Up All Night

by Laura Silverman

  3.

  Or, Option B

  Lyra: They say we’re the ones with superpowers.

  Connor: We’re just genetically lucky.

  Parallel Hearts S02E09: Where the Wild Things Go

  Truth isn’t a binary, even though it often feels that way. Tell your truth or don’t tell your truth, there is no in-between. Once you’re convinced that’s how it works, you simply don’t think about sharing anymore. Because the walls you build around yourself get higher and higher, until you don’t know if they keep the world out or keep you in.

  “What’s not just Parallel Hearts?” McKenna asks. They prop themself up on an elbow and tilt their head.

  The particle accelerator RPG behind us is ramping up again, with whispered arguments and uncontrollable laughter. The ukulele music has faded away, though someone, somewhere, still seems to be singing. We’re way past midnight now.

  “It’s not just Parallel Hearts,” I repeat. The moment those words leave my mouth, I regret them. “It’s never just been about the show.”

  McKenna pushes themself up farther. “I know. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I do want to. I can’t tell.

  I was never supposed to.

  McKenna edges a little closer, making the world around us a little smaller—and I could never lie to them. They make my world feel safer.

  “Would you like to give it a try?” they ask.

  “Yes? No?” I laugh awkwardly. “I’ve been thinking about this since we booked our tickets and even before that.” But every time I get too close, I walk into that wall again. Or perhaps I pull it closer, every time I see it in the distance. “It’s a bit like falling in love, but it’s also not like that at all.”

  McKenna tilts their head. Their dark brown eyes stare right through me. Tiny drops of rain cling to their green hair, but the way they’ve turned to me it’s as if they’re keeping the rest of the world—and even the rain itself—at bay. “I thought as much. It seems like it’s more to you than that. I’ve seen you fall in love with books and movies and series before—I’ve done it too—but those were always moments. Lightning strikes. Do you remember that time we both got into that haunted house show? Or Summer Camp Witches, those books I loved? This . . . it goes deeper?”

  It does, in good ways and in more difficult ones.

  They reach out a hand to me. They steal themself before they continue and their voice drops. “I’m not sure if you want to hear this, but this series . . . I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy.”

  Oh.

  Ouch.

  McKenna looks at our intertwined fingers, a faint blush on their cheeks. “I’m not entirely sure that’s the right word, but happier, at least.”

  I stare at our hands too. In the years since McKenna came to sometimes live with us, we’ve grown close and closer. Not at first; I think they hated being left alone and I think they were scared for their parents, which made it hard for them to connect with anyone. And besides, I hated being saddled with a surprise sibling.

  But as time passed and we both realized this was our new normal, we adapted. My brother and I found ourselves with a third sibling, who shared our home and our hearts—but not our history. And maybe because of that, some days, they were the glue that kept Nate and me together.

  In a way, that’s why I love this show, too. Because it’s a reminder of that.

  “I don’t know if happy is the right word either,” I say. “Lighter, maybe?”

  “In what way?”

  “It makes me think about the mistakes I made.” The words terrify me, as I let them escape.

  McKenna frowns. “What kind of mistakes?”

  The first time they stayed overnight, it was all I could do to stare at the cot through the night. I knew why they couldn’t stay home alone, but I hated having someone else in my room. Every time I would doze off, I’d hear McKenna’s breathing, or the creak of the other bed, and I’d startle awake again. It’d been well over a year since I stayed up all night to listen. I’d grown complacent—and exhausted.

  “Mistakes I wish I could go back in time to fix,” I reply. And I latch onto that part, because it’s easier than the other fragments of truth hiding away in my brain. “It’s the first thing I loved about Parallel Hearts. The idea that we can mess up, but that’s not the end of it. That we can go back and fix what went wrong, rebuild what was broken.”

  “What mistakes, Quinn?” they press, gently.

  I open my mouth and close it.

  Again.

  Again.

  I want to trust them. I do, I do, I do.

  “Hey!” we hear from behind us. The girls have apparently reached the climax of their game, and they’re very awake, despite the shushing and complaining from others within earshot. “You mean there were actual monsters underneath the lake?”

  I have no idea what’s happening, but it seems important.

  McKenna glances in their direction. “Do you think they even notice they’re in line anymore?”

  I see the escape that’s there. “If you want to go watch . . .”

  In response, they pull their sleeping bag up to their ears. The drops of rain are even louder on the fabric. “I want to stay here,” they say.

  “This was a terrible idea.” I glance up at the sky. “Why did our moms agree to this?”

  “Because making mistakes is part of being human?”

  McKenna’s persistence is powerful, but shame and regret are more powerful still. If I could go back in time, I’d protect my brother. If I could go back in time, I’d tell my mother. If I could go back in time, I’d not be bad.

  I open my mouth and close it.

  I want to trust them. I do, I do, I do.

  I want to tell them.

  McKenna tilts their head. “You can tell me. You can trust me.”

  “I know, but . . .” I don’t trust myself.

  “Some things are too hard to put into words?” they suggest.

