Tangled Thoughts (25 page)

I peeked at him, over my shoulder. “Are you looking down my shirt as you say that?”

“Just admiring the view.”

I laughed and spun away, hoping he'd chase me. And he did.

After a long time that felt not long at all, we settled back in the banquette, where we were descended upon by our servers with drinks and waters. I rolled one glass over my neck, absorbing the cold into my overheated skin.

“How did you choose this place anyway?” I yelled, half deaf from the music.

“You could say it chose me. I have the good fortune of living around the corner.”

Not long after that, I trailed Jack up the stairs of his building.

Carter

T
he bar a few blocks from my apartment wasn't the kind of place that carded at the door. I ordered a Coke and sat waiting, watching two girls watching me. If I ever planned to frequent a bar, I thought this one would do. It was close enough to walk to, with thick wood paneling that made it comfortable and relaxed. Everyone was casual, young but not too young, alternately drowning their sorrows or finding some trouble.

When the girls called the bartender over and peeked at me while they talked to him, I knew what was coming. He nodded and crossed back to me.

“The ladies there”—he gestured unnecessarily—“would like to get you a drink. Another Coke, or…?”

I sat a moment, deciding. I
should
have declined, but I wasn't sure if that would be ruder than accepting. Finally, I said, “Scotch.” I hesitated, almost adding
for my uncle
, but ultimately just said, “Please.” The
bartender nodded and set a heavy tumbler knuckle full of amber liquid in front of me.

I picked it up and tipped it in the girls' direction with a smile. I caught their return smiles with a feeling somewhere between pleasure and guilt. When it dawned on me that they might
recognize
me, the feeling tilted toward the latter. I'd meant to set the drink down, but my fingers didn't want to. I swallowed a gulp.

Gah. It was awful, like black coffee, and burned like fire. I liked it.

Most of the drink later, the center of my chest started to thaw. All of me started to thaw. My fingers relaxed, no longer white where they gripped the glass, shoulders loosened. Just about the time I caught myself smiling at the girls again, when I should have gone to talk to them, I saw him come in.

I thought about how this might be the only time we ever did something like this. Pretty soon, Uncle Dan wouldn't be able to. Eventually, he might be president, and they weren't afforded the luxury of meeting wayward nephews in bars late at night.

“Son.” Uncle Dan embraced me before taking the seat next to mine. Manny nodded at me, but kept far enough away to give us some privacy.

“Thanks for coming.”

The bartender's eyes widened when he arrived to take my uncle's order. “Sir? I, uh, what can I get you?” I wondered if this was a second job, if he was on staff somewhere. Probably. He looked barely out of college, older than me but not much, and vaguely familiar.

“We'll have another round,” Uncle Dan said, nodding toward my near-empty tumbler. He glanced at me. “What is it?”

“Scotch,” I told him and he smiled.

“What else is there, eh?” To the bartender, he said, “Make it a good one, if you would.”

“Of course, sir. On the house.”

Uncle smiled. “That really won't be necessary, but thank you. If you'd like to do something for me, vote.”

“Of course, sir. I'm with Congressman Statern. You have my support.”

He poured our drinks then, considerably more than my first one and from a different bottle, pulled from the back of the top row. Uncle Dan raised his glass first toward the bartender and then me.

We drank. Uncle Dan took a healthy slug and made a face, like a grimace but satisfied. It seemed to be the face one made when drinking Scotch. “That's not bad.” He was right. It was better than my first one, still awful, but smoother. More like lava than fire. I loved it. “So,” he said as if nothing was unusual about our meeting at all, “how were finals?”

I smiled. “Great. I'm sure I did well. But…” I hesitated. “I'm thinking of changing my major. To History, or Statistics. Maybe.” I'd been considering it for weeks, but was afraid to admit that I'd made the wrong choice, and also to disappoint my uncle.

But he nodded like this was unsurprising, even welcome news. He'd been a history major, after all. “Why not both?” he said. “If anyone's capable, it's you. And I'm sure the university will accommodate whatever schedule you want.”

