Paul smiles. “There is, actually. So glad you asked.” He puts a flyer in front of me. “There’s a class on Saturdays and it lasts for four weeks. It’s just the basics.”
“Maybe Star will take it with me.”
“Star already knows how to sign,” Sam points out. “They all do.”
“Then I need to learn too.” I fold the flyer up and put it in my pocket. “Thanks.”
“Dude, we’ll teach you the dirty words. They never teach that shit in classes.” Sam chuckles.
I flip him off.
He laughs. “See, you’re already good at this.”
I shake my head and sit down at the light table to start drawing the tattoo that Wren wants. And I start on a design for me, too. Something for me and Lilly and Star. Some closure, maybe? We were bound together before the accident, but now it’s in a completely different way.
Besides, I need to give Star and Wren time to work their shit out. I glance at my watch. I’ll hang out here long enough for them to talk.
Star
A knock sounds on the door and I look through the peephole to find Wren on the other side. “What do you want?” I call out.
“Open the fucking door,” she calls back.
I heave in a breath and fling it open. I’m wearing one of Josh’s T-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts.
“Nice fashion statement,” she says.
I slam the door shut behind her. “What do you want?”
“You’re not answering my texts. You’re not taking my calls. Seriously, Star? You talk to Peck, but you won’t talk to me?” She’s offended. And that’s okay with me, because I’m offended too.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me how you feel about Tag being here. Tell me about your weekend. Tell me about Josh. Tell me you fucking love me, Star, because this silent treatment is shit!” She flops down on the couch.
“You shouldn’t have let him in.” The words burn my throat and my eyes fill with tears. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I know,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
I’m stunned. So stunned that I can’t find the right words. “I am?”“Yes,” she says. “He just wanted money. I gave it to him, thinking he would pay off his debts and settle in here, but he didn’t. He left. He’s gone. He didn’t even leave a note. You were right. I didn’t want you to be right. But you were. You were so right.” She groans, flops down flat on the couch, and throws her arm across her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I sit down on the edge of the couch, the tiny edge she’s not taking up. “I’m sorry he left. I know you wanted it to be more.”
“He totally conned me. He seemed so genuine. He wanted to reminisce about Mom and Dad and our life in the yellow house. He seemed like he was so good. Hell, he prayed before every meal!”
I laugh. “Not everyone who prays is good, Wren,” I tell her. “Sometimes they’re bad.” My foster father, the one who hurt me—he prayed too. He prayed I would be forgiven for my wanton ways. I was too young to even know what wanton meant.
“I wanted it so bad, to connect with him. It was like getting a piece of Mom and Dad back.”
“Where do you think he went?”
She sits up. “I have no idea.”
“How much money did you give him?”
“Fifty thousand dollars,” she says, and then she groans again and flops back down.
“Well, at least it wasn’t more than that.”
She lets out a watery laugh. Then she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I open my arms and hug her.
Another knock sounds on the door and I open it to find the rest of the Zeroes are here. They tumble into the room. Lark grabs my shoulders and looks me up and down. “He didn’t kill you with his tremendous dick, I see,” she says.
I laugh. “No. I’m still alive.”
“And happy?” Fin asks quietly. “Alive and happy?”
I smile, because I feel like my insides are roiling with happiness. “Very happy. We had a good weekend.”
Peck has the baby and she passes him to me. I sit down and hold him, tucking my feet under me as I lay him on my shoulder. “God, he’s so perfect.”
“Isn’t he?” Peck preens and sinks into a chair. She kicks her shoes off. I guess they’re staying for a while. “So, t-tell us everything.” She rests her chin in her upturned palm and waits.
I tell them about my weekend. They laugh at all the appropriate times and they get teary-eyed when that’s appropriate too. These girls are my life.
Even with them, though, I don’t go into details. Not intimate details about Josh. I don’t talk about how it felt to have him inside me, or the way he holds me close. I don’t talk about what it’s like to adjust his legs that don’t work, because talking about things like that would be a betrayal of all my feelings for him. It’s one thing to talk about how sore I was after, but that’s a virgin thing, not a Josh thing. I don’t want to share the details about our intimate moments with them because I’m afraid it’ll diminish what I feel about what happened. It was perfect. He was perfect, and he gave me exactly what I needed.
“He was gentle?” Lark asks.
“Not really,” I mutter.