Pretty Little Mistake

Lennon’s hand is sweaty in mine, her nails digging bitingly into my palm. When I turn to look at her at my side, it’s impossible not to notice her pulse jumping in her throat, how her panicked eyes dart around the outside of the ivy-covered mansion. She appears two seconds away from running back to my car.

I’d gladly follow.

“Is it really going to be that bad?”

Her eyes scurry up to mine. “No.” It’s an unconvincing answer, considering she draws out the word skeptically. Fucking great. “It’ll be fine.” She swallows, smoothing her hands down the front of the oversize sweater that hides her growing belly. She sounds like she’s trying, and failing, to convince herself.

There’s no point in lingering in front of the door any longer. I reach out and push the doorbell to ring it.

Lennon’s teeth dig into her bottom lip.

The door swings open what feels like an eternity later, revealing a housekeeper. She lets us in, collects our coats, and takes us straight to the lavish dining room.

“You’re late,” her father’s voice booms from the head of the table. Caspar Wells has always been an intimidating man—big and burly, with a constant angry brow. As a teenager, I was scared shitless of him. As an adult, I’m merely annoyed.

“You told us seven,” I reply coolly. “It’s six fifty. That’s early. Unless we were given the wrong time?” I arch a brow in challenge, looking from him to his stiff-as-a-board wife, to Hunter and the woman at his side.

Caspar makes a noncommittal sound. “You both might as well sit.”

“Lennon, you didn’t tell us you were bringing a guest.” Her mom has a high-pitched voice, her mouth barely moving as she speaks. I’m not sure if that’s from fear of wrinkles or Botox or some shit.

I want to shoot Lennon a look, annoyed that she didn’t tell them, but I refuse to show them that I was just as in the dark as they were. Besides, I’ve learned enough about Lennon to understand that her reluctance to tell them anything isn’t about me. It’s all them and the way they’ve treated her.

Lennon and I sit side by side. I end up across from Hunter, who seems surprised to see me. I suppose he should be, since he said I was never welcome here again. Just wait until he finds out he’s stuck with me for life.

“I didn’t think it was necessary. There’s always more than enough food, especially on Thanksgiving. Besides, you all know Beckham. He was practically family at one point.”

“How is it you two reconnected?” The question comes from Hunter.

“We work together,” Lennon answers, sending me a small smile. Beneath the table I can’t help but notice how much her hands fidget. I wrap my fist around her hands, holding them in place. She gives me a grateful smile. “It’s a small world, huh?”

“Small indeed.” I can’t quite get a read on Hunter, but I guess it doesn’t matter. Things are going to go to shit soon enough anyway.

“I’m hungry,” their father interjects, my presence unimportant to him, it seems. “Let’s eat.”

Deidre calls for the food to be brought out. Lennon wasn’t kidding. It’s a big enough spread for at least twenty people, let alone the six of us. This has to be the most joyless Thanksgiving table I’ve ever seen, despite the delicious spread of stuffing, turkey, and my personal favorite, homemade macaroni and cheese.

As we eat, random questions are thrown out, things they probably already know about me through my parents, like where I went to college. But I answer anyway, trying to keep things diplomatic. Lennon’s clearly uncomfortable, and I don’t want to make this unnecessarily difficult for her. She barely eats, mostly pushing her food around the plate.

Fuck, was it always like this? Was I really so oblivious to how they treated her?

When our plates are cleared and dessert is in the process of being brought out, I give her a look, silently communicating that she needs to speak up.

She looks close to throwing up.

I’m here, I try to tell her with my eyes. You’re safe with me.

I trust you, her gaze says back.

Steeling her shoulders, she nods, clearing her throat. I think her mother has already noticed something is up from the way Lennon turned down wine with her dinner. She’s been watching her daughter with a curious look ever since.

“I have some news to share with all of you.” The table grows quiet, all eyes going to Lennon.

There’s only a breath of silence before her dad’s voice booms, “Did you get fired? I told you that place was a waste of time. It’s time for you to settle down—”

“Speaking of settling down,” she interrupts, looking to me for reassurance, “Beckham and I are together, and we’re expecting.”

She blurts the words out there. Quickly, but in a clear voice so there’s no mistaking what she said. I have a feeling that if she didn’t just say it, our kid would be an adult and out of the house by the time she got the courage to confess to them.

“Expecting?” Her mom titters, swaying in her seat like she might faint.

Hunter rears back.

And her dad just looks downright confused. “Expecting what?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words go off like a bomb. I never knew ten letters could come together to be so detrimental. Her mom shrieks in horror, pressing her napkin dramatically to her lips. Caspar sputters, turning red, his fist striking against the table. Hunter chokes, seemingly on nothing, while his date, whose name I can’t remember, looks like she wants to crawl under the table, or maybe flee out the front door.

