"Why doesn't Jameson just throw parties all the time?"
It was Saturday night, two weeks after the swimming carnival. Settling into normal routine—with friends, work and school—had been surprisingly easy, and instead of having Sydney or Tommy installed cross-legged on my bed, I'd grown accustomed to Kai's gang clustered on any available surface.
Will and Isabelle were squished next to me on the bed, passing a bottle of tequila and a salt shake between them; they were diligent enough with it that I couldn't spot any spillage. I was sitting between Kai's legs, wine glass in hand, enjoying the feel of his long fingers passing absently through the strands of my hair. Cora was crouched on my desk chair, legs tucked beneath her for the convenience of her occasional spin; she only had a bottle of water. Madeleine and Isabelle's friend Zara were sitting on the floor, backs pressed against the wall, sharing a cocktail pitcher that Madi had made downstairs. Seb had already arrived at Jameson's house to help set up, but Jamie had told us we were all spared from duty, so the rest of the gang were gathered at mine to drink before Mum drove us to the party.
Isabelle and Zara were still underage, but Mum was willing to turn a blind eye. Which was ideal, because Izzy was downing her tequila like she had a personal vendetta against it.
"Because Isabelle's liver would never recover," said Will, gently prying the bottle from her hands. Izzy grinned vacantly at him, and tried to snatch the bottle back. "Easy, tiger."
I knew that Jameson had the flexibility to throw as many parties as he liked. I'd slept in that massive, empty house, impersonal to the point of pain, with its white walls and conspicuous lack of knickknacks or photos. And Jameson was bitter enough about how often he was left alone that it was a palpable thing. But I'd never been to a party at Jamie's house in all my years of high school; in hindsight, that was almost surprising.
"He does, actually," said Kai from behind me, his words a rumble I could feel. "You just weren't invited because he hates Sydney. And Tommy."
"Boo." I pouted, and Kai tapped the bottom of my glass in a peace offering, guiding it toward my lips for a hearty gulp. I turned my attention to Cora. "Was that the super exclusive knitting class you used to go to at 11PM on a Saturday night?"
Cora grinned. "Well, I sure as shit can't knit, so you tell me."
I gaped, and Isabelle patted me sympathetically on the back. With far more force than was warranted; the alcohol had clearly soaked in.
Madi averted her gaze and sipping guiltily at her mojito. I pointed at her accusingly. "Did I cover your shift so you could go to these parties?"
"Once or twice," she said. At my expression, she shrugged. "We were having very good sex."
"Shameless hussy," I muttered.
Kai wrapped an arm around my collarbone, pulling me further toward him, ducking his chin to rest it in the juncture of my neck. I liked having him so close. The press of our bodies together—the casual touching, the familiar cuddling—was so natural at this point, so far from the forced, fake interactions that had permeated our relationship when we first tried it.
It just... didn't feel quite so fake anymore. And I didn't think that was just me.
"If it makes you feel better, Valerie, you were at least top 10 on the guest list this time!" said Isabelle brightly.
It did make me feel better, actually.
Though that wasn't even a surprise at this point. I knew where I sat with Jameson, and even though we hadn't been close for long, it was a fast friendship. And Jamie wasn't very good at hiding how he felt about people; convenient when he liked you, and brutal when he didn't.
"He's going to throw another one the Friday before the Melbourne Cup," Will explained.
Isabelle cheered, and stole the tequila from Will's loosened grip.
I scrunched my nose and groaned. I hated missing out on parties; especially ones I was actually going to be invited to. Especially when a party was a great excuse to make out with Kai.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Mum and I are away for the break," I said, sighing into my glass. "We spend two weeks over Melbourne Cup with her cousin in Canberra."
"Ew," said Madeleine, scrunching her nose. "Why? Canberra is the worst. Why would you voluntarily go there?"
Madeleine was correct; Canberra was Australia's armpit, a politician-ridden hellhole without a single beach. Who builds a city inland, anyway? But I liked Mum's cousin and her three daughters, and also the fat stash of chocolate that they provided. But I would miss these guys, even though it was only a couple of weeks. They'd become my every day, my constant, and even the thought of 14 days without Kai seemed impossible now.
"She comes down every second year, but it's our turn, apparently." I patted Kai's thigh. "We're driving up the day after the wedding."
Zara made a farting noise against her hands.
Madeleine sat up straighter. "Wedding?"
"Valerie's my date to Jack and Elena's wedding," Kai told Madi, who poorly disguised a secret smile behind her glass. "You know, I wanted to be in the business of making everyone else jealous."
"Oh, shut up," I said, whacking his arm. But I couldn't deny that his compliment—ridiculous as it was—made me grin.
"Jack and Elena?" Madeleine raised an eyebrow. "Is that the wedding in Casserine?"
