Chapter Sixty-Four
Griffin
Two days later, I go up to my office after class. I can’t cancel another office hour, even though I’m pretty sure nobody’s going to show. Being available for a couple of extra hours a week outside of class is part of the contract, even if sitting in a room in a building with the same name as my former sort-of-fake-but-maybe-not girlfriend feels as painful as sitting on a bed of hot coals. I still haven’t figured out exactly how I’m going to ensure Dad can’t get anywhere near the triplets. Maybe I should consult Huxley. He’ll know—most of the people on his mother’s side of the family are soulless lawyers.
When I get to the door, the note that I wrote cancelling my previous office hour is on the floor. Guess they don’t make tape like they used to. I make a mental note to bring in some duct tape and pull out my key.
“Griffin.”
I tense. Fucking Lori. What does she want now? Did she find another lurid article about me, Dad and Mom? One she can trumpet to everybody in the damn building?
I turn around sharply. “What?” I say, not bothering to hide my displeasure.
She takes a half a step back and blinks. She’s carrying a large box, which she adjusts, holding it closer to her chest. The defensive gesture annoys the hell out of me. She isn’t some poor, helpless victim here.
“Well? You called my name. There must be something you want to say.” Otherwise, get lost!
“Yeah, I did. There is.” She clears her throat. “I, uh, want to give you this box. It came for you while you were out.”
I glance at the top of the box. It’s taped, but there’s no address written. “Who brought it?” Better not have been Joey or one of his hookers.
“Sierra.” Lori flashes a shaky smile, which dies as quickly as it appears. “She said it was for you.”
The box holds a new, ominous meaning, one I’d rather not dwell on. “Did she say anything else?” I force the words through a tight throat.
“Not that I recall. I mean, she thanked me for holding it for you. If she’d left it by the door, who knows what would’ve happened?” She lets out an awkward laugh. If it’s meant to smooth the tension between us, it fails.
“Thanks,” I say. Then I snatch the box from her clutches, turn and go into my office.
Violating my rule, I kick the door shut with the heel of my foot. I dump the box on the desk and rip it open, anticipatory dread twisting inside me.
In it are my clothes, unfolded and hastily thrown together. My body wash. My aftershave. A half-used deodorant stick. Basically, everything I left at Sierra’s place.
The weirdly achy throb in my chest I felt when she referred to the triplets as her family but not mine ripples through me again, more intensely this time.
She couldn’t make herself clearer. It’s a fuck-you-and-goodbye box.