Page 36 of Keepsake
“You shoulda,” Kyle muttered, causing both Griff and Zach to give him grumpy looks.
“It looks great on you,” May said. “Keep it, okay? It shrank in the dryer and isn’t long enough on me anymore. Makes me feel like a giraffe.”
“You are kind of a giraffe,” her brother pointed out.
“And you’re an asshole.”
That’s when I heard tires on the gravel and looked up to see Gilman’s beemer rolling up the drive. “Shit,” I swore under my breath.
“Who is it?” Kieran asked.
“My ex,” I grunted.
“We can make ourselves scarce,” Griffin offered, pouring himself a glass of iced tea.
“Not on my account,” I said through gritted teeth. “This will be a short visit, I promise.”
Griff nodded at Zach. “More Frisbee? I promise not to nail you in the noggin.”
“Yeah,” Zach said sheepishly. “Let’s do it.” He grabbed a cookie and followed Griff and the others off the porch.
As they retreated, May and I watched Gilman step out of his shiny car. It looked so out of place here in the land of rusty trucks.
And so did Gilman. I squinted at him, trying to see him with fresh eyes. He looked good, damn him. But he also looked overdressed. His khaki pants were freshly ironed, while dust from the Shipley’s driveway had already accumulated on his shiny shoes.
The glint of his fancy Cartier watch was especially jarring. He was…glossier than I remembered. And it made me want to give him a shake. Who could worry about pressed trousers when the world was in such dire shape that people were killing each other on dirt floors in Guatemala? There were apples to be picked, and kidnappers to capture. And he was off to play golf with clients and order two hundred dollar bottles of red wine.
“Ugh,” I whispered. “I’ve never been a chicken. Until lately.”
May’s voice was low and reassuring. “You’re anything but.” She jumped down the steps, that traitor, greeting Gilman on the driveway.
They hugged, and I heard his voice for the first time in months. I’d forgotten how clipped and aristocratic he sounded. A year ago, when I was about to embark on my time in Guatemala, he’d said the five words every woman dreads. “We should see other people.”
I’d been so angry at the time. Now I didn’t give a crap.
Gilman and I had met at a BU alumni event in Boston and started dating. After three months, my lease expired and he asked me to move in. By the time I got the nod to go to Guatemala, we’d lived together for six months. He was a young lawyer for a prestigious firm. He ran half-marathons for fun. I’d been the crazy, spontaneous half of our relationship—the flighty, headstrong girlfriend who worked at an underfunded nonprofit and served oyster shooters at parties.
I thought we were pretty happy. But I’d misjudged Gilman.
He’d explained that he didn’t want to wait a year while his girlfriend did an immersion program in Guatemalan poverty. He wanted someone who was available for regular bouts of socializing and sex. At the time, I’d been hurt and angry. My first few days in Guatemala were exhausting, and I spent a couple of evenings wondering whether I’d made the wrong decision.
Now I replayed our last conversation in my mind. “The thing is, I think we might end up together someday,” he’d said. “But we’re in our twenties, Lark.”
I felt a hell of a lot older now.
I’d learned to love Guatemala—right up until the minute I hadn’t anymore. And now these last couple of months had been so stressful that I hadn’t thought of Gilman at all. I was over it.
So why did I have to deal with him now?
“Hey, you.” Gilman’s voice was tentative as he climbed the porch steps.
Taking care to school my features, I looked up slowly, as if seeing him for the first time in a year was no big deal. Although it was. His steady brown eyes regarded me in the same serious way they always had.
While we shared a bit of a stare-off, he tucked in his lips in that way he always had when he was thinking hard. The familiarity of it gave me a pang.
But I swallowed my discomfort. “Hey, yourself. How’ve you been?”
“All right. I’m better now that I know you’re safe.”
