The Rest of the Story

by Sarah Dessen

  Breathe, I told myself, as someone beeped behind us. It didn’t work, so I went for another way to distract myself. “So how did you guys meet?”

  At this, she smiled. It was a rare thing, as I’d noticed soon after meeting her, and happened mostly when the subject turned to her fiancé. “He and one of his buddies rented a room last summer for his twenty-first birthday. But really, it all started with toast.”

  I glanced in the rearview just in time to see the guy behind me shake a fist at the flagman. I said, “Toast?”

  “Yep.” She sat back, now with both hands on her belly. “The morning after they checked in, he was outside the unit when I went to work at the office. I had my two slices with butter, and they were burnt, because our toaster then was a fire hazard. He made a joke about it and we started talking. Been together ever since.”

  “That’s cute,” I said, because even in my anxious state, I had to admit it was.

  “I know, right?” she replied. “We got engaged in the fall, and I found out about this one”— she patted her stomach—“a month later, about the same time he got his deployment orders. Right before he left, he bought me the toaster. It’s a good thing, too, because I was so sick the first trimester, and bread was all I could eat.”

  I’d figured there was a story behind all this, and under any other circumstances I would have been glad to finally hear it. As it was, though, I couldn’t focus because traffic was moving again, this time around the construction in the opposite lane. Trinity kept talking about the Sergeant, but I was too busy white-knuckling it until we were back on the right side of the road to really listen.

  Now, back at birth class, I took a deep breath as I grappled with the fact that in less than a half hour, I would have to drive back. Normal people don’t do this, I thought as Kim encouraged all the mamas to visualize an ocean with the contractions as waves. But I’d never been “normal,” especially when it came to being in my head. Although other people’s worries still seemed to be freeing me from my own a bit. Which was a nice surprise.

  I also appeared to, maybe, have something going on with Blake. To find out, I’d turned to another expert.

  “Tell me everything,” Bridget had said when I finally got hold of her a few days after that first trip to the Campus. “And go slowly.”

  I glanced at my watch. I was sitting on Mimi’s side steps, with thirty minutes for lunch before I had to go back to cleaning with Trinity, who was currently stretched out across a bed in an empty room eight, resting her feet. But Bridget could drag out a story like no one else: with her questions, follow-ups, and then follow-ups to the follow-ups, I could see this easily taking the entire afternoon.

  Still, I did my best. By the time I was done, we still had ten minutes for analysis. She got right to it.

  “Well, it’s obvious he’s into you,” she said as I finally ripped open the pack of peanut butter crackers that was my lunch. “The wall, that kiss . . . it’s like textbook. But what’s happened since the kiss? That’s important.”

  I thought for a second. There had been the texts that morning following the night at Blake’s apartment. Also, the invite to come visit the docks, which didn’t happen, as I’d instead ended up at my first birth class. Two nights later, however, I’d ridden out to the raft in the late afternoon with Jack. When Blake had shown up with Colin and a few other guys from the Club, he’d immediately climbed off the boat to come over to talk to me, in full view of everyone. Then, when we met up later at the Station, he’d again sought me out, issuing a challenge to a Skee-Ball tournament. I lost, but he let me choose the prize when we cashed in tickets. I picked a small stuffed bear wearing an even tinier pair of board shorts in a Hawaiian print, which he insisted I name Blake for its shock of red hair. Currently, it sat in my room by the clock, although we’d agreed to share custody from week to week.

  “Okay,” Bridget said when I finished detailing all this. “That’s all three of the IFS. Total boyfriend behavior.”

  “The IFS?” I asked.

  “Initiative, Future thinking, and Sweet,” she replied. “It’s the checklist. Initiative: he reached out first by text and came to find you. Twice. Future thinking: he’s assuming you’ll still be hanging out when it’s time for the bear to go to him. And sweetness, because guys who are only wanting a quick fling or even less don’t bother with that.”

  “Where did you hear this?”

