Isn't She Lovely (26 page)

I let my plate clank to the table, delighted when a strawberry rolls off my plate onto the white cloth.
Hope that shit stains
.

“I’m not picking a fight. I just want to know why you didn’t tell me that you spent most of yesterday with your ex-girlfriend.”

He shoves a pile of some truffled potato shit in his mouth, and I have a sudden craving for diner-style greasy hash browns, just because it’s
normal
. “Probably because I knew you’d respond like this,” he says irritably.

Ethan has a point. I’m acting like that totally immature bitch of a girlfriend from the movies, the one who always gets dumped. But I’m apparently a glutton for punishment because I keep going.

“Was it fun?”

“Was what fun?” He drops his fork on his plate, and we quit bothering to pretend we’re hungry.

“Your little country-club expedition. Was. It. Fun?”

“Sure …” he says slowly. He doesn’t meet my eyes.

And then I know why he didn’t bother mentioning it. Maybe nothing sexual happened with Olivia, maybe not even anything flirty.

But there’s something more dangerous than sex.

Compatibility
.

Ethan and Olivia have it.

Ethan and I do
not
.

It’s the same reason he was freaked out this morning by my attire. Hell, it’s the very reason I put
on
these clothes; I just didn’t realize it. Because my subconscious knew what I didn’t. That although he cared about me—and I didn’t doubt for a second that he did—it wouldn’t be enough. He wouldn’t be happy on the outskirts of his world, when the rest of his friends were yachting and I was trying to drag him to some one-man off-off-Broadway show.

He would miss out on golf games, tennis matches, and whatever other preppy crap because of me.

And because I care about him too, I won’t let that happen.

It’s why I have to let him go.

I feel my lips curve into a gross semblance of a smile. “Guess we have the end of our Pygmalion movie, huh?”

“What?” he snaps, looking exasperated.

I tell myself to shut up and walk away, but my stupid mouth keeps running. “You know,
all this time, I sort of thought it was going to be one of those trashy romantic comedy scripts. I’m actually kind of relieved that it’s real.”

“Stephanie …”

I keep going. “It’s pretty standard, actually. You, as Pygmalion, are forced to realize that what you thought you cared for was something of your own creation and not real. And I, as the subject, am forced to realize that it was too good to be true. That someone like you wouldn’t fall for damaged goods with multiple piercings.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “That sounds like a bunch of melodramatic babble.”

“Give it time. You’ll see I’m right.”

He frowns, his bored expression turning intense. “Wait—what are you saying?”

You know what I’m saying
. “We do what we always planned to do at the end of all this,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice that my voice cracks. “We go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”

My own trite phrase almost makes me wince, but throwing out clichés is easier than saying what I want to. That I’m hurt. That I’m scared.
That I love him
.

“Stephanie, let’s talk about this. I know this morning has been rough, but maybe we can compromise.”

I feel like he’s just landed a karate chop on my solar plexus. “
Compromise?
You want me to compromise who I am?”

“Maybe this isn’t who you are!” he says, his voice rising enough to draw a few looks. “I’ve got nothing against the color black, but you’re just trying to prove some point that nobody cares about but you!”

Wait, what?
That catches me off guard.

He thinks I’m doing this because I’m protecting myself? I’m doing it for
him
.

Aren’t I?

I push away the seed of doubt. “I’ve gotta go.”

He tries to grab my hand, but I snatch it back.

“Don’t leave me,” he says, his eyes pleading. “I just need a minute. Let me think for a minute.”

I hold his gaze. “Think about what, Ethan? Whether you want your golf games and your country club, or me?”

“Who says I have to choose?”

“Because I don’t belong here! How do you think this will work, you doing your upper-crust shit on weekends and me doing my goth agenda on mine, and we see each other … when?”

“We
do
go to the same school.”

“A school with over thirty thousand students, Ethan. We don’t have any of the same
classes, none of the same friends. We’re on opposite sides of campus.…”

His hand reaches out for mine, but I snatch mine back, ignoring the pain in his eyes.

