Unexpected Read online

  “You know,” he said as we reached my front steps, “it’s not like I meant to listen in or anything. But Jamie’s door was open. And you guys talk kind of loud. My bedroom is right across the hall…” He shrugged apologetically. I cringed, replaying everything we’d talked about earlier. I was fairly certain that by the time we’d started talking about him, he’d shut Jamie’s door to give us some privacy. “So I was just wondering…” He paused and let out a breath. The air was so chilly that his exhalation came out in a frosty puff. “I mean, I guess I wanted to ask you…”

  My head was spinning with possibilities of where this was leading. I was pretty sure I knew by the way he was hesitating. I frantically began thinking of a way to steer the conversation to something else without seeming obvious. I couldn’t think of an easy way to do that. I also knew I should stop him before it was—

  “The Valentine’s dance,” he finally managed to get out.

  Too late.

  I’d hesitated and now it was too late to stop the question from coming. Only, it wasn’t a question. Not yet. It had come out sounding like more of a statement. Regardless, it seemed pretty obvious to me where he must be going with this. I instantly started trying to manufacture a reasonable excuse to decline. The only thing I could come up with was Jamie. She wouldn’t be happy about this. Not at all.

  At least, not if threats of rotting corpses were any indication.

  “You know, I could be your back-up plan,” he said as we reached my front porch. “Like Grant always is for Willow. I just…well, the offer is there.” Mom had left the outside light on for me. Tristan’s face was fully illuminated as he gave me an embarrassed shrug. His eyes darted away from mine as he looked out into the darkened tree line that skirted our yard.

  “My back-up plan?” I parroted. I wasn’t expecting him to say that. I also wasn’t expecting the slight twinge of…Disappointment? Is that what I was feeling? It couldn’t be. That was a complication I didn’t need. I shook my head at the thought. Tristan mistook it as a refusal to his offer.

  “You’re right,” he said. He scrunched up his face, clearly wishing he’d never brought it up. “That was a stupid idea. Besides, you’re not going to need a back-up plan. Corey is a moron. You’ll be dating someone else in no time. Or he’s going to be on his knees begging you to take him back,” he said with a small laugh. The laugh held no humor.

  I shrugged. “I really don’t want him back.” The more I said it, the easier it was becoming to believe it. Of course, it also probably helped that Christmas vacation meant I had been at home for the past week. Not at school where he was thrown in my path multiple times every day.

  Tristan, however, didn’t look so sure. “Really?” he asked. His eyebrows were raised and questioning. His dark eyes were searching mine. His expression had turned uncomfortably serious. “Because for a while there…”

  He let the statement fade away. I was grateful because I knew where he was going with it. For a while, I’d been a wreck. An embarrassingly emotional, broken-hearted, depressed wreck. I didn’t like to think about it. I really didn’t want to have it pointed out to me, either.

  I let out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t want to want him. That has to count for something. Right?”

  I was pretty sure I’d been in love with Corey. And I thought he’d been in love with me, too. I was sure of it, actually. But someone should’ve reminded me that high-school romances expire sooner rather than later. Looking back, it should’ve been obvious to me. But I’d naively thought things were going well. I had been wrong. Definitely not the first time and surely not the last, either.

  We were standing on the porch now, right in front of my door. A few more minutes out here and my teeth were going to start to chatter.

  This time the smile he gave me, though small, was genuine. “Sure,” he said. “It counts for something.”

  “I mean, it completely sucks when you want someone and they clearly don’t want you the same way,” I said as I bounced in place just a bit, trying to fight off the cold.

  “Yeah,” he said with a sigh. “I know. I better let you get inside. It’s freezing out here.”

  “Okay, well thanks. For walking me home,” I told him.

  “Not a problem,” he said as he turned and made his way down the steps. “See you later, Britta,” he called over his shoulder.

  I wasn’t sure why. But I just stood there watching him as he began to blend into the darkness. For just a second, I’d thought he was going to ask me to the dance. My initial reaction was a small spark of panic—wondering how I would politely get out of it. Because Jamie surely would not approve. If I’d ever had any doubt—and I really hadn’t because honestly, the thought had never really crossed my mind—now I knew she was completely opposed. But when it turned out to not be an actual request, I was disappointed. Whether I wanted to admit it or not. And had he really asked me? I think I just might have said yes.

  So, really, I told myself, it was probably a good thing he hadn’t asked. And honestly, I wasn’t even sure if his offer to be a back-up still stood. Seemed to me, he’d withdrawn it. Not that I wanted him to be my back-up.

  That was just silly.

  Tristan was a complete sweetheart and too good to be anyone’s back-up plan.

  When he reached the end of my driveway, he turned around. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I was just standing there, in a contemplative daze. He raised his hand and I quickly returned his wave. Then I hurriedly let myself into the house, attempting to banish all thoughts of my best friend’s brother as I went.

  3

  I was on the way up to my room when Mom’s voice called me back downstairs. She met me at the bottom of the steps. She had the kitchen phone in her hand and an unhappy look on her face.

  “I just had an interesting phone call with your father,” she told me.

