“Oh, really?” I say. “You can find your own way home?”
She nods. “I wouldn’t want you to have to express your feelings or anything. We all know what a horrible thing that would be.”
“Right,” I say. “And you know all about expressing your feelings, right, Peyton?”
“More than you.”
“Really?” I counter. “Then why didn’t you tell me your parents were getting divorced?”
Her face changes in an instant. Her eyes go wide and her skin goes pale and I want to take the words back, I would do anything to take the words back, but it’s too late—they’re hanging there, over us, their meaning permeating the room.
“Peyton—” I take a step toward her.
“No.” She puts her hand up, stopping me, and the look in her eyes tells me she’s serious. “How did you know about that?”
“Your uncle told me.”
“My uncle told you? But that’s—” She bites her lip, so hard that it starts to turn red. Her eyes narrow. “Just. Go.”
“Peyton, let’s—”
“I’m serious, Jace,” she says. “Go.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not giving up on this again.”
“Fine.” She grabs her key card and her purse off the nightstand. “If you’re not going to leave, then I will.”
“Peyton.” I try one more time, but it’s useless.
She walks out, leaving me standing there, alone, in a hotel room that isn’t even mine.
Saturday, June 26, 9:47 p.m.
Savannah, Georgia
By the time I get outside the hotel, tears are streaming down my face. They’re the worst kind of tears—the kind that are hot and angry and devastating, the kind that slide silently down your cheeks and leave salty tracks on your skin.
For the first time, I realize the drawback to the weather in the South—it’s never cold enough that your tears will freeze on your face before they have a chance to fall down your cheeks. And so you can’t deny that you’re crying.
I don’t know where I’m going or what I should do. I’m alone in downtown Savannah, and it’s probably not a good idea for me to be wandering the streets alone at night. I have no phone, and I hardly have any money, either.
And then I remember the restaurant the front desk clerk recommended—the Distillery. She said it was within walking distance, and she made it seem like it was a popular place. I don’t know what else to do, so I start walking toward downtown, and sure enough, a couple of blocks later, I see it.
There’s a big neon sign outside, with umbrellaed tables set up on the sidewalk. The inside looks warm and welcoming, so I brush my tears away and walk into the restaurant.
“Welcome to the Distillery,” the hostess says, picking up a menu and giving me a smile. “One tonight?”
Her voice has a gentle tone, and the fact that she says “one tonight” instead of “just one” makes me feel like I’m out enjoying some time to myself, and not like a big loser who has no one to go to a restaurant with.
“Yes,” I say. “One tonight.”
She shows me to a cute little table in the corner of the restaurant, and puts the menu down in front of me.
When the waitress, a gorgeous African American girl with short hair and a bright white smile, comes over, I order a Diet Coke and the Southern chicken tenders.
While I wait for my food, I think about Jace. I wonder what he’s doing—if he’s back at the hotel, if he stayed in my room, if he went back to his own, if he left. He said he wasn’t going to, but come on. Why would he really stay?
I cannot believe he knew this whole time that my parents were getting a divorce. Does that mean Courtney knows, too? Does that mean it’s really happening? I feel the tears starting up again and I swipe at them angrily with my napkin.
I am not going to start crying in here. I can’t—someone would definitely ask me what was wrong. The vibe in here is a cheerful one. Pretty much everyone is hanging out and talking, clinking their glasses together as they order more drinks and toast to whatever it is they’re all so damn happy about.
When the waitress sets the chicken fingers down in front of me, at first I’m not that hungry. But I force myself to take a bite, and they’re so good that by the time I’m on my third or fourth bite, I’m inhaling them.
And as I eat, I keep thinking about Jace.
I think about every single thing he’s ever done to me. Every single time he let me down. And yes, when he said he hasn’t let me down enough to make it an “every single time,” he was right.
But when you’re in love with someone—or at least, when you think you are—once is enough.
• • •
I met Jace over Christmas, which I think gave us kind of a weird start to begin with. Christmas is such a magical time. The lights, the sparkliness, the tinsel, the cold and snow outside mixed with the warmth inside.
Okay, that was cheesy, but it really is true. Who wouldn’t want to fall in love around Christmastime? It was like the deck was stacked against me right from the beginning.
I’d just found out that my parents were getting divorced. At the beginning of December, they sat me down in the dining room over a dinner of roast chicken and potatoes (made by my mom—I should have known something was up when she offered to cook dinner) and told me.
Not like it was a shock. I mean, I live in the same house with them. I could hear their screaming fights and my dad had been sleeping in the guestroom for months. But it still hit me like a sucker punch in the stomach. Which is weird now that I think about it—that I had that reaction—because on some level, I didn’t really believe them.
I remember calling my sister at college, and she seemed to agree with me. “They’ve been talking about divorce for years,” she said. “I doubt it’s really going to happen.”
Of course, Kira was completely out of the loop—she’d been away at NYU for two years, and she’d spent the summer in Europe, backpacking around with her friends. On the rare occasions she did come home for a weekend, she’d end up spending most of the time out somewhere with her high school friends, or holed up in her old room, studying.
