Just Don't Mention It by Estelle Maskame
I’m going to run away.
50
PRESENT DAY
At first, when our neighborhood handyman, Mr. Forde, finally gets my lock removed, it’s almost too awkward to bear. Eden and I slowly shuffle out of my bathroom to meet Mom and Dave’s awaiting gazes. Eden told me we were supposed to be babysitting Chase, but we definitely didn’t do a good job of that, because we’ve been locked up here the entire time. Little do our parents know, it wasn’t exactly hell being trapped in there with Eden for two hours, and her plan did work. I’m calm again, and I definitely don’t plan to still meet up with Declan.
“We really need to get that fixed,” Mom says with a frown as Mr. Forde hands her the dodgy lock. He has removed it completely now so that there is no chance I can ever get myself locked in there again.
“Yeah,” I say, but I’m keeping my head down. I don’t want to meet Dave’s eyes right now. Not after kissing his daughter. I glance at Eden out of the corner of my eye, and she is staring at the floor too. “How’s Jamie’s wrist?”
“A small fracture,” Dave says, then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, handing Mr. Forde thirty bucks. “Thank you.”
Mr. Forde heads off, and Eden disappears off into her own room, and Mom and Dave make their way back downstairs. I’m left alone, so I decide to check up on Jamie. I know all too well just how much a fractured wrist sucks.
I walk across the hall to his room and slowly tap my knuckles against the door before pushing it open anyway. Jamie is sat on the end of his bed, staring down at the splint on his wrist, rotating his arm around. My chest tightens a little. I hate seeing my brothers get hurt.
“Hey,” I say gently as I walk into the room. I sit down on the bed next to him and give him a small smile as he looks up at me. I raise an eyebrow. “So I heard you’ve broken your wrist.”
“Yeah,” Jamie says, and he lets out a defeated sigh. “I tripped over some bricks in Dylan’s backyard and fell on it.” Jamie is usually boisterous and lively, but tonight, he is quiet. He stares down at his wrist for a few seconds, then slowly, his gaze drifts back up to meet mine. “I don’t know how you did this.”
“Did what?”
“This,” he says, lifting up his arm. “The broken wrists. Everything. It hurts.”
“I got used to it,” I murmur. Honestly, I’m surprised Jamie is even talking about this. He doesn’t like to ever talk about Dad. I think he’s still traumatized from it all, from witnessing the father that he adored attacking me. Jamie has never really been the same since, and neither of us ever wants to talk about it even though I know we need to. It’s too hard on both of us. “I learned to . . . I learned to make myself numb,” I say through the silence.
I sense Jamie swallow as he stares at the floor. All I can hear is the static of his TV, nothing but white noise to me. “I can’t believe Dad was really like that.”
“I know.” Sometimes, I still can’t believe it either.
“But why you?” he asks, looking up. His blue eyes meet mine. We look nothing alike. “Why not me? What did you do wrong that me and Chase didn’t?”
“I don’t know, Jamie, but I’m glad it wasn’t you and I’m glad it wasn’t Chase.” I stare at the splint on his wrist and it brings back so many memories of when I was a kid. His wrist will be in a cast soon, decorated with his friends’ names scrawled in Sharpie. “He loved you guys,” I tell him, then glance down at my own hands. On the outside, I’m fine. But my wrist still aches sometimes. “I think he may have even loved me too.”
Jamie looks at me like I’m crazy. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It doesn’t, does it?” I almost smile, because he’s right. It doesn’t make sense. Dad didn’t hurt me because he hated me—no, he hurt me because he was out of control. “Even I’m still trying to figure it out.”
Suddenly, my phone begins to vibrate in my pocket, and I know that it is most likely Declan calling to wonder whether or not I’m still down to meet up. I pull out my phone, ready to simply reject the call, but I freeze when I see Tiffani’s name lightening up my cracked screen instead.
My chest tightens as I look back at Jamie. He glances at my phone in my hand, then at me. I can see in his eyes that he doesn’t want me to answer it. He wants me to stay here with him, to talk about Dad. And I want to stay too, but I just … I just can’t. I can’t reject Tiffani’s call, not after I’ve been trying so hard to talk to her all day. She will never forgive me if I don’t give her my time now that she’s ready listen.