“You are a Wells,” Caspar bellows, his voice echoing through the room. “This is not how we do things. You are to be married before you have a child. How will this look to our friends? To our family?” He swings toward Hunter, sausage finger wagging. “You were supposed to take care of this.”

“Take care of this?” Lennon sounds small, confused. Frankly, so am I.

“Of you two!” he yells, while Diedre grabs up her wineglass, downing the last of the liquid inside. She motions for one of the staff in the corner to come forward and pour her more. “He’s not like us, Lennon.”

Once upon a time, his words would’ve felt like a hot brand pressed against my skin. I would’ve let them eat at me.

“You’re right,” I interject, drawing his anger to me. “I’m nothing like you, and thank fuck for that.” At my f-bomb, he looks ready to go into cardiac arrest. “I would never talk to my child the way you’ve spoken to Lennon. What are you really angry about?”

“You’re from bad blood.” He wags that finger at me that was just swinging at Hunter only moments ago. “You’re—”

“Why?” I counter, my voice calm. I’m the picture of unbothered, which only makes him angrier—I can tell in the way his eye begins to twitch. “Because I’m adopted, that makes me bad blood?” Beside me, Lennon physically recoils, like the idea of that being the cause of so much hatred is blasphemous to her. Lennon isn’t like her parents, though. Where I came from has never mattered to her. He sputters, mouth opening and closing as he searches for words, any explanation. “Is that how you always viewed me?” I look to his wife and back to him. “Did you always think I wasn’t good enough to be your son’s friend? To be with your daughter? I bet you never voiced that to my parents—oh, let me correct myself, adopted parents. Since I’m not their blood, it’s irresponsible of me to call them my parents, right?”

Lennon stiffens, her hand seeking out mine beneath the table. I reluctantly take my eyes off the sputtering head of the table to look at her. Her eyes are sad, but there’s pride there, too, like she’s happy I’m finally standing up for myself.

I’m not even angry; if anything, this whole thing is hilarious to me. Belatedly, I begin to realize that, compared to Lennon and her brother, maybe I’m downright lucky, because this is insane.

“That’s not what I meant,” he finally says, still red faced.

I tap my finger against my wineglass. It’s mostly full. “Isn’t it?”

With an annoyed growl, he pushes back from the table, leaving the room. Deidre is quick to follow, calling after him.

There will be no congratulations from them.

Lennon sniffles at my side. “I don’t know why I’m crying,” she says to me, dabbing her eyes with her napkin. “I knew this was going to be bad. I’m so sorry you had to be here for that. Bad blood,” she sputters over what her father said. “How could he say that to you? It’s not true, Beckham. I hope you know that.”

I quietly shush her, hating the fact she’s crying on my behalf, for things her parents said that I realize now mean something only if I let them. With a hand on the back of her head, I pull her in for an awkward hug at the dining table.

Across the table, Hunter and the woman watch us.

“Ellie, give us a moment?”

Ah, Ellie. That’s her name.

“Sure.” She shoots an apologetic smile our way and excuses herself from the table.

A few minutes of silence pass while I comfort Lennon. When her tears are pretty much dry, she faces her brother.

“Surprise,” she says, making me smile when she does some sort of awkward jazz-hands movement. “You’re going to be an uncle.”

“An uncle,” he repeats. “That’s going to be interesting. I don’t even like kids.” She stiffens at that. He smiles slowly, genuinely. “But I’ll love this one. So, you two, huh? I can’t say I’m all that surprised, and yet I am. I didn’t even know you were in contact.” He sounds almost accusing to me.

“I didn’t seek her out, if that’s what you’re implying,” I say. Lennon’s nose wrinkles, looking between the two of us. “I certainly didn’t expect to walk into work one day and see her, but there she was. It was like my world was finally centered again.”

Our eyes meet, surprise evident in her brown orbs. It’s not like we’ve discussed that first day, what either of us thought. Despite my anger at her waltzing back into my life, there was a strange sort of peace, too, one that I’ve only ever had around her.

Her tongue swipes out, moistening her lips.

That first day when I got off the elevator, the funniest feeling washed over me. I’ll call it a gut instinct, but I knew she was there. The air particles seemed to be charged, drawing me right to her. And when I looked, there she was.

Lennon reaches for the glass of water to her right, taking a hearty sip. It breaks the spell I didn’t even know we were under. I wonder how long we’ve been staring at each other.

She clears her throat, shaking her head slightly in an effort to refocus herself. “What did Dad mean when he said you were ‘supposed to take care of this’?”

Hunter rubs his bare jaw. His dark hair, the same shade as Lennon’s, is slicked down with some sort of product. I guess that’s the Wells way—not a hair out of place. His eyes bounce between the two of us, a sigh rattling his chest.

