Boomerang Page 19

  Ten minutes ago, we were laughing about how close we came to disaster last night when Milo picked up Raylene’s Jack and Coke instead of his drink. Now we’re on Alison somehow. I don’t know how Rhett got me onto this, but I’m learning that he can do sleight of hand with words.

  “You heard right,” I say, forcing myself to sound casual. “I’m going to Colorado with her this weekend.”

  Rhett’s features go even sharper with a scowl. “Your ex-girlfriend?”

  “Yes, Rhett. My ex. We went for sushi after we left and—”

  “Damn . . . Bowling to sashimi.” He shakes his head. “That offends me for some reason.”

  “Yeah, the whole night had more twists than a bag of pretzels. Speaking of which”—I push his shoulder—“What’s with you and Raylene?”

  “Nothing.” Rhett’s eyebrows snap together, and he’s suddenly serious. “She’s a nice lady, that’s all.”

  I grin. “Definitely not all, Rhett.”

  “It’s not what you think.” He makes a dismissive motion with his hand. “We talked divorce lawyers. Alimony. Stuff like that. Trust me, youngster. Things get complicated when you’re an old dog in your early thirties.”

  “Dang. And here I was enjoying the simplicity of my social life now.”

  “My point exactly, Vance. Going away for the weekend with your ex-girlfriend is a very bad call. Sorry, man. I try not to meddle. I haven’t said anything about the stunt you’re trying to pull with Cookie—”

  “You know about that?”

  “You mean the seventeen-thousand-dollar video game you’re developing without her approval? Yeah, I know about that. Guess who’s covering your ass?”

  A combination of embarrassment and anger spreads heat through me. I can’t let Rhett take the fall for me. “I didn’t ask you to get involved in my business.”

  “Your business is the same as mine, Ethan. And it’s too late, I’m already in, but that’s not what we’re talking about right now. Going to Colorado with your psychotic ex is like launching a grenade into your personal life.”

  “Alison’s not psychotic.”

  “See? She’s already breaking down your defenses.”

  “She is not. We’ve—accepted each other in a new way. We put the past where it belongs.”

  Rhett’s scowl deepens. “She has you speaking in greeting card, bro. You can’t reduce life to a pithy statement.”

  “You sound a lot smarter when you’re pissed.”

  “You commit to stupid shit when you go to sushi with your ex.”

  “I retract my last statement.”

  “Retract your weekend plans too. She’s reeling you back in. Can’t you see that?”

  Sitting across the table from Alison last night, she seemed so different. So vulnerable and honest. She doesn’t want me back. Not in the way Rhett thinks.

  “No,” I say. “She’s letting me catch a ride on her private jet so I can see my parents. Her family owns a ranch an hour away from my house, and my dad’s birthday is this weekend. And my brother, Chris, is coming home from college—” I’m starting to sound like I’m asking for permission so I wrap it up. “It’s a convenience thing, that’s all.”

  Rhett stares at me in that human resource-ey way, all perception and insight.

  “Definitely not all,” he says finally.

  “Whatever.” I grab my messenger bag and jump out of the Mini, shutting the door harder than I need to.

  Rhett and I are silent on our way into the offices, but I’m done being judged by him. What does he know, anyway?

  I won’t spend the weekend watching Jason and Isis cuddle on the couch while I try not to think about Mia. About how she felt against me. Or remembering the way I hurt her. I need to get out of town or I’m going to lose my fucking mind, and if I want to go home to Colorado, then I’m goddamn doing it.

  Rhett’s wrong. Nothing’s going to happen with Alison.

  I’m getting a free ride, and that is definitely all.

  Chapter 39

  Mia

  Q: Can your friends tell you everything?

