"She threw a stinky gym sock? At your head?" Millie Banning diced the green peppers at my kitchen table and scrunched her nose. "Wow. That's really weird."
"Yeah, I know. She said I was magic, or something." I threw the tomatoes I'd just chopped into the bowl of pico de gallo, then shook out my hands, which were still tingling. "She left while I was knocked out. I hope she's okay. I don't think she meant me any harm or anything, but she's obviously nuts."
Millie shrugged, some of her ash-blond curls falling out of the plastic clip that seemed permanently attached to the back of her head. She pointed her knife at me. "Okay, enough talking around the Tobias thing. What happened when you told him you were leaving?"
I angled my head, staring down at the bright green herbs between my fingers. "Wait. Stacy hates cilantro, doesn't she?"
Millie nodded. "She says it tastes like soap."
"Oh. Right." I scraped the herbs off my chopping board and into the garbage, then reached for a jalapeno.
"And once again, you're avoiding my question," Millie said.
"What? Oh - Tobias? He didn't say anything, really. He was surprised I wanted to sell the house, but aside from that..." I sighed. "You know. Whatever."
"You don't have to pretend with me," Millie said. "I know it's bugging you. And I'm sorry." She turned her attention back to the green peppers, and began chopping harder. "You and I, we're not like Peach and Stacy." Chop. "Naturally thin and beautiful and perfect." Chop. "It's harder for girls like us."
Girls like ... us? I loved Millie, she was one of my favorite people in the world, but she was ... well. In the twenty-odd years we'd been friends, I'd seen her wear makeup exactly twice. Her hair was one of her best features, with that lovely kind of curl that dances down her shoulders, but she always kept it swept up tight in those ugly clips. Everything in her wardrobe was a variation on beige, and her standard outfit was a turtleneck under a shapeless jumper, which made her look, well ... kind of squat.
I glanced at my own reflection in the glass door that led out to the back hallway. I was wearing jeans, and a pretty green scoop-neck shirt, and I had hair and makeup kind of going for me, but if I had to be honest I looked, well ... kind of squat. Peach and Stacy were the beauties in this group, and Millie and I were the quirky ones with the good personalities. That was just how it was.
I sighed, reached for my margarita, took a big gulp, and decided to change the subject.
"Do you think I should sell the house?" I asked. "It's not like I'm paying much for it, just property taxes and insurance. Maybe I should keep it? Do you think?"
"Hmmm." Millie thought for a minute, then said, "I don't know." Her face lit up, and she dropped her knife to grab a pencil and a pad out of my junk drawer. "Pros and cons." She jotted the headers for the two columns on the page. "Pros: You own it outright."
"Cons," I said. "It's too much space for one person."
She scribbled. "Pros: It's interesting and fun."
"Oh, please," I said. "It's Willy Wonka's country home."
Millie jutted her lower lip out. "I like Momelia's aesthetic."
Momelia. Millie's own mother had died when she was very young, and her grandmother had raised her in an old farmhouse on the outskirts of town, so it had been natural for my mother to become Millie's surrogate mother. Millie had never been quite comfortable enough to call her Mom, but one day, she'd accidentally morphed "Mom" and "Amelia" while talking to my mother, and the nickname had stuck.
"What aesthetic? Modern Flea Market?" I scrunched my nose. "Forget that nothing matches, and I have a guest room that is chartreuse. The exterior is pink."
"I like it," Millie said, ever loyal to the memory of my mother and the legacy of her outrageous taste.
"It's like living in a box of Strawberry Nesquik."
Millie shrugged, conceding the point. "You could always paint it."
I tapped my finger on the Cons side. "Willy Wonka."
Millie dutifully jotted it down. "Pros..." She thought for a bit, then said, "It's right next door to Peach."
"Right," I said. "And Cons ... it's right next door to Peach."
