Homewrecker

38 - 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓹𝓲𝓭

Kimberly had explained the night before that she and Jason had crafted a fabrication, as she referred to it, about the bucket and water bottle in case either Amy or David walked into the room while I was asleep and discovered either them and me there at Andi's bed, or noticed that I looked hungover.

I was going to tell them that Indie and I went out for dinner and got food poisoning at a diner somewhere—she mentioned it was important not to name actual diners, in case they actually called to report it—and that's why I was sick. I wasn't completely sure of what they told Andi, but it seemed to me as if she knew that I didn't just have a bad cheeseburger the next morning.

She was opening and slamming drawers as she got dressed, muttering to herself about how she got a chocolate stain on one of her shirts, hum. I rolled over in her bed, pulled her covers over my head, realize that the bright light coming through the material was her rolling up all the blinds.

Then, as all the blades snapped together over my head, Kingston came into my mind. A drifting thought that felt vague and distorted, like there was something I was supposed to be remember, something I had been thinking about him, like he was in one of my forgotten dreams or something, before I realized that Andi was humming one of the songs that played at the party the other night.

Last night.

Where I was with Indie, after leaving the lake house, determined not to come back—that worked out well, apparently, less than twelve hours later—and we went because I texted Kingston. I could still smell the beer and campfire on my clothes, especially under the covers, and then I realized that I kissed him. Actually, kissed him.

Then I remembered seeing him totally, frontal naked.

Before I changed my mind, leaving him there, still naked, in that bathroom alone.

And Jude was there, but he walked past me. He was at a party, where everyone there was at least twenty or thirty years younger than him, and alone, like he wasn't there to pick up someone who was drunk like Jason and Kimberly were.

I gave Ethan Denvers a hug, after totally unloading on him.

I groaned.

Andi's humming was momentarily replaced with a muffled chuckle. "Have fun waking up to that."

The door opened, footsteps quiet against the carpet, before I heard a confused Natalie asking, "Do you smell smoke?"

~

I wasn't completely sure of what to expect from Amy and David later that morning, after I emerged from the bathroom with my hair still damp from my shower and the clothes I wore to the party the night before in the washing machine—which Kimberly had to teach me how to use, the screens and buttons strikingly different from the dials I was used to at the laundromat—and went into the kitchen, realizing that neither of them were there.

Amy wasn't standing in front of the stove, scrambling eggs or flipping pancakes, and David had left early that morning for the office, according to Jason, who was in the kitchen, sitting at the island with a smoothie and his laptop in front of him on the counter.

"Mom went out for a run," he pointed out when I was still looking around the room, tentatively reaching out for the handle of the refrigerator door because I still didn't feel comfortable just opening it and grabbing whatever I wanted. Usually, I just took whatever was out in sight, like fruit from the bowl on the counter or from their serving bowls at meals. "She does that sometimes. When she's frustrated."

"I could make something," Kimberly offered, glancing at me but I just shrugged, grabbing the gallon of orange juice because it felt weird, like I was being watched or supervised. Like I hadn't spent most of my life figuring out things for myself, like what I was going to have for breakfast or walking in from the car to a bedroom.