Chapter Three

Today

What about Tucker?

Something strange happens. My stomach clenches, for an inexplicable reason, and my throat goes dry, and it's been that same reaction for seven years. Every time his name is mentioned - stomach pain, dry mouth - and I haven't yet decided what emotion to label it.

Anger? Pain? Sadness?

Frustration.

I think it's mostly frustration. Frustration that I can't decide how to feel about the seven years of silence between me and my best friend's best friend. The pain rises to my chest.

"You're not supposed to mention him in front of me," I tell Hattie, hoping my voice sounds normal.

She scoffs, "Come on, Ella. Give it a rest."

"Even Steven and Lori can respect my wishes," I grumble, sinking into my seat, trying not to picture Tucker's face. It's almost impossible to do when she says:

"The guy's our brother-in-law's stepbrother. He's our mother's best friend's son. He's family ." She pauses on the other end. "And frankly…he has no problem asking about you."

My jaw drops. "You've been speaking to him?"

"I saw him for Easter, when you stayed in Atlanta."

The questions are on the tip of my tongue.

How is he? How does he look? Has he grown horns and a tail? Did he stare at pictures of me all day and weep?

Hattie's question supersedes mine. She repeats, "So, are you going to see him for your joint thirtieth birthday?"

"We are not twins," I growl. "We don't need to do everything together. So, no . Tucker's not coming to Florida."

"Why not?"

"He's not a part of the group."

"Stop it, Ella."

"He's not!" I think about the beach trip this summer and the week in Spain three years ago and the annual Saint Patrick's Day weekend in Boston. I think of the letter T on our group text and how he's never responded to anything in years.

I know he still keeps in touch with them. Johnny mentions it. Serena sees him often when she goes to Savannah for work. They all must have their own Ella-free The Gang text group.

He even shows up to family functions when I can't make it. The people in my life have no goddamn loyalty.

Hattie sighs. "I don't know how you can just shut him out of your life like that."

" Easily ," I snap, hopeful that she can hear the threat in my voice. There's a message overhead about a ten-minute delay on our flight. Listening to the rumbles of conversation around me, I continue, "I was in a coma for a week, Hattie."

"Trust me, I know."

"It was on the fucking news!"

"You would have loved the attention."

I ramble, "Tucker knew about the car accident. Lori told him, and all of the boys came to see me. All three of them, and only one is familially obligated."

I suck in air, reliving seven-year-old trauma and continue, "My tenth grade math teacher sent flowers. I got text messages from girls I danced with when I was nine. Even the preacher came to see me, and I hadn't set foot in that church in five years! The only person who did not visit me in the hospital or send flowers or call or text or say a fucking word to me is the boy I've known for my entire life."

Hattie hears the shift in my voice. "Ella, calm down."

Years ago, I would have started crying the minute I thought about it. Now, the pain is reduced to eye swelling and mild panic attacks, my skin going cold and my hands shaky.

Reliving how devastated I was to never hear from him is like a knife to the heart and makes me reevaluate everything I ever thought about Tucker. Even when we argued and got under each other's skin, I would have reluctantly called him my friend. I would have thought he was a good guy. I might have even considered him my closest friend at different periods of time.

I continue, "And, I haven't heard from him in seven years. Seven years . He completely ignores me, like I don't exist, and I don't matter to him."

"That's not entirely true," she argues. "You're the one who told Lori to make sure he stays away from you."

"Because I hate him!"

That's what I'm feeling right now.

I hate Elijah Tucker.

Hattie sighs. "I know. I just don't know why you don't talk to him about it."

That's always the response: be the bigger person, reach out to him, don't act like such a victim. My brother-in-law, Steven, complained Christmas Eve that his step-brother wouldn't come over because he didn't want to upset me. Somehow, I'm always the one who is blamed when Tucker does something wrong.

I hold my phone close to my face and growl, "Was he the one in a horrific car accident? Did he have to undergo months of rehabilitation? Did he almost lose his career as a professional dancer?"

"Okay!" Hattie waves her metaphorical white flag. "I'm sorry I brought him up. I just can't believe the rest of your friends have edged him out too."

"They haven't. Traitors ." I knock back my coffee. "They just don't talk about him around me."

"Those bitches…"

"I hope his thirtieth birthday sucks balls."

"Jesus, Ella."

"I could have said worse."

She clucks her teeth. "You might actually have to worry about the fiancée, then."

"What do you mean?" I switch the phone to the other ear and lift my head to check on the progress at the check-in counter.

Hattie explains, "She wouldn't think anything was going on with you and Johnny if Tucker was there."

I pause. "Excuse me?"

"No one ever worried about you and Johnny hooking up. You and Tucker on the other hand…"

This is worse than the innuendo. "No. That's just - no."

"You both claim nothing ever happened, but it's the vibe you two give off. Even as teenagers, your sexual tension was off the charts. I have that photo from prom to prove it. And there was you two at Gracie's wedding. The cruise. Christmases. Summer vacations."

My jaw drops. "Oh my God!" I shudder, feeling my skin prickle with disgust. "I can't believe you would say that to me. How can you say that? We bathed together as infants!"

"You didn't stay babies. You grew boobs. He noticed." She snorts a laughs. "We all saw him notice."