  “I didn’t. It’s my own invention.” When I laughed, she said, “Hey, I’m being serious! I’ve watched just about every rom-com from the last twenty years, read all the great romances. . . . I’ve retained things. Studied patterns. There’s a science to this.”

  I smiled. “You know, you should be the one sort of dating someone. Clearly, you’re the expert.”

  “Right?” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m living here in a senior community in Ohio for the time being. There’s plenty of shuffleboard, but not a lot of opportunity to test my theories.”

  “Summer’s not over yet,” I pointed out.

  “At least Grandpa is doing better,” she said, “which means I may get back home to pursue the twins solo before school starts. You have to admit, I will have earned it by then. But anyway, tell me again about the kiss. I feel like you’re leaving things out.”

  I hadn’t, not that I was aware of. It didn’t matter anyway, because just then Trinity emerged from room eight, moving slowly and rubbing her eyes. When she started to push the cart down to the next room, I’d said goodbye to Bridget, grabbed my spray bottle, and went to join her. The first room we opened was a shambles. Just what I needed.

  Since then, Bridget and I hadn’t talked. If we had, though, I was sure she’d probably have another acronym, if not multiple theories, about how well things were developing between Blake and me.

  Maybe it was just that I had high expectations, thanks to all the romantic movies and books I myself had consumed. But I’d always thought that if and when this finally happened, I would have that whooshing, tingly feeling, almost an out-of-body experience.

  I wouldn’t have been so aware of this if it wasn’t for Bailey. After that night at Lake North when we’d walked home, I thought things would have cooled between her and Colin. I mean, he hadn’t exactly stood up for her with Jack, and then went inside when things got really ugly between them. In her mind, however, he hadn’t been a disappointment: she had.

  “What could he do?” she asked me the next night, as we sat in her bedroom. “My brother shows up and the next thing Colin knows, we’re outside screaming at each other. It’s so embarrassing. I would have taken off, too.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” I said, thinking of her sticking up for me on the raft.

  “And all those people were there!” She sighed, as if this was the worst part. “My dad always says if you want to really know someone, look at how they act when no one’s watching. That’s the true test of character.”

  I had to think about this a moment. “But that doesn’t make sense. I mean, if you can see them, then someone’s watching: you. Right?”

  “The point is,” she continued, missing this or choosing not to hear it, “he did me a favor. The last thing I wanted was for him to see me get so upset. It’s not who I am.”

  It made my head hurt, trying to follow this logic. But to her, it made sense. It had to, because the only other option was that Colin didn’t care about her the way she did him, and that she wouldn’t even consider.

  As a result, her feelings for him had only grown more intense. If not at Campus or planning how to get there, she was on the phone with him, texting him or—more often—waiting for him to respond. At all other times she was visibly distracted, with any question posed to her needing to be repeated, often more than once. I’d never seen anything like it.

  It wasn’t like that with Blake. At least, not yet. But sometimes, you just need something to get you there. I was counting on Club Prom.

  Around as old as the Club itself, it was held every year, j
ust as the season was reaching full swing. The ballroom would be decorated according to a chosen theme, a band brought in, and everyone attending had to dress up in what was referred to as “resort finest.” At the beginning, this had meant bathing suits with corsages, the whole thing more of a joke than anything else. But in the last ten years or so, it had become more of a real formal dance. It was a big deal to go, and if you weren’t a Club member, you had to be asked.

  I was well versed in all of this because lately, Bailey was obsessed, spending what free time she had looking for dresses at Bly County Thrift and the discount stores, as well as dog-earing pages with makeup looks in Trinity’s fashion magazines. Colin hadn’t yet formally asked her—nor Blake me—but she assured me repeatedly this didn’t mean anything, since it was over two weeks away. When he did extend the invitation, she’d have everything ready along with her yes, and thought that I should, too.

  “But what if he doesn’t ask me?” I’d said the previous evening, after we’d ridden with Vincent, who I’d met that first night, out to the raft in late afternoon. “Then I have a dress and makeup and everything, and I’m pathetic.”

