Precise (23 page)

“Oh.” I swipe at my lips.
That wasn’t what I expected him to say.

He’s silent for a long time. No longer do the crowd, the squeals and chatter circle us. They fall to a hum beneath us. A vast, empty plain replaces the colorful walls and shops. Only Liam sits with me across the expanse of blackness.

Liam sandwiches both my hands in his and props his elbows on the table. He sucks in a deep breath as his head dips in the space between us. If my hands were free, I imagine I could have swiped at the air he sucked in, and felt something solid.

He licks his lips, preparing for . . . a kiss? I think
No, no, no!
but my reactions have stiffened, fallen apart. Through his eyelashes, his eyes are so blue, reminding me of the color of Ella’s eyes. This pulls me up at the same time as Liam’s lips part.

“Katherine—”

“Don’t say that.”

“Katie, I—”

“Just stop. What are you doing?” I ask, desperately hoping he is pranking me. I never knew he was such a good actor. I mean, this is all so convincing! We’ll laugh it off later whilst belching out some rock tunes. He loves Nickelback
too.

Liam tucks his hands under his armpits. That certifies what’s happened. There’s no way he’d go this far with a joke. We’ve been friends longer than I’ve been able to remember and one move has changed all those years.

Where do we stand now? How can I break his heart?

Finally, he manages to finish his sentence. “It wasn’t like
this
, not before . . . ” The tremble in his voice increases. It bubbles up and finally swallows his words altogether. It sucks away the cheer I’m used to hearing.

Before I stabbed my mate in the back
, is what he should say. It isn’t.

“ . . . with Paul.”

He hangs his head in his hands. I let him sit that way for a minute. A minute where my mind runs wild, but I keep my lips closed. I need to hear what
he
’s thinking. When he looks up, Liam’s eyes seem to belong to a middle-aged man. Not a man at the peak of his life.

Liam groans, looks at me for a split second, then shakes away my image. “I swear to you,” he takes my hand again, firmly this time, and clasps it as if I were the meat patty in a bun. “Katherine, this, before, all this stuff that’s happened with us, it wasn’t my intention. I don’t want to take Paul’s place or spring this on you because he isn’t here. It’s just . . . you’re intoxicating. I can’t help it.”

“We’ve spent more time together lately than we have before, which has made me see what I was too busy to notice all those years ago: working my ass off, spending half my savings visiting every continent around the world and meaningless hook ups with girlfriends never mattered.

“But
you
matter. You always have, and I’m a fool for not telling you how much I love you earlier.”

“Oh my God,” I mumble, mostly to myself.

Rewind, he said ‘love’? Liam asks what I said but the thought never comes to answer. Slowly, the shops, voices and the crowds come back. There are running children. One passes too quickly to make out the color of his hair as another taller boy dashes at his heel. The children on the playground are yelling and banging their feet and fists harder than ever. My head starts to spin.

Then there is Liam, still staring at me. His eyes are scrupulous, inquisitive, like a parent waiting to hear if I’ve done my homework.

I need a moment.

I stand, lashing at the nearest surface and grip on. I stand too fast for my blood pressure to keep up. The last thing I see is Liam sliding out of his chair as my vision blacks out.

“Are you okay?” I hear his voice from across the table.

“Mm,” I say, “I’m fine.”

“All right, slowly now,” he says, rushing to my side, but still unable to look directly at me. I back away as he comes closer. He halts after a couple of steps, noticing my hostility. I collect my phone and rubbish off the table, putting the former in my bag and the latter in the garbage.

“Ella and I need to get back. You can drop us off at our home. I promised her something after school. I can’t break it, sorry. Thanks for the presents. They were . . . nice.”

Liam’s jaw is slack. I see that blow, the one I dealt to his chest. His eyes read the rejection. His shoulders heave inward.

“You won’t even tell me what you’re thinking.” It isn’t quite a question, not quite a statement.

I close my eyes for a moment. “Another time, Liam. I have to get home. Like I said, I promised her we’d have an important chat. It’s getting late now.”

It’s a pathetic excuse at best. A weak attempt at faking a test I haven’t studied for in the slightest. He deserves an answer, and that’s why when I can explain my feelings, it has to be right. Not here.