  Through elaborate machinations involving cupcakes, a promise to film a bridal shower for Paolo’s cousin, and a little bit of extra sweet-talking of anyone I know won’t narc me out to Cookie, I have commandeered the Boomerang production studio so I can shoot Beth for the convention booth. I’ve also commandeered Paolo, who’ll act the part of Beth’s dates. I plan to have them improvise some datelike chitchat, maybe hold hands or make out a little, and then I’ll play around with backgrounds and settings in post. Brian offered to help, and I may take him up on it, since effects are not my thing.

  The equipment here is so high-end it makes me salivate. Some of it’s nicer than the stuff we used in film school. Guess that’s yet another benefit of working for a big-time media mogul. I doubt eHarmony has a full-scale editing bay in their basement.

  Just being around all of this piques my hunger for the job. The money is one thing. But all of this—the resources, the equipment, the creative trust that serves Adam across all of Blackwood Entertainment—makes for a ridiculously rare opportunity. An opportunity I really, really want.

  “Okay,” Beth says, settling onto a green-painted cube that will become a divan or a high-backed cushioned chair or, who knows, maybe the captain’s seat on a spaceship. “Before your friend comes down, you have to talk to me about this Colorado situation. You’re being too calm, girl. It’s freaking me out.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her, though my throat closes around the words, making them sound strained. “It just means I can totally shut the door on all of this nonsense.”

  What is there to say? From the minute Paolo stuck a mug of latte in my hands and laid the news on me about Ethan’s big trip, I’ve felt sick and deflated. If I let myself think of them together in that way—the way we were, in my mother’s studio, in the back of the cab, in the cool shadows of his kitchen—I won’t be able to accomplish a thing.

  She folds her arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow. “Which nonsense is that? The nonsense where you’re totally into him? Or where he’s totally into you?”

  “The nonsense where he clearly still cares about his ex. The nonsense where I have much better things to do with my life than kill my career to go grubbing around after someone who’s not into me. Again.”

  “You said he couldn’t keep his hands off you—even in front of his ex.”

  “Exactly.” I take a reading of her face and adjust some of the reflectors to bounce more light in her direction. “The problem’s not physical.”

  “Not with that rack, it ain’t.”

  “Ha. Ha.”

  “Seriously, what is the problem? Enlighten me.”

  I kneel down next to her and smooth the simple flowered dress we borrowed from Sky over her knees, then spend some time playing with her hair until she slaps my hands out of the way and fixes it herself.

  “We’ve already talked about this.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You mean the ‘I need to be chosen’ bullshit?”

  “How is it bullshit?”

  I start to rise, but she clamps two hands on my shoulders and stares me down. “Let me ask you something, okay?”

  “What?”

  “When you wanted to go to film school, how did you go about doing that?”

  I sigh. “What’s your point?”

  “I’m just wondering if you waited around in your house for film school to come to your door and say, ‘Mia, we choose you.’ ”

  “It’s not the—”

  “And when you wanted this swanky gig here, what did you do? Did you wait for baby Ryan Gosling to call you up? Or did you storm the damn castle and get yourself a job?”

  “An internship,” I remind her. “That I have to share.”

  “It’ll be a job at the end of all this,” she says. “You know how I know?”

  “No.” Because I don’t know anything of the sort. Except that I’ve accidentally stacked the de
ck in my favor by putting Ethan and Cookie on a path to the apocalypse, something I still have to fix.

  “Because when you want something, girl, you don’t screw around. You go for it. You’ve never waited for me to choose to do the dishes or give you back stuff I’ve borrowed. Or for Skyler to choose to pay the light bill. You don’t wait around for anyone or anything. But with boys, you act like goddamn Sleeping Beauty. Like they’re the only ones with choices to make.”

  “That’s not fair.” I twist away from her and get to my feet. Though I busy myself looking through my camera viewfinder, tears threaten, and I blink them back.

  “I’m not about being fair right now. I’m about being real.”

  “Well, spare me, okay?”

  She gets up, blowing all the work I just put into arranging her, getting the lighting just right.

  “Damn it, Beth,” I start, but she takes the camera gently from my hands and sets it on the table beside us.

