Big Mistake Page 9

  “Beck—”

  “I have to pee,” she says, and stomps off.

  The three of us stand there awkwardly for a moment, then Tasha turns to Brady.

  “You wanna dance?” she asks.

  He blinks at her. “Uh … I should ask Rebecca—”

  She laughs and pats his cheek like she did mine. “You’re adorable. Come dance with me, so Garrett can go talk to Rebecca.”

  And with that, she leads him out to the dance floor, and I go looking for Beck.

  Chapter 13

  Garrett

  The bathrooms are on the bottom deck, toward the stern. I wait outside for what feels like an hour, standing at the rail and looking out at the water, my mind racing.

  I’ve always figured Beck was off-limits. That’s been the basis of our relationship, for literally two decades. Maybe I’ve been ridiculous to cling to it, but it’s been part of the rock-solid foundation of my life.

  But now there’s a crack in that foundation. We cracked it, together, that night at the Monroe, and that crack has been getting bigger and bigger. We can’t go on this way. One way or another—whether we patch that crack or blast it wide open—we have to settle this.

  I don’t know if that crack can be patched. And even if it can … I’m not sure I want to.

  Do I want things to go back to how they were before? Or could there be something different, something better?

  Behind me, the bathroom door opens, and Beck sighs. “Garrett, what are you doing here?”

  “I came down to talk to you.” I turn to look at her. She’s got her arms wrapped around herself, and I can see that the breeze off the water is giving her goosebumps. “Did you bring a sweater?”

  She scowls. “Stop it.”

  I’m genuinely confused. “Stop what?”

  “Stop fucking babysitting me—” she begins, then her eyes widen as she looks over my shoulder.

  I turn back to the water as she slowly moves to stand at the rail beside me, close enough that I can smell her perfume.

  The moonlight is just bright enough to pick out the tiny waves our boat is creating as they lap against the south side of Fort Gorges. The water and the sky are both deep blue, except for a thin, red-orange band right at the horizon where the sun disappeared an hour or so ago. Two swans are swimming in the shadow of the fort, just gliding along slowly in the dim moonlight.

  I know they’re white—swans are white. But in the dusk, and the shadow, they look blue.

  The fucking blue swans. I stare at them, disbelieving. I know full well this is ridiculous, that some stupid old urban legend has nothing to do with me and Beck and what we’re going through right now. They’re a ridiculous story, and until this very moment I didn’t actually believe they existed. But there they are. It’s like they’re mocking me. Like they were sent here, right now, to tell me I don’t know half of what I think I do. Maybe less.

  It doesn’t escape me that I’m seeing them now, when I’m in the process of fucking up the only relationship I’ve ever truly believed would last forever.

  Neither of us says or does anything for at least a full minute, then I turn to look at Beck. She still has one arm wrapped around herself, but the other hand is covering her mouth like she can’t even believe what she’s seeing. She shifts her eyes over to me. There are tears in them.

  “I need to talk to you,” I tell her, trying to think where to begin, what even to say. Turns out I’m really terrible at this.

  She shakes her head. “Whatever it is will need to wait. I need to get back up before Brady wonders where I am.”

  “I can’t stand the thought of you with him,” I blurt out. I don’t mean to start there—it just comes out that way—but it’s the absolute truth, and maybe she needs to know it. Maybe she needs to understand that the thought of her with anyone else is killing me, slowly but surely. That’s as good a place as any to start, I guess.

  The horn sounds, and the boat starts to swing around in preparation for docking.

  “What?” She shoves me, both hands dead center on my chest. “What?”

  Okay, apparently that was not a good place to start.

  “Are you out of your mind?” The fury is practically sparking off her like electricity. “Don’t you stand there and try to act like you get to decide who I can be with.”

  She’s so beautiful, even when she’s angry. She smells so good. I know—and the knowing is killing me—that she tastes like heaven. I think about those three steps I took across the space between us, that night in her room at the Monroe—three steps that have changed everything.

  I thought that those steps—and everything that came after—were a mistake. But now? I think I was wrong.

  I feel all these things without quite knowing how to put them into words. There don’t actually seem to be words that can quite describe how I feel about Beck, that could capture what I’m feeling right now.

  So I step across the space between us, and I kiss her again.

  She sinks into the kiss, for just a moment, and it feels so right. It feels like what should be.

  Then she pulls her mouth away from mine and pushes me away from her, stepping back and putting that space between us again.

  “Fuck you,” she says. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to play with me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? I’m here with someone else—your idea, by the way—and now you want to do … whatever it is you’re even trying to do here? What do you want from me?”

  What the hell am I doing here? “I’m trying to—”

  The boat lurches as it bumps the dock, and Beck stumbles a little, throwing an arm out for balance. I reach out to steady her, but she pushes me away, hard.

  “I don’t need you to catch me.”

  “Beck—”

  “I don’t need you for anything.” She glares at me as the horn sounds again. “You know what, Garrett? I’m done. We’re done.”

  “What does that mean? You’re my best—”

  “Not anymore. We’re done.” Tears glitter in her eyes again, but they don’t fall. “This friendship? It’s over.”