I swallow hard as I get to my feet, and it hurts seeing the way Jamie’s face falls. The call is still ringing and my time to answer is running out fast. “Jamie, I’m sorry,” I say, but my throat is so dry that my words sound choked. “I have to take this. I don’t have a choice right now. Can we talk another time?”
“Whatever, Tyler,” he mumbles, but he’s mad at me now too. He flops onto his back and rolls over to face his bedroom wall, leaving me feeling guiltier than ever. But the call is still ringing, my phone still vibrating in my hand …
I dart back across the hall to my own room, closing the door behind me and inhaling. I still haven’t exactly decided which explanation I am going to give her, but I’m skilled at lying on the spot. I accept the call and press my phone to my ear. “Tiffani,” I say.
“Tyler,” she says. Her voice is bitter and my name brings disgust with it. I can picture her in my head so clearly. I imagine her lips pressed firmly together in a bold line, one hand resting on her hip, her blue eyes sharpening. Luckily, I don’t have to face her.
“I’ve been trying to talk to you all day,” I tell her. My shoulders sink with relief. Finally, she is talking to me. I walk over to my bed and collapse down onto my back, staring up at my ceiling. “So you heard what happened last night?”
“Of course I heard,” Tiffani snaps back at me. She’s furious, and this is going to take a lot of convincing. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? You know me, Tyler. I find out everything.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, running my free hand through my hair. “It was an accidental mistake,” I start. It wasn’t. “It all just happened in the spur of the moment. I really was on my way to meet the guys, but when I drove by the pier, some sophomore from Inglewood wanted to check out my car,” I lie, and I open my eyes again and sit up, propping up my pillows and leaning back against them. I feel like such an asshole. “She got in my car and . . . I don’t know. Things just happened. I completely didn’t mean to. I swear, Tiffani. You know I’m just . . . I’m an idiot.”
“Tyler,” she sharply cuts in, and if I were in front of her right now, she’d be pressing her hand to my chest. “I don’t want the details. I just want you to promise me that this will never, ever happen again. You don’t want me to lose my patience, do you?”
“I promise,” I blurt quickly, and I realize as soon as the words leave my mouth that I definitely shouldn’t have said them. There is no way I can promise her that it won’t happen again, especially not while Eden is in the picture. Now, if we ever get caught again, Tiffani definitely won’t give me another chance. She will completely ruin my life, which means that from this moment onward, Eden and I have to be very, very careful.
* * *
I’ve been with Tiffani all morning, forcing myself to be on my best behavior, fighting to keep her happy. That’s why, using all of the cash I have made so far and stealing some out of whatever small amount is left in my trust fund, I was downtown bright and early this morning buying a damn purse at 9AM. Tiffani is happy with it, though, so the dent in my financial status is at least worth it.
She’s even got it with her now. We’ve been at her house for hours, talking everything through until we are both in mutual agreement about what exactly this relationship is—toxic and meaningless, but important and necessary—and now I’m driving her to the promenade so that she can meet up with the girls. I’m meeting up with Dean and Jake here too, and we will all most like
“Drop me off by Nordstrom,” Tiffani demands, though at least her voice is light, cheery, and most definitely fake. She has her sunglasses pushed down over her eyes and she is holding up her phone, taking pictures of herself as I drive, her glossy lips pouting back at her screen. I have both windows rolled down, so the breeze keeps blowing her blond hair around her face.
“Alright, Britney Spears,” I say, rolling my eyes. I have one hand on the steering wheel, the other on her thigh. I know she likes that. “I think you’ve taken enough pictures. Which one would you like to set as your wallpaper?”
“Shut up, Tyler,” she says, relaxing her features and lowering her phone. She points up ahead. We are heading down Second Street, nearing the promenade, and for a Thursday afternoon, the streets are heaving with people. It is hotter than usual today, I guess, and the heat always brings out the crowds. “Pull up over there.”
