Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LAINEY

"Do you think Rosie is really going to move?" Claire asks. "She's been acting jumpy about it. About everything, actually. And she asked me to cut her hours at the bakery this week." It's late afternoon on Sunday, and we're sitting on her back porch, drinking wine on the side-by-side deck chairs as we check out the view of the rolling blue mountains under the bright, nearly cloudless sky. The leaves have started to change, and the air is deliciously crisp. Declan and Rosie are at Jake's old building, checking out Joy's spare bedroom.

I laugh. "Considering she told me about all of the animal sex sounds you've been making all around the house, yes, I do."

Claire cradles her head in her hands, her blonde hair splaying out around them, but she honestly doesn't look too embarrassed. Then again, maybe she's proud. Jake nearly made me lose myself yesterday, and it's the only thing I can think about. Would I want to shout it from the top of one of those mountains if I actually let him make me come? If, for the first time in seven years, I let someone else rock my world?

My gaze travels to the house next door. The thought of his nearness makes my skin prickle.

When I woke up this morning, I was basically plastered all over him on the couch. There's no way he's not going to need an Advil given I was lying on top of him, and he was essentially sleeping sitting up, his arm wrapped around me. In a weird way, it felt more intimate than what he'd done to me the night before, so I figured it would be best to leave and do some thinking. Not that I've gotten very far in said thinking.

Nicole and Damien promised to keep an eye on him so I could do my unspecified chores. But what has he been doing all day? Sketching in his book?

Looking at whatever was tucked into that bag?

I've stayed away all day on purpose. First, by going to the pet store to buy more shit Professor X probably doesn't need. Secondly, by helping Claire out at the bakery, which is only open from eight to twelve on Sundays. Then, I invited myself over for a late lunch.

I feel a little bad about leaving Jake at Nicole and Damien's mercy all day, but I can't go over there right now. Not until I get my head screwed on straight. Telling Claire about everything that happened last night has been part of that attempt.

"Okay, that's fair," Claire finally says, looking back up. She catches me staring at the cabin next door and says, "It's not like you to practice avoidance."

I sigh. "Is this your way of trying to get rid of me?"

"You know I want you to be with me forever and ever. Today's no different. It's just…maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you enjoyed yourself. You know, blew off some steam. You've been so angry since you and Todd broke up."

I nearly drop my wine. "Seriously? I thought you were going to talk sense into me. This man is literally a thief."

She shrugs. "He's still probably better than Todd."

Laughter bursts out of me. "Tell me how you really feel."

She shrugs a second time, her expression guilty. "I should have told you before, but I was deep into my people-pleasing era. And you hear about people getting shut out of their friends' lives for being too honest about their partners, and I couldn't take losing you. Not for anything."

"You couldn't get rid of me if you tried," I say, reaching out to squeeze her shoulders. "And it goes both ways. I should have been more proactive about getting you to quit your shitty job. You were there for as long as I was with Todd."

"But it was different with him," she says, pausing. "He was… He didn't want you to have anything of your own, and he got off on making you feel small. I hated him for that. I still hate him."

"Me too," I say, holding my wine glass out for a cheers, then lifting it to the sky after we clink. "May his big dick wither and fall off. May he get gonorrhea of the ear."

"Amen," Claire says with a smile.

"It was my fault, though," I add bitterly. "I'm like my parents. I let my head get turned by all the things he had. By all the things I'd have if I married him. I let myself care about that."

"So what? Who wouldn't want unnecessary kitchen appliances?"

I shrug. "But I don't need to resort to sleeping with a thief to get over it. For all I know, everything Jake's said to me is a lie."

But I don't really believe that. As with most people, there's more to Jake Not-Jeffries than there appears to be. He's a thief and a practiced liar…but he's also a brother. An artist. The first man to almost make me come in years.

Dangerous .

"I'm definitely not encouraging you to marry this guy," Claire adds. "You could just enjoy yourself. You should be enjoying yourself. You were with that jerk for seven years."

"Nicole's rubbed off on you."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

I think of the Claire that was…

Back in New York, she was the personal assistant to a lifestyle guru who enjoyed making life miserable for her. Here, she's in love with a man who worships the ground she walks on, and she runs her own bakery—a dream she's had since she was old enough to have dreams.

Nicole helped her with that. Nicole's helped her more than I ever did.

Here's another truth I wouldn't admit to either of them—I'm jealous of Nicole, because she's Claire's sister by blood, and I never will be. Because she gave Claire her dreams, and all I ever did was stand by her side being miserable with her, both of us caught in cages we'd made ourselves—her, tied to that job. Me, tied to the man I'd tricked into being my fiancé. A man who truly did get off on making me feel miserable and small.

It's a selfish feeling, one I wish were beneath me, because Nicole has been nothing but good to me in her prickly way. She's changing my life for the better too.

"No," I admit to Claire, tapping my glass lightly against hers. "It's not a bad thing at all."

She holds my gaze, her expression earnest. "I'm glad you're here, Lainey. It feels like this is where you're supposed to be, same as me. And maybe this is your opportunity to have some fun. You need that after Todd. It's like…you're the most lively person I've ever met, but you forgot how to enjoy yourself for a while."

I nod slowly, but I can tell she's not done. So I'm not surprised when she continues, "Maybe this is your chance to learn how to be yourself with a guy again. Look. I know this is going to bite me in the ass, but I brought that Tarot deck you bought me out here."

