One Tiny Lie: A Novel (8 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Small World

“How’s Princeton?”

“A bit overwhelming,” I admit with a sigh. “I got lost trying to find my classes on Thursday and Friday. Ended up walking in just as the professors introduced themselves. Almost went epileptic.” I’m never late to class. I knew this campus was huge but I hadn’t realized quite how big. I’ve mapped out the routes to the rest of my classes to avoid all potential seizures in the future.

“Yikes. But, you had your volunteer thing today. How was that?” Kacey’s last words are blurred by Mia’s shrieks and what sounds like our friend Ben’s maniacal laughing in the background.

“It was good. There are these two boys—”

“Hold on, Livie.” I hear muffling, like she’s covering the receiver with her hand. “Guys! I’m talking to Livie. Can you just . . . vamoose!” A second later, screams of “Hi, Livie!” flood the phone as they run by, making my heart swell and then immediately constrict. Uncovering the phone, Kacey says, “Sorry, Livie. You know how Saturday nights get.”

I smile wistfully. Yeah, I know exactly how Saturday nights get. The eight-person dinner table in the spacious kitchen is never enough for everyone. It’s always us plus Trent and usually a few friends from Penny’s. Occasionally our old landlord, Tanner, comes. Right now, Storm is probably clearing the table and Dan is washing dishes—if he’s not out arresting Miami’s criminals. It’s a mishmash of misfits and yet . . . it’s family. It’s home.

I sigh as I glance around at my tiny dorm room. It’s clean and nice, but I wonder when the novelty of it will wear off—when it will feel like I belong here.

“So, how was the hospital? You met two boys?” Cupboard doors slam in the background, which tells me that Kacey’s on tidy-up duty while she talks to me. She’s a tornado when she steps in the kitchen.

“Yup. Twins. Eric and Derek.”

“Seriously?” I can almost hear my sister’s eye roll.

I snort. “I know. They’re really cute.”

“And are they . . .” She doesn’t say the words. She doesn’t have to, and my stomach clenches tightly all the same.

I swallow. “Prognosis is good.” I don’t know that, but I say it anyway because it will make both of us feel better. The long commute home gave me a chance to decompress and evaluate. I acknowledged that the first day in a children’s hospital with sick—possibly dying—kids was bound to pull on a few heartstrings. Of course it’ll get better. I’ll probably also freak out the first time that I face a cadaver in med school. Everyone does. It’s normal. It doesn’t mean I’m not meant to be there or that I can’t hack it. By the time I arrived back at my dorm room tonight, the cloud hanging over me was all but gone. My bitterness with Stayner, though, had increased tenfold.

Kacey sighs. “Well, that’s good.” I hear the screech of the oven drawer opening and I grin, knowing what’s coming next. Sure enough, there’s a loud slap, followed by a yelp. I’m laughing as Kacey shrieks, “Dammit, Trent!” because I know that he caught her bent over and distracted and Trent just can’t seem to stop from slapping her butt playfully every chance he gets. A few seconds later, there’s a noisy kissing sound near the phone and Kacey’s giggle.

“Hi, Livie,” a deep male voice says.

“Hi, Trent,” I say, smiling at the two of them and how completely enamored with each other they still are, even after three years. It’s heartwarming, knowing that two individuals with such a train wreck of a past can thrive together. Hearing it in the middle of the night is not so heartwarming. Dan has had to bang on their door more than once to tell them to keep it down. I usually can’t make eye contact with Trent the next day, which amuses Kacey to no end.

“How’s school going?”

“Good. Classes only started on Thursday but they’re good so far.”

“Yeah?” There’s a short pause. “And have you made out with any other guys?”

I gasp as I hear jostling on the other end, followed by a loud slap and Trent’s laugh moving away.

“Sorry,” Kacey mutters.

“How could you tell him that?” Trent has become a big brother to me. A giant man-child brother who loves to tease me almost as much as my sister does. It’s a hundred times more embarrassing when he does it. “I’m never going to hear the end of this! He’s going to tell Dan now and then they’re going to gang up on me!”