"Yeah." Kai sounded surprised. "How did you know?"
"I know them. Not Jack, but Elena. Kind of. She's one of the rich society girls from Toorak. Cole Knight was invited to the wedding as well." Madi nodded at me. "Elena's last name is Montez. She's Lena's cousin."
"Huh," I said. "Small world."
Madeleine was giving me knowing eyes that I chose to ignore, given the room full of people who I very much did not want to know that I was only in a fake relationship (or, almost relationship. Steamy situationship.) with Kai. Dissecting every facet of my relationship with Madeleine was my new favourite pastime; she was the only one, aside from Cole, who knew the truth. And Cole was too busy shacking up with the unfairly hot Montez girl to offer his—most likely, unhelpful—advice.
The conversations, which took up far too much time during our shifts, were a circle of recycled information. Mostly, Madi urging me to describe our hook ups in excruciating detail, and me, pretending to resist before caving. And then there was the consistent debate on the situation of feelings. Madi was perpetually convinced that I was crashing headlong into another committed relationship, while I reminded her that Kai Delaney didn't do committed, and my heart was not whole enough to hand to someone else.
She told me that was bullshit, but she was inclined to be crass, plus she daylighted as a pure romantic.
I hadn't known this about her, because apparently, she couldn't even pretend to feel mushy about my relationship with Tommy. It wasn't until he'd cheated on me that I truly realised how many people disliked my ex-boyfriend.
I climbed out of Kai's lap, enjoying the way his hands lingered on my hips, as if he wanted to keep me in place. "I'm going to grab more wine. Anyone else need anything?"
"I'll come with," said Cora, levering herself up from the chair. "I need more water."
Wine glass in hand, I made my way carefully down the stairs, Cora following close behind. She was far less careful—sobriety would do that for you—and chattering at a million miles a minute. "So, this thing with you and Kai is like, serious? I mean, he's inviting you to a wedding, Ally. I've noticed how much you like each other, but I didn't know you were ready for a proper relationship yet. You both seem so happy though."
"I guess so."
I bit the inside of my cheek to hide my smile. We did seem happy; I was happy. Cora was right. I wasn't ready for a proper relationship—at least, I hadn't been—but this in-between with Kai was starting to feel like a proper relationship. The line between acting and reality was starting to feel paper-thin, and even though I didn't have the right, I hoped that line was starting to blur for him as well.
Mum was installed at the island bench in the kitchen, fingers flying over her keyboard. In her spare time, Mum liked to write raunchy romance novels that she refused to ever let me read, but apparently, she made a fair bit of money for posting them online. You make more money for every inch you add to the dick, Valerie, it's incredible, she always insisted. I remembered scoffing at this. But surely there's a finite number of inches that a dick can be. Like, you're not giving Ajax Steele a forty-inch schlong? Mum just winked at me. That's why you introduce Hunter Westbrooke. Cumulative dicks. I'd read some of it once, when she left her laptop unlocked. It was... truly shocking. But hey, whatever made her happy.
Cora chirped a cheerful greeting, sliding into the next to Mum while I rifled through the fridge for my bottle of wine. Mum and Cora loved each other, and I often felt like a third wheel in one of their long-winded conversations. It was surprising, really. Mum was a sarcastic loud-mouth with an attitude problem and flawed organisational skills, and Cora was sweet-hearted and precise with a penchant for being a little too judgemental; it wasn't a combination anyone would ever pick to work. Somehow, though, it did.
"It sounds like you're having fun up there, honey," Mum said, her sentence punctuated by the clatter of keys.
I poured another glass of wine without bothering to measure it out. "Not as much fun as Roxanne Red and Ajax Steele, I'm sure."
"Definitely not," Cora chimed in. "Roxy is getting railed on a balcony. That she's handcuffed to."
Mum gasped and turned her laptop screen away from Cora, who giggled. I rolled my eyes; Cora reserved her judgement for adults, and so my mother's triple-X rated literature received nothing but amusement from her.
"Not for you, girls," Mum admonished. From upstairs, I heard a high-pitched squeal of laughter that could only have belonged to Isabelle. It elicited a soft smile from Mum. "I'm glad you've made more friends, honey."
"Aren't we all," said Cora, with a shake of her head. "Valerie's taste has improved; I'll have you know."
"Of course, it hasn't. She chose you ages ago." Cora looked pleased with this assessment, sitting up straighter her in chair. Mum looked up from her laptop. "Oh, speaking of your old friends, though. Sydney dropped by earlier. She dropped off one of those Maisie Peters T-Shirts for the concert."
Cora's head whipped toward me, and I internally groaned. Tact, Mother. Tact. My friendship with Cora was over a decade old at this point, and while Mum knew her in passing, she clearly didn't understand her well enough to know exactly what reaction Sydney's name would provoke in her. I was all too aware.
