by Frankie Rose
I WAKE with the stale taste of Korma in my mouth, even though I brushed my teeth twice before bed. The taste isn’t as bad as the ringing in my ears. I reach out to slam my palm down on my alarm clock, but then realize it isn’t going off. Perhaps the high-pitched buzzing has more to do with the five beers I drank last night and less to do with the fact that it’s time to get up. In fact, when I warily crack my eyes, it isn’t even daylight yet. The only light in the room is bright blue, cast off by my cell phone as it vibrates noisily on my bedside table.
I snatch the phone up, wincing when I see it’s six am. The wince develops into a flat out frown when I see Luke’s name on the screen. I hit answer, loud-whispering, “Why the hell are you calling me at six am?” For a second I hope Luke has pocket dialled me and I’m going to be able to hang up without speaking to him. When he starts talking, I realize it isn’t so much as a pocket dial as a drunk dial.
“Wyoming’s actually two hours behind New York, so it’s…um…four am here. Your uncle said I had to wait until sun up to speak to you, but he didn’t say where the sun had to be coming up, so…is it up? It must be by now. Can you check?”
“No! No, the sun is not up! You need to go to sleep, Luke.”
“I can’t sleep. Not until I know you don’t hate me.”
“What? I don’t—” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to keep calm. “Of course I don’t hate you. I might change my mind if you don’t let me get back to sleep, though. I have an early class and I’d like at least another hour.”
“Brandon said to tell you that you had to let me dig you out,” Luke slurs, completely ignoring me. “I have no idea what he means, but if you need help digging then I’m your man, Iris.”
Jeez, this is terrible. Brandon and Luke really shouldn’t be spending time together. Apparently my uncle can’t keep his damned trap shut. “I don’t need any help with digging, but thanks. Now go to sleep.”
“Will you see me when I come home?”
I pull my comforter over my head and consider swearing. “I don’t know, okay? We’ll talk about it when you’re sober.”
“I need to tell you some things when I see you. That’s why I have to see you—to tell you some things,” he mumbles. “Brandon says we should be honest. He thinks I should tell you what happened to me, but I’m not…you might…
I hold my fingertips up to my mouth, holding my breath. Brandon has been trying to convince Luke to talk to me. Explain about his past and his relationship with my dad. “He’s right, Luke. You should tell me.”
Silence reigns supreme down the phone for a second. And then Luke sounds like he’s sobered up a little. “I’m so sorry, Iris. I know you’re not mine but still… I can’t bear the thought of losing you. You’ll run, I know you will.”
“I won’t, I swear I won’t. I promise you.”
But it’s no good. The brief glimpse of sober Luke is gone all too quickly. “SHIT!” A clattering sound on the other end of the line cuts Luke off. It sounds like he’s tripped and fallen. He starts laughing hysterically, so loud I have to hold the phone away from my head. “Sorry, Iris. Crap, it’s Avery now, isn’t it? Avery Patterson. It’s like you’re two different people, but you’re not. I keep getting confused.”
“I know. It’s okay. You can call me Iris if you want. Everyone knows now, anyway. Now go to sleep, okay?”
“Okay, okay, I’m going. Promise you don’t hate me? I feel bad for what we… what I did.” The intense guilt in his voice and the way he adjusts his words makes it sound like he forced himself on me or something.
“Luke.”
“I know…go to sleep. I’ll see you in two days, Avery. I’m going to find something to ex…exonerate your dad in that house.”
He hangs up before I have chance to remind him it was me who’d jumped him, not the other way around. Before I can convince him to trust me with his secrets. Before I can thank him for trying to clear my father’s name even after how awful I’ve been to him. I don’t go back to sleep. I lay there until the sun actually does come up, feeling wretched and conflicted.