Chapter Fifteen

Today

Wrapped in my towel and sitting at the kitchen island, I wipe my teary eyes and watch everyone in the pool. They're talking emphatically to Tucker, except Johnny, and Tucker's hand movements tell a clear story: he doesn't want to hear it. He's shrugging, waving his hands around. Johnny's nodding in agreement, but he's the only one.

There's a sound of footsteps. Jen comes around the corner.

"Oh!" she says, seeing me. Her dress is a little crinkled.

"Hi."

She opens the refrigerator and digs into a bowl of fruit. "How's the pool?"

"Can I have one of those?" I answer, "And it's crowded." When she drops an orange into my hand, I snatch her fingers. "That is quite the ring."

She blushes. "Thank you."

"You know, if Johnny was a girl, he would have told me everything. I would have seen pictures of the ring, and he would have told me how he proposed. But…nothing."

She wavers in front of the oven. She was obviously planning to return to watching television.

I rip into my fruit and say, "You don't have to tell me, either. I'm just curious."

She takes a quick peek at my bikini top. Wow, Jen is really not comfortable with exposed flesh. As she tentatively takes the seat beside me, I wonder if they've had sex. I wonder if Johnny goes to church with her. I wonder why they got engaged so quickly, all things he either didn't explain or I can't ask him. Well, I could ask him about the church thing, but not the intimate details of their lives. I never really cared, but he's never dated anyone so buttoned-up and particular before. Unprompted, Serena had offered up details of their sex life that made me plug my ears and pray for death.

Jen and I may never be girlfriends like that, but we could be something.

Light bounces off of her delicate earrings. "He proposed on my birthday in November. We went to the outdoor orchestra. We had a picnic. And then, he proposed."

"Wow." I try to imagine Johnny listening to orchestral music without falling asleep. "You do that kind of thing a lot - listen to music without words?"

"We love the orchestra. We go to the opera. We go for bike rides. We take cooking classes."

"Wow," I repeat. This is all new information to me. I wipe a drizzle of orange juice from my jaw. "The Johnny that I knew was into video games and Beastie Boys and competitive wrestling. Sometimes he'd agreed to go see a romantic comedy with me at the movie theater."

Even Tucker would come. He'd sit beside me and make a mockery of it. He'd take out a little notebook and pretend to be taking notes on wooing women. He'd stick an extra straw in my soda and drink at the same time, pressing our foreheads together to be annoying.

I tell Jen, "You haven't been together very long, have you?"

"Since July." She peels her orange.

"That's so soon."

"Well, when you know you know ."

I stop chewing. "But how do you know? Is there some big lightning bolt that crashes down and says this person, this is the one, marry him, love him ? And…how do you know when it is love? What's the switch from like or lust to love?"

She straightens up. She's taking her time, thinking about her answer, making me like her more for it. I appreciate the reflection. I want a true answer from someone who's jumped off that cliff because I've only just realized my car is parked there. At the junction of diving off the deep end and getting swallowed into a black hole. Calling it love or calling it nothing.

I think Jen's going to answer, but she hesitates. "Are you okay?"

I love you, Ella.

I close my eyes, my toes edged up to the drop-off. "Does Johnny ever talk about Tucker?"

"Sure."

"What does he say?"

"Just that they've been friends since they were kids." She shrugs. "He doesn't talk about him much." She follows my eyes and my train of thought. "He was excited about the two of you being here together. He wants things to be like when you were kids. He said you and Tucker don't get along."

"We don't. Well…" I consider it. "We fought a lot when we were younger. But then we kind of got over it and we became more friend-like. There were times when I thought he understood me better than I understood myself. Sometimes I thought he cared about me more than anyone else did. Now, I hate him."

"That's a strong word."

Oh yeah. Is that one of those words she wasn't allowed to say as a child? I threw it around to Tucker and my sisters like candy at a parade.

"It is strong," I agree.

"Johnny told me about your accident. He seems to think that's why you're angry at Tucker?"

"It is."

When I woke up in the hospital, I remember seeing my parents and sisters, the nurses and the doctor. They all blurred around me. I felt alone. On a raft out at sea and no one understood what I felt. My friends showed up, Lori showed up, her step-sons showed up. The one person who belonged as both my family and friend didn't show up.

My lips press together, and my eyes burn.

It's coming. The tears are coming, and I can't stop them because I can't stop this horrible train of thought. I don't want to say it, but it's going to come out anyway.

"Jen, Tucker and I done things together," I blurt out. I stare through the window at Tucker's back. "Intimate things. Graphic. And it's not like I love him because he's done these things to me - I'm not saying that at all - but we walked this fine line a lot, like a lot, a lot , and we made it so that we could never be just friends and he made me feel so loved and safe."

I tear my eyes away from him, to the orange in my hand, the sting of juice on a cut on my forefinger. "I know he's attracted to me – he's stuck his tongue down my throat more than once and copped a feel like my boobs belonged to him – but it's more than that. He has this sense where he always knows what's wrong with me, and when I was in pain, I knew he would show up! I just knew it. But he didn't. For the first time in my entire life, he wasn't there when I needed him. Even when I didn't need him, he was always there. And I don't know why he didn't see me in the hospital. It doesn't make sense. I mean, when someone looks at you the way that Tucker looked at me for all of those years -" I stop.