“I’m not sure either of you are aware of how you looked at each other back then.” Lennon stiffens beside me. “It was probably more obvious to everyone else than either of you. He’d already told me previously to keep you away from Lennon, but that was hard since you were always around.” Turning to me, he adds, “I didn’t see what the big deal was. I mean, yeah, it would be a little weird—my best friend and little sister—but not the end of the world. That’s not how Dad saw it, though.”

Lennon and I both wait for him to go on.

“Someone on the staff saw you two go to the pool house. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what went down, and they told Dad. He was . . . disappointed in me, for not doing something more about you two. I confronted you,” he says to me, leaning back in his chair in an almost-casual gesture, like this isn’t a conversation we’ve avoided for years. “I was angrier than necessary because of how Dad had cornered me. I took that out on you. Said things I never meant. But it worked. After that, we weren’t friends anymore, and you stayed away from her.”

Lennon starts sniffling again. “Sorry,” she whispers. “Hormones.” She fans her face with her hands. “That’s not entirely true. This whole thing sucks. It’s not fair that Dad played you against each other.” Teary eyes meet mine. “I wonder how different things would’ve been if none of that ever happened.”

I see her unspoken question in the soft way she looks at me.

Would we have been together long before now?

Hunter clears his throat, and I can feel him shifting his feet back and forth under the table. His face twists with remorse. “I never wanted to lose you as a friend.”

Inhaling a breath that’s shakier than I expect, I reply, “You chose your father over me.”

He winces like I physically punched him, nodding sadly. “I did.”

I’ll give him credit: he doesn’t balk from what happened.

“Was it worth it?”

His lips twist, his fingers adjusting the oversize watch on his wrist. “I don’t know.” To Lennon, he says, “Mom and Dad will come around.”

Her eyes drop to the ground. “It doesn’t matter.”

But it does. I can tell she cares what they think of her, even if she wishes she didn’t.

Hunter nods in a way that says he doesn’t believe her. That makes two of us. “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “I mean that.”

A part of me, the part that’s always held a grudge, wants to continue being angry. That would be the easy way. Anger is so much easier to hold on to than it is to extend forgiveness. But I think of Lennon, of our baby, and how I need to make better choices. Be a stronger person. Staying angry is the coward’s way out.

“I forgive you.”

He rears back. I guess I always did have a chip on my shoulder, even back then, so he’s probably surprised that I’m choosing to be a bigger person.

“Wait,” Lennon says suddenly. “Did you break his nose?” She asks the question of me. To Hunter, she says, “You said it was a lacrosse accident.”

I flick my fingers lazily at Hunter, letting him take the lead on this one. He clears his throat. “Yeah, he broke my nose.” To me he says, “I lied to my parents too. If they’d known you were the one to break my nose . . .”

“Yeah, well, your hard-ass nose bruised my fingers.”

“Broken nose.” He points to his face. “I win.”

I can’t help but laugh, and he joins in. Poor Lennon looks flabbergasted. “I’m going for a walk.” She pushes away from the table, paler than normal. From the downturn of her lips, I can tell this conversation is getting to her. “I need some fresh air.”

We both watch her leave. The urge to go after her is strong, but I sense that she needs a moment to herself.

I don’t exactly want to have this conversation with Hunter. Normally, I don’t mind confrontation, but something about being back in this place makes me feel incredibly young again—the boy who didn’t know how to stick up for himself.

“You were pissed that night.”

“I was.” He grabs his wineglass, frowning when he realizes it’s empty. “I’d just been reamed by my father, and now you’ve seen how he is, so imagine that, only a hundred times worse. This family . . .” He pauses, shaking his head. Sitting up straighter, he goes on. “It’s all about appearances. I’m the male, the heir, so to speak. I carry on the family name, the legacy. Lennon? To our parents, she’s nothing but a pawn. My father has been trying to arrange a marriage for her for years now, basically since she turned eighteen. He wants her to marry someone in our circle, with a powerful name, and push out children so she can continue this cycle.” He spins a finger in the air. “That’s not Lennon. Her going to college and working for a magazine? That makes her practically a traitor in his eyes. She’s meant to sit and look pretty—that’s all he thinks she’s good for.”

“Fuck him,” I snap.

“Yeah.” He laughs humorlessly, eyes dropping to the table. “Fuck him. It’s not that easy, though, you know? This life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m aware of our privilege—but that privilege is constantly dangled overhead, with scissors threatening to snip the threads at any time. This life comes with strings to most of these people. Not everyone is the Sullivans.”

“You threw away our friendship.”

His jaw tics, and he nods. “I did.”

“You chose money over me.”

He hesitates. “I thought I had no choice.”

I stand from the table then. I’m not even angry, just resolved. I didn’t know I needed to have this conversation with him, but now that I have, I feel lighter. A weight has been lifted.

“We always have choices.”

With those parting words, I go to find my girl.