Page 35 of The Top of Admiration
“It was only six stitches,” I said, quiet but firm. “And I’m fine.” Miranda had sent the drink. I had to be careful. These things might come in hundreds, not threes, when she was behind the wheel.
“That’s not the point,” Jules said, eyes bright with the kind of anger that was ninety percent worry. “The point is you keep hiding behind anonymous nonsense because you’re muddle-brained about what you want, and meanwhile Cam—” She stopped, jaw tight, then barreled through. “Meanwhile Cam is not an experiment. He is not a target for your … chaos.”
Leah’s gaze ping-ponged helplessly. “Which experiment? Are we … what is the cougar thing?”
“Cougars are older women with a thing for younger men,” Lucy explained, settling back with her drink, ready for the show. Leah nodded as though thanking her for bringing her up to speed. “Ah, like Aunt Marion.”
Miranda cleared her throat. “Jules, maybe lower your voice.”
“Why?” Jules rounded on her. “So we can keep pretending this is cute? That it’s endearing? He got stitches, Miranda. He’s wearing a fucking cast. Look at his face!”
Miranda’s chair scraped. I could see her hands shaking as she kept them by her side. “I’m not trying to hurt him. I’m trying—” Her voice strangled, humiliated and defiant all at once. “I’m trying to say thank you without making it … too much.”
Jules stared at her for a long second, and something in her expression—grief or exasperation or both—softened and then hardened again. “He doesn’t want your anonymous gifts. He wants you. And you are too much. You’ve always been too much.”
The room fell into silence for at least five seconds, which is actually a long time for that many people to remain quiet.
Leah blinked. “Oh,” she said faintly. “Is that what’s happening? Lucy dear, would you like some of the healthy potatoes? Someone should eat them.”
I closed my eyes, just for a heartbeat. When I opened them, I looked at Miranda first. Then Juliet. “Jules,” I said carefully, “this isn’t—”
“Don’t you dare protect her from this,” Jules said, turning on me now. “You paid for her retreat, Cam. You did something nice and have been a hospital frequent flyer ever since. She’s been running around like a phantom because someone—” She jabbed a finger at her sister. “would rather invent dramatic missions than admit she has feelings.”
The words hit the table like a dropped dish.
Leah’s hands flew to her chest. “Feelings? For Cam? Oh, sweetheart—” She looked from Miranda to me as if searching for subtitles. “Is that why the kite gift was mysterious? Are we courting? Is this courting?”
“They don’t call it courting anymore, Leah,” Lucy supplied helpfully. She scrunched her nose in thought. “But I don’t think they’re hooking up. What is it guys? Pre-gaming?”
“He paid for your dream because he believes in you. And instead of saying ‘thank you, Cam,’ you got him punched, broke his ankle, and sliced him open with a kite.”
“That is not fair,” Cordy snapped. “You know Miranda. She panics when she’s scared or overcome. She panics and turns it into crafts.”
“It isn’t fair,” Miranda said, throat burning. “Because I didn’t ask for him to do that for me.” She flicked her gaze to me, the roomnarrowing to me and the white strip of bandage. This was fine. I’d sit patiently in her storm any time. “I didn’t ask you to pay,” she said with a slight hiccup, like she was about to cry.
“I know,” I said.
Leah dabbed at her eyes with a napkin as if the conversation were a sad movie and she’d come unprepared. “Why do men do these things secretly?” she murmured to no one in particular. Theo continued to eat his salad as though this was normal, which as someone who would kill to be part of the Bard family, was worrying.
Miranda’s vision went glossy. “You had no right,” she said to Jules, the room swinging slightly. “None.”
“No?” Jules’s voice cracked on the edge of something that sounded like fear. “I’ve watched you drift in circles for years, Miranda. Always playing at ‘almost.’ You’re brilliant and kind and you treat your life like it’s a room you don’t want to turn the lights on in. Grow up. Be responsible for the messes you make. Stop acting like a carefree teen.”
Cordy broke into the tense standoff. “Jules, maybe we can talk when—”
“No,” Jules snapped, dangerously lost in her anger. “I’m sick of it. We always cover for her. We always let her be a tornado, but she’s in her mid-20s. My God, she made us into caretakers from the moment she could walk.”
“Oh, and that worked for you sometimes, didn’t it Juliet? Who took the blame for the negative pregnancy test in the bin when you were 18? Me! Even though I was 16 and a virgin. But hey, that was expected of crazy, reckless Miranda, so you were happy enough to let me cop the blame for that one, even though Mom made me read a fucking family planning book and sat me down for a lecture. And poor Andy was constantly eyeballed byDad when he came around, even though we were never even together.”
“Fuck,” Lucy muttered into her wine, the excitement she had experienced earlier diminishing at the dark turn the conversation was taking.
“That was yours? Oh, Juliet,” Leah shook her head sadly.
“Yeah, well, don’t worry. Babies aren’t an issue now are they darling?” She turned to Seamus, who had by now realized that this had gone beyond the standard Bard sister drama. “Jules …” he began, touching her arm.
“Fuck off!” she spat back. “And don’t sit there like you’re perfect, Cordy. You are the opposite of Miranda, but just as problematic. You have an issue in life, and you hide under Miranda’s skirts, asking her to do the dirty work of fixing things. Miranda’s a catastrophic drama magnet and you’re a fucking indecisive doormat and I’m sick of being the reliable, patient one.”
“Hey,” Damon interjected angrily. “That’s enough.”