Our eyes met and we both laughed. Bernadette Peach was the kind of person you love, not because of any particular qualities you could name, but just ... because. She traveled in a swarm of perfume and Aqua Net, a shameless bottle blonde with a Barbie-doll figure and a fifties' fashion sense. She was achingly gorgeous, slightly narcissistic, a little thoughtless sometimes, but fiercely loyal. She and I had become friends because we were the same age and we lived next door to each other. When we got to school, she bonded with beautiful Stacy Easter, and I bonded with the more cerebral Millie, but Peach would not allow those differences to pull us apart. I was her friend, I would always be her friend, and that was that, so instead of dividing along lines of beauty and social grace the way most kids do in school, we ended up uniting as a foursome.
"Speaking of Peach, on the pro side for keeping the house, she bought her parents' house when they moved to Florida specifically so we'd stay neighbors."
Millie shook her head. "You can't let other people's choices influence your decision."
"I can if she kills me," I said, "which she will."
Millie smiled and jotted "Peach will kill you dead" on the pro side.
"I am going to miss the Confessionals," Millie said. "We've been doing this every Saturday since, what? Junior high?"
"Yeah," I said. "You don't think you guys will do it without me?"
She shook her head, and stared down at her list.
I tossed the jalapenos into the bowl. "Okay. Cons. I still have to manage the upkeep of it while I'm in Europe."
"But what if you decide to come back?" Millie said. "Can you imagine living in Nodaway and not living here?"
I looked around at my kitchen. The bright yellow walls, the daisy curtains moving gently in the breeze from the open window over the sink, the chink in the plaster in the ceiling from the time the fire alarm went off while Mom was cooking bacon and she hit it with the butt of the fire extinguisher to turn it off and missed on the first whack.
"No," I said. "I can't imagine living anywhere else if I'm going to be here, but..."
She put the pencil down and looked at me. "But you're not coming back."
Slowly, I shook my head. "You remember my mom. Even on her best day, part of her was always missing. I don't want to be like that."
"And leaving is going to prevent that?" she asked, her voice cracking a bit.
I sighed. "Dumb as it sounds ... I think so, yeah. If my whole life changes, if it's not just that I'm losing him, maybe I won't notice it so much. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," she said, her eyes sad. She took the pad and pencil and began scribbling, then twirled it around so I could read it. She had drawn lines through all the pros and cons, and had written, "In bocca al lupo," with a little smiley face.
I laughed. "What does that mean?"
"It's an Italian idiom. Basically, it means good luck." She reached out and clasped my hand. "Promise me you'll write, and send pictures."
"Don't worry," I said. "Europe's lousy with goats."
She gave me a confused look, and I laughed.
"I'll write. I'll send pictures."
The front door opened and Peach hollered, "Party's here!" Millie grabbed the margarita tray while I balanced the bowls of chips and pico.
"Hey, do me a favor?" I said. "Pretend you're surprised when I tell Peach and Stacy about Europe. Peach will be hurt that I told you first without them."
Millie nodded, and we went out to greet Stacy and Peach.
"Liv!" Peach danced into the hallway, holding a plate in one hand as she pulled me in for a hug with the other arm. She stepped back, then peeled back the pink-tinted Saran Wrap to show me her brownies. "They have chili powder in them, to go with the Mexican theme. Hey, Millie!"
Millie and I exchanged glances of affectionate amusement as Peach hugged her.
Stacy stepped in wearing dark jeans and a black Marvin the Martian T-shirt that read, YOU. OFF MY PLANET, and stuffed a bottle of tequila in my hands.
"Hey, Liv," she said, and flashed her patented knock-you-out smile. Stacy was one of those women whose neck-throttling beauty never made it on her own radar. She had huge chocolate eyes, apparently poreless skin, and a body any other woman would kill for. She just didn't care. She'd grown up with an alcoholic father who'd left her and her older brother, Nick, in the care of their crazy mother, and after that, being preternaturally pretty didn't seem so important.
Peach tucked her arm into Millie's and dragged her into the living room, and I leaned into Stacy as we followed behind. "So, what are you confessing tonight?"
She spread her hands, the picture of innocence. "Nothing to confess."
"You have nothing to confess? That's three weeks in a row for you."
She shook her head. "I have no secrets in this town. Betty reports anything I do to the masses at CCB's within twenty-four hours."
"Well, maybe stop fooling around on the pool table at Happy Larry's, and news will stop traveling so fast. Speaking of which, I heard about Amber Dorsey catching you with Frankie Biggs."
