You and Me and Us Read online

  “She doesn’t hate you, she’s a teenager.”

  “I tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “She was hurt—which she wouldn’t be if she didn’t love you.”

  “I guess.” I sigh. “Eat dinner with me?”

  Tommy pours two glasses of wine while I snap a picture of the plate. I have to admit, it looks like something I’d order in a restaurant. There’s some kind of whitefish, sautéed spinach, and a few tiny roasted potatoes, purple, of course. I find an Instagram filter that makes it look even better and tag CeCe in the caption: My daughter, the chef. @WhistlerGurl. #ProudMom #Delicious #ILY.

  Sad that it’s easier to tell the world I love my daughter in a hashtag than it is for me to say it to her face.

  Tommy sets the glasses down and sits in his usual chair, across from mine and next to CeCe’s. “So there was an emergency at work?”

  “You don’t want to hear about it.” I fork a piece of fish. Even cold, it’s good. Really good. “The new chief marketing officer at Dox Pharmacy keeps dangling the business in front of us like a damn carrot. His requests are ridiculous, like he’s trying to see how high we’ll jump.”

  “And you keep jumping.”

  “There’s no other choice. We can’t lose that account—I have seventeen employees counting on me.”

  “They’re not the only ones.”

  Ouch. I reach for my wine and take a big sip. When that doesn’t help me feel better, I try to find comfort and understanding in Tommy’s eyes. “I’m trying.”

  “You have to try harder.”

  The edge in his voice catches me off guard. I like it better when he’s soft and supportive, but I know he’s right. He shouldn’t have to handle everything around here. And I can’t even make it home in time to have dinner or a conversation. “You wanted to talk about something last night?”

  He shakes his head and takes a sip of his wine. “It can wait, I’m too tired. Wasn’t an easy day here, either.”

  “Bad patient?” I raise my eyebrow in jest. Trying to get him to spill details about the strangers he counsels is one of my favorite games to play even though I never win.

  “Not bad, but there was one really tough one. This guy just got a terminal diagnosis.”

  “Cancer?”

  Tommy nods. “It’s bad. So bad he’s thinking about not doing any treatment.”

  “Does he have a family?”

  Tommy nods again.

  “Then he has to fight it,” I tell him. “For his family, if not for himself.”

  “You really think so?” Tommy asks. He looks exhausted. I wish he would talk to me about these things more often. It can’t be healthy to try to carry so many people’s problems alone.

  “Don’t you?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to put his family through a long illness when it’s going to end all the same.” Tommy runs his hands over his head, smoothing hair that isn’t there anymore. “I’m honestly not sure. You weren’t there when my mom was sick. The treatment was worse than the breast cancer—three years of chemo and radiation and surgery, then more chemo and more radiation. She kept fighting past the point her life was worth fighting for, and in the end all that pain and suffering was for nothing.”

  I reach out and take his hand in mine. I hate that I wasn’t there for him when he was losing his mom, almost as much as I hate that Monica was. If I had known, I’d like to think I would have come back sooner. So much happened in the twenty years I was gone, time we’ll never get back.

  Picking up my fork again, I dredge a baby potato through the lemon butter sauce. “Our daughter is a pretty stellar chef.”

  “She’s pretty great all around.” Tommy’s eyes light up the way they always do when he talks about CeCe. “She made a pretty good case over the dinner about going to that party this weekend.”

  “Not that again.” I stab the last bite of fish.

  “So that’s a no?”

  “Not if the parents aren’t going to be there.” I drain the rest of my wine. “And by the way, thanks for making me the bad guy.”

  “You know I’ve always had a thing for the bad girls,” Tommy says, smiling with his whole face. Those dimples still get me every time. His foot finds mine beneath the table. “What do you say we leave the dishes for tomorrow and go to bed early?”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day,” I agree, as he stands and walks around the table toward me.

  He pulls me up and folds me into his arms, kissing me like we haven’t seen each other in days, not hours. Breathless, I step back and look at him looking at me with hungry eyes.

  He keeps his hands on my waist as I lead the way upstairs, as if even a step apart would be too far.

  Before I turn off the bedroom lights, I glance down at my phone. There’s a notification from Instagram that @Whistler Gurl liked my photo.

  Chapter Four

  CeCe

  The music is so loud Sofia practically has to yell for me to hear. “I can’t believe we’re really here.”

  I shrug as if it’s not a big deal, even though it’s the biggest deal—and the biggest lie I’ve ever told my dad.

  “My fair Juliet!” Heads turn and it feels like there’s a spotlight on me as Liam slides off the kitchen island where he was perched above a group of girls. I almost died when Mrs. Katz announced that the two of us would be playing the leads in the spring play. “I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Liam says.

  “I’m not officially here,” I say, grateful Sofia had the idea for me to spend the night at her house. It almost didn’t work since I’d already told Dad her parents were letting her go, but I covered it up by saying she didn’t want to go without me. I told him it was a best-friend thing and he actually bought it. One benefit of having a workaholic mom: if she were home, she would’ve seen right through my lie.

  Liam gives me a hug and I breathe in the woodsy scent of his cologne. He shifts, leaving one arm draped heavily on my shoulder. “Want a beer?”