Yes, they probably would. They already had, really. “Maybe,” I conceded. “I'll think about it over break.” It felt good, just talking like this. I wanted to keep doing it, so I said, “I'm going to New York, finally. For New Year's. Did I tell you that?”

He took another swallow of his drink, smiled. “Miss Morrow might have mentioned it the other night. I should have taken you to the city myself, when you were younger. I regret that. Alexis is growing up well,” he mused. “An unparalleled beauty. Her mother cried when she was born with brown hair, did you know?”

I shook my head. “I didn't, but it doesn't surprise me.” Her name was Barbie, after all.

“Much better this way, though. No one takes blondes seriously.” He smoothed a hand over his own fair hair and laughed. This was why people loved him.

We both took another drink. I appreciated how he was waiting for me. He hadn't asked what was wrong, hadn't pushed me to get to the point. He hadn't even commented on the card sitting in front of me on the bar, though surely he'd seen it. I took a step closer to the real issue and asked, “How's Tessa?”

“Healthy. Vibrant. Determined.” Uncle Dan made no effort to hide his proud grin. “She's quite amazing, really. Anton thinks I should marry her, propose.”

“I know.” Uncle's campaign manager thought the public would love a White House Wedding, even more than a White House Baby. He was probably right. I wasn't sure Tessa was on that page yet, but what did I know about women?

“It's a boy, Cartwright,” he said softly, meeting my eyes, and for some reason I had to look away. “I would like you to be his Godfather.”

My head snapped up. “Sir, I—”

“Don't protest. Just say yes.”

“I'm honored. I just…” What? What did I tell him? That I could barely manage myself without his guidance, so how could I take care of his son? That I couldn't be Godfather because it would inevitably mean interacting with the girl who broke my heart? What kind of pussy was I? Instead of answering that, I took a huge slug of Scotch. Better. “Don't you think Uncle Jeff would be a better choice?”

He watched me while sipping from his drink, an excuse to give me the look I'd tried to emulate since I was a kid. To me, it always said
more than he was saying. It was, I realized, a presidential look, one he turned on me now.

“Nothing,” he said, “has pleased me more than having you join me here, Cartwright. I know it was your second choice, and a painful one, but I hope you've found it the right one. I know you're the right choice to mentor my son. None better, even my brother.”

I looked down, unable to hold his gaze. I really was transparent. Finally, I cleared my throat and met his eyes again. “Thank you. That's high praise.”

“And also true. So.” He set down his glass, the heavy bottom thudding on the glossy wood of the bar. When he nodded to the bartender for another round, I should have recognized I was in trouble. But I was already drowning tonight. Uncle Dan knew that, or why else would I have called him? “How are you?”

I thought about my answer while I watched the amber fire rise in my glass. I nodded at the bartender as he left. “Confused,” I finally answered. Another slug of the Scotch made my voice raspy.

“What's happened?”

I pushed Lainey's card at him. Its edges were starting to wear from my fingers. He opened it and made a noise somewhere between a tongue cluck and an
ah
, though his face remained carefully neutral.

“I see,” he said. He tapped a finger on one of the worn edges while I stumbled through figuring out what I wanted to say.

“And I, I just want to know why? It's been months and now this and I guess…I don't understand what it means.”

“I think that's fairly clear. It means she's cruel.”

I stared at the card, frowning. Cruel. The word sounded harsh and whole, applied to Lainey in my uncle's voice. I still wanted to defend her.

“Don't you think she maybe, because of the baby—”

“I think, son, that she likes twisting the knife.”

I coughed. Hearing him say it hurt as much as anything. I took another drink. Then another, rolling the tumbler in my hands. When it started to feel weightless, imaginary in my fingers, I set it down. “I miss her,” I admitted. “Love her, still.” After a pause, and the last of the liquid in my glass disappeared, I asked the eternal question: “What did I do wrong?”