  I feel like someone just punched me directly in the heart. All the breath goes out of me and I can’t seem to pull any air back in. “Beck, don’t say that.”

  “I just did,” she says. “I don’t want to see you again. I mean it.”

  “Can’t we just—”

  “No.” Her voice is cold; the single syllable hangs in the air like a black cloud. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me.”

  She turns and starts to walk away, and it hits me like a bolt of lightning. If she keeps walking, I’m going to die a very lonely and unhappy man, because … because there’s no one else for me.

  Oh my God, I think. Oh, shit.

  Beck’s right; I’m an asshole. A stupid, oblivious asshole. It took her walking away to make me understand there’s no one else for me.

  There’s only Beck. Only her.

  She’s the reason no one else has ever worked, because I’m completely, utterly, stupidly in love with her.

  I open my mouth to call her back, but she disappears around the bow, and she’s gone.

  Chapter 14

  Rebecca

  Thank God I met Brady at the parking garage rather than having him pick me up. When I get back to my car, I send him a quick text saying I’m so sorry I ditched him, but I don’t feel well. He doesn’t answer right away, but I don’t have any energy to worry about it. I’ve never just abandoned a date in my life, not even one that was going badly, so I do feel bad, but I have to get out of here.

  I’m so proud of myself for not crying. I almost did—when I saw those fucking swans, and again when I told Garrett we weren’t friends anymore—but I didn’t, and that matters. I didn’t show weakness. I walked away with my head held high, and I didn’t let him see how much it hurt.

  I wish I could really not be hurt—I want to not give a shit
about Garrett—but the fact is, this emotional roller coaster has got me upside-down and turned around. Up to a couple of weeks ago, if I felt like this, I would have called Garrett. Garrett’s safe; he’s how I get grounded when there’s a storm.

  But the thing is, right now Garrett is the storm. I’ll have to ground myself. That means getting home.

  When I pull into my driveway, I park beside my dad’s car and check my phone. There’s no message from Brady, but there is one from Garrett. I block his number without reading it, then I open Messenger and block him there, too.

  I’m serious. We’re done.

  And that’s when the tears fall. I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and let them come—heaving sobs that leave my throat and eyes aching. Every time I think I might be out of tears, a fresh wave of grief swamps me, and I cry until I can’t even understand how I have any tears left.

  It feels like the world is ending. I guess, if you think about it, my world is. I just cut off contact with one of the people who makes up the foundation of my life.

  I just lost my best friend.

  But no matter how awful that is, I can’t cry forever. Eventually, the tears slow down, and I wipe my eyes with the hem of my shirt. Judging from the smudges on it, my mascara is all shot to hell; if I’m lucky, I can get upstairs without my parents seeing me.

  I’m not lucky.

  My mom actually opens the door for me, and when she opens her arms, I start to cry again. She folds me into a hug, then leads me into the kitchen. My dad’s at the stove, and I can smell hot cocoa. It should be a comforting smell—my dad makes hot cocoa from scratch for special occasions, or when I’m sick—but neither seems to apply here.

  I sit on a barstool at the counter and my mom sits next to me, keeping an arm around my shoulders. Dad moves to the fridge.

  “Honey,” my mom says, “what happened?”

  I take a deep breath and shrug a little. “I don’t really want to talk about it. How did you know something was wrong?”

  “Garrett called—”

  “Garrett needs to mind his own business,” I snap. “He’s not my babysitter.”

  “No, but he’s your friend, and—”

  “He’s not.” My voice wavers alarmingly. “We’re not friends anymore.”

  My mom makes a startled noise as my dad sets a cup of cocoa in front of me.

  “Beck,” Dad says gently, “tell us what happened?”

  “Daddy…” I turn to look at my mom, silently begging her to get me out of this, then turn back to my dad. “I can’t talk to you about this.”

  “You can talk to me about anything, pumpkin.”

  I shake my head. “Not this.”

  They’re both silent for a moment, then Mom lets out a quiet ohhhh. Dad’s hands tighten around the mug, then he lets go. I look at him and his jaw is clenched.

  I don’t say anything. The awkwardness is excruciating.

  Finally, he pats my hand. He still looks pissed, though. “Okay, Beck. Will you talk to your mom, if I go?”

  I nod, and he comes around the counter, kisses me on top of my head, and walks quietly out into the dining room. His studio is on the other side of the dining room, and I wait till I hear that door close before I speak.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” I can’t think of anything else to say. I mean, I don’t have anything to be sorry for, but at the same time I feel like this must be such a shock and disappointment. Garrett’s always been family. Surely she can’t have expected something like this.

  “Are you—” She falters, tries again. “Are you saying that you and Garrett…”

  Since she’s clearly having a hard time actually saying it, I let her off the hook. “Yeah,” I say, pushing away the cup of hot cocoa. I don’t even want it. “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “When?” she asks, softly. Her arm is still around me, and I rest my head on her shoulder. “When did this happen?”

  “When we went to Boston,” I choke out. Even though I was sure I was all cried out, the tears come again. “We had a lot to drink and…” I shrug. “It just happened.”