The uneasiness between us is stifling.

Liam is on my trail as I hurry to the metal barred playground. I scan the equipment and find Ella on a rocking horse. She’s using its mane as a whip. As I pull up beside the enclosure’s opening, Liam comes to my side, casually leaning his elbow in between the bars with his head in his hand. My fingers fumble with the latch the first two times I try it, Liam’s patient eyes scrutinizing my weak fingers.

“Ella, time to go,” I call out, making my way to her. “Hurry now.”

“Aw,” she whimpers, looking up through her eyebrows.

“We’ll come back soon, darling. Off you get, please.”

She struggles to find her balance and then hops back to the floor, one leg at a time. She runs to Liam, hands outstretched, but he’s already turned away. Feeling defeated, she settles for skulking between us, the three of us making off like the shuffling line of a chain gang.

I catch up to Ella, holding her hand in mine.

“I can’t believe you’d say that,” I whisper under my breath. I fall back, my shoulders lining up with Liam’s. His
I love you
is as confusing as it is infuriating.

Liam lifts his chin from its snug position over his Adam’s apple. “I deserve the decency of an answer.”

“You lied to me all this time. Did you think I’d fall so hard I wouldn’t care?”

“You know it’s not like that.”

“No, I really don’t know what it’s like.” I remember something that annoys me further. “Do you actually know Brent’s friends, or were you jealous I’d spent time with them? Maybe you thought you’d nip those relationships in the bud in case I liked them.” Okay, that last bit was excessive, but I’m past polite.

“Really?” He turns to see if I take back my comments. I don’t. “I really know them. They’re not the best of guys.”

“But.”

“Huh?”

“But you didn’t mention anything about being jealous of them.”

He doesn’t dare sneak a look at me. Not then. I have him, which only makes me more furious.

“I bet,” I say, giving my thoughts a voice makes my neck stiffen in rage, “that you didn’t find any ‘gear’ in that car when you told me the story at the zoo.”

“Gear?” The knowledge washes over him. It almost spells out
Oh, drugs
. “And? What about it?”

“Tell me what kind they were.”

If he had answered immediately, I’d have had to decipher the truth from his answer. But he doesn’t respond at all for a bit.

He strokes the top of Ella’s hair. “I don’t know. I didn’t . . . look.”

Just like that. An electric shock to my heart. Like he’s defibrillated me whilst my heart is still pumping. I gulp down my fears, which have suddenly been fed steroids and are thick, twisted vines up my throat. Out of everyone I’ve doubted, I never wavered from Liam. No matter what I forced myself to pretend.

Did Liam plan this? I bet he didn’t expect me to see through his games. Why would he lie or assume about those drugs? It’s not the kind of thing you throw around accusations of lightly. All that manipulation to gain my trust and get closer to me as we bonded in my recovery from my PTSD. Got my daughter to get close to him like family. Well, he’s not family. Paul was family.

I can’t like Liam because I was married to Paul, because he’s now dead, and because I’m Ella’s mother and that wouldn’t be right. All those tender moments?
Manipulation
. I can’t like him because it isn’t right.

Oh, and I’m too mad at this revelation to think otherwise.

Of course, Liam has done so much more than betray our friendship. He’s weaved his way into my therapy . . . my beliefs.

What if this mate of Brent’s had no drugs? Why didn’t I ask for his name? What if it was green tea, or caster sugar?

Cotton buds, maybe. Coffee.

Oh, God. The possibilities are endless.

Endless opportunities to create wrong assumptions. It’s too easy to trust my best friend. Liar. Too easy to trust my delusions. Tricks.

Marco had been my rapist. Then I’d realized—perhaps decided is the right word—it was Cooper.

Please tell me I still have five fingers on each hand.

We walk onto the metal step of the elevator. The ground floor is too far; too close for what I want to say.

“So what did you see?”

He grips Ella closer against his hip when she tries to skip down. She twitches and he holds her tighter.

I burn him with my eyes.

“The package?” He does it again; strokes Ella’s hair. She winces. He stops then. Only now does he seem to process anything I’ve said. “I told you what I saw.”