“Relax, Livie!” Kacey’s voice cuts in. “He’s not going to say anything. Else. I had to explain why I had pictures of a guy’s ass on my phone, though, so he wouldn’t think I cheated on him.”

“Oh,” I say, biting my lip.

“But don’t worry. I’ll thoroughly beat him tonight for you.” She says that last part extra loud and I know it’s for Trent’s benefit. He’s probably grinning at her right now.

“Great,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. My sister is the opposite of sexually repressed.

“So . . .have you run into that guy? What was his name?”

“Ashton. Yes,” I admit reluctantly.

“And . . .how’d it go?”

I sigh. “About as good as a lit match near a pool of gasoline.”

“Wow.”

I fill her in on the conversation.

There’s a loud clatter as Kacey throws whatever she had into the sink. “What a douche bag! The next time I fly up there, I’m going to tear that guy’s balls off as promised.”

“No you’re not. It’s fine. I’m over it. Reagan and I are going out with some friends tonight. I’m just waiting for her to get back from the bathroom and then we’re on our way.”

“Oh, good. I knew I liked that chick.” I hear the patio door slide open and the sudden breeze against the receiver, followed by Kacey’s small groan. I can tell she’s easing herself into one of the lounge chairs on the back deck. “Well, I hope you have fun. Maybe lay off the Jell-O shots, seeing as I’m not there to control the repressed beast when she reveals herself.”

“Funny.” I bite my lip, hesitating. Do I just come out and tell her what Dr. Stayner told me? I don’t know how she’ll take it. Probably not well. I don’t want her worrying about me because there’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Stayner is wrong.

Before I get a chance to decide, Kacey starts up again in typical Kacey fashion. “But if you do go on another wild bender, make the guy wrap it up.”

“Jeez, Kacey. You sound like a dude,” I hear Trent say in the background.

“What! I’m just making sure my virginal sis thinks about these things when she lets the beast loose again.”

“What beast? Livie has a beast?” I hear a second male voice chirp. Ben, Kacey’s good-looking bouncer-turned-lawyer friend. “Damn. I need to meet it. I love beasts.”

And it’s official. Even a thousand miles away, my sister has still managed to make me want to die. I groan, my face falling into my hand. “Why did I wait until college to drink, Kacey? I should have gotten this out of my system years ago. Why would you let me wait?”

“Hey, I tried. Remember? If spiking your iced tea isn’t sisterly love, then I give up.”

The door opens and Reagan walks in, tossing her stuff on her dresser. She promptly taps her watch and then gestures to say she’ll be in the hall.

I nod, holding up a finger to indicate one minute. “Kace. I’ve got to go. Say hi to everyone. And tell them that I miss them.”

“Will do, Livie. We miss you tons. It’s not the same without you.”

Again, I have that nagging feeling that I should be telling her what Dr. Stayner said to me, but I don’t know how. I know he’s not right, but . . .what if he is? I know she’ll believe him. Maybe that’s why I don’t want to tell her. Because what will she say? What will she tell me to do? Probably the same thing she always says: Go live and let yourself make mistakes. “Hey, Kace?”

She must be able to sense the serious tone in my voice because her playful lilt disappears. Yeah, Livie?”

“How do you figure out the right way to live your life?”

There’s a long pause. So long that I check the screen of my cell phone to see if the call is still connected.

“Trial and error, Livie. That’s the only way that I know of.”

“It looks pretty quiet,” I say as I follow Reagan along the interlock driveway up to the front porch, which is attached to a stately two-story modern Craftsman-style house and surrounded by towering oak trees. One week ago I was walking along these same stones and feeling these same butterflies. Only this time it’s different because I do know someone inside.

Connor. And it’s a weird excited-nervous feeling that’s stirring inside my stomach this time.

“It’s early,” is all Reagan says, jogging up the steps like she’s been here a thousand times. She reaches out and opens the front door.

“Reagan! Shouldn’t we knock or—”

“Gidget!” I hear a male voice bellow. Peering over Reagan’s head, I see a guy sauntering down a long hall toward us, his bare feet slapping the hardwood floor.

