Page 88 of Sleepover

Chapter 43

Sawyer

“But it’s better with four players! Why can’t Elle play, too?”

Jonah stomps his foot. Madden wears a sulky expression on his normally angelic face.

“Elle’s busy,” I lie. My stomach hurts, not just from the untruth, but from the grief and anger that have settled under my ribs.

It’s five days since Elle walked out.

Sunday night, I watched, unable to speak, as she gathered herself, swiped tears back, and left.

I wanted to stop her, but I knew she was right.

I’d been so shocked when I came out of the bathroom and realized she’d read the journal. I felt sick, and sicker still when I realized why she’d done it. Because she didn’t trust me with her feelings, didn’t trust me not to be an asshole like Trevor.

And the thing is?

I was an asshole like Trevor.

Hadn’t I said it myself to Brooks? I’m not over Lucy. I’ll never be over her.

Why had I thought it was okay to offer myself in a relationship to Elle when I could still say those words out loud to my brother? Elle deserved a lot more than a guy who was emotionally two-timing her. And for me to be the second guy in a row to do that to her?

That made me an even worse asshole than Trevor.

So I let her go. I let her walk out of my room, out of my house.

I let her walk out of my life.

The boys are still staring up at me with small-man disgust. Madden says, “You didn’t even invite her.”

Jonah says, “You guys are just having a stupid fight and now we can’t play Catan all together.”

Both these statements are so true it startles me, although I’m not sure whether they know that or are just bluffing. Kids, man—they are the dirtiest brawlers. I shake my head. “Guys,” I say. “We can play a perfectly good three-player version of Catan.”

“It’s better with my mom there,” Madden says.

He is so not going to feel that way in four years, but it’s very cute right now. Or would be, if it didn’t make me feel like I’ve been sucker punched. Most of this week has felt like a sucker punch. I’ll just start to feel normal and then I’ll remember the look on Elle’s face as I came out of the bathroom.

I can feel my resolve wavering. What if I just texted her? Told her she’d misunderstood, asked her to come over so we could talk about it. Begged her to forgive me, for the boys’ sakes. Just thinking about it, about being near her again, the conversation and sex that would follow, makes me feel marginally less miserable. But then what? I still wouldn’t be able to promise her any of what she needs, what she deserves. I still wouldn’t be over Lucy.

No, we did the right thing. A little pain now to avoid a world of hurt later.

That doesn’t solve my three-player/four-player problem.

I have a stroke of genius. “What if I call Uncle Brooks?”

“Yeah!” they say in unison. I think they think of Uncle Brooks as an oversized kid friend. Which may not be so far from the truth.

Uncle Brooks, who maybe should also be called Saint Asshole, answers my call and hauls himself out to play Catan with us. He’s never played before, and he gripes a lot about how stupid and fiddly the game is, but he beats us all anyway. Vintage Brooks.

I thought I had the toughest part of the evening behind me, but it turns out I was wrong, as I discover when I head downstairs to square away Madden and Jonah in their sleeping bags.

“Isn’t my mom coming over to say good night?”

“Not tonight, bud.”

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