“George?” I dismissed that thought with a ripple of my fingers. “Of course not. He’s my SAT tutor, Heather. And he’s Jonathan’s brother, and Jonathan’s like my brother, which makes him like a brother to me—”
“It’s the transitive property,” she said brightly. “See how much math I remember, thanks to him?”
“Plus he’s just not . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to be mean, but he’s just such a George.”
“That’s what I like about him,” she said with a little smile. “But you and I have always had different taste in guys. Anyway, that’s how I thought you felt. I just wanted to make sure, since you were being so weird about it.”
“I wasn’t being weird. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why would I get hurt?” she said. “George is the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”
“Yeah.” A pause. “You really think he likes you?”
“I do,” she said, her face turning pink. “I know that sounds conceited, but . . . he kept looking at me last time. Not in a gross way. In a nice way.”
“You did look amazing.” I remembered how much care she had put into her outfit and makeup that night. “Is that why you were so dressed up?”
“Maybe,” she said, a little coyly. “But let’s not talk about this anymore. I don’t want to jinx it.”
And she wondered why I questioned her sophistication.
I ended our chat as soon as I gracefully could and just sat there for a while, paralyzed. I couldn’t believe I’d misread yet another situation. My ego had taken a lot of pounding over the last twenty-four hours, all of it deserved.
I tried to remember the original conversation with Heather. I could have sworn she’d said she liked Aaron. Plain as that. But clearly she hadn’t. I should have felt relieved about that, since it meant her heart wasn’t broken by the news he’d been in love with his stepmother all this time, but I didn’t; I felt annoyed.
Heather could drive me crazy, I reminded myself. She was sweet and loyal and trustworthy and dear in all sorts of ways, but she could also be a little misguided and clueless. Like saying that George was interested in her . . . That was ridiculous, wasn’t it? I would have noticed if he liked her.
But would I have? Clearly, my radar sucked: I hadn’t realized that Heather liked him. I’d thought all her little secret smiles were for Aaron. And I’d also thought that Aaron liked me—it never even occurred to me for a second that he might be in love with someone else. And why hadn’t I picked up on the fact that Ben and Arianna were a couple, even though they’d driven over to my place together?
Apparently I wasn’t the sensitive and intuitive Queen of Emotional Subtleties I’d always thought I was.
But still . . . Wouldn’t George have flirted with Heather if he liked her?
Well, maybe not flirted. George wasn’t the flirtatious type. The thought of him doling out little meaningful looks and touching her lightly on her arm . . . No. Definitely not.
But he would have signaled his interest in some way, right? Like . . . you know . . . finding excuses to work with her one-on-one. Being patient and encouraging, no matter how anxious she got. Softening his voice whenever he talked to her. Smiling at her more than at me. Much more than at me.
All of which he had done. Repeatedly.
I twined my finger around one of my curls so tightly that it hurt my scalp when I tried to extricate it. I swore out loud.
And what about the bunny? That stupid little stuffed bunny? He gave her one and not me. I had forgotten about that and Heather never even knew that I hadn’t gotten one. But I bet if I told her now, she’d see it as one more sign that he liked her.
And maybe she’d be right.
Maybe the age difference didn’t bother him. Maybe the intelligence difference—because there was one; he was a lot smarter than Heather, even if it was mean of me to think it—didn’t bother him either. Maybe he just liked that she was upbeat and good-natured and easygoing and honest and sweet—all the things I liked about her.
Plus she wasn’t a spoiled, conceited, narcissistic brat. Next to me—and he’d only ever seen her next to me—she had to look even better. Nicer, anyway.
And why shouldn’t he like her? Why did it seem so wrong to me?
It was the age difference. He was just too old for her, even if neither of them saw it that way. Guys that much older only went out with girls that much younger because they wanted to take advantage of them in some way—
No, that was ridiculous. George wasn’t about to take advantage of anyone. My mother trusted him. Heather trusted him. I trusted him. He was trustworthy.
But still . . . there was an awfully big age difference. Well, not so big—less than three years. But he was out of college; she was just going in. That was weird. Not unheard of. But weird.
I wished I had gotten Heather to see how awkward it would be for them to date. Would a guy his age really want to go to a high school prom? Of course not. And would she want to go to parties where everyone else was over twenty?
Yeah, she probably would. I would. I often did, with my parents.
Not that that was the point. The point was that it would be a mistake for the two of them to date. I couldn’t even imagine it. Heather was so clearly wrong for George. I could see why she had a crush on him but not how he could crush back.
Wait a second—could I see how she could have a crush on him?
I fiddled with another curl as I thought about that for a moment, absently stretching it across my upper lip, mustache-like.
George was sort of cute, if you liked the hipster-nerd type (minus the hipster). There was nothing actually wrong with him. He was no Aaron Marquand—no bronzed, blue-eyed young Adonis—but Aaron was a bit of a cliché. There were tons of guys like him on TV with their flat abs and white teeth—Generic Hollywood Dudes.