"You did?" I ask, shocked. My own Tarot deck was given to me by someone at the boutique I worked at in Brooklyn—my throwaway job, as Todd had described it, because he'd been of the mind that no wife of his needed to work outside of the home.

I'd decided the unexpected gift was a sign, and for a few weeks, I'd thought I could become a psychic on Coney Island or something. Until I realized it took a lot of training to read Tarot professionally—and also that I lacked the attention span to learn how to do it. Which didn't stop me from messing around with them for a few months. There's something seductive about lies, after all—and the belief that you can read the future with a card is wishful thinking, lying, at its best. Because almost every card can be interpreted in your favor.

Which is why I stopped using them a couple of weeks ago. I've lied to enough people, so I figured it was time to stop lying to myself. I want to be a person who always seeks out the truth even if it's not pretty. I'm already failing. I failed miserably with Cleo, and now I find myself wanting to make excuses for Jake. For all I know, he's a compulsive liar who thinks Sixteen Candles is the height of good cinema. But that doesn't mean I should stop trying to find that bedrock of truth.

I clear my throat. "I think I've decided I don't really believe in the Tarot."

Claire takes the cards out from the drawer of the little table sitting between us and removes them from their box, the silvered corners catching the light. "So I'll have to believe enough for both of us."

"Do you know what you're doing?" I ask with a smile as she shuffles the cards.

"Nope, but neither did you the eleventy billion times you took yours out, so I think we'll get along okay."

"This is completely unnecessary."

"I disagree, although I'll probably feel like a real jerk if you get a bad card."

"There are no bad cards," I say before I can stop myself.

"Which is exactly what you said to me when I kept pulling the DEATH card before I moved out here."

"It seemed to work out just fine for you," I say, indicating the house with its view of rolling blue mountains. It's only after I say the words that I realize I'm doing it again—acting like the card she pulled had anything to do with how her life turned out. Like truth is a thing that can be forged rather than something immovable.

"I don't know how to do a spread, so you're going to just pick one, Lainey. Pick the one you feel drawn to."

So I do…and then turn it over on the face of the table between our chairs.

It's the three of swords—a bloody heart pierced by three swords—and my own heart, broken less by Todd than myself, feels a pulse of recognition.

"Yeah, I don't think we like that one," Claire says. "Let's try again."

I could tell her that, like it or not, it's accurate. Scarily accurate, but instead I pick another card and turn it over.

Seven of Wands.

"Well, I'll admit I have no idea what that means," she says. "But it has a lack of bleeding hearts, which I like, and Google was invented for a reason."

"Probably several," I agree as she sets down the rest of the deck and retrieves her phone from her pocket. My heart is still quailing over the other card—the bloody heart with three wounds.

Three . I have two. Is Jake supposed to be the third? If so, I'd do better to stay away from him.

"Ooh," Claire says, lifting a finger. "This one's good. It's about standing your ground and defending the progress you've made." Her eyes dart up to meet mine. "It's for a person who stands against a multitude but perseveres. That's you, Lainey. You persevere."

A chill runs down my spine, because that doesn't sound like me at all. When it comes down to it, I'm a woman who runs. I found out Todd cheated, and I left. My best friend moved, and I didn't even try to stick it out without her. I left.

I say as much, and she shakes her head. "Bullshit. You're stronger than you think. I just want you to love yourself like I love you."

I smile at her. "I'm trying."

"So go home and try harder. I say that with all the love in my heart, of course."

"Of course," I say, smiling wider. "Are you going to give me some Bronuts to go?"

"That depends, are you going to ask the hot thief to eat them off of you?"

Finding her dreams has emboldened her, and I'm grateful for that, even though I feel the ache of wanting to live my purpose too. "To be determined."

She gives me a bag of Bronuts, of course, because she's Claire, and even though she's found herself, she'll still always want to give the people she loves the things they want.

Five minutes later, I walk through the front door of the cabin. Home . Nicole glances up from the couch, where she's sitting with a snifter of something and a phone, and Professor X slinks out of the kitchen, chewing on God only knows what.

"So she's back," Nicole says. She nods to the bag I'm still holding. "You get the goods from Claire?"

"Obviously." I glance around, trying not to appear like I'm looking for him. Also, definitely looking for him, but I can already feel that he's not here. The house feels too…settled. Too quiet.

Nicole gives me a knowing glance. "If you give me one, I'll tell you where the thief is."

My heart beating faster, I sit on the couch next to her and present the bag. She takes it without ceremony as Professor X rubs against my feet and legs. "He's off doing P.I. shit with Damien. I think Damien's trying to butter him up for information by making him feel useful. You know, the thing they always tell you to do with children."

"You spend time with children?" I ask, both fascinated and maybe a little horrified.

She snorts. "I'll have you know, I'm going to be the best aunt that ever aunted when Claire and Declan decide to procreate. I'm going to let that little fucker do whatever he or she wants."

"I'm sure that'll bring a lot of comfort to Claire," I say.

She makes a flippant gesture. "You can be the good aunt."

I feel something warm in my chest. Aunt. She's accepting me as Claire's sister. As hers.

But the feeling blackens, like a marshmallow left over fire for too long. Because what could I possibly have to give to a child? Only poisoned lessons taught by poisonous people.