  “Listen to me, honey,” she says. Her voice is warm and melting, which is just not like her. And her expression is kind enough to undo me on the spot. “You know how we always call Kyle that tool?”

  I nod.

  “Seems to me that you’re the one acting like a tool. Like you’re something that gets to be picked up or put down whenever some boy wants. You know?”

  I put my face in my hands because I feel the truth of it, sizzling along my every limb, rooting my feet to the floor. I wasted so much time with Kyle, waiting for him to see me for who I am, someone who has value, who deserves to be picked. I waited without asking myself if I actually wanted him.

  Oh, hell.

  Just then, Paolo slides into the room. “Date time!” he exclaims, and I’ve never been so happy for an interruption.

  “Yep,” I say and lift the camera once again. “Why don’t you both take seats?”

  Beth hesitates for a second, but I give her a cool end-of-discussion smile, and she flops back onto her cube.

  “Awesome,” I murmur, though nothing about this feels awesome at all. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter 40

  Ethan

  Q: Does the truth set you free, or does it set you on fire?

  So what happened to your parents?” I ask Alison. “Didn’t you have big plans for the weekend at the family cabin?”

  She looks at me, her eyes hooded in the dimness. The small window behind her frames a circle of a sky that’s fading from blue to black. It’s Friday night, and we’re thousands of feet in the air, somewhere halfway between LA and Loveland—the private airfield we’re flying to outside of Fort Collins.

  Alison takes a careful sip of her vodka tonic and sets it down. “Something came up. Two somethings, actually. My dad had to fly to New York for a work emergency, and my mom had a social emergency.”

  “Social emergency?”

  She smiles—something I know she does to mask her disappointment. “A bridal shower she happened to remember right when my dad had to cancel. It’s that middle-school maneuver. You know . . . You can’t break up with me because I’m breaking up with you first? He’s too busy for her, so she’s way too busy for him.”

  “Sorry,” I say, but it’s typical of them. I know she’s used to it.

  Alison’s smile goes a little wider. “It’s okay.”

  In the faint light of the cabin, her teeth are too white, too perfectly straight. She looks down and gently shakes the ice in her glass. It’s still half full, but mine is empty. No more vodka. No ice. Even the lime looks sucked dry.

  “You could’ve canceled, Alison. You’re going all this way to spend a weekend by your . . .” I cut myself short, because I know why she didn’t cancel. I know why she’s here. She didn’t want to let me down again. “Listen, Alison, I don’t—”

  “It’s okay, Ethan. I don’t expect anything. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just couldn’t say no to the chance to be with you again—even for a few hours. And I didn’t want you to miss your father’s birthday.”

  “Why don’t you come out to dinner tonight?”

  As soon I say the words, an odd feeling settles over me, like I’m betraying someone. But I push it away before I can examine it. I don’t have to answer to anyone, and Alison can’t hurt me again. The remaking us campaign has actually done me a world of good. Emotionally, there’s nothing there anymore. Nothing drawing me toward her.

  “Aren’t you going to dinner with your family?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah, but it’s all right. They’ll be happy to see you.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. Then I unbuckle my seat belt and move to the small bar console, where I make myself another drink.

  “What the hell are you doing, E?” Chris grabs my elbow and tows me toward the bar at Jimmy’s—our family’s favorite pub. “How could you bring her to Dad’s birthday dinner?”

  I take a long pull of my beer and consider my little brother. College has changed him for the better. It’s subtle, in the way he holds himself, his shoulders a little squarer, his voice a little deeper, but it’s there. I freakin’ love the kid. It’s so damn good to see him, but I don’t need him playing mother hen.

  “Drop it, Chris. It’s done. No need to make it a huge deal.”