  I hesitate, but Sofia answers for us both. “We’d love one.”

  I’ve had a crush on Liam Donnelly for the last four years, from the moment I spotted him on the first day of middle school. As an eighth grader, he was up onstage at orientation with all the other club presidents, telling my entire class about the drama club. But it felt like he was just talking to me. I signed up, of course, and got to spend an hour every Thursday after school in a room with Liam doing acting exercises and improv games. But the spring play was the first time we’d be onstage, playing opposite each other.

  “Great party,” I tell him as he hands us both our beers.

  “It is now that you’re here.” He smiles a crooked smile, and a flock of butterflies take flight in my stomach.

  “Bella just got here,” Sofia says, even though Bella was the first one we saw when we walked in. “I’m going to say hi.”

  I mouth a silent thank-you in her direction. When I turn back, Liam is looking at me and I’m seriously worried I might turn into a puddle. I glance away, down at the red Solo cup in my hands. The foam has gone down a bit, so I take a sip and try not to gag. I don’t understand why people like beer.

  “I love this song,” I say because I can’t think of anything else. Liam and I have had tons of conversations before, but they’re always about something specific, usually related to drama club. I need a script for this sort of thing.

  “Then let’s dance.” Liam grabs my free hand and leads me into the living room where the couches have been pushed back against the wall to create a makeshift dance floor.

  I take another sip and attempt to keep rhythm with my hips. I’m not a good dancer when choreography isn’t involved. But then his hand is on my waist and we’re swaying in sync with the music and each other. His skin feels warm beneath the faded T-shirt that’s so soft I wish I could wrap myself up in it, and when his chocolate-brown eyes focus on mine, I don’t look away.

  Liam and I keep dancing through the
next three songs, getting a little closer with each one. I bite my lip in anticipation when a slow song starts to play. I push my glasses up and smile, my eyes meeting his.

  “I’m going to get us some more beer,” he says.

  I try not to look disappointed, but the place where his hand used to be feels empty. I look stupid standing there alone, so I make my way to the edge of the room, trying not to stare at the couple making out right there in front of everybody. The guy’s hands are literally in the back pockets of the girl’s jeans and his tongue is most definitely in her mouth. I didn’t think it was possible to be so grossed out and jealous at the same time.

  Liam finds me leaning against the fireplace. “Your beer, m’lady.”

  Feeling a little braver now, I finish almost half of the glass in one gulp.

  “Shall we?” He nods toward the dance floor. The slow song is still playing, but it’s got to be close to the end. He reaches for my beer, but I stop him, taking another big sip first.

  Liam nods his approval and I hiccup before handing it over. He leaves our cups on the fireplace mantel and leads me to the dance floor.

  We’re swaying back and forth, and I’m on the edge of feeling lost in the moment, when my stupid glasses start slipping down my nose. I squinch my face, hoping they’ll go back up on their own so we don’t have to stop dancing, not even for a second.

  Liam must notice, because he takes a hand off my waist to push them back up for me. “You’re cute,” he says.

  “So are you.” I feel my cheeks turning red, but I’m not sure if it’s from the beer or because he’s looking at me like I’m the only girl in the room.

  The song stops playing and another slow one starts. A playlist faux pas, but I’m grateful for the mistake. I step a little closer, he holds my waist a little tighter, and I try to memorize this moment so I can remember it for the rest of my life.

  He bends down and I try not to shiver as his lips brush against my ear. “I’m glad you’re my Juliet.”

  “I’m glad you’re my Romeo.”

  “We should probably start practicing for that final scene.”

  The kiss happens in the middle of the play, but I don’t correct him. It’s the only part I’ve been worrying about—if I look like I don’t know what I’m doing, everyone will find out that I’m probably the only girl in ninth grade who hasn’t been kissed. Sofia’s the only one who knows my secret. And Beau, but he doesn’t count since he doesn’t go to our school, or even live in the same state.

  “Mrs. Katz said we were just going to pretend.”

  “She said we could pretend, or we could really kiss if we wanted to.” Liam leans back a little and I look up at him. I’m trying really hard to look at his eyes and not his lips, but his lips.

  “Don’t you want to?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

  I look away for a second, but when I glance back up, Liam is leaning toward me. I can’t believe this is about to happen. I hope Sofia is seeing this. Actually, maybe it’s better if she doesn’t in case I don’t do it right. I hope I do it right. His eyes are closed and he’s getting closer. My heart is beating faster than the music. And then—

  “Cecelia!”

  No, no, no. Please, no.

  “Cecelia,” my dad says again. “In the car. Now.”

  I drop my arms from around Liam’s neck and step back. The whole room has gone silent except for the whispers. This can’t be happening.

  “Say goodbye, Cecelia.”

  To my social life.

  Chapter Five

  Alexis

  I can’t believe she lied to us,” Tommy says as he joins me outside, letting the front door fall closed behind him.

  “I can’t believe you fell for it.”

  He gives me a sideways glance as he sits beside me on the front porch swing, my favorite part of this old house. I lean over and kiss his neck. “There’s no way in hell Sofia would give up going to the party of the year just because CeCe wasn’t allowed to go.”