My parents would put on a great face—making sure not to fight when Kira was around, making sure we all ate dinner as a family on the nights she was home.
Looking back, I probably should have seen that as odd. Why would they need to put on some kind of show when their older daughter was in the house?
Anyway, there’s no way Kira could have had any idea how bad things had gotten between my parents. She didn’t know they were up late into the night, having screaming fights that would last forever. She didn’t see me when I’d sneak out of bed and put on my iPod so I wouldn’t have to hear the yelling. (Eventually, I started plugging my iPod into the outlet by my nightstand, putting my playlist of soothing pop songs on repeat, and falling asleep with it on, so I wouldn’t have to hear my parents at all.)
But even though things were bad, I still didn’t really believe they were going to divorce. They were always threatening each other with divorce. They’d yell at each other all the time about how they were going to leave each other.
True, they’d never actually sat me down and said they were getting divorced before this, but still. It somehow seemed more like another show they were putting on instead of a major marital decision. My mom even dabbed daintily at her eyes with a cloth napkin while they were telling me, and my dad reached over and gripped my hand like he was afraid I was going to start crying or something. The whole thing just seemed so staged and fake.
Anyway, after the big divorce reveal, my mom decided that she and I were going to Florida to spend Christmas with Courtney and her dad. I wasn’t all that psyched to go—not that I cared that much about Christmas, but I wanted to spend the school vacation hanging out with Brooklyn. But my mom was insistent.
I felt bad and guilty about leaving my dad alone on Christmas, and so before we left, I pulled the box of C
hristmas decorations out of the attic, and dressed the mantel with our stockings. Then, right before my mom and I left for the airport, I stuffed my dad’s stocking with the things I knew he would like—Lindt chocolates, butterscotch truffles, a new pair of socks, and a gift card to his favorite sports store. I signed everything as being from Santa.
The first day we were in Florida was, I think, the first time I realized the whole divorce thing might actually be real.
Courtney and I were sitting out by her pool, enjoying the fact that it was almost eighty degrees and sunny—in December!—when we heard the sound of my mom crying coming through the kitchen window.
“It’s going to be fine,” Courtney’s dad soothed.
I’d never heard my mom cry like that before. It gave me a weird sort of twisting feeling in my stomach, and anxiety bloomed in my throat. Courtney turned the page of her magazine loudly, pretending she hadn’t heard them, and after a moment, I did the same.
That night, she invited me to come to a Christmas party at her boyfriend Jordan’s mom’s (Jordan’s mom was also Courtney’s dad’s new girlfriend. Awkward.) house.
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head. “I think I’m just going to stay here.”
“And do what?” she said. “Read? Watch TV?”
I didn’t know that the big deal was—both of those seemed like wonderful options, especially since I was in the middle of watching the first season of Downton Abbey on Netflix and it was really starting to get good. I loved all those English accents and regency clothes. Or frocks, as they called them.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Or maybe wrap some presents.” It was a lie. I’d wrapped all my presents back in Connecticut, and brought them to Florida like that.
“You’re coming,” Courtney said.
“I have nothing to wear.”
“You can borrow something of mine.”
I shook my head.
“Come on,” she said. “You can’t just stay inside all night, you’re only here for a few days. Don’t you want to take advantage of the weather?”
I didn’t really see how standing around inside Jordan’s mom’s house was any different from sitting around in Courtney’s dad’s house, but whatever. I needed to snap out of my funk, and I knew she was right—staying home wasn’t going to do it.
“Fine,” I said, shooting one last longing look toward where my computer was sitting on the nightstand in the guestroom. “I’ll go.”
“Yay!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into her room so we could find something for me to wear.
I figured there’d be no way I’d be able to fit into any of Courtney’s clothes, but surprisingly, she had this really pretty red dress that was perfect. It had a slightly poofy bubble skirt and a fitted top that plunged down in the front and gave me just the right amount of cleavage. I looped a long silver jingle-bell necklace around my neck, slid my feet into a pair of Courtney’s strappy silver sandals (they were only a little bit too small), and lined my eyes with a sparkly gold shadow. By the time we left, I was a feeling a little bit better and a lot more festive.
The party was in full swing when we pulled up. We walked right into the house and through the great room, through the sliding glass doors and to the back, where most people had spilled out onto the lanai and were standing around, mingling and drinking champagne.
I’ll admit that I noticed him right away—he was sitting on an expensive-looking lounge chair, and the light from the pool was illuminating his face, and I thought he was cute. Okay, fine, I thought he was gorgeous. He took my breath away in a way that no guy had ever done before.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him all night.
“That’s Jace,” Courtney said finally, when she caught me looking. “Do you want me to introduce you?”
I shook my head. One, I wasn’t that bold. And two, guys who looked like that didn’t usually go for girls who looked like me. It wasn’t that I thought I was ugly—I knew I was cute, passably pretty. I didn’t have guys falling all over me, and I wasn’t going to win any beauty pageants, but still—I did okay. Jace, however, seemed like he was way out of my league.
