“How did she get an invite?” I moan. “For fuck’s sake. I don’t even want to come back for the fucking thing to start with, and to have to come back to her?”
“Okay, let’s slow down. Why don’t you want to come back for the party?”
I hang my head, knowing I’ve just stepped in a proverbial pile of shit. Jake isn’t going to let this go. Moreover, if I mention Haley, he won’t let that go either, and at some point in time when I do see him, I’m not going to want this held over my head. Because it will be. It’s what brothers do.
“How mad do you think Dad would be if I don’t come?” I ask.
It’s not a real question. Dad would blow a gasket and probably fire me from Kelly Construction, even though he has no say there. I don’t want to let Dad down, but fuck if I’m ready to reenter the madness that is Nashville.
And Psycho Liz. Staying here would be much preferred at the moment.
“You can’t skip it, Trev. This is the pinnacle of Dad’s career.”
“I know. I know.” I look at the sky and feel the wind whisper across my face. “Is there a way we can revoke Liz’s invitation?”
“That would be a no.”
My temple throbs as I try to come to some solution to this fucked-up situation.
“Whose bright idea was it to invite her, anyway?” I ask.
“She got one because she was your supposed plus-one.”
“Look what you get for assuming.”
“I didn’t assume jack shit. Natalie did. Your golden girl.” He chuckles through the line. “There’s nothing we can do about it without looking like assholes.”
“You are an asshole. Do it.”
He laughs. “I’m not revoking an invitation.”
“She’s called me four times today, Jake. How about I give her your number? I doubt she’d mind.”
His chair squeaks. “Let’s not get crazy.”
“My point exactly.”
I blow out a breath. There’s a heaviness on my back I can’t shake off. I have to go to this party. It was always the plan. I just . . . don’t want to. And I pointedly ignore the real reason why.
“Your ass better be here,” he warns.
“I will be. The party is at six?”
“Yeah. Dad’s partner is taking him and Meredith out for drinks, and then he’ll bring them home. Dad has no idea.”
“I can’t wait,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Scratching my head, I pull the phone back to see another text from Liz.
“Hey, Jake. I gotta go. But I’ll see you this weekend, all right?”
“You better. Be good, little brother.”
“Will do. Later.”
“Bye.”
I end the call and then flip to my text messages.
Liz: Can’t wait to see you this weekend. Since you didn’t respond, I let Jake know I would be attending your father’s party. Talk soon!
I thumb up through her messages, scrolling all the way back to the months I was seeing her. Notes about dinners we shared, the weekend we spent in Charlestown, and a recap of a few entertaining hours together in a hot tub in Chicago all pass by.
The further back I go, the more I expect to feel something—some connection or tenderness or another emotion that’s not apathy. Only one thing happens.
Haley answers on the second ring. “Hey,” she says. “I’m glad you called.”
Just like that, the heaviness is lighter and a smile is on my face. “Oh, really?”
“Wait. Is this Trevor?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“You did not,” I say. But even as I say it, I hope it’s not true.
She laughs. “What’s up?”
I sigh. “I have a problem.”
“How bad of a problem?”
“I don’t know,” I say, clasping a hand on the back of my neck. “How do you quantify that?”
“If a ‘one’ is you walk into a building and no one notices, and a ‘ten’ is the Dogwood Café is out of doughnuts, what are you?”
I shake my head, a smile etched on my face. “I’m not sure how to operate that scale. I feel like I need a handbook.”
“Fine. What’s wrong? But keep it snappy because I’m planning my best life over here.”
Running a hand down my face, I try to stay serious. Yet every time I start to speak, I think of the way I’m sure her lips are pressed together in a challenge, and all I want to do is listen to her jabber.
“Liz just texted me that she’s going to a party for my father this weekend. Do I tell her I don’t want her there or just let it go and blow it off?”
“If you blow it off, she’s going to think she’s going to blow you.”
I groan, wishing I’d never met Liz. And, maybe, that I’d found Dogwood Lane sooner.
“Did you ever text her back last night?” she asks.
I don’t answer.
“See?” she pokes. “This is why I told you to respond last night. You should’ve been preemptive.”