She raised a brow at me. "Hence, why I have nothing to confess."
We took our seats in the living room - Millie on the big pink floral love seat my mother had bought at a flea market when I was seven, Peach on the leather La-Z-Boy I'd gotten a few years back, and me and Stacy together on the key lime couch that matched nothing else in the room. Or the house.
"So," I said, reaching for my margarita. "I'll start." I took a deep breath. "I'm going backpacking through Europe."
"Awesome." Stacy grabbed her margarita and took a sip.
"Europe?" Peach crumpled her nose. "Why?"
Millie gave Peach an exasperated look. "It's travel. She doesn't need a reason."
Stacy gave a small laugh. "Seriously. A few weeks in Europe can do a lot of good for a girl. Speaking of which, I hear Germans are particularly good in the sack. Bag one and report in, will you?"
"Actually," I said, and shot a look at Millie for moral support, who smiled encouragement. "It's going to be a little longer than a few weeks. A lot longer." I swallowed my nerves down, and wrung my hands, trying to squeeze that damn tingling away. "I'm not coming back."
I looked at Peach, waiting for the explosion lit by the shock of my betrayal. There was none. Instead, she nibbled a bit on her lower lip, her eyes locked on Stacy, who was checking out the nail on her index finger.
"It's really about making a big change, and I don't think I can make that change if I plan to come back."
Peach was still eyeing Stacy distractedly, who was eyeing her index fingernail. The only one paying attention to me at all was Millie, and she already knew everything.
"I promise, I'll write. I'll send pictures. We can Skype." I looked at Peach again, who was still focused on Stacy, and I felt a jolt of annoyance run through me.
"Peach? Are you even listening to me?"
Her eyes squinched shut, and I was sure she was going to lay into me when she spit out, "Nick and I are getting married!"
Stacy looked up casually from her fingernail. "Nick who?"
Peach blinked. "Nick Easter."
Stacy laughed. "My brother? You and my brother?" She thought about it for a moment. "Huh. Liv, you got an emery board?"
I motioned toward the end table on her side of the couch, and she stretched over to grab the emery board sitting there.
Peach let out a long breath, and began to ramble. "We've been dating for about six months. We didn't want anyone to know because ... well, you know how people in this town are. And it's been a job of work keeping it secret, let me tell you. Secret dates in Buffalo, weekend 'business trips' to Rochester. The whole nine, seriously." She turned to me. "I'm sorry, but you know I couldn't tell you, Liv. You can't keep a secret to save your life, and if Betty found out, the whole town would know, and we just weren't ready to have the whole town in bed with us, you know? Not until we knew for sure that it was forever and now..." Peach's face warmed with joy. "Now, we know."
"So..." I said carefully to Peach, "you're not upset that I'm going to Europe?"
Peach blinked at me. "Europe? Hell, no. I think that's great. It's about time you had some fun. I'll watch the house while you're gone. When are you coming back again?"
"She's not," Stacy said. "Were you even listening?"
Peach's eyes flew wide open. "What? What the hell are you talking about?"
"I just told you," I said, exasperation seeping into my tone. "I need to make a change, a big one, and if I plan on coming back - "
"You ... you and Nick are getting married?"
Millie had been so quiet that I think we had all forgotten she was there. She stared at Peach, her eyes wide and, to my surprise, a little wet.
"Um, yeah," Peach said, looking at Millie but obviously keeping her feelers out for Stacy's reaction. "We've been together since New Year's Eve. We both got drunk at Ginny Boyle's party, and then things kind of ... happened."
"I know," Millie said, her face hard as stone.
"You knew?" Peach said.
"She's his secretary," Stacy said. "The secretary always knows."
"I didn't think it would go anywhere," Millie said. "I thought it was a distraction. Something temporary. You're getting married?"
Peach turned her focus to Stacy. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, it's kind of cool, right? We're going to be sisters!"
Stacy pulled the file away from her index finger, blew on her nail, tossed the emery board on the end table, then sat back, her eyes on Millie even as she spoke to Peach. "Welcome to the family. Mazel tov."