  I nod. And some secrets have been buried for so long, I don’t know how to go about digging them up. Because right now, I’m Quinn. Fencer with a bit of talent. Straight-B student. Well, minus the straight part. McKenna’s best friend and regular roommate and oftentimes fellow fan. I love peas and I love carrot cake and I hate frosting and I could live off of Diet Coke and time-travel series. I am perfectly average with a few quirks for good measure, and if I can just stay like that, I can stay safe.

  Parallel Hearts isn’t real. I can’t change the mistakes I carry with me.

  But I can change my actions now.

  I take a deep breath and let the words stumble out. “I’m not doing okay.”

  McKenna waits to see if I say anything more, and when I don’t, they nod. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  I clench my jaw. “I don’t know, I’m . . .” I try on the various words, but I can’t find the right one. Not okay. Broken. It’s as far as I can go.

  “Hurting?” McKenna offers, instead.

  Oh.

  Huh.

  “Yes, that.”

  I stare at them, and they shrug. “I know that feeling. Not now. Not anymore. Just . . . I’ve been there, and I didn’t like it.”

  It reassures me, frightens me, and makes me want to protect them, all at the same time.

  “Is there anything you need?” they ask.

  It’s such a simple, well-meant question, but I have so little to offer in return. I wince. “I don’t know. I just . . . don’t run when I tell you, okay? If I find the words.”

  They nod. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

  Those few words nearly break me down entirely, but my walls are stronger and I haven’t cried in so long. I don’t know if this is better than telling or not telling. I don’t know if there is such a thing as better when you’re laying parts of your soul bare. But they’re here, and so am I.

  Maybe, for
now, this is enough.

  McKenna pushes a hand out of their sleeping bag and squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t let the secrets devour you, Q.”

  “I’ll try not to?” It’s all I can give them. “I want to trust you. I do.”

  “I know.” They let themself fall on their back, and they stare up at the concrete buildings. “Tell me when you’re ready. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

  I stare up at the large square shadows too. “I’m here too. If there’s anything you want to talk about.”

  “I know.”

  The silence is almost comfortable around us, now, even though the rain is doing its best to make us uncomfortable. I burrow deeper into my sleeping bag, but I keep looking at McKenna, nothing but hair and eyes peeking out into the night.

  McKenna stares right back at me. And perhaps we could fall asleep like that, but eventually they push themself up on an elbow again. “And for what it’s worth, give yourself a second chance.”

  I understand the reference. I don’t know what to say to that, and I’m not sure they expect a response either. Instead, we both wait for the night to pass.

  Sleep soon claims McKenna, and I’m left with my thoughts, their quiet breathing, and five new words to mull over.

  Maybe I can tear down my walls stone by stone if I have to.

  Even small choices can change the world, after all.

  4.

  Or, Option C

  Connor: Was it worth it? All of this?

  Lyra: If it wasn’t, lie to me.

  Alessia: It was. You once told me that every choice we make has good and bad consequences, and that we can only hope the good outweighs the bad. I don’t think that’s all of it. Every choice we make creates a new opportunity for a better world. We’re not changing the world ourselves, and we don’t have to. We just have to keep giving it a second chance. We just have to keep giving ourselves second chances too.

  Parallel Hearts S03E13: Wild Roses

  Endless universes, and endless possibilities. I can’t help but wonder who I could be if I had the world at my fingertips. If the me’s of parallel universes are different. Brave. Whole.

  If maybe I can be different. If I can be brave. If I can feel whole.

  “What’s not just Parallel Hearts?” McKenna asks. They prop themself up on an elbow and tilt their head.

  The particle accelerator RPG behind us is ramping up again, with whispered arguments and uncontrollable laughter. The ukulele music has faded away, though someone, somewhere, still seems to be singing. We’re way past midnight now.

  “It’s not just Parallel Hearts,” I repeat. “It’s never just been about the show.”

  McKenna pushes themself up farther. “I know. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  I don’t—I want to survive and be safe.

  I do—out of everyone around me, McKenna deserves the answer most. Because they are here. Because they have been here for the past five years.

  Because I think they’ll still be here if I don’t tell them.

  Because I think they’ll still be here if I do tell them.

  I open my mouth and I close it.

  Again.

  McKenna reaches out a hand to me. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, it’s just—”

  “I know.”

  But I want to tell them. But sometimes it’s easier to keep silent. Sometimes it’s safer to keep silent, because I don’t know what’s on the other side of my walls. But if I don’t tell them now, then when? It’s easier here than at home. We’re shielded by anonymity. And I want to talk about it. I have to talk about it. I want them to know before tomorrow. I—

  Take a deep breath, and say, “You never met my dad, did you?”

  They shake their head, and I somehow manage a smile. “That’s probably a good thing. He wasn’t a nice person. He certainly wasn’t a good dad.”

  McKenna’s face falls, almost as if they can see where this is going, and not for the first time I wonder how many of us have stories like this, hidden away between the words we speak and the silences we keep. Stories we never talk about because they’re too big to share, even as they devour us.

