You Before Anyone Else (6 page)

Finley

“Would it be that awful if we did hang out?” I ask Summer. “I mean, like, every once in a while, not all the time. He seemed like he needed a friend.”

It's probably lonely lying to everyone you know.

“Only you could turn a one-night stand into a charity event.” Summer snatches the bag of mini rice cakes from my hand and closes them. “I said you could have one, not one hundred.”

“Don't worry,” Elana says to me from her spot at the end of Summer's bed. “My mom will be back from the store any minute, and I'm sure she's got something planned for dinner.”

I groan internally, and Summer groans out loud. “How many sticks of butter do you think she'll use tonight?” Summer snaps. “Three? Maybe four?”

“Probably olive oil too,” Elana adds. “Last night, she wouldn't let me leave the table until I cleaned my plate. She said that's what American children do.”

It's amazing how quickly Elana's accent is fading. I mean, I've heard that happens, especially with younger people, but by the end of the summer, no one will even know she's from France.

“Enough calorie talk,” Summer says. “Finley needs an intervention. We gotta talk her out of adopting the freeloader guy from the party.”

“No, we need to go back to our
Vampire Diaries
episode,” I try. “Toby Rhinehart guest-starred this week.”

“Toby Rhinehart is an overrated, overpaid, photoshopped pretty boy with way too many fucking kids,” Summer rattles off.

“Don't even…” I fake gasp, wishing for this debate instead of the Eddie intervention. I shouldn't have brought him up.

“Eddie,” Elana inserts.
No help at all. Thanks.
“His name is Eddie.”

Summer waves a hand to stop her. “Don't give him a name. For Finley, that's like the starving kids in those commercials begging to be sponsored for pennies a day.”

Okay, so I left out the part about Eddie being Edward James Wellington IV when I filled my roommates in on the balcony incident. Eddie seemed so committed to his new identity that I kind of feel committed to it as well. Which is really weird. He's the one taking advantage of me—well, of my balcony and my omelet-making skills.

“I caught him. He's not sleeping on your vitamin D chair anymore. It's a big building. I probably won't see him ever again,” I say, using my most convincing tone.

Summer rolls her eyes. “That's what everyone says after they feed a stray cat.”

“He's lucky my mom didn't catch him,” Elana adds.

The three of us sit in silence for several moments. No one can disagree with that. French Mama is scary.

“How was the sex?” Summer blurts out.

“Why?” My face heats up. I glance at Elana, whose dark eyes are wide with interest. “Maybe now isn't the time—”

“Give me a break. Jesus, the girl is hardly innocent.” She gives Elana a one-second glance.

Elana's expression stiffens, but she says nothing. Smart girl. She's figured out Summer's need to get that big reaction out of people.

Summer stands and brushes the crumbs off her designer loungewear. Yep, she and Eddie have nothing in common. She turns her attention from Elana to me. “I wasn't asking for a play-by-play, just a one-word answer.”

My cheeks warm even more. “Good.”

“Good?” she repeats. This seems to stump her. The front door opens, and Summer perks up. “I'm gonna stop her before any fish is cooked. What the hell is wrong with chicken?”

Elana and I are left alone in Summer's room. I look Elana over carefully. She's had a rough year—one deserving of its own story—and Summer dug up that dirt, tossed it right on the floor in front of us. That can't be easy for Elana. “Hey…you okay?”

She picks at a loose thread on the comforter. “Yeah, it's just weird. Being back here. Especially with Alex and Eve…”

A big part of Elana's drama last year involved a fake relationship with Alex that landed them a big CK gig. I did that Calvin Klein shoot too, and Eve was the photographer's assistant. When all that drama went down, Alex and Eve got worried about Elana and decided to get French Mama involved—Elana had been in America under the supervision of our modeling agency. Which basically means no supervision. Something Alex and Eve deemed problematic, to put it politely. So basically, it's their fault Elana is being tortured by her mother.

“They're in Europe right now,” I point out. “For a couple weeks, I think.”