Peach put her hand over her heart. "Oh, thank god! I was so worried you'd be mad." She grinned at Millie. "It's such a relief to get it out!" Then she looked at me and said, "Now, what is this crap about not coming back from Europe?"
"Excuse me," Millie said, and hopped up from the love seat, rushing out of the room. Peach and I stared after her.
"What's up with Millie?" Peach asked.
"Seriously?" Stacy looked from me to Peach, then back again. "Really, you guys don't know?"
Peach's brow furrowed. "She hasn't had a boyfriend in ages. Do you think she's jealous that I'm getting married?"
"I don't think so," I said. "That's not like Millie."
"She's in love with Nick, idiots," Stacy said, her voice low. "Has been since high school."
Peach and I went silent, and then I said, "Not possible," just as Peach said, "Oh, come on."
Stacy sat forward, keeping her voice down as she spoke. "With her grades and the money her grandmother left her, Millie should have gone back to the Ivy League mother ship from whence she sprang and made it with some guy who wears corduroy and reads Foucault. Really, do you think being the secretary at Nick's landscaping business is the best she could have done?"
Stacy had a point, but I still couldn't wrap my head around the idea of Millie being in love with Nick Easter. Honestly, it was a little tough to imagine Peach with Nick. He was gruff, bald, and a little schlubby, and he used to shoot at us with his BB gun when we were kids. He'd grown up okay, was basically a good guy, but I wasn't the kind of girl who forgot welts.
"No," Peach said, shaking her head emphatically. "She would have told us."
"Oh?" Stacy said, eyeing Peach. "Just like you?"
I exchanged looks with Peach, and then Millie came back into the room. She had a hard smile etched into her face, and while her eyes were a bit red, she was obviously trying to hide it. She sat down, reached for her margarita, and took a gentle sip, then said, "Liv, these are really good."
I glanced from woman to woman, examining the faces, each more tense than the other. So, I did what needed doing - I jammed my elbow into the eight-hundred-pound gorilla sitting between us, and tried to shove it under the carpet.
"Oh my god, guys, the weirdest thing happened last night at work. This woman came in with a stinky gym sock and she threw it at me and I fell and got knocked out."
"Speaking of work," Stacy said, talking over the last part, "how did Tobias take the news about you leaving?"
I reached into the bowl for some chips, and dipped one in the pico. "Fine. He's happy for me."
Peach put her margarita glass down on the coffee table. "Wait, Tobias knows? You told Tobias before you told us?" She turned to Millie. "Can you believe that, Mill?"
Millie shrugged, not meeting Peach's eye. Peach picked up her margarita glass and took another drink.
"Of course she told Tobias first," Stacy said.
I looked at her. "You say that like you mean something by it."
She raised one brow at me, and those eyes that knew everything dared me to challenge her.
I looked away. "I've told you a thousand times, there's nothing between me and Tobias."
Stacy shrugged. "Right."
Peach made a thoughtful sound and said, "Do you think he might be gay?"
I choked on the chip, and had to down half my margarita to dislodge it.
"He's not gay," Stacy said.
"Well, has he dated anyone since coming to town? A man like that doesn't come to a town like this without getting it regular, and I don't think he has since he got here." She reached out and gave the arm of the love seat a tentative touch. "What do you think, Mill?"
Millie didn't respond, just stared down at her shoes.
"He's not gay," Stacy said.
Peach pulled her attention from Millie. "No, I think I might be on to something here. I mean, he hangs out with Liv all the time. But he's never tried to sleep with her. Right, Liv?"
That one hit me in the gut, but I couldn't bear telling Peach and Stacy about Tobias and my unrequited love. Not right now. It had been hard enough admitting it to Millie.
"Nope," I said, feeling a little sick. "But ... you know ... just because he doesn't find me attractive doesn't mean..."
"It's not about being attracted to you or not," Peach said, getting into her argument. "A guy spends that much time hanging out with a woman, horniness and opportunity are going to overlap eventually. Has he ever even tried to get in your pants?"
