This Much Is True (14 page)

“So how do you know Lincoln Presley?” I ask. Fish wife. Jealous much? Tally, what are you doing?

“We go to Stanford together. We’re
friends
.” She lingers on the last word and licks her lips after saying it and knowingly smiles.

Friends with benefits. Fuck friends. How absolutely fucking fabulous is this?
She gets this wider secret smile, even as she blithely lines her lips with an expensive lip liner.
It’s forty bucks.
I know this because I have the same one. Holly ordered me one for my birthday last year.

Our birthday. Last year. Because we are twins. Were twins. Now I’m a party of one.

My hands shake as I valiantly dig through my purse in search of the elusive fucking lip pencil. She still watches me with this little supreme smile.

“So how do
you
know Lincoln Presley?” she asks.

I’ve got this.

I take my time drying my hands and formulating the exact words to use ever so carefully because they need to be delivered just right.

Don’t mess with this bitch.

That warning goes unheeded. By me.

“We’re friends, too. Good
friends
. I’m Tally Landon. And you are?” I hold out my hand. She stares at it for a long two minutes and then directly at me and still doesn’t take it.

The battle lines have been drawn.

She gets this vindictive taint to her features. Her eyes go wide and then narrow, while her perfectly-lined lips form into a grim, straight line.
No smile now.

I want to step back from her because she’s stepped forward into my own personal space, but I hold my ground as she gets even closer. She’s close enough now that I spy the faintest of lines around her eyes. She’s beautiful now, but she must do some partying on the side, because the frequent use of those vices is beginning to show up there on her face.

“What are you—all of nineteen? He wouldn’t date a slip of a girl like you,” she says with a wide fake smile. “Linc likes his women older, sophisticated, and worldly.”

She’s describing herself, and I suppress a laugh. “Older? Really? I didn’t get that impression from him.”

She looks taken aback. I’m pretty sure this woman is used to things going her way without a fight every single flipping time. I slowly nod. She stares back at me—scrutinizing, assessing, evaluating. I avoid flinching under her laser-like scan but just barely.

“Nika. Nika Vostrikova. I’m a senior at Stanford. I do computer work on the side. For Linc. I capture his stats? And we’re good friends. He has a special way of paying me for those.” Her eyes practically shimmer as she says the last part.

We’re back to that.

My bravado falters for a myriad of reasons—exhaustion from a virtually sleepless night and the greatest sex of my life and now seeing Lincoln Presley again and meeting his friend with benefits, Nika Vostri-
fucking
-kova. The truth is, in this pivotal moment, I need my sister. I’m pummeled inside by the constant worry over my dad and what’s really going on with my mom. There’s Tommy. Who’s going to take care of Tommy after I leave for New York? I’m missing my family already, and I’m not even gone. Then there’s this Lincoln Presley. Baseball. Ballet. Paly. Graduation. New York. Ballet again. And now? Nika Vostrikova.

Where’s the focus, Tally? Where’s the focus?

I swallow hard, steady my breathing, and stick out my hand. “Thanks for the tampon, Nika Vostrikova.” She lightly shakes my hand while I glide towards the door and exit stage left.

“Nice to meet you, Tally Landon.” There’s isn’t a hint of sincerity in what she’s just said, but I laugh. And laughter releases me from the threat of tears and propels me toward the concession stand.

Ten minutes later, I work my way through the parking lot and toward my dad’s gleaming silver Lexus. Grateful for the solitude, I slide into the backseat and roll down the passenger window and freely breathe in the inevitable dust and vaguely hear the announcer as he calls out the end of game.

Lincoln Presley gets the win.

Now we can all go home.

I console myself with the fact that he doesn’t even know I was here at his game, watching him pitch, meeting his good friend with benefits—Nika Vostrikova.
No.
He doesn’t know anything about that. Why would he? His one and only focus is baseball. He said so. He meant it.
Why? Because there is only baseball. We all know that.

You stupid, stupid girl.

What were you thinking?

Get it together.

Now.

* * *

My dad drives home but continually steals looks at me via the car mirror. “Are you okay?” he asks for the sixth time.

Tommy is oblivious. He waited in a long line to have Linc sign his ball and glove with a black sharpie pen. This simple gesture essentially makes my little brother’s life, while mine seems to have fallen apart in the same equally short amount of time because of the very same guy.

Hero to Tommy.

Manwhore to me.

I take solace in my anger.

I let it burn through all of me.

Anger is good.

“I don’t feel that well,” I finally say to my father’s question when he asks for the seventh time.