  “You’re sharing custody of a stuffed animal,” she said, squinting in the direction of the yacht club. “He’s going to ask you.”

  “Stuffed animal?” Vincent said. “What kind of weird stuff are you into, Saylor?”

  “Leave her alone,” Bailey said. “It’s romantic.”

  “Really weird stuff,” I told him at the same time. “Would put hair on your chest.”

  “I could use that,” he said, then laughed, hard enough that his sunglasses, which he kept parked on his head, slid off and hit the dock with a bang. “Damn, my shades!”

  “You need one of those things to hang them around your neck,” Bailey told him.

  “You offering to buy me one?” he replied.

  She rolled her eyes, but I saw her smiling. I thought back to that first night I’d been out to the raft, how Vincent’s face flushed when April alluded to a possible crush. Maybe she was onto something.

  “I cannot wait to see the Club at Prom,” Bailey said to me.

  “You’ve never been?” I asked.

  “Nope. But this girl from the Station went last year, with a guy she was dating who was a valet over there.” She sighed happily. “She said it was beautiful.”

  “Oh, please,” Vincent said with a snort. “Who wants to dress up at the lake?”

  “I do,” she said, and he made a face. To me she added, “Just wait. You’ll see. It’s going to be great.”

  She, at least, was sure of things. I supposed it was good that one of us was.

  Now, back at birth class, Trinity turned around, looking up at me. “Hey. Saylor. Are you breathing?”

  I blinked, surprised to find myself with her and not with Vincent and Bailey. “Yes,” I said quickly, blowing out some air as proof. “Of course I am.”

  “Well, you’re the only one. So stop.” She turned back around, elbowing me sharply in the stomach again as she did so. “The movie’s about to start.”

  “Movie?” I looked at the front of the room, where, sure enough, Kim had rolled in a cart with a TV and DVD player on it. On the screen, a title page: STAGES OF LABOR AND DELIVERY. “Oh, God. Is it okay if I wait—”

  “Nope,” she said as the lights went dim overhead and the video began. The camera zeroed in on a woman in a hospital bed, hugely pregnant, her feet up in stirrups. She was smiling, as was her husband, sitting beside her.

  I looked at the clock: there were twenty minutes left of class, and then I’d have to drive us home. When faced with two not-so-good options, there really isn’t even a point in choosing between them. Still, I did cover my eyes.

  Eleven

  “Hey. Do you want to go to Club Prom with me?”

  Every movement in the guys’ apartment did not screech to a halt as Blake said this. It just felt that way.

  “What?” I said, although I’d heard him. So had Bailey, who was now looking squarely at us from where she was sitting on the other bed with Colin.

  “It’s this dance,” Blake said casually, taking a sip from his beer. “They have it every year at the Club. Kind of a joke, kind of not. It’s usually fun.”

  I looked at Bailey again, feeling helpless. She’d talked about this so much, it seemed wrong that I’d get asked first, and I wanted to give Colin a chance to make his move. But when I looked at him, he was studying his phone, his eyes narrowed.

  “Um,” I finally said to Blake. “Yeah. Sure. I’d love to go.”

  “Cool,” he said, so nonchalantly I wondered, briefly, what he would have done if I’d said no. “It’s next Saturday, and you’ll need something kind of formal, just FYI.”

  “That’s fine,” I said. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “I have procured a date to Club Prom,” Blake yelled toward Hannah and Rachel, who were by the doorway, huddled over their phones. “So you can stop nagging me.”

  “Thank God,” Rachel said. “Nothing like waiting until the last minute.”

  “Last minute? It’s Monday. The dance is next Saturday,” Blake told them.

  “We’re girls,” Hannah informed him. “We need time to prepare for things like this.”

  “Which is why,” Rachel said, “we asked our guys ages ago.”

  At this, Colin got to his feet and walked back into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge, taking out another beer. He popped the tab, then just stood there, holding it and looking out the back door.

  “You already have dates?” Bailey asked the girls now. “Who are you taking?”