"No," I said, swallowing hard. "But I may not be his type of woman. Maybe he likes them prettier, or thinner - "
"Shut up, you're gorgeous. Any man in the world would have to be gay not to want you." She grabbed a chip and pointed at me with it, accentuating her argument. "I'm telling you, I think he's gay."
"He's not gay," Stacy said again.
Peach threw her hands up in the air. "How do you know?"
"Because I slept with him, and I've slept with gay men before. Trust me, I know gay. He's not gay." Stacy looked at me. "Sorry, Liv."
The thing about shock is that it hits in a flash, and even as you're laughing and saying, "What are you sorry about? I think that's great!" you know you're full of shit and that it's gonna hurt like hell later. My hands, which had finally stopped tingling earlier, started up again, and I shook them out, then turned to Peach.
"See, I told you he wasn't gay. He's been sleeping with Stacy!" My laugh sounded tinny even to my own ears, and I reached for my margarita, hoping the drink would keep me from making noise of any kind.
"He hasn't been sleeping with me," Stacy said. "We have slept together. Totally different."
And then a thick blanket of awkwardness fell over us. The three of us went quiet, and Millie, who had been quiet all along, continued to stare into her empty margarita glass.
"Okay," I said, slapping my hands down on my knees a little too hard, making the tingly sensation in them even worse. "How about a game of Apples to Apples?"
Millie stood up. "I think I'm going to go home."
Peach stood up, too, her smile extra-sunny, and too tense to be real. "Let me drive you, honey."
"It's just a few blocks. I'll walk." And then Millie hurried out, without a single word to the rest of us. We sat there in silence for a while, then Peach picked up her margarita glass, downed the last of it, and refilled it.
"I'll bring this back later," Peach said, and walked out. Thirty seconds later, I heard the front door to her house slam behind her.
Stacy and I sat stiffly next to each other in silence for a while, and then finally she said, "Well, it's probably about time for me to go." She got up from the couch and headed to the door. "I have to go prepare to collect and reassemble Mom's brains once she hears that Nick's marrying a Barbie doll."
I followed her toward the door, still feeling a little numb. "Okay."
She turned to me. "It was a long time ago, Liv. He'd just gotten here, it was before I knew how you felt about him. That's why I never told you. I'm sorry."
"Oh, no, I don't..." I smiled at her, took a deep breath, and said, "There's nothing between me and Tobias. Really."
She gave me a dubious look, then turned and left. I shut the door behind her, leaned back against it, and stared at the ceiling, trying to stop the visuals of Stacy and Tobias, naked and writhing, from running on an endless loop in my head.
I was unsuccessful.
So I finished off the plate of Peach's chili brownies and went to bed.
"Oh, Livvy, thank god you're here!" Betty pulled her glasses down to the tip of her nose, and looked at me over the frames. "I can't read this goddamn thing."
The place was dead, as I knew it would be between the Sunday lunch and dinner shifts. I sat down at the counter and glanced at the number at the bottom of the invoice. "One thousand, two hundred seventy-nine dollars and forty-eight cents," I read. I watched as she scribbled the number down in her ledger, then said, "You know, they have computers for that sort of thing now."
"I'm seventy-three years old," she said. "You want to teach me how to use a computer?"
I handed the invoice back to her. "Game, set, match."
She smiled, shut the book, and stuck it under the counter, then leaned over the counter with a glint of glee in her eye. "You'll never guess who Frankie Biggs is screwing now."
"You know what I love about you, Betty? Your complete lack of shame." I grabbed a menu and glanced at it. I hadn't come in to eat, and even if I had, I already knew that damn thing by heart, but I was feeling nervous, and it gave me something to do with my hands.
"I don't need shame," Betty said. "I've got the goods. But if you don't want to hear it..."
"No, I really don't." I put the menu down and drummed on it with my fingertips, then shook out my hands, which were still feeling tingly. The sensation kept coming and going, and I figured eventually it would go altogether, but it wasn't making me feel any better. "Hey, have you ever pinched a nerve? Is it normal for your hands to tingle for a few days afterward?"
Betty slammed her hand down on the counter. "Dixie Connors!" And then she laughed maniacally.
"Dixie Connors? My high school English teacher, Dixie Connors?"