I do as she says and pull over by the sidewalk across the street from Nordstrom. As soon as we come to a stop, Tiffani releases her seatbelt and turns to face me, pushing her sunglasses up into her hair. She smiles at me. “You know, I believe you. I don’t think you’ll make another mistake. I’d hate for that to happen,” she says, but I can hear the threat in her perfectly sweet voice. Her hands move while she speaks. “Now can we get back to acting normal?”
“That’s exactly what I want, Tiffani,” I tell her, mirroring her smile as I squeeze her thigh. I’m trying my best here, and it’s the best damn performance I’ve ever done.
She leans toward me and presses her lips to mine, kissing me hard, and I almost flinch away from her. It takes a lot of strength to kiss her back, to act normal, to pretend I wasn’t just kissing Eden last night. Kissing Tiffani isn’t the same. It’s always so rough, always so aggressive, always so boring. There’s no excitement. No passion. How did I ever used to enjoy this? I stick with it for a few long seconds just to keep her happy, then I finally pull back from her, slumping against my seat.
“I hope you enjoyed that, because you’re getting nothing more until I trust you again,” Tiffani states as she reaches for the door, her new purse over her arm, her eyes piercing mine. She laughs, then gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her.
I watch her as she strides across the street and I realize that Rachael, Meghan and Eden are waiting for her over on the sidewalk. Have they been there the entire time? Did Eden just see me kiss Tiffani? I look at only her. She is sipping on a cup of coffee, her head tilted down, watching everything from beneath her eyelashes. Her gaze travels to mine. I can only hope she understands why I have to do what I am currently doing, and from across the street, I give her a small smile, one that’s apologetic. I am wishing I was with her and not Tiffani.
Eden glances away from me again as Tiffani nears the group. Rachael doesn’t look too happy, because she aggressively hurls her cup of coffee into a trash can and throws her hands up. I don’t care to wait around and watch. I’m meeting Dean and Jake at the Refinery, so I head off, revving my engine all the way around the corner onto Broadway, leaving the girls behind.
I spend fifteen minutes trying to find parking, and by the time I am pushing open the door to the Refinery, Dean and Jake are already there. They’re sitting by the full-length windows, watching the hustle and bustle outside on Santa Monica Boulevard, laughing among themselves as they consume their coffee without me.
“Oh, so you have turned up,” Jake remarks as I enter, rolling his eyes.
“Jake, did I ever tell you how much I just love to hang out with you?” I fire back at him, and I barge my shoulder into his as I head for the counter. We’re only messing around right now. My relationship with Jake is volatile, but at least we’re on the right side of friendly most of the time.
I order myself an Americano, then head back over to the guys and pull over a chair, sitting down next to them. “So,” I say as I take a sip of my coffee. It’s so hot that it scalds my tongue. I set it down on the table instead, giving it a minute to cool. “What are we talking about?”
“Honestly, not much,” Dean says, leaning forward to look at me past Jake. He gives me a warm, friendly smile which is a much nicer welcome than Jake’s. I know I probably frustrate Dean constantly, but he never lets it show. It’s nice to have at least one friend who has my back. “Just the beach party on Saturday.”
Immediately, I straighten up. I forgot all about that. “That’s this weekend?”
“Yeah,” Jake says, then he stifles a laugh as he mutters under his breath, “and try not to kill yourself this time.” We both hear him.
“Jake,” Dean hisses. They exchange a look, and Dean gives him a slow, firm shake of his head in disapproval. Jake only shrugs and props his elbows up on the table, gulping his coffee down as he stares out the window.
Every year, there is a party down on the beach. Half the beach gets cordoned off and there’s a stage where different DJs and bands perform all night. Everyone just turns up wasted and parties for hours as the sun sets over the Pacific. It’s real sweet, and although officially no minors are allowed, half our school turns up anyway. I should be looking forward to it, but after last summer, I can’t help but feel anxious. Even the thought of it is making my stomach twist.