Elana nods. “I know.”

Elana's mom calls her into the kitchen. She jumps up immediately. After she's gone, I return to my room and stare at my phone for several seconds before pulling up Jason's number on my phone. I haven't spent the last ten months thinking about my ex who dumped me before going to college, I swear I haven't. But scrolling through Facebook and Instagram the past couple weeks, knowing my high school friends are all home for the summer, it makes me wish for that life again. Movie dates with my nice boyfriend, weekend trips to the mall with friends, hanging out in my backyard pool with kids from school, with my dad and brothers. I miss the safe familiarity of it.

I stare at Jason's number in my phone. On impulse, I hit call. My heart picks up speed. Not out of love exactly, but more like from the guilt that comes with failing to stay away. I'm about to hang up and text him a “sorry, I butt-dialed you” excuse, but he answers on the first ring.

“Hey, Fin, I was just gonna call you.”

I sink back against my headboard. All the new unfamiliar that came with my hookup with Eddie is erased by this voice that I know so well. It wraps around me like a favorite sweatshirt.

“Really? What for?”

“Your brothers' birthday party next weekend. I got invited,” he says. “What were you calling about?”

I clear my throat. “Oh…um, the party. Of course. Gotta make sure we have enough goodie bags.”

God, I'm lame.

“Well, I'm willing to sacrifice mine for the greater good if needed.”

“I figured. Hero complex and all that.” I take a breath, trying to be the cool New York City girl most of my friends assume I've become. “So…does that mean you're coming?”

He's my fucking neighbor. Of course he's coming.

“Uh-huh. I'll stop by for a little—”

Summer pops her head in my room, a big grin plastered on her face. “We're having chicken tonight!”

I gesture to the phone so she'll shut up, but that only gets her riled up more. “So, I'll see you next weekend then, Jason?”

“Jason? Oh no. No way.” Summer bounds toward me and snatches the phone from my hand before I can stop her. “Hi, Jason. It's Summer.”

She moves quickly toward the door. I dive at her, grabbing her around the waist. We both end up tangled together, half in my room, half in the hallway.

“Finley's going through a program,” Summer says to Jason. “She's not supposed to have contact with people from her past for a while.”

“Give me the fucking phone,” I hiss at her. I reach for it but end up banging my elbow on the doorframe.

“And she's way too busy having good sex with models to have time for you.”

Oh my God, I'm gonna kill her.

Summer hangs up on Jason but flips over on her stomach, still scrolling through my phone. “You need to delete him from your contacts.”

“Give me the damn phone!” I get my fingers on it this time, but her grip is too tight. In a moment of desperation, my other hand stretches toward my desk, feeling around for a pair of scissors. I hook my index finger through the handle and then hold them above Summer's head.

“Think Prada would mind if you showed up tomorrow with a bald patch?”

Summer looks over her shoulder at me, wide-eyed. “You bitch.”

“Phone?” I hold out my hand, and she drops it into my palm. I'm about to let her up when both of us notice Elana and her mom standing in the hallway, staring at us.

Elana's mom shakes her head and says something in French. Elana looks us over as if to say
and I'm the one who needs
su
pervision?

I push off the floor and get to my feet again. Summer does the same. She straightens her clothes, puts every hair back in place. “Someday, you'll appreciate everything I've done for you.”

I glare at her. “Next time, I'm leaving you alone to break an ankle in pointe shoes!”

“Next time, I'm calling animal control,” Summer taunts from down the hallway.

Still pissed and experiencing a mega adrenaline rush, mostly panic-related, I slam my bedroom door right in Summer and Elana's faces. I stare at Jason's name still up on my phone. What the hell do I say to him now? I can't think of anything, so instead, I message Eve on Facebook so I can vent. I hit send before I remember that she's probably enjoying crepes in France right now.

ME:
I think I've figured out which girl Summer was in high school.

EVE:
You mean Regina George?

I laugh despite the anger still floating above my head like a dark cloud.