She gave me an exasperated look. "Do we have two? Isn't that just the best?"
"It's unlikely, is what it is," I said, and shook out my hands. "Who's your source?"
Betty straightened up a bit. "I don't reveal my sources."
"You reveal everything," I said. "Which means it's Addie Hooper-Higgins, who was also the one who told you Henry Dinks got abducted by aliens. Just because Addie runs a bed-and-breakfast does not make her reliable, you know." I put the menu back in the holder next to the register and pushed up from the stool, my arms and legs feeling like jelly as the nerves set in. I tried to make my voice casual as I said, "Is Tobias in?"
She shrugged. "Should be, although he might be taking a break."
"I'm gonna go talk to him." I kept my eye on the door to the kitchen, then pointed a finger at her. "And you stop spreading gossip."
"I'm going to hell anyway," she said as I passed by. "I might as well have fun on the way down."
I took a deep breath and pushed through the big metal door into the kitchen. Kenny, the stoner community college kid who did prep during the days, was hulling strawberries at the industrial metal island, his head bopping in rhythm with whatever was playing on his iPod. Tobias stood at the grill, cleaning it off meticulously as he always did during the dead zone between shifts. I stared at the back of his head for a bit, the image of Stacy's fingers running through his hair zooming through my head. I shook my hands out again as the tingling got worse, and when I looked up, Tobias was standing with his back to the grill, mild surprise on his face.
"Hey," he said. "How'd the Confessional go?"
"Great," I said, my voice sounding a little squeaky in my ears. "So, you and Stacy, then?"
I hadn't intended on bringing up Stacy. Well, okay, I had, but in my head on the way over, I'd imagined smoothly maneuvering it into the conversation so that it was him who brought it up, in a natural way. And then he would tell me that the sex with her wasn't any good and he was drunk when it happened, and maybe that she drooled when she slept, and then I would feel better and be able to go to Europe without that stupid hole eating away at my gut the way it had since Stacy dropped the bomb.
"Me and Stacy?" he said, wariness in his voice. "What about me and Stacy?"
I shot him a dark look, and he lowered his eyes, then nodded as if coming to some internal decision. He took me by the elbow and led me out through the back hallway to the unadorned cement patio where the deliveries came in. He grabbed the two foldable nylon chairs we kept out there for people on their break and set them out, motioning for me to sit down. I took one seat and he took the other, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.
"All right, let's have this out," he said.
I sat up straight, trying not to be mad, because I had no right to be mad, but my words came out clipped anyway. "You should have told me."
"It wasn't your business," he said, his tone simple, but the cut of it hurt too much, and I pushed up from the chair.
"Okay, then," I said. "Sorry to have wasted your time."
He shot up and grabbed my arm before I could leave. I stood where I was, lacking the energy to wrench myself away, but I didn't look at him. I couldn't.
"It's not your business any more than it's my business who you sleep with," he said.
I met his eye. "Yeah, but I haven't been sleeping with your best friend."
He lowered his eyes. "It was a long time ago. Pretty much, right after I came to town. I bumped into her at Happy Larry's one night, and we played a little pool - "
"Lalalalalala!" I said, putting my hands over my ears. "No details! There isn't enough brain bleach in the world for details!"
He gently pulled my hands down from my ears, and it took him a moment to release them entirely. I could see that there was pain on his face, and I hated it. He could either love me entirely, or not at all, but this in-between, just-as-a-friend stuff was going to kill me dead. It probably wasn't doing him much good, either.
"I figured you already knew," he said. "I thought she had told you."
"Well, she didn't." I took a step back from him; the mere proximity of him hurt. "Not until yesterday, and it's been driving me nuts ever since."
He grabbed my hand suddenly, but not in a romantic way; he quickly examined the palm, then looked up at me. "What's the matter with your hands?"
I pulled my hand back. "Nothing."
"You keep shaking them out." He eyed me. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," I said again, and crossed my arms over my stomach, tucking my hands under my elbows. "I'm just..." Insanely, stupidly, unjustifiably jealous. I sighed. "You have to understand what it's like growing up with someone like Stacy Easter. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's thin. Confident. Strong. She's got that whole sexy librarian thing going on..."