"This is inappropriate."

Hattie laughs on the other end. "Come on! Just tell me, once and for all, because we're both adults now. Have you and Tucker had sex?"

I swallow, my mouth drying out every second that I consider how I'm going to say this. I know what I'm going to say, I just don't know how it'll come out.

"No," I try.

She laughs again. "You liar!"

"Let it go, Harriet ," I fight. I drop my voice, "The only thing that ever existed between us was an unfortunate mutual attraction."

"Unfortunate?"

I say, "Yeah, because I didn't want to find him attractive and I'm sure he didn't want to feel that way about me, but that's just how the chips fell. Okay? So, there it is."

In his early years of puberty, Elijah Tucker ogled anyone with a vagina. I just happened to be the teenage girl who grew up with him. For all Hattie knows, the two of us were platonic friends, nothing more, and that's the story I want printed in the history books.

She asks, "So, how many times did you guys do it?"

Distractedly, I begin, "It was just -"

"Ah!" She suddenly screams. " Lalalala , I don't want to know, I'm sorry I asked, I don't want to picture you two!"

"Stop tricking me into saying things I shouldn't say!" I hiss into the receiver.

The man beside me huffs loudly and stands, viewing me with annoyed yet interested eyes. I notice others doing the same.

I cover my mouth and tell my sister, "Hey, I'm gonna go, I think we're boarding soon."

"Okay. And don't worry, I'll take your deep, dark, unfortunate secret with me to the grave."

"There's nothing to take anywhere because I haven't told you anything ." A little bit of panic rattles in my chest. "Hattie, I swear, do not say anything to anyone, please."

She admits, "Honestly, everyone already suspects it. There's nothing for me to tell even if you had given me sordid details. Not that I want them. Anyway, text me when you get off the plane."

I set my phone on my lap and sip my coffee, listening as another message is relayed that we will board shortly.

Everyone suspects it?

Of course, they do. Normal families would never assume two friendly acquaintances would be secretly banging in the back room on a summer vacation, but apparently it's an everyday conversation in my household.

Other passengers begin to stand, but I'm in no rush to get on the plane. I'm not one of those people who stands by the doors to wait in unnecessary lines. I pull up my American Airlines app and check my boarding group.

Johnny bought my ticket. He said I shouldn't lift a finger or credit card for my birthday weekend, seeing as he makes ungodly amounts of money doing some work involving computers. He also felt bad about missing a Nutcracker performance.

He's seen me perform every single year since I was Clara in the Pine Place Dance Academy's 2006 Nutcracker. When I started professionally with the Alabama Ballet, he never missed a show. Since I've been with Atlanta Ballet, he's never missed a show. This year, being in California and wooing a new woman, he couldn't find the time and I never expected him to. Some years it's brutal for me to hear the music I know by heart and perform the same choreography for the sixth consecutive year, I can't imagine he enjoys watching it. But that's Johnny.

He's the one who shows up. The shirt off his back, the money in his wallet, the time he can scrounge up - he'll give anything to his friends. Once he finds something comfortable, be it a friendship or a routine or a brand of hot sauce, he won't give it up.

He still has a MySpace account. Two years ago, I found a stockpile of his favorite childhood applesauce in his pantry because he said it was out of production. When I discovered a ten-year-old Green Day concert stub in his wallet, I knew he'd never feel anything romantic for me because Johnny doesn't like change. Once he placed me in the friend box, there I would remain for all eternity.

As it happens, I've never once had a sexual thought about him either. We just didn't bloom that way, like a dough that doesn't rise or a car that just won't start. All the components are there - he's attractive, I've been known to turn a head - but we never ventured down that path, nor did we want to.

Serena was the first one to point out the uniqueness of "the trio," as she called it. Me, Johnny, Tucker.

First half of freshman year, I came down from UNCSA to Clemson for the weekend and stayed in Johnny's dorm. He and Serena had already started dating. She asked me, "Why don't you stay with Tuck?"

I remember being appalled by the idea. "Never. Tucker and I are not friends."

"But the three of you are best friends."

" No . Johnny and I are friends. Tucker and Johnny are friends. Tucker and I…have mothers who are friends."

She didn't get it.

It would seem more logical that Tucker and I would be closer, considering our mothers were best friends and we spent every holiday and most weekends together during our childhood. But the dynamic between the three of us couldn't be explained. It had to be witnessed.

I finish my coffee, smelling cinnamon rolls across the terminal, and I head toward the nearest trash can. I toss my cup and return to my seat.

It's 10:30 now. In just a few hours, I will be in South Florida, in some fancy waterfront Airbnb, looking up at the sun. The warmest item I've packed is this one sweater. I've been waxed and spray-tanned. You'd need a jackhammer to make a dent in my nails. My carry-on is loaded with sunscreen and a bathing suit just in case something happens to my luggage -

What is this?

A paper airplane has just flown into my lap.

I flinch, hands up, staring at it with a little bit of panic. I look up, casting my eyes around the airport for anyone making eye contact with me, finding only a few curious looks.

The piece of paper is from a magazine. In the middle of an article about a soccer team, scribbled in black ink, are the words: Well, well, well, if it isn't the love of my life.