Since you met Max. She might as well have said it. I look back at my work. “No, I’m glad you went. I’m glad you had a nice time with Charlie.” Half of that is true.
“I had a nice time with the twins, too,” she says cautiously. “Once Calliope relaxes, she’s kinda fun. She’s under an insane amount of pressure.”
“Hmph. So people tell me.”
“Honestly, Lo, I don’t think she’s the mean girl she once was. She’s just protective.”
I glare at her. “Her brother is in college. I think he can handle himself.”
“And he does speak his mind now. However strangely it might come out,” she adds. “You know that he never hurt you on purpose. And when you’re not around, he asks a hundred questions about you. About Max, too. He likes you. He’s always liked you, remember?”
I stop steaming curls.
“And I don’t want you to bite my head off for saying this,” she says rapidly, “but it’s pretty clear you like Cricket Bell, too.”
It’s like something is caught in my throat. I swallow. “And why do you think that?”
She takes the steamer from me. “Because anyone with the power of observation can see you’re still crazy about him.”
I’m setting the dinner table when I discover a newspaper clipping tucked under the corner of my place mat. Andy strikes again. It’s an article about an increase in STDs among teenagers. I shove it into the recycle bin. Do my parents know I’m having sex?
I know Max slept with many girls—many women—before me. But he’s been tested. He’s clean. Still, these mystery women haunt me. I picture Max in dark corners of bars, in his apartment, in beds across the city with glamorous succubi, intoxicated and infatuated. Max assures me the truth is far less exciting. I almost believe him.
It doesn’t help that tonight, a night I have off from work, Amphetamine has a gig at the Honey Pot, a burlesque club that I’m not old enough to get into. I’m trying not to let it bother me. I know burlesque is an art, but it makes me uncomfortable. It makes me feel young. I hate feeling young.
But there are many things troubling me tonight.
It’s Friday. Will Cricket come home this weekend?
Lindsey’s words have been looping inside my head all week. How is it possible for me to feel this way? To be interested in Cricket and still be concerned about my relationship with Max? I want things to be okay with my boyfriend, I do. It’s supposed to be simple. I don’t want another complication. I don’t want to be interested in Cricket.
During dinner, Andy and Nathan exchange worried looks over the veggie potpie. “Anything wrong, Lo?” Andy finally asks. “You seem distracted.”
I tear my eyes from the window in our kitchen, from which I can barely see the Bell family’s front porch. “Huh? Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
My parents look at me doubtfully as Norah comes in and sits at the table. “That was Chrysanthemum Bean, the one with the duck voice. She’s coming over early tomorrow for a reading before buying her weekly scratch-offs.”
Nathan winces and grinds more pepper on top of his potpie. And grinds. And grinds.
Andy shifts in his seat. He’s always complaining that Nathan ruins his meals by adding too much pepper.
“Christ. Stop it, would you?” Norah says to her brother. “You’re raising his blood pressure. You’re raising MY blood pressure.”
“It’s fine,” Andy says sharply. Even though I can see it’s killing him.
We haven’t had a relaxed meal since she—and her clients, none of whom should be spending their limited finances on tea-leaf readings or lottery scratch-offs—arrived. I turn away in time to catch a lanky figure running up the steps next door. And I sit up so fast that everyone stops bickering to see what’s caused the disturbance. Cricket pats his pockets for his house key. His pants are tighter than usual. And the moment I notice this is the same moment that I’m knocked over by the truth of my feelings.
Lust.
He locates his key just as the front door opens. Calliope lets him inside. I sink back down in my chair. I didn’t even realize that I’d partially risen out of it. Andy clears his throat. “Cricket looks good.”
My face flames.
“I wonder if he has a girlfriend?” he asks. “Do you know?”
“No,” I mumble.
Nathan laughs. “I remember when you two used to accidentally run into each other on walks—”