even know Shayla, but her question feels like an opportunity to get so many things off my chest. Maybe if I say it all out loud, I’ll feel better by the time I go back up to the house and am in Mom’s actual presence again. “I found out she’s been keeping this huge secret from me.”
“Yeah?”
“She cheated on” — I stop myself from saying Marco out loud, given their lake-house-neighbor status and all — “an ex that she used to be with when I was younger.”
“And…” Shayla’s voice takes the shape of a question mark. “I don’t get it.”
“We’ve always told each other everything,” I explain. “And she kept that from me. Also, we’re the ones who always get cheated on in our relationships. It’s kind of our thing.” I feel compelled to go further, but I rein myself in. “So now I feel like I can’t trust her.”
Shayla absorbs my speech for a moment. “I don’t mean to play devil’s advocate, but is it even any of your business who she does or doesn’t cheat on? It was her relationship. It’s not like she did anything to you personally.”
What the fuck do you know? I ask her in my head. You and your robot mom don’t even talk to each other.
“She might as well have,” I say. “Her relationships are also my relationships. Wait. That came out weird.” I pause and try to figure out how to articulate the complexity of my feelings. “I’ve just always been so invested in my mom’s emotional state.” This is still coming out weird. And also kinda Norman Bates–y? I need to wrap this up. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say.” Maybe Shayla’s right. I’m not saying I’m over the fact that Mom lied to me, but… I guess I’m not so under it that I’m willing to let it totally ruin what we have. Maybe it only has to alter it slightly. “I guess you might have a point.”
She smiles and pats my arm. “I always do.”
And I know Mom wasn’t purposely trying to destroy our lives when she cheated on Marco. She just assumed he would do the same to her anyway, because believing otherwise would mean believing that she was actually worthy of a guy like him. Kind of like me believing I could be worthy of a guy like Will. Given our histories, it’s a difficult concept to grasp.
“Thanks for this little chat.” I pull my feet out of the water and stand up. “I’m gonna go back up to Marco’s. I should probably check on her.”
Shayla follows my lead down the dock until we get to the point where her house is on the left and Marco’s is up the hill.
“I still think you should give Will a chance,” she says. “At least say you’ll think about going with him to that comedy club this weekend.”
As if it’s my choice whether he decides to give me a chance. As if he even has a way to reach me now that my phone is submerged in mushy sand at the bottom of the lake. As if Mom and I won’t very possibly be in jail by the time Saturday rolls around.
“I’ll text him.” I muster the strength to give one last fake smile. “Once I get a new phone activated and whatnot.”
“Good.” Shayla flips her hair and reciprocates with a fake smile of her own. “If not this weekend, then at least another time.”
“Def.” I’m already facing the other direction. “Bye, Shayla.”
I’m positive I’ll never see this girl again.