Tobias's mouth quirked at the edges. "Maybe you should have slept with Stacy."
I gave him an unamused look, and he dropped the smile.
"Sorry."
"I'm always 'the friend' with her," I said. "She's the hot one, and I'm the one men talk to to get access to her."
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "That's crazy."
"Oh, please. On my best day, I'm average looking. I eat waffles all day and I look like it. I'm wishy-washy. I have freckles. No one should be almost thirty with freckles. I'm graceless and my hair is the weird kind of curly and I just thought that..."
He waited for a moment, then prodded. "What?"
I huffed out a sharp breath. "I thought that maybe, just once, at least with you, maybe she was the friend. And to find out that I'm just the consolation prize after things didn't work out with her - "
"Okay, shut up." He took a sharp step toward me, his eyes blazing. "You're nobody's consolation prize."
"Right," I said. "I'm not even that."
He put his hands on my shoulders, gripping them hard. "Listen to me. The way you see yourself is completely messed up, and I put up with it because arguing with you about this stuff is like talking to a brick wall, but I've had it. Stacy's ... just Stacy. Yeah, she's pretty, but she's the kind of woman who makes a man want to get a blow job under the pool table at Happy Larry's. Women like that, they're a dime a dozen. You, Liv ... you're the kind of woman that makes a man just want, and that's rare. And amazing. A guy finds that maybe once in a lifetime. If he's lucky."
His eyes moved over my face, and his breath was a bit ragged, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he took a breath and released his hold on me, blinking a couple of times.
I stared at him, dumbfounded, and then in a sudden fury put the flat of my hand against his chest and pushed as hard as I could. Taken off guard by the assault, he stumbled back a bit, and I advanced on him, poking my index finger into his solar plexus.
"See, that's what I'm talking about! You say stuff like that to me and then you don't kiss me. And then when I kiss you, you treat me like I'm insane. Well, you know what? I'm not insane, and I'm not making this all up in my head! Stop gaslighting me, Tobias."
"I'm not trying to gaslight you, I'm just..."
I stood there, tapping my foot but as usual, he went silent just as things got interesting.
"Okay, you know what?" I said, cutting into the dragging silence. "This suddenly silent thing you do was cute for the first fourteen months or so, but now, it's getting old."
I started toward the alley to make my way out to the street where I could only hope an eighteen-wheeler would come speeding out of nowhere and put me out of my misery when Tobias said, "Don't go."
I turned back to face him. "Don't go ... what? Don't go from here? Don't go to Europe? What, Tobias? What do you want?"
He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then stopped, the same way he had last week when I'd kissed him and he'd kissed me back, damnit, but then held me at arm's length and looked at me and said nothing. Except now, he wasn't even looking at me.
He was looking at my hands.
I glanced down, and realized I'd been shaking them out again, absently trying to shake off the intensifying tingling. I tucked them under my elbows again and said, "What?"
"What's happening with you?"
"Nothing. I'm fine. Now, what were you going to say?"
"Liv." His voice was stern, and the tone took me a bit by surprise. "You need to tell me what's going on."
I crossed my arms over my stomach and tucked my hands under my elbows. "Nothing's going on. My hands keep falling asleep, that's all."
His brow knit. "Since when?"
"It doesn't matter. Stop changing the subject. Do you have something to say to me or not?"
His expression was dark and worried, his eyes still focused on my hands. Finally, he raised his eyes to mine and slowly shook his head.
"Liv, I don't..." He released a breath. "I can't right now, but - "
"Stop." I closed my eyes as it all hit me at once. The pain, the loss, the humiliation, the stark desire for something I would never have. It was too much. I felt the tears prickle at the edge of my eyes, and I knew they were going to fall, and he was going to see them, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop it. I took a deep breath, and my chin quivered a bit.
Damnit.
"Liv," he started, but I held up one hand to stop him as I used the other to swipe at my face.
"Believe it or not, now's a good time to shut up, Tobias."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"Don't be," I said, meeting his eye as dryly as I could. "I'm fine."
Then I turned on my heel and headed out toward the road, ignoring him as he called my name.