  I tell her just the bare bones of that night’s events, glossing over all the mortifying parts and hitting the highlights instead: booze, argument, oops, and waking up to see him sitting there on the bed.

  She sighs and runs a hand over my hair. “Did he—” There’s silence, as she seems to search for words. Eventually, leaving the question unasked, she gets up and goes over to the fridge. She pours me a glass of Pinot grigio, something I don’t think she’s ever done unless we’re having a fancy dinner, and presses it into my hand. “I don’t generally advocate drinking as a solution, but I think you need this. I know I sure do.” She smiles a little, pours one for herself, and comes back to sit beside me. “Did he act like a jerk?”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “He just said it was a mistake, and I agreed, and I’ve been trying so hard to be a grownup about it. But it hurts.” I swallow a big gulp of wine. “I’ve been trying—we’ve been trying—to carry on like nothing changed. But it did. Everything changed.”

  She reaches out to pat my back, and we sit like that for a minute, with her rubbing my back in small circles. Finally, she asks, “So what happened tonight? Garrett called and said you weren’t answering his calls and he was worried. But he didn’t tell us any of this.”

  I take a deep breath, then try to explain about the double date. Her face is incredulous, but she lets me tell the whole gory tale. When I’m done, she’s silent again for what feels like a long time. I take another big drink. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin with embarrassment. It’s bad enough talking sex with my mom, but it’s even worse talking to her about this.

  She sets her empty glass down with a sharp click. “Okay, that’s so absurd it’s off the scale. But I guess the question is, what do you want, Beck?”

  That almost brings a fresh round of tears, but I fight them off. “I don’t know.”

  “Then I don’t have any advice for you,” she says, “assuming you even want my advice.”

  “I do,” I say. “I’m obviously not doing any good trying to figure this out on my own.”

  “Well, this mess isn’t going anywhere. Why don’t you get some sleep, and we can talk more tomorrow?” She takes my glass from me, and I’m surprised to see it’s empty, too. Great. In addition to being a complete loser in love, I’m also well on my way to being a lush. And drinking was what got me in this trouble in the first place.

  Wasn’t it? I mean, I certainly never thought about Garrett this way before all those drinks in Boston.

  Right?

  “Okay,” I say. “Are you going to tell Dad?”

  She nods.

  I suppose I knew that. They haven’t stayed married all this time by keeping secrets and stuff. They have such a good, happy marriage, and … I realize, in horror, that I’ve spent literally my entire life hearing my mother say things like I married my best friend.

  But I never thought of Garrett that way. Right?

  “Make him promise he won’t say anything to Garrett,” I say. “Please?”

  “You’re an adult, Beck.” She sets the glasses on the sideboard next to the sink and comes over to hug me again. “We love you, but it’s been a long time since we’ve had to fight your battles for you.”

  I hug her back, fiercely. I’m so lucky, and I need to remember that. Garrett was like family, but I still have family. And friends. I’m not going to lie down and die over this. I’ll get through it.

  But as I head up the stairs, I hear my mom cross the kitchen—heading to Dad’s studio, no doubt. I scurry up to my room and force myself not to imagine the conversation going on downstairs.

  Chapter 15

  Garrett

  As soon as I get back to my car, I call Beck three times, finally leaving a message just asking her to call me back. Then I call her parents. It’s ridiculous, but what can I do? All these years of looking after her aren’t going to just melt away overnig
ht, and she was so upset when she stormed off. I just need them to be looking out for her. They’re her parents.

  So this is what I tell myself while I’m talking to Mrs. Lowell about how Beck left for home upset and I can’t reach her. She sounds worried, but says they’ll take care of it. I breathe a sigh of relief and head for home, playing the crazy events of the night over in my head.

  My phone dings just as I pull into my driveway. I check and it’s a text from Tasha.

  Hope everything went okay with you two lovebirds.

  I shake my head. What a weird girl. Crazy part is, I like her. She’d fit right in with me and my friends.

  I botched it but I’ll work it out. Thanks for being so cool. You’re a great person.

  Her return text makes me laugh. That’s what all the guys say. Right before/after they run off to win the heart of some other girl. ;) No hard feelings. I really hope you guys work it out.

  I slip in the back door and turn toward the basement stairs. My room’s been down there since middle school—a perfect haven for a tween boy, and easy to sneak girls in once I got to high school and started being into that sort of thing.

  But tonight, all I want is some alone time, time to think about how I’m going to win Beck over. Because I’m determined: she’s going to be mine, in every way. I’ve been an idiot, but that’s over now.

  “Garrett.”

  My dad’s voice is unexpected; I start a bit, then recover.

  “I need to speak with you,” he says.

  I just look at him for a moment. “Uh, okay?” I say. “I was headed—”

  “I won’t take much of your time.” He turns and heads through the kitchen, then down the hallway toward his den.

  Okay, then. Looks like it’s not optional. And I really hope it’s not about what I think it’s about.

  I follow him into the den. The furniture in here is dark and heavy—leather chairs and big mahogany desk and tables. I take the seat my dad indicates with a waved hand. He sits behind his desk, steeples his fingers together, and regards me solemnly. I bet he’s an absolute killer in the courtroom. I’m squirming in my chair after thirty seconds.