And George had a better smile than Aaron: Aaron’s was mischievous and general, a grin that announced his good humor to the world, but George’s was rarer and more personal—if you got a smile from George, it meant something.
I knew this better than anyone; I’d worked hard for some of those smiles.
I’d earned every one I’d gotten.
And that, I decided, was why I didn’t want Heather to go out with George: He and his smiles belonged to me. He was my tutor. It was my mother who had hired him. We’d already spent a lot of days working together before I invited Heather to join us, and we had walked on a beach together in Hawaii.
He couldn’t belong to Heather instead of to me. He was mine. My tutor. My friend. The brother of my stepfather’s production company president . . . or whatever the hell Jonathan’s title was.
The point was, he belonged to me and to my family, and not to Heather.
But you can’t go around telling people not to go out with other people because they “belonged” to you in some weird way.
So I was just going to have to let whatever was going to happen between the two of them happen. No matter how wrong and unfair it felt to me.
twenty-nine
Aaron let me know by text that he wanted to stay over again at our house that night, but he came back pretty late. I ran out into the hallway when I heard him on the stairs—I’d given him a key and the gate code that morning—and he said, “Hey. Hope I didn’t keep you up.”
“It’s fine.” I raised my eyebrows. “I smell Crystal’s perfume.”
“Nose like a dog. The police should adopt you.”
“Where did you see her?”
“My house. I had to pick up some clothes.” He raised the duffel bag in his hand. “I tried to get in and out quickly but she was home and wanted to talk.”
“What about your dad?”
“He was out. Trust me, I checked.”
“What did she say?”
“A bunch of things.” He dropped the bag of clothing on the floor. “Mostly about what a mess their marriage is. Dad refuses to go to couple’s therapy and she said she’s starting to wonde
r if they even have anything worth saving.”
“What about you and her?”
He stared at the floor for a moment, a muscle flickering in his cheek. Then he looked up and said, “Your father’s your father, you know?”
I did know. Not because of my biological father, but because of Luke. “Do you think he’ll forgive you?”
“I’m going to go see him this weekend so we can talk. We’ve texted a little, though, and I think it’ll be okay. . . .” His shoulders sagged. “She kept crying tonight. She feels like she’s losing everything.”
“She had his baby. He’ll take care of them.”
“Yeah, financially. But it still seems unfair.”
“It is unfair,” I said. “The fallout’s going to be much worse for her than for you.”
“That’s not true,” he protested. “I’ve never felt this miserable before.”
I didn’t say anything. I believed he was unhappy now. He probably felt guilty and unsettled and anxious. But pretty soon he’d move back in with either Michael or his mom, and soon after that he’d go off to college, and soon after that all of this would feel far away, just some crazy thing that happened during his high school years. Nothing would really have changed for him.
But Crystal and Mia’s life would take a completely different path now.
I patted Aaron on the shoulder and told him to try to get some sleep—and felt grateful I had never actually fallen in love with him. He was a gorgeous mess.
When I got home on Friday, I was surprised to see George’s car parked in the gravel circle in front of our house.
I found him in the kitchen, leaning against a counter and chatting with Grandma. He jumped to his feet when he saw me, almost like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “You’re home early, aren’t you? I thought I’d be gone before you got back.”
“My teacher got sick and canceled class. Are you trying to avoid me?”
He flushed. “Of course not,” he said. “I just don’t want to be the guy who’s always underfoot around here.”
It’s funny: Now that Heather had told me she had a crush on him, I found myself looking at him differently. More closely. Scrutinizing his face to see what she found so attractive about it.
Like everyone else in the universe (except maybe their immediate family), I had always lumped him in with Jonathan as just a Nussbaum-looking kind of guy, but now that I was trying to look at him with Heather’s eyes, I could see a lot of differences. George was taller and thinner than his older brother, and his shoulders were broader; he stood up straighter; his hair was thicker; his nose was smaller.
In fact, Heather was right: he was kind of cute. Not drop-dead handsome—more the kind of cute that grew on you over time. And it was the unstrained kind of cute—he never seemed to care too much about how he looked, which I liked. There was no gel in his hair; his wardrobe was way more functional than stylish; he had a Timex watch that had probably come from a drugstore; his mother probably still bought his pajamas and boxers—because he was probably uncool enough to wear old-fashioned plaid boxers—
Not that that was any of my business.
“I told him he’s always welcome to hang out here,” Grandma said to me. She was at the table, eating something that looked like a heap of chewed-up and regurgitated raw grains—and knowing her, probably was. “He’s doing such a good job on your mother’s office! Everything is labeled and in its proper place.” She swiveled in her chair to look at him. “I’m sad you’re almost done—the house feels too big with just me and Lorena rattling around in it during the day. And Ellie and Aaron are really only here at night.”
“Aaron’s here at night?” George said with an unsettled glance in my direction.
“Oh, yes.” Grandma raked her fork contentedly through the piles on her plate. “He’s been our sleepover houseguest the last couple of nights.” Then she said, “Oops, was I not supposed to tell anyone, Ellie?”
“It’s not like it’s a secret,” I said, uncomfortable with the fact she was making it sound like it was.
