I swipe my tears away. On some level, now that the thrill of our relationship is wearing off, I’m sure this is what he wants. But Finn’s too softhearted to leave someone who isn’t stable, someone who needs him like I do. Someone who’s obsessed with him. Sometimes he needs a push. This is best for both of us.
I give the driver Rich’s address.
30
Rich’s doorman looks suspicious as I do my best not to stumble across the apartment building’s lobby, but he lets me by with a wave. After all, even if I’ve been away a few months, I did spend two years coming in and out of this building.
I pound on Rich’s door until he yells from the other side, “All right, all right. Jesus. Who is it?”
“Me.”
The deadbolt slides open, and Rich peeks out, squinting. He looks less surprised to find me drunk on his doorstep in the middle of the night than I would’ve guessed. “Come in, Halston.”
“I need a place to crash.”
“I already said come in.” He opens the door wider. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, and I’m sleeping on the couch.”
He surrenders with both palms up and leads me into the kitchen. “You know where the linens are. I’ll get you some water.”
“I’m drunk.”
“No shit.”
“I’m sorry.” I steady myself on the kitchen island as he gets a glass from a cupboard. “I know you hate that.”
“Actually . . . no. In a way, I’m kind of, I guess, glad.”
Did he say glad? “Huh?”
He glances up from under his lashes as he pours me filtered water. “I’ve been waiting for this to happen, and I’d hoped you’d come here when it did. Where you feel safe.”
Is that true? Did I come crawling back here knowing the most dangerous feeling I might experience is tedium or Rich’s standard-grade condescension? “You’re not mad?”
“No.” He brings me the glass, stopping for Tylenol from a medicine drawer. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. I just want to sleep.”
“Does it have to do with him? Is it over?”
I gulp down water and pills, looking at Rich over the rim of the glass. It doesn’t feel over—how could it be? How could all that love and passion just vanish into thin air? Finn said it, though. If I left, that was it. Defying Finn is less exhilarating now, less righteous, than it was twenty minutes ago.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Rich doesn’t need to know any of that. “Not over.”
He sighs on his way to the linen closet. “What’s with the bag?”
I almost forgot. I open the flap of Finn’s bag, but there’s nothing in there. Finn still has his camera. And the account, and anything that means something to me. My chest aches, also empty. “It’s his.”
“Ah.” Rich hands me a pile of folded sheets topped with a pillow and blanket. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t have more to say, but I’m not about to argue. He follows me into the living room and turns off the lights before leaving me to it. I make up the couch.
While removing my shoes and tights, I topple onto the cushions. I leave my dress on, get under the blanket, and take out my cell. I have the urge to talk to Finn, but what is there to say? I’m still angry. I still don’t think he was right to cut me out like that. Does he even want to hear from me?
Instead, I open my camera roll. In here, I keep the photos Finn has sent me that we don’t share. The ones that’re just for us. Me, sitting up in bed first thing in the morning, the sheet pulled up around my breasts, barely hiding my nipples. My hair is mussed from a night of lovemaking. From Finn. My eyes water.
“Will you be warm enough?” Rich asks from the doorway.
Startled, I put a protective hand over my screen so he doesn’t see anything. “Yes.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat. Tonight’s half-moon casts some light into the room. “So he lets you get drunk alone at night in this city?”
“I knew it.” I’ll let you get some sleep. Can’t believe I fell for that. “I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“Sorry that I want you to be safe.”
“You just want to say you told me so.”
“So I did tell you so?” I can just make out the way his eyebrows shoot up. “You’re admitting I was right about him?”
“No.” I frown until I’m pouting. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Can I just tell you how things look from my perspective?” he asks. “Then maybe you’ll understand my concern. One night, out of the blue, no warning, no valid reason, you dump me. Over the phone. Right after you go off antidepressants. Whenever I see you at work, you have dark circles under your eyes or you look like you’ve been crying. Next thing I know, your bodyguard boyfriend is threatening me to stay away from you. It’s like you’re brainwashed or something.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t know what hold he has over you, but something feels off. I’m worried he’s encouraging your patterns, or worse, he’s become one. I don’t want you to get involved with something dangerous, something that can’t be reversed, because you’re blinded by infatuation.”
Even in my inebriated state, Rich’s words hit close to home. He knows me well—how could he not after two years? What if he sees something I don’t? I never recognize a pattern until I’m already in too deep to get out on my own. With coffee, I was excited to find Lait Noir, a place that served it just how I liked it. I hadn’t realized anything was different until my dad congratulated me on getting my spending under control again. When had I stopped shopping and started drinking coffee by the gallon?
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say.
“I disagree.”
“No, I mean . . . you don’t need to worry about me. I’m not your responsibility anymore. You and my dad are getting on fine without me, you don’t need to date me for him to like you.”
Crossing his arms, he looks out the window. “I don’t know why you so vehemently believe that I loved around you. I didn’t. I loved you. I still do.”
Rich doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body. Or does he? I didn’t think I’d hurt him very badly, or maybe I just didn’t think. I was too consumed by my own life. “I do love you, in a way, but I can be selfish. You knew that.”
“That’s not an excuse. You just left, no explanation, no second chances. Do you have any idea how much that hurt?”
I didn’t. Slowly, a thought creeps in. What if, all this time, Rich and my dad really have known what’s best for me? What if their protectiveness, and Finn’s too, has come out of wantin
g me to be happy, not a need to subdue me so I can be managed? They’ve said it, but I’ve never really heard it. I believe the pain in Rich’s voice, though, and it makes me think maybe he really was in love with me. More than he let on.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s easier to say in the dark, even though the dark won’t stand still at the moment.
“You love the drama,” he says. “You always have, which is why you wanted to be on antidepressants. You crave the ups and downs, but they scare you.” Rich sighs and pulls the curtains shut, shrouding me in complete darkness. “I’ll leave a light on in the bathroom in case you need to throw up.”
“I won’t. I’m fine.”
I close my eyes but immediately open them when the world tilts.
He’s such a goddamn know-it-all.
When I’m alone, I unlock my phone and swipe through more photos Finn took of me. He isn’t in any of them. Dad, Rich, Finn—they love me, they do. Why is it so hard for me to accept that? Maybe controlling me isn’t the best way to show it, but Finn has also supported and encouraged me. He’s the reason I’ve bloomed these past few months.
Isn’t he allowed to be protective of what he loves?
I wake at the crack of dawn, and I mean the crack. I guess Rich didn’t shut the curtains all the way, because one asshole beam of light slices right through the dark and onto my face. I sit up too fast. My body protests almost as hard as my pounding temples. Stumbling to the window, I yank the blinds all the way closed, but with the sun rising fast, it’s still not dark.
I’m drudging back to the couch when I see him and nearly fall flat on my face.
George Fox.
He’s sleeping in the club chair next to the sofa, his burgundy cashmere sweater wrinkled like he’s a bourgeois vagrant. I blink a few times, rubbing my eyes in disbelief. “Dad?”
He shifts. After a moment, he lifts his head, squinting at me. “Banana?”
“What are you doing here?” I sit on the edge of the couch, facing him. “Did Rich call you?”
“He was worried. And before you go off on him, just know he’s been worried for a long time and kept it all to himself. Until last night.” He sits up, grimacing. “I’m too damn rickety to be sleeping on a chair, Halston. Are you trying to send your old man to an early grave?”