She's horrified. Her mouth is wide open, her eyes frozen on the kitchen island.

I look down to make sure a nipple hasn't popped out, that I haven't lost an eyeball, that she's only looking at me with such shock because of my words.

I start, "Oh my gosh, Jen, I'm so sorry!"

She slides carefully out of her chair.

"I didn't mean to unload all of that on you. I just can't tell anyone else."

"It's okay." She gives me a pacifying smile and I hear the patio doors slide open. She squirms. "I'm not good at processing that kind of information."

We both look up at Tucker who stands in the kitchen with his hair slicked back, his skin damp, his hands knotted together. "What?" he asks.

She makes the sound of a popped balloon and scrambles out of the room, mentioning something about needing to process things.

He turns to me. "What's wrong with her?"

"I overshared," I grumble.

Tucker approaches me and my back straightens. "I need to talk to you."

I finish my orange, digging my heels into the floor. "Then talk."

"No. Alone." He grounds his teeth and snatches my hand. I'm pulled into our bedroom, he looks around and guides me to the edge of the bed. He leans with his legs stretched out and I say, "Don't sit there, you're all wet!"

He rolls his eyes and drags me with him toward the wooden bench. He sits and I argue, "Not there either, you're going to warp the wood."

" Jesus Christ !" He pulls me along into the bathroom, my feet stumbling to keep up, and pushes me up against the sink. He grips my sides and hoists me onto the counter.

I choke, "What are you doing?"

Tucker's hands flatten beside my hips. "I need to say something, and I need you eye level." He sucks in air, taking in the sight of me in front of him. He decides, "Maybe with a little distance."

He backs up a little. "Ella, I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry."

I wait, expecting more, but he's stopped, so I prompt, "Sorry for?"

If he thinks I'm going to hand-feed him the right words, then he's wrong. Tucker's smart, he's always known exactly what to say to charm the pants off anyone, he can formulate the words but he's holding back.

"I'm sorry for not calling," he replies. "I should have checked on you. I got busy and things were a little crazy with me moving and I, just…I dropped the ball." His leg shakes, his breath rattles.

I gag in surprise. "You dropped the ball ?" I repeat. My nose pinches.

Johnny hates it when I cry. He calls it a ‘cheap shot,' thinking I'm being manipulative or that he has to apologize just because tears flow, but Johnny rarely apologizes. Tucker always apologized. He knew I cried when I was so full of emotion that I had burst.

Years ago, he would have come to me, offered a hand or rubbed my back or wiped the tears away. It was as if my hurt caused him hurt.

Tucker doesn't move toward me. If anything, he backs away. "I was a shitty friend, and I'm sorry."

I blink, pushing away the tears that have already escaped.

"Is that what we were?" I ask. " Friends ?"

"I don't know what else to call it." A nervous ripple runs across his neck muscles. "You were so hot and cold all of the time, I never knew where I stood with you."

My eyes bulge. "Me? I was only ever hot when you touched me. I know where I stood."

"Where was that?" Tucker's eyes flash angrily for a second before softening. He looks at me, pained, and I think I have that same expression, too. The I can't believe I'm seeing you look.

"…in the middle," I answer.

The middle of love and darkness, that place where I never had to choose.

"That was the problem," Tucker says. "You never told me what to do next. I never knew what to do next, I just did things impulsively and you didn't stop me. That's not the same thing as wanting it, Ella."

"That's why you didn't call me? Because of what happened at the wedding?"

He didn't think I'd bring that up. He's fidgeting. We had so many moments between us that never saw the light of day, he must have assumed that's one of them. For me, it's the last memory I have of him. I assumed we had taken it too far - I had misstepped - and he wrote me off.

Carefully, Tucker says, "No. I didn't not call for any reason. I just…got busy. I was selfish and fucked up. I'm sorry."

I grab a tissue from the box between the sinks and dab my face.

He says, "Can we just get through these few days? You don't have to forgive me or ever talk to me again, but I don't want to fight. We have family to share. At least for our niece, we might as well learn to be in the same room together."

"Is that what you want? To never talk to me again?"

His throat bobs. "I want whatever you want."

I want him to hold me, but we didn't hug. It wouldn't occur to him, and I couldn't ask for it. I want a lot of things from him that we never discussed.

I could chalk it up to this monumental birthday - turning thirty has me looking at life, my future, through the lens of a creator. I achieved my goals, I've overcome my obstacles, now I can conjure the happiness I didn't know I missed. I can create whatever life I want. And I want to be loved.

Being with Tucker felt like being loved, even when I was seventeen.

I thought I wanted someone to look at me as he did, but I realize that I want him . Not a stranger, not someone else. I end up looking at every man like they are they wrong, simply because they're not him .

"Okay." I hop down from the counter. I shake out my tears and decide, "I won't fight with you. I won't bring it up anymore. We don't have to talk to each other after this trip."

He meets my eyes but doesn't say a word. I see the twinge of pain. He's in there, somewhere.

"Okay," he agrees quietly. He walks out of the door, leaving me.