  “But they’re best friends.”

  “Even best friends have to draw the line somewhere.” I put my hand on his leg, hoping my touch comforts him. Thanks to my parents, I learned early in life that it’s easy to be let down when your expectations of people are too high.

  “Was it really the party of the year?”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I mean, a party at Liam Donnelly’s is already pretty awesome, but a party at Liam Donnelly’s when his parents are out of town?”

  “What’s the big deal about this kid?”

  “He’s a junior, and she’s a freshman with a crush.” I smile, happy to be the one with an inside scoop for once. Our regular mani-pedi dates have become somewhat less regular, but last week as CeCe and I got our fingers and toes pampered, it was “Liam this” and “Liam that” and “Liam said.”

  “Interesting,” Tommy says. “Did I tell you they were slow dancing when I walked in?”

  “How slow?”

  He shakes his head. “Real slow.”

  “Show me.” I stand and reach for Tommy’s hand. He resists at first, but eventually gives in like he always does. I put my arms around his neck and he brings his hands to my waist. “Were they standing like this?”

  “A little closer.”

  “Like this?” I take a step toward him and start swaying even though there isn’t any music and the neighbors might be watching.

  “Like that,” Tommy says with a sigh.

  I sigh, too, but mine is a happy one, because there’s no place I’d rather be than here with him, slow dancing under the moonlight. We should dance more often; the last time might have been at Jack and Blake’s wedding last fall. Too long ago.

  I start humming “It Had to Be You,” the song we declared as ours. He joins in and I’m standing in the arms of the man I love, wondering if life can get any better than this. “I love you,” I whisper into his neck.

  “Then will you marry me?”

  “Never.” I smile, resting my head on his chest. “But thank you for asking.”

  Tommy laughs and the vibrations pass through his body into mine. But then the laugh becomes a fit of coughs and I pull back. “You should see a doctor about that cough.”

  “I have,” he says, catching his breath.

  “Did he give you a Z-Pak?” Tommy’s eyes meet mine for a second, but he quickly looks away and I get a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Babe?”

  “There’s something we need to talk about.”

  Every cell in my body is suddenly standing at full attention. “Should I sit down for this?”

  “Maybe we both should.”

  He takes my hands in his and keeps holding them as we sit back down on the swing. The swing where I curl up with a novel on lazy Sunday mornings while Tommy reads the paper or does a crossword puzzle. The swing where I rocked CeCe to sleep when she was a baby. The swing where Tommy and I sometimes sit with a glass of wine, talking about our days and trying to solve the problems of the world.

  I tighten my grip on his hand. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m scared, too.”

  But Tommy doesn’t get scared.

  I hold my breath. When he starts to speak, my world stops.

  THE NEXT THIRTY minutes are the longest and slowest of my life. His words bounce around my head, refusing to stick: Small cell lung cancer. Stage 4. It’s not good.

  “Lex?” he says my name as if it’s a lifeline, and I realize I haven’t said a word.

  “How could this happen? You’re too young.”

  “And too good-looking,” he says, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

  “Why didn’t you tell me something was wrong? I thought it was just a bad cough.”

  “The cough was just one symptom,” Tommy explains. “There were others, a little chest pain, shortness of breath. I didn’t want to worry you until there was something to worry about.”

  Either he’s a better actor than CeCe, or I’ve been oblivious. But he
didn’t say anything—I would have heard him; I would have noticed something was wrong. How long has he been pretending everything is okay?

  “How long have you known?” I ask.

  “They did a CT scan and a needle biopsy last week, but I didn’t get the results until Wednesday.”

  “You had a biopsy? How the hell did I miss that?” I feel myself starting to hyperventilate so I focus on breathing, inhaling and exhaling with purpose.

  “You were in New York for that big Dox presentation. I knew it was an important meeting.”

  “Not more important than you,” I insist.

  Tommy takes my hand and brings it gently to his mouth, forgiving me for what I didn’t know, what I didn’t do. “You needed your head in the game so you could impress that new bigwig. If you knew . . .” He stops and looks down at me, and I wish I could read his mind the way he always manages to read mine.

  “If I knew, I would have been there.” I take my hand back and rest it in my lap, playing with a loose thread on the hem of my shirt. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

  “The whole thing took less than an hour, I was fine. Well, not that fine in hindsight.”

  I shake my head. I would be furious with him if I wasn’t so scared. I should have been with him, to hold his hand, to wait, to be nervous, to try to stay hopeful. He should have told me.

  “Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you knew?”

  “I tried,” Tommy says, and I feel sick to my stomach. The email. He said he’d wanted to talk. “But honestly, I didn’t try that hard.” There’s a raspiness to his voice I haven’t noticed before. I should have noticed. “I think I just needed to come to terms with it on my own first. I knew you’d have questions, and I wanted to have the answers.”

  I need more than answers. I need to know that he’s going to be okay; he has to be okay.

  “I want to talk to your doctor.”

  “I have an appointment Monday to get a second opinion. But he’s going to say the same thing the first one did.”

  “And what exactly was that?” I need him to say it again.