But when Courtney went off with her boyfriend, Jordan, leaving me to fend for myself, Jace decided to introduce himself.
I was over by the veggies and dip tray, working my way through a piece of celery, when he came over and picked up a plate.
“You’re not double dipping, are you?” he asked, giving me a mock serious look.
I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. First, I had a mouthful of vegetable, and second, he was even cuter up close than he was far away. My heart started pounding in my chest, my body flushed hot, and I had to take two big deep breaths to calm myself down.
When he was done loading his plate, he popped a tomato into his mouth and then reached out and tweaked my necklace. The jingle bell rang.
“Cute,” he said. “I like jingle-bell necklaces.”
“Oh,” I said. “Me too.” I realized how stupid it sounded, so I quickly added, “I borrowed it from my cousin.” I licked my lips, which were suddenly completely dry. “Courtney’s my cousin. I’m here visiting her from Connecticut.”
“Cool,” he said. He wiped his hand on a napkin and stuck it out for me to shake. “I’m Jace Renault. My mom’s best friends with Courtney’s mom. And my dad’s best friends with Courtney’s dad.”
“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s gotta be awkward.”
He nodded. “Super awkward.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear, like we were sharing a secret. “Although if you ask me, I think it’s pretty dicky for a dude to leave his family for another woman.” His breath tickled at my skin, making every nerve in my body stand on high alert.
“Well,” I said, “on the surface, yeah, it seems like an asshole move. But what if it’s true love?”
“True love?” He was still standing close to me, although he’d moved back just a little bit, and now his eyes were on mine. “You really believe that?”
“In true love? Or that Courtney’s dad found it with another woman?”
He cocked his head. “Both.”
I bit my lip and thought about it. “No,” I said. “I don’t believe that it’s true love. But I do believe in it. At least, I think I do.”
“Why don’t you think it’s true love between them?” he asked. “Have you ever seen them together?”
I shake my head. “Just an instinct. Besides, haven’t they only known each other for, like, less than a year?”
He nods. “So, you don’t believe in love at first sight?”
I shook my head no. “But I do believe in lust at first sight.” I was shocked that I had the nerve to say this, and my face felt warm.
“Really?” The sides of his mouth slid up into a grin. “Interesting.”
My heart was racing now. While we’d been talking, we’d moved a few steps over to the side, and now we were a little bit removed from the party, almost like we were there together.
“So what’s your name?” he asked.
“Peyton,” I said.
He looked at me, seemingly taking it in, like my telling him my name was one of the most important things he’d ever heard. He nodded. “Peyton,” he said, and I couldn’t help but think that the way he said my name was super sexy. “That’s a really nice name.”
Yes, I thought as I took a sip of my ginger ale. I definitely believed in lust at first sight.
• • •
We ended up talking for the rest of the night—sitting in the corner, sharing one of the big chaise lounge chairs that dotted the lanai. He sat next to me so casually, just sort of leaned back next to me so that our legs were touching, like it was the most natural thing in the world for us to be sitting on the same chair.
He was wearing khaki pants and Nike sandals, which was so not appropriate for a party like this, but he somehow managed to pull it off.
Every time the bare skin of my ankle brushed against his, he set me on fi
re.
We didn’t talk about anything important, really, that first night. Mostly just gossiped about the other people at the party. A couple of times I caught Courtney and her boyfriend, Jordan, over in the corner, glancing at us and whispering, and I knew what they were thinking: that something was going to happen between me and Jace.
I knew it wasn’t true—like I said, guys like Jace never really gave me the time of day. He was probably just bored at a party where he hardly knew anyone, and had found someone his own age to pass the time with. That didn’t stop me from getting a secret thrill out of the fact that Jordan and Courtney were talking about us.
But when we left that night, I thought that was it. I dodged Courtney’s questions, rolling my eyes at her suggestions that Jace was flirting with me. She asked me if I thought he was cute, and I copped to it, because honestly, it wasn’t really a matter of opinion. But that was it, I told her. I was never going to see him again.
I had a hard time falling asleep that night.
But by the next morning, I’d forced myself to forget about him.
• • •
Until Courtney and I were out shopping for bathing suits—so not my favorite activity, but she was determined that we were going to go to the beach. (Of course, I hadn’t brought a bathing suit specifically because I wanted to avoid the beach, but Courtney was insistent.) She’d offered to let me borrow one of hers, but there was no way that I was going to set myself up for that kind of humiliation. A party dress was one thing, but a bathing suit was another story.
I was in the dressing room of this place at the mall called Swimming with Sharks, trying on a particularly unflattering tankini—wearing a tankini in the first place is kind of like putting a big sign on yourself that says you don’t feel comfortable in a bikini—when my cell phone rang, flashing a Florida area code and a number that I didn’t recognize.
Figuring it could be my mom calling from my uncle’s house or something, I picked it up.
“Hello?” I balanced my phone against my shoulder as I tried to slide the top of the tankini over my body. It wasn’t working. My boobs were slipping out of the sides, and the front gave me that weird smooshed-boob thing that sometimes happens with sports bras.