“Maybe I’ll be the second one.” I give him an exasperated look. “I’d better get dressed so I can support you through this mental and professional crisis.”
“Take this seriously. You’re going to get forgiven, no matter what, Princess.” Tom’s eyes are angry now. “Me, I’m completely screwed.”
Tom puts Patty down and hooks his arms under me. I’m easily hoisted, like a little dog being carried over the dirty ground. There’s no exertion evident in him as we round the corner of the house, pass the fishpond, and take the path to my door.
“You know what he’s like. Please, Darce, we have to keep this under wraps until the house is done. If we can’t get a good sale . . .” He stops himself from saying more.
He puts me down over the threshold of the studio and looks at my robe, and I have never seen a more conflicted human being. He must rue the day he was found by the Barretts. My feet are princess-clean. Patty walks in behind us, muddy and miffed.
“You never did have to care about money. I have to care.”
“I care. Why do you think I work at the bar?”
He huffs insultingly. “Surely that doesn’t even cover your wine habit.”
“It covers my health insurance,” I fire back, angry. “You really think I’m a lazy little princess, leeching off my parents, don’t you? I don’t take a cent from them.”
“But if you needed them, they’d give you anything you needed. That’s not a bad thing,” he says, softer. “It’s what helps me sleep at night. You will always be taken care of.”
It’s true. Below me are multiple safety nets. If I lost everything here, I’d just go stay in one of the many empty bedrooms at my parents’ place. Mom would probably bring me breakfast in bed and open the French doors so I could see the ocean.
“And you’re about to inherit. Your financial situation is looking good. Meanwhile, I need cash.” A ghost of a smile is on his mouth. “You think I break myself on a worksite for fifty weeks a year like this just for fun?” He blows out a long breath. “I don’t think I can handle it if my business fails before it begins.”
I wince in sympathy. There’s no way I’d want him to live with the dreadful mix of failure and embarrassment I feel every time I look at the empty screw holes by my front door. Then I think about how the last three times I’ve been impulsive, it hasn’t worked out. Tearing up the development offer, trying to buy Jamie’s ring.
The get in me incident, barely a minute after learning Tom was single.
“Okay. Okay. I’m willing to wait and get a strategy together. You know I’ll do anything to help you. Stupid Jamie.” I look in the neck of the robe at my piercing. Tom’s brought it alive. The chafe of my silk robe against my skin is unbearable. “He literally never takes time off work.”
“He’s here, and here’s your chance to be his best friend again.”
“That’s you,” I point out, and Tom shakes his head.
“How do you always have it wrong? It’s you. You’re his best friend and he’s been miserable without you. If you guys don’t realize it now and get over this little meaningless fight you had, it might be too late for you both. Don’t throw that away over me. You’re twins. I’m the stray from across the street.”
“You’re not!” I can now see the full breadth of what he’s trying to accomplish here. The renovation of the twins’ relationship. “This is so you. Sacrificing and fixing and stepping aside. Fading into the background. Not on my fucking watch.”
“Where are you guys?” Jamie is at the back door. “Tom, what the hell is wrong with the kitchen ceiling?”
“The kitchen?” Tom is dismayed. “I’ll be right there. Please, Darce,” he finishes in a hush. “Please help me keep it together.”
“Give me your phone, then,” I say, and he slides it into my robe’s fun-sized pocket. “Where the hell is that guy Chris? He was supposed to be here by now. Should I call him and kick his ass?”
“I would be very grateful,” Tom says, stepping a few paces away as the back door bangs open. It triggers off a sense of déjà vu. I think we’ve always stood a little too close.
“Quit wasting his time,” Jamie barks at me as he clatters down the back stairs. “We’ve got stuff to do. I hope you’re fixing these stairs, Tom.”
We watch Jamie walk around to the Porta-Potties. He opens the door to the male one. “Oh fuck no.” He goes into mine.
“That’s my bathroom. Now I want to cry harder than ever.” I exhale and put my hand over my eyes.
I will myself to trust Tom and see this from his perspective. I see everything he has to lose more clearly than my own potential losses. He’ll always carry me. He’ll never trip or drop me.
But I just can’t help myself. I’ve felt this way before, so many times. My insecure, spiky self says: “So, last night was a one-off.”
“Of course not. But as long as he’s here, I can’t touch you. You can’t look at me. We’re not . . . anything.”
“Wow, so we’re nothing,” I marvel in a stage whisper as the hurt begins to shimmer. “Funny, it didn’t feel like nothing. I feel like I had every glorious inch of Tom Valeska last night. Repeatedly. Just . . . over and over, making me come more than I ever have in my life.”