I say. Her face lights up. “But just for one night.”
______
We share a bed and I feel like I’m in college again, platonically bed-hopping with other girls because I could wake up next to my new best friend. We don’t tell each other stories in the dark, or whisper secrets against our pillows, but minutes after I click off the light, Ashleigh emits a soft sob from her throat.
I try to ignore it, forcing my eyes shut and curled away from her, but it grows louder and I’m forced to ask, “Is everything alright?”
Ashleigh turns to me. She’s wiped off her make-up in the bathroom. There’s no eyeliner or mascara to ruin, just blond lashes doused in tears as she says, “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“About what?”
“I can’t,” she wipes her nose. “I can’t go back to Wisconsin. I can’t spend another summer there. I’ll go crazy in that house with my parents. And I…I already told them I was staying here but that was before…Before…” She dissolves into sobs.
“Before my father died?”
She nods.
For a moment I chew on my bottom lip, carefully mulling over my next words before I spit them out. “You can stay in the condo if you want.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I was going to sell it but I can wait until August, when school starts back up.”
“Really? So we’ll be, like, roommates?”
I smile. “No, you’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going back to Baltimore on Wednesday.”
Ashleigh’s eyebrows furrow. “But what about Neal?”
“What about him?”
“Don’t the two of you have something going on?”
I shake my head. “No. We had a fling. A meaningless little fling that’s over.”
Ashleigh frowns. “Oh. That’s too bad. He’s really hot and I’ve only heard good things about him from Julian.”
“No offense, but I tend not to take my father’s word on anything.”
A moment of silence passes between us before Ashleigh says, “He really did love you, you know.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
I turn away from her, her eyes on my back, signaling the end of our conversation.
Fourteen
In the morning I step out of bed and Ashleigh pulls the comforter over her head, snuggling deeper into the mattress. She remains that way until I’m dressed for the day: a casual yellow dress with white flats that makes me look like summer herself.
She pokes out her head and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
“To my father’s office,” I say. “I have to get the key to the condo.”
She nods and buries herself again.
Chicago in the summer is always sticky and hot, the humidity building sweat against my chest the minute I cross over State. I have to manually shield my eyes from the sun, one hand over my eyebrows. I’ve forgotten my sunglasses on the bathroom counter. I think of Neal, how he keeps his sunglasses and handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket, always ready, always prepared. I wonder if he was some sort of Boy Scout.
My father’s company goes through receptionists like most people go through packs of gum, fast and without warning. I don’t recognize the girl behind the desk – blond and gorgeous– but she grins when I introduce myself and says she’s heard a lot about me. I want to ask: From who? But I don’t really want to know the answer. If it’s my father I’ll sink into another hole of guilt, if it’s not, I’ll feel all the more vindicated, a feeling I’m starting to tire of.
She calls Martin before leading me through the office, the entire floor renovated much like my father’s condo. Very mid-century modern with dark walls and smooth wooden cubicles, every chair and desk screaming I’m expensive . Everyone’s tied to their desks, chatting on the phone or typing an e-mail, so transfixed in their work they don’t notice me or the receptionist, passing them all and heading towards the other end of the office.
We stop at a door without a nameplate. One of two executive suites.
______
We share a bed and I feel like I’m in college again, platonically bed-hopping with other girls because I could wake up next to my new best friend. We don’t tell each other stories in the dark, or whisper secrets against our pillows, but minutes after I click off the light, Ashleigh emits a soft sob from her throat.
I try to ignore it, forcing my eyes shut and curled away from her, but it grows louder and I’m forced to ask, “Is everything alright?”
Ashleigh turns to me. She’s wiped off her make-up in the bathroom. There’s no eyeliner or mascara to ruin, just blond lashes doused in tears as she says, “I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”
“About what?”
“I can’t,” she wipes her nose. “I can’t go back to Wisconsin. I can’t spend another summer there. I’ll go crazy in that house with my parents. And I…I already told them I was staying here but that was before…Before…” She dissolves into sobs.
“Before my father died?”
She nods.
For a moment I chew on my bottom lip, carefully mulling over my next words before I spit them out. “You can stay in the condo if you want.”
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I was going to sell it but I can wait until August, when school starts back up.”
“Really? So we’ll be, like, roommates?”
I smile. “No, you’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going back to Baltimore on Wednesday.”
Ashleigh’s eyebrows furrow. “But what about Neal?”
“What about him?”
“Don’t the two of you have something going on?”
I shake my head. “No. We had a fling. A meaningless little fling that’s over.”
Ashleigh frowns. “Oh. That’s too bad. He’s really hot and I’ve only heard good things about him from Julian.”
“No offense, but I tend not to take my father’s word on anything.”
A moment of silence passes between us before Ashleigh says, “He really did love you, you know.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
I turn away from her, her eyes on my back, signaling the end of our conversation.
Fourteen
In the morning I step out of bed and Ashleigh pulls the comforter over her head, snuggling deeper into the mattress. She remains that way until I’m dressed for the day: a casual yellow dress with white flats that makes me look like summer herself.
She pokes out her head and mumbles, “Where are you going?”
“To my father’s office,” I say. “I have to get the key to the condo.”
She nods and buries herself again.
Chicago in the summer is always sticky and hot, the humidity building sweat against my chest the minute I cross over State. I have to manually shield my eyes from the sun, one hand over my eyebrows. I’ve forgotten my sunglasses on the bathroom counter. I think of Neal, how he keeps his sunglasses and handkerchief in the pocket of his jacket, always ready, always prepared. I wonder if he was some sort of Boy Scout.
My father’s company goes through receptionists like most people go through packs of gum, fast and without warning. I don’t recognize the girl behind the desk – blond and gorgeous– but she grins when I introduce myself and says she’s heard a lot about me. I want to ask: From who? But I don’t really want to know the answer. If it’s my father I’ll sink into another hole of guilt, if it’s not, I’ll feel all the more vindicated, a feeling I’m starting to tire of.
She calls Martin before leading me through the office, the entire floor renovated much like my father’s condo. Very mid-century modern with dark walls and smooth wooden cubicles, every chair and desk screaming I’m expensive . Everyone’s tied to their desks, chatting on the phone or typing an e-mail, so transfixed in their work they don’t notice me or the receptionist, passing them all and heading towards the other end of the office.
We stop at a door without a nameplate. One of two executive suites.
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