She’s holding her head higher now, looking serene and happy. “So, how have you been?”
“Not great,” he says, blinking.
“Well, of course not. I made a cake for you. A lemon cake. Your favorite.”
I frown, because lemon cake isn’t my favorite; then it dawns on me, she’s still looking at Dash.
“How would you know if it’s his favorite?”
Manda laughs, and finally, she looks at me. “There’s a lot I know that you don’t, Amelia. When you were just a little girl, I knew your neighbor very well.”
“It’s not my favorite,” Dash says flatly.
I let go of his hand, gripped by a strange flush that starts in my chest and quickly spreads through my head and body, like smoke from a fire. “What do you mean, you knew him well?”
Dash still looks like someone froze him, and my heart is beating wildly, fueled by crazy thoughts.
“Why don’t you tell her, Dash?” Manda smiles. She narrows her eyes. “Unless he has already. Are you two an item?” She says “item” in a high-pitched, sing-song voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you fucking him, Amelia?” Her tone is eye-rolly, as if she can’t believe she’s having to explain what “item” means.
“I’m not telling you that! Dash—” I try to catch his gaze and figure out what’s going on, but he’s not looking at me. He’s not looking at Manda, either. He’s staring somewhere off behind her shoulder.
I realize that he’s dropped my hand.
“I take it you must be,” Manda says knowingly. “I heard all about your internship,” she says. “Kylie told me.”
“We’re working together,” I tell Manda in a fuck-off tone. “C’mon, Dash. We need to go.”
I’m not sure what is wrong with him, but warning bells are peeling in my head. I tug his arm, and Dash finally moves. His eyes meet mine—they’re huge—and then I’m dragging him toward his house.
“Bye, Manda,” I call, not looking back her way.
“Nothing else to say? You’re done with me like that?” I whirl around to tell her off, and find her eyes on Dash. This time, I can read her face: she looks like a jilted lover.
Queasiness sweeps through me like a poison.
I can’t see Dash—he’s looking toward her—but I see Manda’s face, I see her eyebrows raise, her mouth stretch into a thin smile. “I can help you,” she says quickly. “I can make you feel good. Not like Amelia. I can help you forget, the way I used to do.”
I sense, more than see, Dash losing it. I see his shoulders rise and fall with mounting frenzy; I can feel his hand tense. “No, Amanda. I don’t need your help.”
All at once, I feel Manda’s attention shift—toward me. “He doesn’t, but he did. Just ask him. Ask him who taught him how to treat a woman. Dash was climbing in my window when you were just a little girl.”
My stomach falls into my knees. I cannot breathe. My heart is booming in my ears as I look desperately at Dash.
He looks like a deer in headlights.
“What’s she talking about?” My words sound high and hollow.
“Dash was half in love with me,” Manda continues, walking toward us. “It was just a little crush,” she says, contradicting herself, “but it was more than that to me. I took it as the highest compliment, that someone smart and talented like Dash would turn his eyes on me. It wasn’t well between your dad and I—you know that now—so I took affection anywhere I could. Dash was of age, so—”
Manda’s words contort as they are sucked into the vacuum of my shock. I look at Dash, prepared to see his face stretched out in rage, and find his features slack. He’s staring at something behind me.
“What is she talking about?”
“Tell her, Dash.” Manda is standing right beside us now. The yard folds around her, like she’s a figure in a snow globe. “Tell her your little secret.”
His eyes shift to mine, blinking dully.
“Tell me what?” I look from him to Manda. “I’m confused!” I want to be confused. “What the fuck is going on?” I think I’m going to be sick.
“I was his first lover. His first love.” Manda grins. “It wasn’t you, Amelia. I know all about your night of passion at the lake when you were young, you little whore. But you came after me.”
And that is all that I can fucking take.
I slap her hard across the face, then turn and run.
Even in chaos, there is logic. I can’t take his car—that much I know—and if I were to hoof it, there’s too many people here who know me and might stop and find me sobbing—so I rush in through a side door, praying that the Frasiers are still gone, and bolt upstairs, where I consider the home theater but opt for the roof. I can’t bring myself to go near Dash’s room, so I fly into Lexie’s, fumble through the window, and start to sob as soon as I get out onto the roof.
“I was his first lover. His first love.”
Can that be true?
What is this?
Oh God, oh my fucking holy hell, shit fuck shit! I get up, needing to move, needing to flee, but I hear car sounds. It could be the grieving Frasiers getting home, so I have to stay put. I crouch and creep on shaking legs around the roof, searching for some spot—for any spot—where I’ll be hidden from the lawn.
I settle on a wide, white windowsill. It’s a laundry room window, a place we never sat when we were kids. With my butt on the window’s ledge and my feet on the tilted shingles, I put my head in my hands and squeeze my temples.
Fuck. Fuck! I can’t believe that this is real! I hate him! I hate HER! Dash was with horrible Manda! I can see her leering at me over one of those monogrammed, insulated cups she uses for her daiquiris. “You look ghostly in that. Green is not your color, Amelia. I don’t think you have a color.”
Dash—with Manda!
I curl my palm over my mouth as bile laps up my throat. Oh, shit. Oh fucking shit, I start to really sob. I should be quiet…because the Frasiers—but I can’t. Because I can’t believe this. Dash is mine, and I feel like he can’t be mine…he wasn’t really mine. My mind races as puzzle pieces snap in place, showing me a picture of my past that I have been denied for years.
Why he went to Rhode Island for college.
Why he never came back home.
Why he couldn’t be with me—“It’s so wrong”—why he left, what Manda must have found out… She found out somehow, I know she must have, why else would he— And I know: he wouldn’t have left me. He wouldn’t have left after the lake if not for Manda. Manda had him first! She was pulling strings! That fucking, fucking whore, that lying whore who cheated on my dad their whole damn marriage!
Dash!
I want to scream that it’s not true, but since it is, I clench my teeth and try to picture younger Dash with Manda, and I can’t. I can’t, I won’t. Why her? She’s so shallow, Dash is smart and…Dash. Why would he want her? Did he even want her? Or did she…?