Page 42 of The Party Plot

The clock on the dash read 5:45am. He’d lost hours of the night, and he was back in Florida.

Blearily, he fumbled for his phone. There was nothing new, just the string of missed-call notifications from Denise, which made him turn the phone off with more force than was necessary. Laurel didn’t know he was gone, and he was probably sleeping, anyway. There was no reason for him to have called.

Unless something had happened with Melody, unless she was in the hospital after all and Laurel needed help and—

And what? Casey would ride in on a white horse and tell him,Sorry, your mom fired me and now the party you were counting on to repair your friend’s reputation is fucked?

He could go back. He could be in Bonard by that afternoon. But it wasn’t like Laurel would welcome him with open arms, right? Without the party, Casey had no purpose. They had agreed to keep everything casual, and it made his skin crawl and his heart hurt to think of hanging around town, just waiting for Laurel to occasionally hook up with him again. No, there was no reason to go back. No reason besides his expensive skincare products and the nice clothes he’d spent so much time finding. But he could find more. He always did. He always managed, somehow.

Casey pulled back onto the highway, heading south.

*

Jamie was doing Tai Chi on his deck when Casey pulled up, in a silk bonnet and what Casey knew were very expensive prescription sunglasses, the swamp behind him sparkling in the early morning light, lily pads and algae crowding the dark surface of the water. As Casey got out of the car, he straightened up to his full height of roughly five-six, waving.

“I knew you were coming, CJ,” Jamie called. “I can always tell. You start ignoring my texts, and then you tell me everything is going fine, and the next thing I know, you’re on my doorstep.”

“Oh my God.” Casey made a face. “I told you not to call me that.”

“You’re CJ when you fuck up,” Jamie said, hopping off the deck of the houseboat and onto the shore. Casey saw how the marshy ground sank under his feet and said a brief prayer for his own nice loafers. Jamie was wearing those weird toe-shoe things that were half athleisure and half sci-fi.

“I hate your shoes,” Casey said.

“I hate your choices. Come here.” Jamie swept him into a hug, and Casey allowed himself to sink into it for a moment, breathing in his familiar smell and the bright green scent of the swamp, his chin resting against the top of Jamie’s head. The difference in their heights had always been a source of unwelcome irony growing up, everyone thinking it was hilarious to comment on how it was the white kid who would be good at basketball. As if there was a single sporty bone in Casey’s body.

“So what happened?” Jamie asked, pulling back.

“I got fired.”

“Fired!” Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Not what I was expecting. Did she figure out the scam?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Please. No, she didn’t like that I was hanging out with her son.”

“Hanging out.” Jamie put air quotes around the phrase.

Casey rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well.” He was already getting sweaty, and the bugs were coming out, midges circling in his peripheral vision. “Can we go inside? I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Sure.” Jamie clapped him on the back one last time. “Do you like kombucha? It’s home-brewed.”

“Of course it is.” Walking gingerly across the spongy soil, Casey followed him onto the houseboat.

*

“He still hasn’t answered his phone.” Laurel glared down at his cracked screen, trying not to think about the feeling of Casey’s fingernails against his scalp, the hot smell of jasmine. It had been a week, and he was sure that Casey was avoiding him. Laurel’s messiness had been too much, probably. He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, heat creeping up his neck. There was a reason he didn’t do relationships. He didn’t seem to be built for them.

“Could it be a family thing? He seemed stressed about that phone call he got.” Melody was cuddled up on the couch, hair piled on top of her head, Luna a round, purring lump on her lap. She had been alright so far, just some mild stomach problems and headaches. The largest issue had been keeping her busy; she got anxious when she had nothing to do, and there were hours of the day to fill. They had done a lot of puzzles and watched a lot of True Crime documentaries.

Laurel shook his head. “I don’t think he has any family to speak of.” On his last food run, he had even—shamefully, desperately—driven past Casey’s apartment complex, hoping to catch a glimpse of his car, but it hadn’t been there.

“He might just be super busy. It’s getting down to the wire with the party, right?” Chip had come over with a crockpot of soup, his mom’s meatball and rice recipe, and the condo was full of the smells of tomato broth and cilantro.

“Yeah, but—”But I was supposed to be helping him with it. Laurel hadn’t spoken to his mother since that disastrous day at Landry Hall, and he really had no desire to reach out to her. But Chip was right, maybe she had just commandeered all of Casey’s time and attention. He frowned, feeling a little pang of jealousy. Which was silly; Casey had no obligation to spend time with Laurel, because they weren’t anything, not really.

Sighing, he sank into a chair. “I’m being stupid, right? It’s not like we’re dating, or something. He doesn’t have to call me back.”

Melody rolled her eyes. “Laurel, you are thirty-fucking-four-years-old, and I’ve never seen yougazeat someone the way you do at Casey. Even the other night when I was completely plastered, I could feel the chemistry between you two. There’s got to be a reason why he hasn’t been in contact.”

“Chemistry doesn’t—” Laurel tried. The collar of his shirt felt far too tight all of a sudden.

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