He set down his own glass and put a hand on my shoulder. “You loved a girl before you knew her. Loved a girl more than she could love you. We don't choose those things. I was heartbroken when Angela left me, but I was at fault. I've been atoning for it for sixteen years. You, on the other hand, are blameless. The only thing you've done wrong is let her keep doing this to you.”

“I don't know how to stop.”

“You stop by doing. Your life is full. Embrace what you have. Change your major if you'd like. Enjoy your holiday in New York.” He slipped the card from under my fingers and into his coat pocket. “And you let go of things like this.”

For a long time I stared at the empty space on the bar where it had been.
Let go
. Was it that simple? Was the problem that I was
holding on
? Finally, I met his eyes. “You're right.”

He nodded. “I've made all your mistakes and more, son.”

“Thank you. For this. For coming here and…understanding.”

“I should have done this sooner. Another regret.” He stood, and when I tried to join him, I swayed and had to catch myself on the bar. Uncle embraced me. “Manny will see you home.”

“But—”

“I'll be fine. Good night, son.” Before he left me to Manny's care, he rested his hand on my shoulder one last time. “Remember, she's not the end. Only the beginning.”

Lainey

U
nlike I imagined most apartments of graduate assistants, Jack's was beautiful, with exposed brick walls, gleaming hardwood floors, and enough windows to offer peeks of the nearby waterfront. The place was small, but open, with high ceilings and a decently appointed kitchen that looked too shiny to be used often. Though not as nice as mine, Jack's apartment was pretty nice. I said as much.

“Compliments of the
III
at the end of my name. Turns out grandchildren are a decent tax shelter. Not that I'm complaining. But don't worry,” he said, settling next to me on his expensive couch and handing me a drink. “I do work for it.”

“I'm the last person to judge you if you didn't.”

He clinked his glass against mine. I didn't really want it, but I took a sip anyway. “Another thing I like about you.”

I laughed. “That I'm rich?”

Over the rim of his glass, I watched his lips as they smiled. He shook his head. “No.” He shifted in his seat, so that our legs were touching. “That you don't care that I am, through the sheer dumb luck of my last name.”

“To last names and luck,” I said, touching my glass to his again. “I doubt anyone's ever called you dumb.”

He chuckled. “More times than I care to remember. I'd tell you stories, but they're all family failures or involve girls, neither of which I want to bore you with.” He set his glass, half finished, on the coffee table.

“Girls, eh?”

“What can I say?” There. The crooked smile I dreamed about appeared. “You're the only one I've brought here, though.”

I laughed again. “Sure I am.” After another sip from my drink, I traced shapes in the condensation on the outside of the glass.

“Scout's honor,” he said, letting his fingers graze my thigh as he brought them up in the salute. Softer, leaning closer, he said, “You're the only one I've even wanted to. And that's the truth.”

At that moment, a drop of water from my glass fell from my finger tip. I gasped. It landed near my collar bone and slid down. Jack's eyes followed it, and then, slowly and light as breath, his finger. His eyes came back to meet mine, but his finger kept going, and I gasped again. He followed the drop's path, dipping into the V of my shirt and tracing between my breasts before reaching up to pluck the glass from my hand.

And then he kissed me.

His lips were soft,
so freaking soft
, as they pressed against mine. He lingered there, tasting like sweet tonic and lime, until I leaned into him. When my lips finally parted and his tongue slipped between them, I was sure I'd already known how
perfect
it would feel. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me.

Good
God
, he knew how to kiss. I'd been waiting for this. Since I stepped out of the cab a few hours ago or, honestly, a lot longer than that. When his lips trailed across my cheek, I whispered, “That was worth the wait.”

He paused, tickling me with his nose as he met my eyes and I drowned in the warm brown depths of his. “If I was a gentleman, I'd have asked first.”

“It would have ruined the surprise.”

Jack leaned forward, closer, until I thought he was going to kiss me again without permission. But he turned to the side, lips grazing my ear as he said, “I know.” He held there, fingers tickling my side until I giggled. Then, on an impulse that seemed to surprise us both, I slipped my shirt over my head and dropped it over the side of the couch.