“You’re pushing me away.” His voice is flat.

Am I? Maybe
.

But staying isn’t an option. If I stay, I’ll become whatever he wants me to be. I know I will.

And if the time I’ve spent with Ethan over the past month has taught me anything, it’s that I’m done letting other people shape me. Done getting piercings because I want to push away my dad. Done getting a tattoo because I want to separate myself from that foolish girl who was Caleb’s girlfriend. Done wearing all black because I want to be that troubled girl who just lost her mother.

I’m not entirely sure what I want anymore. But I need to figure it out.

And I can’t do that as Ethan’s puppet girlfriend.

“I’ve got to go, Ethan.”

“You mean like … you want to get back to the city? I can take you—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I see the second he realizes it. His eyes turn from gold to black and his features are completely blank.

He looks mad. But he also looks relieved. And that burns more than anything else.

I stand, almost turning over my plate in my clumsiness, and hating that I can’t meet his eyes.

“Stephanie,” he says hoarsely.

I meet his eyes. Silently, I beg him to beg me to stay.

He looks away. “You accused me of being Pygmalion … of falling for my own creation, or whatever.”

I swallow. Nod.

His eyes clash with mine again as he stands to tower over me. “You may be right, but that’s not the whole story.”

“No?” My voice is pathetic. Barely a whisper.

He leans in slightly, bracing his arms on the table. “
I
may be the Pygmalion in the story, but
you’re
the statue. All that black shit you hide behind? That’s just your version of ivory. You have the chance to come alive, Stephanie, and you’re choosing to be a lifeless piece of rock.”

I feel the color drain from my face.

Is he right? I know he’s right. Yet I still can’t speak.

Because being the statue is
easier
.

He straightens, and right before my eyes, I watch my Ethan fade away. His expression is
blank, his eyes vacant, and just like that, he’s the don’t-give-a-shit jock I met on that first day.

Before I can run the other way to lick my wounds, he catches my eyes and flays me with one more cut. “I’ll be in touch about the screenplay. I’m thinking we might have to reconsider the female lead. God knows we can’t base her on
you
. We need someone with guts. Someone not afraid to bleed a little. So go back to being the statue, Stephanie. But don’t expect me to be the one to bring you back to life next time. I’m done.”

And then he walks away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ethan

I’m dimly aware of making small talk with a handful of people after I walk away from the table—walk away from
Stephanie
.

Every instinct is screaming at me to turn back. To take her in my arms and tell her that we will find a way to make this work.

But I don’t.

She’s fucking bailing on me. On
us
.

After everything, after last night, she’s ready to call it quits because I didn’t swoon over her boots and her creepy makeup.

So I walked away first, thinking it would hurt less that way.

But I’m wrong. Because turning away from her feels like I have a knife in my chest.

And probably in my back too, if I know Stephanie.

Although I’m no longer sure that I do. That scared, indifferent creature isn’t the feisty, gutsy girl I know. I meant what I said to her: she really
is
turning into the statue. I mean, I know
why
, of course. To protect herself and all that shit.

But does she really think she has to protect herself from
me
?

Well, you did flip your shit because she had more earrings than you’d prefer. Why the hell should she trust you?

I rub a hand over my face. I’m an ass.

A really, really confused ass.

I don’t even realize where I’m headed until I’m there, climbing onto my father’s sailboat and heading toward the bow.

It had always been my getaway when I needed space from my parents during the summers. A chance to gather my thoughts, or escape lectures, or just have a break from people. Later I’d shared my getaway with Olivia, and it had become a place to make out under the stars.

I freeze when I catch the familiar sight of dark blond hair. As though I’d conjured her up with my memories, Olivia is there. I’d recognize her slim back and shoulder-length hair anywhere. She’s sitting in my spot with her legs thrown over the ledge, staring out at the water.