At the party last year, I enjoyed myself a little too much. I was seriously drunk and I bought some stuff I shouldn’t have from a complete stranger. I thought I would be alright, but I wasn’t. I don’t know what the hell I took that night, but it was definitely laced with something. It was the one and only bad trip I’ve ever taken. Luckily, despite my friends being wasted themselves, they managed to drag me back to Tiffani’s place where they watched over me for hours to make sure I didn’t, like, die. I know they don’t always care about me much, but they did that night.
“I was thinking,” Dean says, clearing his throat, “we could all have some drinks at my place first before we head down to the beach.”
“I shouldn’t . . . Maybe I shouldn’t go,” I mumble. My mouth has gone dry. I drop my eyes to my lap, fumbling with my hands. The beach party last year was one of my lowest moments. It doesn’t exactly hold any good memories for me, and I don’t want to end up making any risky mistakes again.
“You think?” Jake mutters. He turns to face me and honestly, I could punch him in the face right here and now. “Is Eden going? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Why the fuck do you care?” I snap at him. He doesn’t get to talk about Eden. He’s an asshole, and he’s going nowhere near her. Sure, she may have slept at his place, but that was weeks ago, and I get the feeling her attention is no longer on him. It’s on me. “She’s not interested in you.”
“Really?” Dean says, shifting forward to the edge of his chair. Curiosity lights up his gaze as he looks at me, his eyebrows raised. “She said that?”
“She didn’t need to,” I say, clenching my jaw. I am losing it quicker than usual today. I just hate hearing Eden’s name on Jake’s tongue.
“Tyler, seriously, shut the fuck up,” Jake says through laughter. I hate that he can always laugh his way through everything. I like to pretend that I don’t care about anything, whereas Jake actually doesn’t give a fuck. Never has, never will. “C’mon. Rachael says they’re all at Johnny Rockets, so let’s go meet them.”
I take my coffee with me and drink it en route to Santa Monica Place, the luxury outdoor shopping plaza at the foot of the promenade where I dropped Tiffani off. Dean walks between Jake and me, most likely to prevent any arguments from breaking out, and we head upstairs to the dining deck and search the tables until we finally spot the girls. We pull over chairs and join them as they eat their sundaes. Or at least only three of them. Eden isn’t eating anything.
I set a chair down next to Tiffani and sink down into it. I’m not sure how I feel about being in such close proximity with Eden while my friends surround us. I’m scared to look at her, because I’m worried I’ll smile without realizing, or our eye
“Hey,” Tiffani whispers, smiling wide at me. She places her hand on my knee.
“So,” Jake says, raising his voice as he leans forward on the table and runs his eyes around the circle, looking at each of us in turn. He only receives a glare back from me. “We’ve decided that we’ll go to Dean’s before the party on Saturday.”
“A party before a party,” Dean throws in. He bears an excited grin as he glances around us all too. Dean isn’t a huge fan of parties, but he does always love the annual beach party. “We’ll take care of the booze.”
“You guys just take care of looking good,” Jake finishes. He jokingly shrugs and leans back in his chair, nonchalantly folding his arms across his chest.
“Prick,” Rachael says, and she throws her spoon across the table at him. He narrowly avoids it, but I wish it had hit him.
“You know I’m kidding, Rachy baby,” he teases, sitting up again and cocking his head to one side. He smirks at her, his expression playful. Ever since middle school, they have been like this.
“Don’t call me that!”
They argue back and forth for a few minutes, but I can’t focus, because Tiffani is running her hand from my knee up to my thigh under the table. A lump is rising in my throat as she scoots her chair closer to me and brushes her fingertips up and down my arm, creating goosebumps. I lock my eyes on the table, paralyzed. I wish she would stop touching me. I’m pretty certain the only reason she’s doing this is because we have company. This is her way of letting our friends know that everything is totally fine between her and me, even though it’s not. Suddenly, she grabs my jaw and leans in to kiss me, but I just can’t do it, not right here, not while Eden is right in front of us. Before Tiffani’s lips can meet mine, I jerk my head to one side, and her mouth lands on my cheek instead. I expect her to get mad at me, but she only leans her body against mine and continues to touch me.