ME:
Exactly. Want to help me bury her alive? Or drop her off in Jersey. That's probably just as bad. U can have her room.

EVE:
Actually…Alex and I are thinking about getting an apartment together.

ME:
That's serious.

EVE:
I know, right?

I can't help being a gossip addict. I switch to messaging Alex.

ME:
An apartment together? What's next? Marriage proposal?

ALEX:
Not until tomorrow. Duh. Who proposes on a Monday?

EVE:
He's not proposing. Don't listen to him. It's a convenience thing, that's all.

Those two are way too cute.

EVE:
How was the rest of the party? We made our flight, luckily.

I leave Alex hanging and answer Eve.

ME:
Well…things went in an interesting direction after u left.

EVE:
Details. Please.

ME:
Go have some European fun. I'll fill u in when u get back.

EVE:
Come on! I'm dying here. Plus we're on a train for the next hour.

I hesitate before finally deciding to launch into a detailed explanation of the Eddie Wells story. We go back and forth for a good thirty minutes.

EVE:
U want friend advice or therapy jargon?

ME:
IDK. Neither. Both. LOL.

EVE:
OK let's go with in between. Now is the time to be selfish. If u aren't benefiting from these interactions with Eddie, it's not worth continuing.

ME:
So don't offer to feed and house him? And what about Jason?

EVE:
LOL. Kind of. As much as this pains me to say, Summer is probably right about Jason. But u never know. He did say he was about to call u…I can't even begin to figure out his motives there. If any at all.

Guess I'll have to wait for next weekend and see for myself. And see him again, which hasn't happened for almost a year. After Summer pretty much told him I was in rehab and a sex addict, it should be a fun catching-up session.

My thoughts quickly drift from Jason to Eddie. It's good that I have Eve to talk to about him, because my friends back home, several of whom I'll see this weekend, would probably freak out about Eddie lying, saying he's from Chicago. That part doesn't bother me much, if I'm being honest. Maybe my months living in the city have changed me somewhat. New York is full of people hiding where they're from, who they were before they got here. And it's not like I didn't deliver my own evasive answers to Eddie. I didn't really tell him about my mom, not the most important part. I didn't really tell him about the studio or why I haven't danced in years. Or that the one thing I want more than anything is to reopen my parents' studio, that I'm saving up to do just that, despite knowing my dad will be completely against it. So really, Eddie's lie about his hometown seems minimal compared to what I skillfully left out of our conversations thus far.

Eve told me once that Alex used to joke, back when we were all working on that CK shoot together, about there being an invisible fortress around me. I've never really thought of myself like that, a secret keeper. I figured that was more about me still being hung up on Jason and not ready to date again, but maybe it's more than that?

Maybe I'm just afraid to really want something—out loud, in the open—because what if I can't have it? What if it doesn't work out?

The weight pressing on my chest is so heavy, I only sit on my thoughts a few moments longer, and then I snatch my gym bag from the floor and toss it over my shoulder. In a last-minute decision, I snatch the pointe shoes from my dresser and throw them into the bag. Maybe one of the fitness rooms will be empty, and I can sneak in some dancing.

The hall is already filled with delicious scents of butter and garlic. My stomach rumbles in response. I'm about to bolt out the door, but Elana's mom rushes over from the kitchen. She spits out a bunch of really fast French, then rests both hands on my arms.

Elana looks up from the schoolwork her mom is probably making her do at the kitchen table. She sighs before saying, “She says you should have something to eat before you go out.”

“It's fine. I'm going to the gym—”

French Mama interrupts with more words I can't understand, but her tone combined with that concerned maternal tone tells me enough. Without warning, a lump forms in my throat, and warmth spreads from my neck up to my cheeks.

“She says you're too thin, and you need more protein,” Elana rattles off, her tone the opposite of her mother's.

I exhale and look away from the concerned face in front of me and glance Elana's way. “Tell her thanks and to save some leftovers for me. I'll eat after the gym.”