  Rachel shook the ice in her plastic cup. “These German exchange students from the kitchen.”

  “Who are super cute but don’t speak English,” Hannah said. “And we don’t know German. Should be fun.”

  “You,” Rachel said, “are just pissed because Roo said no. Don’t take it out on Gunther and Konrad.”

  Bailey, surprised, said, “You asked Roo to Club Prom?”

  Hannah blushed. “Oh, God. Yes. He shot me down, but at least he was nice about it. Said he had to work.”

  “He probably does,” Bailey told her. “He has, like, four jobs.”

  “That’s what he said,” she replied. “Truthfully, though, I don’t think he’s into me. Which stinks, because he’s totally my type.”

  “Your type,” Rachel repeated. “What’s that, blond and handsome?”

  “And nice,” Hannah added. “The other night at Lucy Tate’s, I lost my shoes and he spent like a half hour helping me find them. What’s not to like?”

  Shoe buddy, I thought. It was hard not to wince.

  Bailey stood then, walking back to the kitchen, where she said something to Colin I couldn’t hear. He replied, his voice also low, and then they were going out the back door, the screen swinging shut behind them.

  “Someone seems tense,” Rachel said to me. “Everything okay with them?”

  “As long as he’s asking her to the Prom right now, yes,” I said.

  Hannah’s eyes widened. “He hasn’t asked her yet?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Who else would he take?” she asked Blake.

  He held up his hands. “Whoa. Don’t look at me. I know nothing except I needed a date and now I have one.”

  I couldn’t help but notice this was the second time I’d been referred to as his date, not by name. When everything comes easy, I guess you learn not to sweat the details.

  “Boys are so weird,” Rachel observed, shaking her drink again. To me she said, “Hey, you need a dress? We brought a few options that should fit.”

  This was a nice offer, I knew, extended in kindness. And maybe I’d been spending too much time with Trinity—okay, I was definitely spending too much time with Trinity—but I wondered about her motivation. I was a North Lake girl going to a Lake North Prom: of course they’d think I wouldn’t have something suitable to wear. And the truth was, here, I didn’t. But at h
ome, my closet held a number of expensive dresses, most purchased by Nana for dinners at her club. Not that they’d know that, though. They only knew Saylor, not Emma.

  The back door opened again then, and Bailey came in, followed after a beat by Colin. Now, she was smiling and so flushed that I guessed what had happened even before she plopped down beside me and said, “He asked me! Finally.”

  I looked at Colin, who was still in the kitchen, getting another beer, his face, unlike hers, neither relieved nor overjoyed.

  “That’s great,” I said as Blake stood and also walked back to the kitchen.

  “Better than great,” she replied, taking my hand and squeezing it. “See? It’s all coming together.”

  “Club Prom?” my dad asked. “Man. That brings back some memories.”

  It was seven thirty a.m., the time my dad had taken to calling me to check in. Which was great for him, because in Greece, it was midafternoon. I, however, was always only (barely) waking up.

  “You went to Club Prom?” I asked him now.

  “Oh, yeah.” He was quiet for long enough for me to picture him on the boat, with a faraway look on his face, smiling. “Twice, actually. And both times with your mom.”

  “Mom went?” I asked. “She never mentioned that.”

  “Because it wasn’t a great night,” he replied with a sigh. “Either time.”

  “What happened?”

  Another pause, but this one felt different, like he wasn’t thinking as much as deciding how best to answer this. “Well, you know, she always felt out of place at the Club. Even though she knew a lot of people there. And when she was nervous, she . . .”

  “. . . drank too much?” I finished for him.

  “Well,” he said. “Yes.”

  Even after all this time, it was hard for my dad to talk about my mom’s issues. He preferred to avoid the subject as much as possible, as if bringing it up did some disservice to her or her memory. This was in marked contrast to what I’d seen of Celeste, Mimi, and the rest of the family at the lake, for whom my mother’s problems were as much a part of her story as, well, I was. There were lots of ways to love someone, I guessed, both by remembering and forgetting.