“Yes. Then you were sure. Now you claim you didn’t ‘look’.” I accentuate the quote with something that sounds like scorn.

“It was a brown paper bag. So suss.”

I step off the escalator and hold Ella against me where she seems looser. He stares at his hands, as if I’ve taken change from a beggar.

“And that’s it? No tablets,”
be conscious with my daughter here
, “or visible anything?”

That look again. “You’re kidding?”

“Answer if you’re so sure.”

He looks at a sign and flicks his head left. We turn, and after a while of thinking, he replies. “I’m telling you what I noticed. What I know from their ways and you still don’t believe me?”

Look where a life built on assumptions got me. “No. I believe you.”

I believe he trusts his assumptions. Liam would sit at a computer, Google keywords until he found webpages. He’s the type to sit hunched over his desk, ten tabs and five different windows open, flicking through each one while barely blinking, just wide, open eyes. He’d have stiff, cramped legs when he finally got up. He’s a homegrown detective, for sure.

No one knows what happened but my mind, the keeper of secrets locked away that even I can’t access.

It’s a small puzzle piece in an electronic game that won’t let you pass on until you’ve got it. I have
so many resources and possibilities around me, but the one piece I need to make Tetris is my memory. I can’t count on it falling next. And it’s the most important piece.

Although I’m pulling Ella along, she is the only thing keeping me from collapsing into a heap.

“Y
our house?” I blink, but the image is still there. What on earth are we doing here?

Liam rolls his eyes. “I’m getting my phone charger. Remember? The business calls I’ve got coming through?”

Then you shouldn’t have rudely ignored me to play with your phone earlier.
But, no. I had my headphones on loud and only increased the volume any time he tried to talk to me. Hm, woulda helped if I’d listened.

I shrug, hopping out into the rain, Ella still glued to her game console inside the car. The rain has slowed to a thick drizzle, coating my hair and clothes. Just enough to stand it between the car and his house, not enough to plead with him for an umbrella. Phew.

“El,” Liam says. He’s chatting in close to her ear, her contorted face gradually forming a pleasant nod. Something’s odd about this. On far and few occasions does Ella find reason to toss aside her game carelessly.

Ella appears around the trunk of his car, skipping. “I’ve decided to come along!”

“All right, but you
do
know he is only picking up his charger,” I remind her, worried that bribes may have opened up as a condition that she extend the stay.

“I know.”

I nod suspiciously, eyeing off Liam who is approaching. The rain has soaked through odd spots of his shirt; his left pec is outlined below the muscle, his shirt seems too small on one shoulder, and his body is streamlined beyond anything I remember seeing previously. Does he work out or something? This isn’t helping me hate him.

I hate my next thought but it forms: I’m not sure how to feel anything but swoony whilst staring at that. So, I stomp off, clutching Ella a bit too tight.

Footsteps jog behind us. “Slow up,” Liam says, shaking his hair out.

He comes up behind me. Yes, I’m not mistaken. He’s holding me from behind. Hands on my hips.

Ella
, I think. “What are you doing?” I squeal, trying to push off his hands.

“It’ll be pitch black inside,” he says, which I know is true, because his porch is made from wooden slats. “And my shades are down. I’ll help you.”

Does that require his chest and legs plastered to the back of me?

He’s right. Inside, the house is dark. The carpet far ahead in the living room is barely distinguishable from the floorboards.

I think I hear counting, managing to decipher a “ . . . two, three,” then light floods everywhere.

The eruption of voices chimes in sync, calling, “Surprise!”

Everywhere, familiar faces cheer and hands punch in the air. The wooden veneers are open from guests who’ve pulled the cords down. Rays of light flood onto the cheerful crowd screaming jubilations, their faces poking around walls and furniture. There are rainbows of streaming colors from corner to corner of the ceiling. They stretch as far as my eye can see down the hall. Oblong- and oval-shaped balloons litter the ceiling. Other balloons are attached to sparkling weights with printed
Happy 30
th
Birthday
wishes, and flutters of color dust the air from the party poppers.