  My stomach dropped and I cringed. As soon as her words were out I felt bad that she had to deal with him. No wonder she looked so unhappy. She should be able to be done with him completely. But, because of me, she’d always be linked to the jerk.

  “Apparently he’s been unable to get a hold of you on your cell phone.” She paused to look at me with raised eyebrows.

  I shrugged. “I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him.”

  “Ever?” she asked.

  I had no idea why she sounded so surprised.

  “Ever,” I agreed.

  She blew out a sigh. “Oh, Britta,” she said as she shook her head. “You need to talk to him. He said he tried to reach you over the holidays. He sounded really hurt. Did you block his number from your phone?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to talk to him.” I couldn’t believe I really had to explain this to my mom. She, of all people, should get it! He sounded hurt?! So what? I wondered. After what he did to us…? Just thinking about it made every muscle in my body tense. “I’m sorry he called the house phone.” I don’t know why, but I didn’t see that coming. I guess I figured he was doing his obligatory reaching out during the holidays and once they had passed, I had thought he’d forget about it.

  Apparently not. Apparently he was trying to pretend to be interested a while longer.

  “You need to call him.” Her voice was firm but the look on her face was pained.

  I understood what she was doing. She didn’t want to have to deal with him any more than I did, I was sure. Yet, she probably felt it was her maternal responsibility to force me to fix things. But I didn’t want that. I sure didn’t need it, either. Neither did she.

  She tried to hand me the phone. “Why don’t you call him now?”

  “I’ll do it later,” I said. I made no move to take the phone from her. When I said ‘later’ I meant maybe in a year or so.

  Or maybe never.

  “I think maybe we need to talk about this.” A sigh accompanied her statement.

  I felt horrible already. She was moving on. She didn’t need him pulling her back into the past. And I was sure it was
. Because that’s exactly what happened to me. Every time I thought about him, I thought about what he had done.

  “No. We don’t need to talk about it. I’ll call him,” I said with a sigh of my own.

  “When?” she demanded because she was my mother and she knew me well. “Because this is important. He’s your father. You need to talk to him. I think it’s time you two move past what happened.”

  “Why? Have you?” I asked. My tone was a little more accusatory than I meant for it to be. She flinched, telling me she hadn’t. How could she have? I instantly felt bad. I was saved from feeling the need to apologize when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get that,” I offered. I had no idea who it would be. It wasn’t as if we had company frequently popping in.

  As I was swinging the door open I belatedly wondered if could be Mom’s boyfriend. Um, man friend? Significant other?

  Or heaven forbid…my father…coming to demand I speak to him.

  It wasn’t either of those two.

  It was Tristan.

  I immediately realized he could be my salvation. And more than anything at that moment, I wanted to be saved from the conversation Mom was forcing me to have.

  “Oh, hey!” I said as I pasted on a smile. “I was wondering when you would get here!”

  The door blocked his surprised expression from Mom’s view. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was frowning slightly. As he opened his mouth to speak, I rudely—but necessarily—interrupted him.

  “The CD is upstairs!” I said with a little too much cheer. I assumed he’d come back to discuss his non-invite to the dance. But we weren’t going to do that here, in front of my mom. So I thought I might as well try to take advantage of his sudden appearance. “The CD that you made me last summer? The one I forgot to bring over earlier today. I know you want it back and I keep forgetting to give it to you.” I threw in a small palm to the forehead gesture for good measure.

  “Hi, Tristan,” Mom said with a smile as she moved so she was behind me.

  “Hey, Lila,” Tristan said as he gave her a small wave. Then he returned his confused self back to me.

  “It’s up in my room,” I told him. I had my back to my mom. I made what I hope to be a just-go-with-it face. I grabbed him by the hand and tugged him inside.

  “Ohhhkay,” he said as he kicked off his boots.

  Still holding his hand, I towed him up the stairs behind me.

  “We’ll talk later!” Mom called after me.

  “Uhhuh,” I noncommittally replied.

  We reached my room and I pulled Tristan inside, shutting the door behind us. When I was dating Corey, Mom of course had a door-stays-open rule. But since I was with Tristan and it was completely not the same thing, I figured it didn’t apply. I mean, why would it? It was pretty much just like having Jamie or Willow over.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked as the latch clicked shut.

  He shrugged and gave me an amused smile. “Picking up a CD? You didn’t like it? You want to give it back?”

  I actually loved the CD he’d made me. Tristan was a huge classic rock fan. That should be obvious to anyone if they paid any attention to his attire. I used to mercilessly tease him about listening to such old school music. Then one day last summer he handed over a CD with all of his favorites.

  His point was proven and I never teased him again.

  “No,” I told him. “You can’t have your CD back. I was just trying to avoid a conversation with my mom.”

  “I figured,” he said. But he looked relieved. “I was hoping you hadn’t changed your mind about it.”

  “No,” I assured him. “I still listen to it all the time.”

  He smiled at my response.

  “Soooo,” I asked again, dragging out the question. “Why are you here?”

  “Oh,” he said. He looked like he just remembered the answer to that. “These.” He dug around in his front pocket and pulled out my keys. He held them out to me. “I found them on the way home. They were on the side of the road. I stepped on them, actually. But I think they’re just fine. I knew they were yours. I thought maybe you’d need them in the morning or something.”

