Page 67 of Yes No Maybe

“Mind your own business, Jack.” I head to the sliding glass doors, suddenly anxious to escape him.

“Everyone thinks I’m alone because of the one that got away, but you’re alone because hestaysaway. I don’t know which is worse. Or more pathetic.”

My feet stop on the wordpathetic. “Telling me I’m beautiful one minute only to cut me down the next? Lecturing me on how I should be loved as if you know best? As if your sex buddies aren’t flawless Barbie dolls? Spare me your condescension—you wouldneverwant someone like me,not like that. Notsober, anyway. You don’t know Dean… or me and Dean. And you’re the one who got shit-faced at your own party—that’s pathetic.”

I never should’ve come over here. Never should’ve entertained ideas of being anything more to him than an arrangement. Never should’ve let him hold me. I leave without looking back.

Twenty-Two

Rowan

Dayslater,ahonkinghorn sends Sara and me into a scattered hurry, dumping dirty dishes into the sink and grabbing our things—beach bags, chairs, and a small, pink Igloo cooler. The horn goes off again, longer this time.

“Ugh, he’s so annoying,” Sara huffs.

“You’re the one who wanted to join them,” I remind her.

Idid notwant to join the neighborhood beach day. Multiple invitations arose after the party—I refused them all. Rose’s ‘biscuits’ didn’t sway me. Neither did Marcy’s wine.

But Sara said our neighbors made her feel like she could truly be herself. So, how could I refuse? We’ve only just connected—I don’t want to lose our tenuous bond. Still, if she hadn’t asked, I never would’ve agreed to go.

Besides, the last few days have been rough.

Dean arranged more gigs to carry him through next weekend, meaning he won’t get home until the day before school starts. “A last hurrah,” he explained during an exasperating FaceTime call, which means nohurrahingfor us before work begins—a point I didn’t have time to make before he had to rush off.

But strangely, my indifference bothers me the most. What’s another weekend? Jack’s drunken remarks don’t help. Have I put up with this because I love Dean or because I so desperately want a partner and a family?

I stifled my confusion with work. I spent a full day at school, setting up my classroom and fine-tuning my weekly guides. Meanwhile, the Ring cameras arrived, and by the time I got home, Vernon and Jack had already installed them at Sara’s house.

As Rose explained that evening after I gushed my thanks, “Sara is a peach! Isn’t it funny? I bring over tea, and she tells me about her cock-up cousins and how you foiled them. Meanwhile, that cute UPS delivery man brings cameras, and hop, skip, jump, the boys take care of it. Poor Jack was a little perturbed that you went through that alone, love.”

I want to say he also perturbs me, but don’t for fear that it’ll end up headlining theDaisy Chain.

So, with two weekends until school starts and almost as long until Mom and then Dean arrive, summer circles the drain like an unfinished cocktail, wasted.

I don’t know what to think about Jack, either. I dream in his embrace but can’t live there. Words likeabsurdly beautiful,cherished,andadoredmix withstays away,purgatory, andpathetic,creating a curdled potion in my head. I’m not proud of what I said to him either—who am I to judge his sex life or drinking habits? Or argue with an intoxicated person? Or let what he said in that state bother me? I hope the gods of drunkenness do me a favor, and he doesn’t remember.Please, don’t remember.

The horn goes off again as we trudge across the lawn. Jack meets us at the back end and loads Sara’s chair beside the others. She promptly skips to the sliding door.

Our eyes meet for the first time when he reaches for my chair. He looks morose—the Jack I first met that rainy night in the little house.

I offer a weak smile. “Thanks. Are you okay?”

His hard features soften with the question. He shuts the back door, blocking us from the passengers. “Not really. I was a dick. But I’m pissed at you for dealing with those fuckers alone. Do you realize the danger you put yourself in? Anything could’ve happened. You should’ve told me, should’ve let me help.”

My shoulders slump. “I know. I’m sorry. It was a stupid mistake.”

His anger dissipates with my confession. “I fucked up, too. You aren’t desperate or pathetic—that’s not what I think of you, Rowan. You’re the best person I know. I was being… protective, I think. I’m sorry.”

My gaze drops to the space between us. His beautiful compliment gets tainted by the wordprotective. It’s a nicer way to say he feels sorry for me, like he’s a pseudo-big-brother, critiquing my choices like Mira and Mom always do. “I don’t need protecting. Can we just reset to cordial again?”

“You’re still pissed at me?”

“Yes. No, ugh.” Flustered, I lock eyes with him. “I’m not pissed, just confused. When you can’t handle something, you turn into a jerk—that, I understand. Butwhywhen it comes to me? What aboutmecan’t you handle?”

He looks stumped. Pained, even. Like I’ve given him a pop quiz, and he hasn’t studied.

“Have I done something?” I try again. “Is it me?”

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