“Happy birthday, Kates,” Liam breathes in my ear. Now his lips are on my cheek, or lips. I don’t know. It happens too quickly. Maybe he’s confused himself? His hands frame my jaw, still clasping me when he draws our faces apart. As he pulls away with a grin, he lets one of his hands trail down my body, to the side where part of him blocks me. So no one can see. His hot breath surges over the goose bumps on my skin. He’s a seamless combination of his scent and a fresh, woody cologne that tingles my skin.

For the moment that our faces are together, close enough to smell the fresh mint of his breath, I imagine what could be. How I would wake up to his eyes undressing me, how my stomach would churn when I saw his face every morning. Then, the second passes and he continues through the rest of my friends and family.

Everyone’s cheering. Most are family I haven’t seen in ages. When I find Brent’s face, I allow my forced smile to disappear into a confused question mark. Out of the crowd, he’s the only one who looks like what happened between Liam and I is odd.

Pamela Anselin and Mom proceed, wishing birthday greetings before they arrive. Mom hugs me first, followed by Pamela.

“Did we get you good?”

“Certainly did.” My heart suddenly drops when I realize they have all been awaiting my arrival in silence. “All the people here didn’t overhear any of my bickering outside, did they?” I’m pleading to myself, or God, just
please
. It wasn’t my finest hour, yelling at Liam who put so much effort into making my birthday special.

Pamela blushes. “Only a little.”

I turn to Mom who translates. “Is everything okay?” she asks, patting my back. I want to wince away, hating the action of feeling like an obedient pet, but I realize her intentions and stay put.

I produce a smile. “I was just startled. It’s fine, Mom.”

Anna Dayle joins us and the three of us walk through the crowd, and out to the opposite side. “What part did Liam play in this?”

After one monthly dinner dance, my parents, Anna and Craig discussed how the party would best work if they held it somewhere other than my house. Preparations could take the most of a day without having to worry about running into me. Liam graciously put up his hand to have it at his.

“He volunteered himself to do the hardest job: getting you here unsuspected,” Anna describes as she sits down in a chair next to us. I wonder how much of today’s events are part of the celebration plans and how much are of his agenda.

“Oh, Kates, if only you saw the chaos here before,” Pam laughs, holding her belly as she clutches her loose, sequined top. “We had food problems, so just as Liam was getting ready to bring you over, we had to tell him to stall.”

“That’s why he spent half of the time at the shops on his phone!”

“He did a great job,” Anna says, commending her son proudly.

Ella and her second cousins have already invented a new game. It seems to involve grabbing as much food as a fist can hold and then waving it above their heads as they weave through the house at breakneck speed. Looking around my party, I wonder if anyone in the house looks as shabby as me.

As if on cue, Nancy appears, resting her elbow on her hip with a red silk dress flowing from a hanger in her other hand. I look over her black, knee-length ensemble, which has a shiny ribbon tied neatly under her bust. It matches perfectly with her polished pumps. I soon gather that in her twirling fingers is my gorgeous lifesaver.

I remember that I’m wearing my tracksuit pants and plain t-shirt, and shudder. The men around me wear shirts; some with jeans. Others, like my dad, wear ties too. The women around me make clicking noises as they tap stiletto heels along the floorboards. I leave scuffmarks from my dirty cotton tie-ups.

Great.

“Hi, stranger,” Nancy says, strutting the last few meters up to the sofa.

I excuse myself from Anna, Mom and Pam, sidestepping between their legs and the coffee table.

“Hi,” I say, smoothing my hair to try to seem presentable compared to Nancy. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been as pretty as her our whole friendship, but right now I don’t come close. “I was about to come around. There’s just so many people here. I’m sorry I haven’t, you know . . . talked.”

“No hard feelings.”

Ella rushes past, waving her fists in the air, and the stampede of kids follow a second behind. Okay, I guess I can duck off. She’s having so much fun.

“Well if that’s for me,” I say, nodding at the red dress hanging in her hand, “then I can fill you in on everything out the back. I take that Liam’s bedroom might be one of the only places
not
occupied at the moment.”

“Right on.” She nods, leading me to another hallway further down, where the colors and music dull.