  He handed over the big clump of keys with its multiple key rings. Definitely mine, no mistaking it. One of the key rings was a giant, purple “B”.

  “Oh, thanks! That was so lucky! It’s supposed to snow tonight. They would’ve been buried and I never would’ve found them then,” I said as I took them. “They must’ve fallen out when I pulled my hand out of my pocket. You didn’t have to walk them all the way back here, though. I could’ve gotten them from Jamie.”

  He just shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Like I said, I thought you might need them.”

  He was still leaning up against my door. His eyes began wandering around my room. He’d been to my house probably hundreds of times before. Dad used to be famous around here for his grilling capabilities. He was the master of neighborhood barbeques. Our family had hosted them monthly during the summer. Sometimes more often, as in, whenever the urge struck him. I couldn’t remember a single time though, where Tristan had actually been up to my room. I glanced around. I was glad I’d made my bed and that the only clothing I’d left out was a dirty pair of jeans I’d tossed aside. Mom had placed my shopping bags on my bed so I could sort through them myself. No dirty bras or underwear scattered about, though, thank goodness. I hadn’t thought of that while I was dragging him up the stairs.

  I found myself checking my room over, just like Tristan was doing. My walls were a pale pink. An embarrassing remnant of my princess phase that had lasted…well, longer than I cared to admit. And while I’d thought about painting the walls, I’d never gotten around to it. Mostly because I couldn’t decide on a color I did want. My comforter was a simple cream color and my furniture a deep cherry. Other than the pink, the room wasn’t anything too embarrassing. No posters or movie memorabilia hung from my walls. They’d come down last year. Now I just had a few family pictures and several big collages of my friends and me.

  Luckily, my pictures of Corey had all been ripped off of my mirror. I wasn’t sure why but I was glad I’d done that. Not that Tristan ever would’ve said anything. But considering I’d just insisted I was over Corey, I was glad there weren’t any pictures lingering to refute me.

  “Things looked kind of intense with you and your mom,” Tristan noted. His eyes finally settled back on me. So far, he’d made no move to come any further into my room.

  I shrugged. “They weren’t yet but the conversation was headed that direction,” I admitted.

  “Anything you want to talk about?” he hesitantly asked.

  I had known Tristan as long as I’d known Jamie. Since the summer before fifth grade, fourth grade for him. The year we’d moved to the neighborhood. I’d been so excited that there were kids my age to hang out with. Dad had set up the sprinkler for us every single Saturday that summer.

  I shook my head to tell him ‘no’.

  Then, without meaning to, I blurted out, “It’s my dad. He had the nerve to call here to complain to my mom that I blocked his number from my phone.”

  Tristan tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes at me. It seemed more curious than accusatory. “Why would you do that?’

  “Why do you think?” I demanded. I hadn’t actually talked to him about my dad before. But I knew he’d heard the story. I knew he’d overheard at least a few of my many breakdowns. I’d sobbed on Jamie’s shoulder about his horrible choices and the end of my parents’ marriage. So while I hadn’t brought it up with him directly, I knew he was well aware of what had happened.

  “You’re still not talking to him?”

  Why did he sound so surprised?

  “Why would I?” I wondered.

  “Britta,” he said quietly, “he’s your dad. Whatever happened with him and your mom, it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

  “How can you say that?” I asked. My voice was louder than I meant f
or it to be. I threw my hands up in the air in frustration. “Of course it had to do with me! I’m the one that found him out! If I hadn’t…” I cringed at the thought. “Who knows what would be happening right now. He might still be doing the same thing and my mom would never know!”

  “But that shouldn’t affect your relationship with him,” Tristan said. He finally stepped away from my door. “People make mistakes. If he’s trying to talk to you…trying to spend time with you, he obviously still cares about you. I mean, of course he does. He’s your dad!”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that?!”

  “Probably because it’s true,” he firmly replied. “I didn’t realize that you still weren’t talking to him.”

  “I talk to him. Some. When I have to.” After putting him off for months, I’d finally had to give in and have lunch with him. But that had been weeks ago.

  “And how does that go?” Tristan wondered. “When you do talk to him?”

  “It doesn’t go all that well,” I admitted. “I have a hard enough time talking to him on the phone. I don’t like thinking about him. Let alone looking at him.”

  Our last lunch had been strained. It seemed like he was putting in an effort. Almost too much of an effort. It was annoying. Too many questions. Too much of an attempt at carefree banter. But I hadn’t wanted to be there so it’s possible anything and everything he said might have annoyed me. I felt like I was betraying my mom by just sitting across the booth from him. I had nothing to say to him. Nothing I wanted to share with him. He’d asked though. He wanted to know all about my life. Or at least he’d pretended like he had. Or maybe he really did. I felt like I didn’t know him at all anymore. I didn’t know what was real and what was a lie. Regardless, I just didn’t feel like he had the right to pry into my life.

  He’d given that up the day he walked out.

  So I’d given him the shortest answers possible. I’d ordered a side salad, the smallest item on the menu and I’d eaten it as quickly as I could. Then I’d manufactured an excuse for leaving immediately.