I mean to back away slowly, find another place to be alone, but she senses my presence. Her eyes aren’t the least bit surprised when she turns around to find me, and it’s as though she
knew it would be me.

Almost as though she’s been waiting for me.

I don’t know that I’m ready for this conversation, but suddenly the timing feels right. Maybe I can get Olivia and Stephanie completely out of my system and go into my senior year with a fresh start.

Maybe find a girl who won’t cheat on me. A girl who’s real rather than pretending.

She scoots over as I walk toward her, and I sit next to her. Before, I would have sat so close our hips were touching, but today there are inches between us, and I know the space isn’t just physical. It’s emotional too.

“Where’s Stephanie?” she asks softly.

I’m impressed that she uses her name. I’d always imagined ex-girlfriends as sneering
Where’s your new girlfriend?
or something even more derogatory when it comes to their competition. But Olivia’s never been catty.

Unfaithful, yes. Bitchy, no.

“Waiting for the jitney, I presume,” I reply, referring to the bus that shuttles dozens of Hampton-goers to and from the city.

“Without you?”

“Yup.”

She glances down at her legs swinging above the water. “Want to talk about it?”

It’s not what Olivia and I should be talking about. We should be talking about us, and yet Olivia and I don’t seem to be the important part here.

When Olivia and I ended, I was pissed. Humiliated.

But I don’t remember feeling this
crippled
. Like I didn’t know what my next steps were supposed to be.

So yeah, I guess I
do
want to talk about it, and she’s here …

“Stephanie and I … we’re different,” I say, not knowing where to start.

Olivia glances at my profile. “Different how?”

I stare out at a distant yacht. “She’s not like us, you know?”

“Snobbish, you mean?”

I glance out of her at the corner of my eye, surprised to see that she’s smiling. “Are we? Snobbish?”

“Ethan, we’re sitting on a luxury sailboat outside a mansion in the freaking Hamptons, and I don’t think either one of our current ‘casual outfits’ cost under five hundred dollars.”

I wince. When she puts it that way …

“But it’s not a bad thing, you know. To have money. It’s not evil.”

“Noooo,” she says, drawing the word out. “But it can be toxic when we let it become our
bubble. When we’re not willing to go outside it.”

Her words are like lemon juice on a paper cut. Is that what I’m doing? Hiding like a scared child inside a bubble that cares more about class and appearance than substance?

For the first time, I wonder what my dad will do if and when he learns of my mother’s affair. Will he brush it under the carpet to maintain appearances? Will he pretend it didn’t happen in order to maintain his working relationship with Mike?

Possibly.

No.
Probably
.

The thought makes me sick, and yet am I any better? I’m doing the opposite thing for the exact same reason. Instead of keeping close someone who’s perhaps bad for me, I’m pushing someone away who’s absolutely good for me.

All because she doesn’t
fit
.

Olivia’s eyes are on my face. “You love her.”

It’s like she’s stabbed me. That word was thrown out so easily between the two of us over the years, each giving and receiving it, and while I’m sure we meant it, it was too light. We took it for granted. Took each other for granted.

And because I can’t think of
love
and
Stephanie
just yet, I focus on Olivia.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask.

She had to know the question was coming, and yet she jolts as though dealt a blow.

“Ethan … I’ve tried to explain so many times. I’ve called. I’ve texted. I came by your parents’ house, but you were never there.…”

“So explain now.”

Her hand finds my arm, and I expect to feel either loathing or longing, but I feel … nothing.

“You have to know, Ethan, we never, never meant to hurt you.”

“Lack of premeditation’s not going to help your case, Olivia. I still saw you. And don’t tell me it was all him, because I know a reciprocal kiss when I see one.”

Her head dips, her chin almost touching her chest. “I went over there because I wanted to talk to Michael about planning a surprise party for your birthday.”

I snort. “Well, congrats. I definitely got my surprise.”

“It just
happened
, Ethan. You have to believe me. It was a one-time thing, and it’s not something I’d even thought about before it—”