  “He used to come into my room at night.” Even those few words threaten to take my breath away.

  “Quinn . . .”

  I silence McKenna with a hand gesture. If I stop talking now, I won’t start again. Not tonight, at least. Maybe not ever. “He told me I could never tell anyone about it, because if I did, he would get angry. He could get so angry sometimes that I think even my mother was scared of him. He told me he didn’t want to, he didn’t like being angry, that he didn’t like hurting any of us, but if I wasn’t a good girl . . .” I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “One night, I resisted. I tried to cry out. The next day he took a belt to Nate.”

  McKenna pales. “Oh Quinn. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “No one does—did.”

  I don’t even know now, looking back, if he realized how effective a threat it was, because I wanted to tell, but every time I even thought about telling anyone, my throat would just close up. I wanted to protect my brother. I needed to protect my brother. I wanted to protect my mother. And I had already failed once, so I wasn’t about to do it again.

  Even after he moved out, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know how to. I just let the shame and the guilt become a part of me, because I was sure it should be.

  “When—when did it stop?” McKenna asks.

  “When he left. Mom stood up to him and gave him an ultimatum. Get his act together or get out. She didn’t even know. But she saw Nate’s scars. She bore her own. And somehow, she managed to break us free. He tried to get control back, but she wouldn’t let him. He tried to sabotage her by having an affair, which was awful for the other woman too. He hurt us. When nothing moved her, I think he lost interest. He packed his bags and left. Found a job out of state.”

  I didn’t believe it, at first. I lay awake for days on end, because I was sure he’d find his way back. Because I was sure he would get angry and that, even though he didn’t want to, he would hurt us.

  “I was eight when he left. And you know what the worst thing is?” I stare at my patterned sleeping bag. “I missed him. Some days, I still do.”

  “He’s your father. No matter what happened, that doesn’t change.”

  I tell myself that too. But it doesn’t make me feel better. “I don’t even know where he is now, or if he’s still alive. We haven’t spoken to that side of the family in years, and I don’t particularly want to.”

  “It’s ironic.” McKenna shakes their head. “My parents always go on about how perfect your home seems.”

  “Hey!” A sudden shout behind us makes me tense all over, and I curl up and make myself even smaller.

  The girls have apparently reached the climax of their game, and they’re very awake, despite the shushing and complaining from others within earshot. I only catch part of what they say, and it’s all I can do to repeat it to McKenna.

  “Sometimes, there are actual monsters underneath the lake.”

  McKenna grimaces. “Yeah. There are.”

  We fall silent and the night around us grows silent too. The only sound is the soft pitter-pattering of the rain on our sleeping bags.

  McKenna is so quiet, and it’s only because I can see them staring at me that I know they haven’t fallen asleep.

  I stare back at them, and I don’t feel . . . better, necessarily. But I feel lighter. And at the same time I feel dreadfully tired and sick to my stomach. I feel like I’m bursting. Like even sharing a bit of truth is enough to open a dam and now everything comes flooding out. “I don’t know how to live with this, Mac.”

  “I’ll be at your side. We’ll find a way.”

  I take a deep breath and with a trembling voice I give them all the
truth I have left in me. “I tell everyone that I love Parallel Hearts because it reminded me that there’s nothing broken that can’t be fixed, and nothing so irreparably damaged that it can’t be given a second chance. But mostly, it reminded me that there’s no one broken who can’t be fixed, and I’m not so irreparably damaged that I can’t be given a second chance.”

  “You’re not broken nor damaged,” McKenna says, with determination. They barely manage to keep their voice to a whisper.

  “I know that. I think I know that. Most of the time. At least some of the time.”

  “You’re not responsible for what your father did—to you or to Nate.”

  On some sort of rational level, I knew I wasn’t responsible for what my father did to us, but I could still count every scar on my brother’s arms and trace it back to me. “If I’d just been good, he—”

  “No.” They wiggle closer. “No. He made those choices. He threatened you into submission. He abused you. He was responsible for every single step, not you. You were just a kid, Quinn.”

  I wince, and I pull back, so they can’t touch me. McKenna realizes and immediately puts some distance between us. But they don’t let up. “You were just a kid and if I have to remind you a thousand times that you’re not responsible for any of this, I will. If I have to tell you a thousand times that you deserved better and that you still deserve better, I will.”

  They stare at me so intently that somehow those words are bigger than all the secrets I ever kept. I don’t know if I can believe them forever, I don’t even know if I believe them now. But right here and now, on the concrete floor underneath a rainy night sky, I want to.

  I want people to see me. I want people to hear me. I want my mother to know what happened, and maybe even Nate too, so it isn’t just McKenna that’s the glue between us anymore.

  And maybe I want to believe—not just in second chances, but in the idea that, despite the choices and the scars and horrors we carry with us, there’s something worth fighting for.

  Maybe that’s why Parallel Hearts means so much to me, too. Because I want to believe in all of those things. Without Connor and Lyra and Alessia and McKenna, I wouldn’t have found that one word: hope.