This will buy me some much-needed alone time at home. My dad looks all concerned. I manage a weak smile back at him in the rearview mirror.

“Thanks for coming today, honey. It was fun,” Dad says.

“It was fun. We’ll do it again.”
Not.

Never again.

I will never watch baseball again. Ever. Never.
Ever.

* * * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

Tally  ~ Addicted

“
Y
ou know what your problem is, don’t you?” I ask Marla and glance over at her anxious face.

She’s been moping around since she got here. We lay side-by-side on my queen-sized bed amid all the packing boxes in preparation for our trip to New York in a few days. Yet, we’re lost in our own private thoughts. It’s been three weeks, twenty-two nights actually, if one wanted to get technical, since I first met the baseball player. It’s been a week since Charlie and Marla’s third official break-up since that initial Friday night. I predict if she ever utters the phrase, “we’re done; we’re over” again neither one of us will actually believe her. Marla’s officially an emotional wreck. I’m barely holding it together myself because thoughts of Lincoln Presley continue to invade my psyche at all these inopportune moments. I trade between fantastic thoughts about our one night together and the seething anger at him over his
friend with benefits
Nika Vostrikova.

“My problem is Charlie Masterson,” Marla says without shame. She covers her face with one arm, so I can’t really see her agonized expression, but I hear it.

“Yes! I told you that party was a bad idea. And, look what he’s done to you in a matter of three weeks. Make up; break up. Make up; break up. There’s a pattern forming here. Why can’t you
see
it?”

Marla sits up from the bed and looking chagrined. “At least, we’re trying to work it out. We’re not
ignoring
how we feel about each other. We’re trying to find a way to make it work. Even so, you’re the one that is all but impossible to be around. You’re the one who needs to work things out with the guy you screwed three weeks ago because your mind is clearly still tightly wrapped around him. I know we’re not supposed to talk about him, let alone mention his flipping name, but let’s be honest for once because this bitchy
I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-the-guy
attitude is wearing me out. You obviously
do
.”

“He has a girlfriend. Her name is Nika. She’s older, Russian, sexy. I saw them together. He was pitching for Stanford that
same
weekend, and she was there. I went to the game with my dad and Tommy, and I saw them. It was the day after he and I…” My voice breaks. It’s my turn to hide my face because now I sound jealous and pathetic.
This will not do. Not at all.

“Nika,” Marla says with disquiet. “Are you sure?”

“I talked to her in the women’s restroom at the field. She said they were
friends
. And I
saw
them and how he reached for her through the fence. She was kissing his fingers, and he didn’t seem to mind.”

I’m bitter. Disillusioned. Pissed.

I let Marla see it all. She’s gazing at me with notable indignation and looks taken aback at the same time.

“Have you thought about calling him?” She frowns. “Confronting him? To work things out?”

“There’s nothing to work out.” I glare at her. “This situation is
way
different than yours. You
know
Charlie. He knows you. You have something together to work out, whereas Lincoln Presley and I are nothing more than a one-night stand.” I shrug but my shoulders tremble negating the nonchalant attitude I’m going for and Marla sees it. “We had a little fun. We’re a premise—nothing more—that is clearly
over
.”

“If it’s so
over
, why are you still moping around here like somebody…?” We’re instantly caught in the riptide of Holly again. Marla looks contrite at what she’s almost said. “I’m sorry. You just seem so devastated on a lot of levels. You’re not yourself and even Tremblay’s noticed. You
know
that. And I think, maybe, if you can just talk to him one time, there will be some form of inevitable closure with him. He’s just getting back from the baseball draft and he’s flying out to wherever the L.A. Angels have him play on one of their minor league teams. Charlie says he’ll be on the road all summer through the fall.”

How does she know all of this stuff about the baseball player who I will not name?

“Well, maybe Nika can follow him all around the country and take down all those baseball stats for him.”

Fish wife. Really, Tally? What is wrong with you? Why do you care?
My mind swirls with the image of Lincoln Presley’s face right above mine. “And how do you know all of that anyway? I thought you weren’t speaking to Charlie,” I say attempting to breathe.

Something feels
off
with Marla. Yet, somehow, she distracts me when she squeezes my hand and smiles and manages to convey sympathy all at the same time.

“Well, I
have
talked to Charlie, and that’s what he told me. I asked him about Linc for
you
because I care about you. I thought you might want to know so maybe you would stop acting so crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” I say sadly. “I just want to get to New York and concentrate on ballet. Besides, he thinks my name is Holly.” I wince at admitting this particular lie.