“Your parents are okay with that?” George said to me. Then he shook his head. “Sorry. None of my business.” He stepped toward the doorway. “I should take off. I’ll be back on Monday to finish up the office.”
“On Monday?” I said, following him out into the hall and then the foyer. “Why not tomorrow?”
“Your grandmother likes having people around when you’re at school,” he said. “Might as well wait and come then.”
“Okay.” He was reaching for the door and I was still a couple of steps behind him so I raised my voice a little to make sure he could hear me. “Heather said if she doesn’t get into Elton College, you’ll help her figure out where else to apply.”
He nodded, his fingers moving on the door handle like they were eager to turn it and be gone. “Right.”
“Will you do that for me, too?”
“Sure,” he said. “If you want me to. And if I don’t have a full-time job by then. But I’m not worried about you.”
“That’s the difference?” I said. “You worry about Heather and not about me? That’s why you said you’d do that for her?”
“That’s one of the reasons,” he said, and slipped out the door.
thirty
Aaron stayed with us until Sunday, when he and his father got together to figure things out. From what Aaron told me later, there were tears and accusations and explanations and apologies and hugs and more tears and more hugs . . . and the end result was pretty much what Aaron had prophesied: blood proved thicker than the wedding band Crystal had worn for a year and a half, and Michael found forgiveness in his heart for his son but not his wife.
He and Aaron moved into a suite at a hotel and left Crystal, Megan, and the baby in the beautiful, big house.
They’re working out the details, Aaron texted me, when I hadn’t seen him for a few days and wanted to know how it was going. She’ll prob get the house. We’ll find somewhere else to live. The Peninsula’s nice for now tho.
You and your dad good?
Good an overstatement but we’re ok.
Ever see Crystal?
No. Wouldn’t do that to Dad
Too bad he hadn’t felt that way about it from the start.
I had kept my word about not telling anyone (other than Heather), but Grandma read a lot of celebrity gossip blogs, and she grabbed me when I walked in the door after school one day and stuck her phone screen in my face.
“Look at this!” she said. “Look at this!”
The headline on the article was:
Music and TV Producer Michael Marquand and Wife Separating
“Is this why Aaron was staying with us?” she said, then—to my relief—continued without waiting for a response. “I don’t blame him for wanting to escape. There’s nothing worse than being in a house with a fighting couple. Poor kid.”
I was happy to have that be the explanation.
Luke and Mom heard about the separation around the same time. Mom mentioned that Michael had called them in London to let them know that he and Crystal were splitting up and that he would tell them more in person. I didn’t offer to supply any additional details.
They came home the Saturday before Thanksgiving, and after we’d had dinner and they told me some stories about their trip, Luke left to go see Michael.
“What about Crystal?” I asked Mom after he’d gone. We were tucked up together under the covers in her bed. She was exhausted from the trip and time difference, but wanted to talk. Grandma was putting Jacob to bed. “You going to go see her?”
“Not right away,” she said, rubbing her cheek sleepily against her pillow. “I want to enjoy being home for a little while. And also . . .” She sighed. “We really weren’t that close. There’s always been this wall with her that I couldn’t get past. And I don’t like the way she stares at Jacob when he’s crying—she gives him this cold fish eye and then glares at me like I’m a bad mother.”
> “You may be projecting,” I said.
“Maybe. God knows I can be hypersensitive.”
“Besides, you’re a much better mother. You know that, right? You actually take care of us. She always seems annoyed when someone hands Mia to her, like she shouldn’t be her responsibility.”
“At least they’ve got Megan. It’s okay to be a bad mother if you have a good nanny.”
“Can I quote you on that?” I asked. “The tabloids would have a field day with it.”
“Let that be the worst quote they ever get out of me.” She shifted her legs under the covers. “So what do you think happened with Michael and Crystal? Did Aaron tell you anything about why they’re splitting?”
I didn’t want to lie to my mother. And I really wanted to talk to her about it. But I had promised to keep Aaron’s secret. Of course, if she guessed, it wouldn’t be my fault.
“I think she maybe had an affair,” I said carefully.
Mom seemed suddenly more awake. She wiggled up to a sitting position. “Who with?”
“I think he was a younger guy.”
“Younger than her or younger than Michael?”
“Both?” I said it like I wasn’t sure; the word was honest, even if my tone wasn’t. “But I didn’t really want to ask Aaron a lot of questions about it.” True enough, right?
“Right. We probably shouldn’t pry.” A pause. “I met her trainer at the Halloween party—I got a weird vibe from him, like he was a little too comfortable there.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Now tell me more about London. Did you go to Harrods?”
Luke stayed out late with Michael, and when he got back, he knocked on my door and asked if we could talk.
Michael had told him everything. “I’m confused,” Luke said, pacing the floor of my bedroom, his hands thrust in his jeans pockets, deep shadows under his eyes that could have been cast by the dim light or printed there by his exhaustion and the time change. “We all thought the two of you were going out—I mean, at Halloween he couldn’t keep his hands off you. That kiss—”