While it was a relief to think that Theo wouldn’t be around anymore, I didn’t get too excited by the thought that he’d face any prison time. Brett was right—his money and his privilege would get him off. Whether it was drugs or rape, he had the get out of jail free card.
Brett, seeming to be done with the Theo scandal, was ready for other gossip. “Did Numbnuts teach today?” he asked, leaning his chair back onto two legs.
“Actually,” Weston said, raising a brow in my direction, “it was Fuckwaffle.”
“That’s a nice one.” Brett turned his admiration to me. “You don’t like Donovan? I have to hear this."
Did I like Donovan? What a loaded question. My emotions where Donovan was concerned were like paperclips—I couldn’t pick up one without several others coming with it. I was grateful to him and resentful. Angry and preoccupied.
It wasn’t something I could begin to explain to myself, let alone someone I’d just formally met. Tugging on my ponytail, I tried to think like a typical disgruntled student. “He’s just…you know. A pompous, egotistical know-it-all. What about you guys? You live with him.”
Weston exchanged a glance with Brett. “That we do. And like I said, I love him like a brother. But sometimes brothers are hard to love. Do you have one?”
It was a smooth change of subject, one I wasn’t about to contest. Brett went back to playing with his phone, so I focused my answer just to Weston. “I have a sister. Audrey. But she’s easy to love. She’s thirteen and awkward and adoring.”
Weston sat back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and crossed his legs at his ankles. “She probably puts her eighteen-year-old sister up on a pedestal.”
“Seventeen,” I corrected.
“Seventeen?”
“I graduated high school early.”
“Kudos. That’s impressive.”
“Thank you.” I averted my eyes, embarrassed by the compliment, and sighed. “I’m still not sure I did the right thing deciding to come to school so far away from home.”
“Where are you from?” he asked and it almost felt like more than small talk, like he really wanted to know.
“Colorado, but it’s not really the distance that’s the thing. It’s that my mother died when I was twelve, and I feel bad leaving my dad and Audrey alone.” I knew he probably didn’t get it. He was from a world of nannies and chauffeurs and housekeepers and tutors. There was no such thing as alone. “What about you? Do you have siblings? Not like Donovan, but blood related?”
He’d started nodding before I’d finished the question. “I have a sister. She’s ten, and we’re in completely different worlds.” He puckered his lips as he thought, which was ridiculously unfair, since I was already on hormone overload. “I really grew up closer to Donovan, even though he’s four years older than me. We went to the same school, were on the same chess teams. We row together. Our families vacation together. I’ve always had him to look up to.” He sat up straighter, leaning in as if confiding in me. “I guess I idolized him growing up.”
“But not now?”
“It’s different now.”
He let that hang, and I searched for the right words to prod further while, at the same time, trying to understand exactly why I wanted to know more—because the answer said something about Weston? Or because it said something about Donovan?
I decided not to prod.
But then Brett said, “He’s not the same since Amanda died. I’m a sophomore, so I didn’t know him very long before that.”
“Amanda?” Okay. I was definitely interested.
“Brett—” Weston warned.
Brett glared at him in return. “What? Are we not allowed to talk about it ever? He’s not even here.”
Weston paused for a beat. “Amanda was Donovan’s girlfriend. She died in a car accident a year ago. Around this time of year. Coming back to school after Thanksgiving, actually.”
The air left my lungs. “Oh my god! What happened?”
“Another driver didn’t check his blind spot. He drove into her lane and pushed her into oncoming traffic. They said she died instantly. She was closer to campus when it happened, so it was Donovan who had to identify her body.”
“That’s awful. I feel awful.” It was the kind of thing I’d say after hearing any sort of tragic tale, but I really meant it right now in a way I usually didn’t. In a way I couldn’t explain.
“They were the real deal, too,” Weston went on. “He wanted the house, the kids, the whole nine yards. He’d planned to ask her to marry him for Christmas. I think he might have even bought her the ring.”
She had to be the blonde in the picture on his mantle. He’d seen me looking at it just before he’d turned cold.
“Is that why he’s so…?” I searched for the word I was looking for. What was it exactly that Donovan was? Distant? Cut-off? Alone?
Weston seemed to get what I meant. “He wasn’t ever what I’d call friendly before that, but he’s harder now. Sharper too. In some ways I think he’s become a better businessman, if that makes sense.”
“I think it does. It’s like when you lose one sense and so your others become more acute.” I had my mother’s death to draw on as experience, but it was my assault that I was thinking of now. How had I changed since then? Was I harder or sharper or more business savvy?
And what about the thoughts I had at night now, the dirty thoughts with Donovan?
“Yeah. Like that,” Weston said as the waiter set down the check.
I reached for my bag, but Weston shook his head. “No, I’ve got this.” He dimpled at me as he handed his card off.
“Thank you. That’s really nice.” It came off halfhearted, though, because I was still thinking about Donovan. I was pained by his pain, for whatever foolish reason. He certainly hadn’t shown any concern for mine. But more interestingly, I was fascinated by his pain. I could imagine how he carried it, where he stuffed the details of his misery. Inside this bottle of scotch. Under that heartless remark. Behind this wall of indifference.
He knew the secret I hid behind smiles and nods, and now I knew the agony he hid behind ice and steel.
Maybe we were finally even.
“Well,” I said, forcing my attention back to Weston, “you sound like you’ve been a good friend to him.”
“Because I give him notes as he lectures in class?” His tone was sarcastic, but I heard the hint of helplessness underneath. He really didn’t know how to help his friend, his brother.
It wasn’t like I had the answers, but at least I could reaffirm him. “Exactly because of that.”
He looked up from the credit card slip he’d just signed and studied me. “Sabrina, I think you did the right thing coming to Harvard. I’m sure your dad will do just fine with your sister. He seems to have done a great job with you.”
I chuckled dismissively. “You don’t even know me.”