Page 27 of The Party Plot

“Of course,” Laurel promised, though he didn’t really know. Guilt simmered in his chest, guilt for all his carefree sunlit days spent elsewhere, while she’d been stuck in this town. Why hadn’t he checked in more often? Why had he just assumed everything was okay?

“I just keep thinking, maybe if I had been better, maybe if I had been a good girl from the start, no one could blame me. But I was in bars at fifteen with a fake ID, you know. I wasn’t a debutante, or some shit.”

“You were a kid,” Laurel insisted. His jaw hurt, and he realized he was clenching it too hard. “And I was right there with you.” They’d both been raised religious, but Melody’s parents’ version had been especially fire-and-brimstone-heavy. He remembered how intoxicating those years had been, once they’d realized it was all bullshit. Breaking curfew, Melody the only person he trusted. The two of them had both had secrets. Her with a much-older boyfriend, and him with his Old Hollywood crushes, his slow realization that he would never like girls. The world had felt like a wide-open road, and they’d been barreling down it without seatbelts. He should have watched out for her better. He should have been there during all the years between then and now.

Melody looked away, running a hand through her hair. “Do you remember going to Raleigh?” she asked. “For the—the thing?”

“I remember. We couldn’t read the directions.”

“I know, man, I—I printed them out, but I cried so much and they were all smeared.” She let out a little giggle, rubbing her eyes. “And I remember going to Waffle House after. Of all places. Like, to this day I can’t taste syrup without thinking about getting a damn abortion.” She giggled again, and it sounded a little hysterical. “And you kept playing the worst shit on the radio. I swear that Pitbull song came on like ten times.”

“I mean, I’ve always thought that Pitbull possessed a certain base charm.”

Melody didn’t respond to his attempt at humor, which was probably for the best. “I never told Howie. That was one of the only things that he didn’t get to have, I guess.” Melody turned to look at him, a beached mermaid, her hair spreading out across the floor like seaweed. “You know, he never hit me. He took care of me. And sometimes he was sweet. And I thought—I thought maybe that was what it was supposed to be like, you know?” She gnawed at her lower lip, looking so tired, so childlike and also so ancient.

Laurel put a hand on her leg, but his fingers were numb, and in his head there was a dull buzzing. He wouldn’t call what Bonard had donetaking careof her, but he didn’t know what to say. Every adult in her life had failed her as a kid, from her parents to Howie Bonard, and now Laurel was failing, too. He felt very, very isolated, very far away, stranded here on the shore of her pain.

“Maybe that’s why no one will listen. Why no one believes the bad parts.”

“I’m listening,” Laurel said. “And Kierra and Chip are, too, it sounds like.” He squeezed her ankle, hoping she could feel the beat of his heart, all the fierceness he had for her. He wanted to make noise, to crack the room open and let sunlight in, to do anything that would peel away the heaviness draped over everything.

“Yeah.” Melody sighed.

“I’m glad you have them. Since I—I haven’t been around.”

She gave him a look that was hard to read, her lips pressed together. “I can’t tell them everything. Not the way I can with you.” Rolling onto her back, she looked up at the ceiling. “I still don’t know what it’s actually supposed to be like. Do you?”

“Know what?”

“Love. What it’s supposed to be like.”

“Nah.” He wiped a glittery smudge of eyeshadow off her cheek. “I’m a no-strings gal. Emotionally stunted. The field in which I grow my romantic notions is barren.”

“Wow.” Melody took a deep, shuddering breath. A tiny smile crossed her face. “Stone-cold.”

“That’s me,” Laurel said, something shivering in his lower belly. He was lying to her again. The truth was, he had been in love before. Disastrously, whole-heartedly in love. But it had happened so long ago. And it had been brief, and stupid, and not worth burdening her with. “Want to get out of here?”

“With this thing?” She made a pouty face, picking her right foot up and stomping it against the carpet. “I can’t go anywhere.”

“I could carry you. Or get you one of those jaunty little carts?”

Melody rolled her eyes, but she was smiling for real now, and Laurel felt his heartbeat slow, the warmth come back into his hands and feet. He hadn’t been holding his breath, but it felt like he had. “Let’s just stay in. We can order food and watch old movies.”

“Musicals?”

“You know it.”

Laurel hoisted himself up onto the couch. “Only if you let me sing the high parts.”

Later, as the credits ofWest Side Storywere rolling and they had both had a good cry and had agreed, as they always did, that Rita Moreno was the only woman either of them would make an exception for, Melody asked, “So what actually is going on with the party planner?”

“Nothing.” Her head was resting on his shoulder, and Laurel was glad he didn’t have to meet her eyes. He watched as the words scrawled across the screen, his vision blurry. In his mind he saw Casey looking down at him, lips parted, sweat standing out on his brow. Guilt lurched around in his stomach. “We’re keeping things professional,” he said.

“It’s not going to be awkward?”

He wanted to tell her. He didn’t want to bother her. He probably didn’t even deserve to confide in her, at this point. Laurel took a deep breath, feeling all of a sudden like he couldn’t get enough air. “I’m sure it will be, a little. But it’s fine.”

Melody looked up at him. “You can talk to me, you know. If you need to.”

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