Sloth

Eventually, Sam closed his eyes and fell silent, but Jeff couldn’t stop whimpering.

“Shhh,” Beth said, putting a hand against his forehead. They always looked so small and sweet in their pajamas, tucked under the covers, impossibly innocent about the way anything worked. As if it were the bogeyman they really needed to be afraid of.

“I’m scared,” Jeff whispered.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Beth assured him. “I’ll protect you.”

“Aren’t you scared?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“No.” She leaned down and kissed his forehead, then kissed Sam, too, gently so that he wouldn’t wake up. “I told you, there’s nothing to be scared of.”

No wonder he couldn’t fall asleep; lamer words were never spoken.

Miranda wasn’t sure whether the house was abandoned or just a pigsty; it was hard to tell in the candlelight. About thirty people, mostly drunk or high, were scattered around the grounds-smoking in the backyard, making out in the bedrooms, experimenting with mixers in the kitchen. Miranda and Kane were sprawled out on a dusty couch in the living room. They’d snagged the best spot; most of the other couples were stuck lounging on the floor or leaning against each other in secluded corners. It wasn’t much like any party Miranda had ever been to; there was very little “partying” going on, as far as she could tell. There wasn’t even any music.

Not that she cared, not while Kane leaned against her, one hand cradling a beer and the other idly playing with her hair. Was he desperately wishing he could take her off somewhere private and have his way with her? Was he struggling with his fear of intimacy, wondering if his newly discovered love for her could overpower his nerves, and if he could convince her that he was serious about making things work?

Miranda doubted it, but it was a fun fantasy (courtesy, in part, of an afternoon with Dr. Phil). She could lean over and kiss him right now. But she wanted more than that, she reminded herself. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Her friendship didn’t come with benefits.

“Sorry this sucks,” Kane said, his voice slow and heavy the way it got when he was a little drunk. Miranda almost liked him better this way; the cold, sneering veneer fell away and, every once in a while, he was actually nice. She’d always told herself this was the real Kane-alcohol just let him come out and play. “I should have known better.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m having fun.”

He snorted, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “Yeah, right. Tell me something,” he said, stretching out along the couch and lying down, his head in her lap. He looked up at her. “This okay?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. His hair fell back from his forehead, splaying out across her leg. It was so unbelievably smooth.

“Tell you what?” she asked, resisting the urge to stroke his forehead.

“I don’t know,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “Why you’re so sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she protested.

He nodded as well as he could with his head resting on her legs. “Are too. Sad Miranda.”

“I’m not sad right now,” she pointed out, leaning over him so he could see her grin.

He reached up and touched her lips. “Can’t fool me.”

She didn’t know how drunk he was; maybe he wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, which would be better. All she knew was that she was sad-and it had been a long time since anyone had noticed, or wanted to know why.

“It’s Harper,” she admitted, feeling a hint of relief now that she’d finally said it out loud, even to Kane, who would probably make a joke out of it as he did about everything else. “Everything I say is wrong, and she doesn’t want to talk to me, and it’s like we’re not even friends anymore.” The words came fast and furiously; she’d been afraid that if she said it out loud, she would make it real. But saying it out loud was better than saying it to herself, over and over again.

“She’s just… upset.”

“I’m upset!” Miranda exclaimed. She stopped herself and took a deep breath. It felt almost like she was talking to herself. “I want to be a good friend to her, but… I also, I just…” She put her hands over her face, humiliated to realize it was wet with tears. “I miss having a best friend,” she choked out.

“Hey,” he said in alarm, pushing himself up. His breath was sour and his eyes glassy, but she didn’t care. “Hey, don’t-” He wrapped his arms around her and she clung to him, for once not wondering what he was thinking or wishing she could kiss him. She just closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. “She’ll be back,” he promised, and much as she wanted to believe him, she knew he was just saying it. Guys would say anything to get a girl to stop crying.

“I hate being alone,” she mumbled into his soggy collar.

He pushed her away, just far enough that he could see her face, and he held her in place so she couldn’t look away. “Stevens, you’re not,” he said firmly.

“I know,” she said, nibbling at the edge of her lip. “It’s just…”

“No. You’re not.”

She wanted him so much, suddenly, that she couldn’t breathe. His lips were half parted, and his eyes, usually so cold, now seemed like warm, inviting pools of deep brown. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, hoping the pain would make her ignore how good, how safe it felt to have his arms around her.

Maybe this was right after all; maybe it didn’t matter that he was drunk and horny and she was in love-maybe they could meet in the middle, just for tonight.

“I have to go,” she said, forcing the words out.

“What?”

“Just for a minute. I just need… I need some air. I have to go outside,” she said, trying to convince herself as much as anything.

“Do you want me to…?”

“Stay.” She put a hand on his bicep and suppressed a shudder. “I’ll be right back. And… Kane?”

“Yeah, Stevens?”

“Thanks.”

Things weren’t going as well as he’d expected, although now that dinner was done-Harper’s meal nearly untouched, Adam’s plate scraped clean-and the bill paid, Adam had to admit that he didn’t know what he’d expected. His auction bid had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, but over the last few days he’d built it up in his head into his big last chance. It seemed that, despite his carefully chosen clothes-the light green button-down shirt that she loved and he hated, khakis that usually only left his closet when his mother forced him to go to church-this day was going to end the same as all the rest. Unless he did something.

“I thought we’d walk home,” he suggested, hoping to delay the inevitable.

Already halfway to his car, she turned and gave him a weird look. “You didn’t even have anything to drink. And, FYI, your car’s right here.”

“It’s such a nice night,” he pointed out, fully aware that it was a kind of girly thing to say.

Harper shrugged. “Yeah. Whatever.” Translation: You forced me into this, and I’m just counting the minutes until the night is over.

They walked along the side of the road in silence. The sidewalks were deserted; most of Grace’s nightlife was limited to the dive bars and greasy taverns lining the side streets, and their patrons wouldn’t be stumbling out for hours. Main Street-home of assorted failing small businesses and several gas stations-was shuttered and dark. They could have been alone in the world.

Harper shivered, and Adam wondered if she’d had the same thought, or if she was just cold. He didn’t ask, nor did he offer his jacket, knowing she’d turn it down.

It took him about ten minutes to work up his courage, then another five to figure out how to express what he needed to say-but when that proved to be a doomed effort, he just started talking. “I miss you, Grade,” he told her.

She didn’t even look at him. He stopped walking and grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop too. They stood in the shadows of Shopsin’s Shoes, which had closed months before and was now boarded up and empty. Harper tapped her foot and looked over his shoulder.

“I miss you,” he said again.

“I’m right here.”