  Dinner with the family—and Alison—is behind me. Two hours and three Jack and Cokes later, and I’m still alive. Feeling the booze, definitely, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

  “It’s obviously not done, Ethan. She’s still here.” Chris leans closer, and I realize he’s taller than me now. That sucks. “None of us like her. And we sure as hell don’t like her after what she—”

  “You’re ruining my buzz, Chris.” I’m swaying a little, my head too light. Which is the opposite of how my stomach feels. The rib-eye steak I put away at dinner has settled like an anchor in my stomach. I lean my back against the bar, and now the crowd blurs behind Chris, all rust-colored flannels and jeans. Everything looks faded and worn compared to LA’s sparkle and shine.

  Chris assesses me like he’s making a forensic analysis of my clothes, my face, my posture. I don’t know what he sees, but judging by the worry in his eyes, I’m guessing it’s the opposite of the growth and maturity I just saw in him.

  “What’s gotten into you?” he asks, lowering his voice so I almost can’t hear him above the bar noise. “Is it because you’re not playing ball anymore?”

  He’s dead-on about me feeling off kilter, but it’s not because I miss soccer. At least I don’t think so. And I know that I don’t want to know. The whole point of the vodka, the whiskey, and the beer in my hand is to get away from knowing.

  “Please shut up, bro.” I take a sip, almost missing my lips. “I’m asking you to—just stop.”

  Across the crowded bar, I see Alison rise from my parents’ table. As soon as she turns her back, my parents and their closest friends, the Davises, exchange looks of relief.

  At dinner she mentioned wanting to take my family to Palace Arms in Denver sometime—a restaurant that’s ten times fancier than where we were. It was a passing comment, but it was enough to put a damper on things. My mellow working-class parents don’t see things the way she does, like there are quality ratings on everything. They were just happy to have us all together.

  Beside me, Chris lets out a muffled curse when he sees Alison coming. “Great . . . The Anti-Christ cometh.”

  As I watch her thread toward us through the crowded bar, her tight body wrapped in designer leather and denim, it occurs to me that both Rhett and Chris are convinced that Alison and I are hooking up again this weekend. Then it occurs to me that the thought would never have occurred to me otherwise.

  It wasn’t anywhere in my thoughts.

  But now it is.

  And I wonder.

  What if we did?

  Beside me, I feel Chris looking from me to her. “Well, this sure looks like it’s going to end well. It’s painful to watch. In fact, I’m not doing it. Give me your phone.”<
br />
  “My phone?”

  Chris holds out his hand. “My battery’s dead and I’m trying to get ahold of Jake and Connor.”

  His high school buddies. I fish my phone out of my pocket.

  Chris takes it and then snatches the beer from my hands. “I’m taking this too. Your judgment’s already impaired.”

  He leaves to join my parents, who are now laughing and doing Jell-O shots with the Davises, happier than they’ve looked all night.

  “Hey,” Alison says. “Did I interrupt something?”

  “Nah, he was just leaving.” It’s crowded, and I have nowhere to stand except either behind her, or wedged right beside her. I take option two, because option one would bring Mia instantly back into my thoughts, and that’s the last thing I need, remembering how she felt at the bowling alley, or how she looked at work today in a green dress blouse that matched the color of her—

  “Ethan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I asked if you’d have champagne with me if I ordered a bottle?”

  I glance around me. Jimmy’s isn’t a dive, but it’s not a place for drinking champagne either. Not by a long shot. But then this is the girl who got a manicure before she went on safari.

  “Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

  The bartender gives Alison a mildly irritated look when she orders and leaves the bar to retrieve a bottle from their stock in the back.

  “So,” Alison says, smiling at me.

  We’re getting pressed in from all sides, so our legs are smashed together.

  “So,” I say back. I’ve got nothing else. I don’t want to talk to her. A dark, primal urge to just get her naked hits me. It slams into me, but it’s gone in a flash. I know how she feels. I was with her for two years, but she’s not who I want. Alison never made me feel the way Mia does. No one makes me feel the way Mia does—except Mia.

  Fuck. So much for numbing my brain with alcohol.

  Suddenly it feels like the rib-eye steak is sprouting thorns in my stomach.

  “You okay, Ethan?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Not.