Under my breath, I whisper, “Who is that?” I remember her saying that she knew a lot of people going to the party, but does she know the guys who live here? Does she know Connor? I mentioned Connor and she didn’t say anything except, “I’m in!”

“How could you forget Grant?” Reagan announces rather loudly, flashing one of her giant smiles. Subtlety doesn’t seem to be in Reagan’s nature.

He slows as he approaches, a crestfallen look passing over his face. “You don’t remember me?” he asks, his hands lifting to cover his chest as if his heart is in pain.

“I . . .uh . . .,” I sputter, shooting a glare in Reagan’s direction as my cheeks flush. They both burst out in laughter.

With a boyish grin, he extends a hand. “Hi, I’m Grant. Glad you ladies could make it.”

I offer a shy smile as I take it. “Livie.”

“You’ll always be Irish to me,” he says with a wink and then turns to head back down the hall that stretches to the very back of the sizeable house.

He called me Irish.

Why did he call me Irish?

I don’t remember him.

Why don’t I remember him?

Ohmigod
. He saw me like that. He must know Ashton. Does he know what I did with Ashton? Is he going to tell Connor that I’m a maniac when I drink? Has he already told Connor? What if Connor doesn’t want anything to do with me now?

This is a disaster.

Reagan grabs my forearm and squeezes. “Livie, you’re not blinking. It’s creeping me out.”

“Sorry,” I mumble.
It’s nothing
, I tell myself.

We start following Grant back, past a spacious but unoccupied living room on the right. “Reagan has won over my undying love, but I’m willing to date around while she sows her wild oats,” Grant calls out over his shoulder.

“I think you’ll be dating until you’re old and gray, then,” I warn with a sidelong glance at her.

He stops walking and spins around, flashing Reagan a wide grin. “She’s worth it. Would you ladies like something to drink?”

Before I can request water or a Coke, Reagan is already placing our order, holding up two fingers. “The usual, Grant. Thanks.” I have a feeling
the
usual
is coming from the selection of glass liquor bottles on the kitchen counter I see up ahead. And Grant obviously knows Reagan well if he knows what “the usual” is.

“Anything for you, Gidget,” he says with another winning smile as he turns a corner.

I grab her arm to stop her from following. “Did you know that Grant lived here, Reagan?”

Her brow furrows. “Oh, yeah. Of course.”

I feel my eyebrow arch and I know it’s probably halfway up my forehead. “So then you knew that he was Connor’s roommate . . .”

“Uh-huh,” she says absently, wiggling from my grasp and speeding toward the kitchen.

Why is she being so evasive?

“Hey, Livie!” I hear. I turn to see Connor coming down the set of stairs, his face beaming. I sigh with relief. Okay, so he doesn’t appear to be regretting this invitation . . .

He confirms that a second later as he wraps his arms around my body, enfolding me into a warm hug, as if we’re old friends rather than two people who just met. “So glad to see you again,” he murmurs into my ear, sending a shiver through me.

“You too,” I giggle, melting into him with ease.

With a gentle hand on my back, he leads me into a large galley-style kitchen full of dark woods and stainless steel. I never saw any of this the night of the party, seeing as we entered the basement through the back of the house. I’m more than surprised that a bunch of college guys live like this. The back wall is basically all windows, overlooking the secluded wooded backyard.

“Did you meet Tavish?” Connor asks, gesturing to a stocky guy of about my height with red-tinged hair leaning against the counter, inhaling a piece of pizza.

“Call me Ty.” He wipes his hand on his jeans and then offers it to me.

“Dude! This is America. We’re not barbarians here. Wash your hands before offering it to the ladies,” Grant mutters as he hands me a drink, waggling his eyebrows. He has a very pleasant, friendly smile.

“Bile yer heid!” Ty roars at Grant in a thick Scottish accent that I assume is fake, given he didn’t have it a moment ago. I have no idea what he said but Grant’s chastising must have worked because Ty goes to the sink to wash the pizza grease off.

“If you ever need a little man in a kilt, Ty’s your guy,” Connor says with a wry grin.