“You are one sick puppy,” Marla says softly. “Geez, Tally. Why do you always have to give guys such a hard time, both figuratively and literally?”

We both start to laugh. It eases the tension in the room. She lies back down beside me on the bed. I close my eyes because fresh tears sting them because she sounds just like Holly, and it’s sad and funny at the same time.

We’ve been over this whole scenario of what transpired at Charlie’s party a dozen times already, but I never confessed to the part about going to see Linc at his baseball game the next day. I’ve never talked about Nika Vostrikova before because this insane jealousy spins me out of control. A foreign feeling—this jealousy. I don’t like it. I’ve never experienced it before. I’ve never
cared
before.

The five-mile runs I do every day since then have done little to erase the lucid memories of that night with Lincoln Presley. Even my attempt for normalcy by serving my grieving parents a few true home-cooked dinners these past few weeks—where I was clearly influenced by the memorable culinary efforts by one Lincoln Presley—has done little to erase the memories of the night with Elvis. No. None of these good deeds have damped down the memories of that incredible Friday night escapade with him three weeks ago.

Marla and I have been basically wallowing in misery over these two guys, like all girls do, most girls anyway, but not generally us, usually not me, in particular. Yet, something is definitely going on with the two of us over these two.

We’ve lost our focus. Not good.

We’ve graduated; but nothing’s changed. Still? At other times, it seems everything has changed. We came to that conclusion earlier today when Marla called and said she was coming over to work it all out. We leave for New York this Sunday. I’m not sure what we need to discuss or work out.

“It’s okay to like him,” Marla says now, turning to closely scrutinize my face. “It’s okay, Tally.” She traces the lone tear that carelessly trails down my face while I swipe her hand away.

“No. No, it’s not. It’s not
okay
for me. The last thing I need right now is a distraction—
a guy
distracting me this way. And I lied to him. I’m a terrible person. The worst. And I miss Holly, and it hurts to miss her like this. My parents are still so out of it. I don’t think it’s even registered with them that I’m leaving in two days. I’m worried about who’s going to take care of Tommy and my mom when I’m gone. My dad does what he can, but…they barely made it through the graduation ceremony earlier this week. It’s just too damn hard—missing Holly and doing all this extraneous thinking about Lincoln Presley. It’s insane. I’m insane.”

“He knows your name is Tally.”

“What?” I practically choke on the word.

“Charlie told him who you were. I guess they ran into Stacy that first weekend, and she told them what happened to Holly.” Marla takes a deep breath. “Anyway, Charlie figured out that the girl
Holly
that Linc was going on about was
you
. He was pretty upset. They both were.” She gets this uncertain look. “But I guess Linc liked your note.”

“Oh…” My face gets red at her mention of the note.
Why did I leave a note? Who does that?
“Linc told Charlie about my note? And, Charlie told you? When exactly did you
talk
to Charlie? I thought you were on another break.”

Marla gets this vexed look. I slide off the bed in the next instant while Marla studies me and appears to be waiting for something.
A clue. A signal. A phone call. What?

“So how bad is it?” she asks, avoiding my question.

I gaze at her more closely. I’m more tuned into her now because something is definitely going on with her. She’s acting stranger than I am. I cross my arms and stand across from her shaking my head to clear of all the wayward thoughts of one Lincoln Presley.

“It was one night. It means
nothing.”
I stumble on the last word. “
Nothing
,” I say again for both of us. Then, I sigh because the truth wills out. “There have been a dozen other guys, as you well know, but for some reason…this one stays with me. It’s pretty bad.” I get this wry smile. “I need to exorcise him out or something.”

“You
like
him. You
more
than like him.”

“No. Not possible.”

“Tally, it’s there all over your face and I’ve never seen you act like this before. I’m not sure what’s going on. Sometimes, you have this look of absolute joy and then at other times I’ve never seen you look this devastated. Even with Holly,” she says gently. “Either way? I think you need to work it out with him…whatever it is.” She flips her right hand through the air. “We leave in two days,” she says, sounding more forlorn.

I look at her more closely again but she looks the other way taking a sudden interest in the open doorway of my half-empty closet. I’m half-packed for New York. She takes a shuddering breath and blows it out.

“And I just think
this
may follow you there, unless you confront it
and him,
once and for all.” She frowns. “What you need is closure, my friend.”

“Closure,” I scoff. “Because what you and Charlie have been able to attain is
closure
?”