I could see in Cora's eyes everything she didn't want to say in front of my mother; disappointment, annoyance, an overwhelming desire to slap me upside the head.
"Thanks, Mum," I said, and despite my best efforts to maintain a neutral tone, Mum looked up. "Um, follow me upstairs, Cora?"
"Sure." Cora's fury was barely restrained. Fuck.
I didn't bother trying to return to the others. Cora followed me up the stairs, too dignified to stomp, but petty enough to ride my ass as I climbed, close enough that I could feel her angry exhales. Fuckity fuck, shit. I'd had no intention of telling Cora about the concert—which was months away, mind you—and it wasn't as if Sydney and I were going to take a cute picture together and upload it to Instagram. It was a hang-out of convenience. Of pity. And even though I'd known she would react this way if she found out, it really wasn't any of Cora's goddamn business.
My room sat at the end of the corridor, and through the door I could hear loud laughter—a cacophony, with only Isabelle's distinctive peel rising above the rest—which effectively gave them no ability to hear the stern words Cora would likely bestow upon me. I dragged Cora into the spare bedroom, the first room on the right, and steeled myself for the confrontation.
When I turned to face her, she was already braced. "You're going to a fucking concert with her?"
I sighed. "Yes, Cora. We already had tickets."
"She told me she was giving hers up."
"Since when did you two talk?"
"Since she told me that she was giving up her ticket." Cora's arms were folded, her brow furrowed. I loved Cora—genuinely, truly—but when she was angry, there was never any room for discussion. She was stubborn to a fault, and held a grudge like it was an Olympic sport and she was its world champion. "Why didn't you take it?"
"She wanted to go." My voice was hitching higher, frustration adding an extra edge. "But I don't have to justify that to you! We're not friends again; I already told you I wouldn't forgive her. So why do you care?"
"Because you want to," Cora burst out. "You've wanted to forgive her from the moment you walked in on her with Tommy. And you've never had the fucking backbone to stand up to her bullshit. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."
She was right. She was so right, and she knew it. Of course I wanted to forgive Sydney; I'd never denied that. But I'd promised her that I wouldn't, and even if I did, why should she care?
"Why is that your business?" I demanded. "I'm not going to forgive her, Cora. I've said that. Yes, I fucking want to. But she hasn't done anything to deserve it, so I won't. Okay?"
"Not okay. She didn't deserve it for ten years, but you still forgave her."
"Okay," I said slowly. "I understand your concerns. But I'm still failing to see why this matters to you."
Cora's laugh was bitter. "I know you don't. You never understood it, and that was the worst thing about it."
"Never understood what, Cora?"
But she was already shaking her head, her head tucked between her shoulders. The poison in her expression was unlike any I'd ever seen in Cora; she was judgemental and pious, but never vicious. I didn't understand; Sydney had cheated on my boyfriend, so why the vitriol from Cora?
I wasn't going to forgive Sydney. I wasn't.
"That's your crisis to figure out," Cora said. At the genuine confusion splashed like paint across my face, she softened, just a fraction. "I know you think that no one will ever understand you the way Sydney did, but that's not true, Valerie. I've always understood you better than Sydney did; you just never liked me as much."
"Cora—"
She held up a hand. "Valerie, I stopped caring a long time ago. You're my best friend, but I'm not yours. I understand it. But Sydney never knew you best—she was too fucking obsessed with herself to bother with knowing anything about you that didn't pertain to herself. And this concert pertains to her, so she knows exactly what she's doing. You have shit with her to figure out, and I get that. But because I know you, I know exactly what agreeing to go to this concert means."
Did it mean anything? Had I softened toward Sydney, as I had countless times before? When I thought of Sydney, was anger the only emotion that was called up within me?
No, it wasn't. There was nostalgia, too.
But it wasn't enough. The anger was still there; would I still be dating Kai if it wasn't?
I was too busy contemplating Cora's words to notice her approaching me, until her chin was slotted over my head, her arms wrapped around my neck. I could feel the flutter of her heart, thumping an anxious beat against my collarbone. "I'm sorry." Her voice was muffled against my hair. "I just— I'm worried. Okay?"
"You don't have to be."
Cora pulled away, her smile a little bit sad. "I do," she said. "But it doesn't matter. Let's go back to the others, okay?"
"Okay."
I didn't know what she was talking about, but I thought about the one sentence that rang true. I've always understood you better. Apparently Cora understood me better than I understood myself; there was something to what she had said, something that spoke true, that I couldn't quite put my finger on.
But in my room was Isabelle and Madi and Zara and Will and Kai, and those hidden kernels of truth didn't matter all that much.