Marla laughs nervously and gets this angelic serene look as if she’s figured out all of life’s answers and just needs to tell them to me.

“Not exactly,” she finally says. “But at least we’re moving forward instead of just left wondering about it all. If I hadn’t seen Charlie, I wouldn’t know that I still have all these amazing feelings for him.” She displays this blazing smile. It’s like a light has burst forth from inside of her. “I would have gone to New York and gotten engaged to Devon and probably ended up in the Hamptons. I never would have known that Charlie Masterson still holds my heart…and my hand.”

Now she holds out her left hand with this dramatic wave, and I spy the diamond that sparkles there that I failed to notice earlier. Her green eyes glitter with tears. Happy ones. She’s getting married.
To Charlie.
Holy shit.

“Marla.” I stare helplessly at her left hand.
Breathe.
“Wow. When did this happen?”

“Last night. He came over around eight, talked with my parents, and then asked me on bended knee and everything.” She gets this dazed look. “He’s just so amazing and wonderful. Charlie really wants us to be together. He’s going to be busy with school for the next couple of years finishing up his undergraduate degree at UCLA. I’ll be in New York for the summer and maybe the fall. I’ve applied at UCLA because my dad really wanted me to, but I can just see how the summer goes first. See, Tally? It all works out.”

“How does it work out? He’s in L.A. and you’re in New York. How does that work out? When are the two of you
together
exactly?”

“Well, we haven’t gotten that far. Like I said, I want to see how the summer goes. See how things work out with Tremblay and ballet. We’ve given ourselves the summer. We’ll do the long-distance thing and just focus on being engaged.”

I nod slowly while my mind calculates all these various scenarios—none of which seem to work out in their favor. I shake my head.

“Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Yes. Yes. Of course. I’m happy.” I move in to hug her and manage to push all the anxiety I already feel for her—and for me—way down. New York and the NYC Ballet the dream all three of us shared crumbles a little more with this news. All I can see is that Marla is breaking rank, just like Holly has inadvertently done, but it’s there all the same. The dream is being destroyed by every change we encounter—devastating or joyous. It’s changing everything for us. Marla won’t last without Charlie for more than six months. I already know this.

Selfish, selfish Tally. Be happy for her. Smile for her. Do it.

“So.” She looks uncertain. “We’re celebrating. My parents. His. Charlie. Me. You. Linc,” she adds with a nervous smile. “There’s a party at the Mastersons tonight with all of them to celebrate our engagement and Linc’s draft news. He’s flying in some time tonight from New York.”

“Wow. Double billing and sharing the celebratory news with the baseball player,” I say with little enthusiasm.

“You’ll be my maid of honor so you’re going. You have to. And, Linc will be his best man. So, there you are. It’s all worked out. You have to do this for me.”

“Damn it, Marla. You’ve put me in an impossible situation here.”

“I know. But you’ll do it; right? Because Charlie’s parents are a little intimidating, and I want things to be perfect and the only way I see that happening is if you’re there with me. Please say you’ll come.
Please
?”

I’m too weak from endless weeks of angst and her clearly emotional plea to say no. I don’t even try.

She picks out a dress for me to wear, pushes me off to the shower, and re-does my makeup when I return. She unabashedly changes into an amazing white designer dress she’s brought just for the occasion and instantly looks like a true bride-to-be. The dress hugs her in all the right places. She’s tanned and beautiful and seems to sparkle like the unique, pear-shaped diamond on her left hand. I hug her close and tell her all of these things by borrowing heavily from every chick flick film I can think of, in the space of ten minutes. In less than an hour, we’ve transformed into bride-to-be and maid-of-honor. I wear black because Marla designates it so. She tells me that she wants me to be comfortable and relaxed and be myself. The color black suits me just fine. And as far as being comfortable and relaxed? These are two states that I would never describe myself as being in, but I go along with the charade for Marla.

Truthfully? I look like a dressed-up, dark-haired Barbie. The dress is made of too much taffeta and chiffon and flounces at the mid-thigh. I pirouette in the mirror, and the bride-to-be gets this satisfied smile while I force my lips to form one. My goal tonight is singular in scope: to make Marla happy. It’s an achievable goal. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

We leave in two more days for New York. I keep consoling myself with this fact while I’m getting ready under Marla’s doting tutelage. I convince myself that nothing has changed, even though I know all of it just has. I don’t have time to examine any of these competing thoughts too closely. No. I just wave at my parents, tell them I’ll be late, and follow Marla out to her car and try not to think of anything or anyone, for that matter.