I Wish You All the Best

by Mason Deaver

  They can’t be here. Right? Do they even know where Hannah lives? Why would they even be here? They didn’t want me in their house, so there’s no reason for them to be here.

  My phone starts to ring in my hand. I’ve been holding it so tight that I managed to switch it off silent mode. It’s Mariam, texting me, and trying to restart the FaceTime call.

  No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to calm my breathing, can’t take my eyes off the stark white bedroom door. I have to listen closely, for a car coming up the driveway, or the front door opening and shutting, the sound of feet coming up the steps.

  Then come those unmistakable sounds. The door swinging open, then closed, quiet chatter that I can’t make out. It’s Hannah and Thomas. It has to be; it’s their voices. They gave me the only spare key they had. They even told me that themselves. And the doors are locked. It has to be Hannah and Thomas. But is that really what they sound like? Is that their muffled voices? Their footsteps?

  What if it’s not?

  One set of feet, two sets, slowly approaching the top of the stairs. “He’s probably in his room,” someone says. Hannah?

  At least, it sounds like Hannah, but I can’t be sure. “Their,” she says. “They’re probably in their room.” It’s got to be Hannah; it has to be. But my mind refuses to accept it, no matter how much I want it to.

  “Ben?” There’s a knock on the door, and the handle jiggles a little. “Ben, the door’s locked.”

  I open my mouth to speak, to say something, anything. But nothing comes out.

  “Ben, are you okay?”

  “No,” I force out, like I’m swallowing nails.

  “Can you open the door?” The handle keeps wiggling back and forth.

  “Ben?” It’s Thomas, or at least it sounds like Thomas. “I need you to open the door for me, okay?”

  I can’t, I’m stuck. Because what if that’s Mom and Dad on the other side of that door? Nearly every part of my brain is screaming that it can’t be, but there is still that chance, no matter how slim it is.

  They both whisper something I can’t understand, and then I hear footsteps fading away.

  “Ben? Thomas is going to unlock the door, okay?”

  I try to say something, but my mouth feels impossibly dry, and I can’t control my breathing. It’s almost like there’s a fifty-pound weight sitting on my chest, and no matter how many times I wipe my face, I can’t seem to stop crying. It’s worse than it was in Dr. Taylor’s office. Or that New Year’s Eve night. This feels like I’ll never know the end of it.

  “We’ve got one for the bedrooms. Just in case of emergencies.”

  There’s the sound of something on the other side of the door, and the click of the lock sliding and the door slowly opening. Thomas steps away and lets Hannah walk in slowly ahead of him.

  “Ben?”

  “I’m sorry.” I tuck my knees to my chest, trying my best to hide my face. I can’t even look at them.

  “Ben? Can I sit down?” She points to the bed.

  I shrug. “’S your room.”

  “It’s your room.” The bed dips under her weight. I can tell she wants to reach for me, raising her hand before pulling it away again. “Ben, what happened?”

  “Mom and Dad.” My voice is barely a murmur.

  Hannah freezes. “What about them? They didn’t come here, did they?” Hearing their names, it’s like a switch flips inside her.

  I shake my head and tried to clear my throat.

  “I don’t know if it was them.” I wipe my eyes. “There was a car. It pulled into the driveway, and there was someone at the door.” Now it feels like I’ve breathed too much, like the air is going to poison me.

  Hannah turns and mouths something to Thomas, but I can’t tell what it is. He nods and vanishes down the hallway.

  “Ben?” Hannah turns back to me. “Do you want anything to drink?”

  I shake my head.

  “Want me to call Dr. Taylor? Maybe she can help you through this?”

  “No, don’t bother her. Please.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t them,” she offers. “Maybe it was just someone who was lost and turning around? That seems pretty wild, that they’d show up out of the blue, right?” I think she’s trying to talk me down, but it isn’t helping.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She touches my back gently, almost like she’s scared I’ll break if someone so much as breathes on me too hard. “I know this isn’t easy.”

  I turn away from her hand. I can’t deal with touches right now, not even from her. “I’m sorry, I just …”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry.” She clasps her hands together. “Maybe you should try to get some rest, okay? We can talk more in the morning.”

  I nod slowly, feeling the bed shift as Hannah stands, turning to glance at me one more time before she closes the door behind her. I want to scream, I want to yell, but my voice isn’t much more than a whisper. “Please don’t leave me.”

  But it’s too late. She’s gone.

  I hear her say something to Thomas. It sounds like he’s still on the phone. But everything just feels so muffled, and I don’t even have the energy to eavesdrop. I pull my knees in closer, wanting to do so many things. Pick up my phone and talk to Mariam, or even get Thomas in here to talk to me. A different voice. Anything to fill the room.

  Hannah and Thomas don’t bother me for the rest of the night, even though I’m silently begging them to. I hear their footsteps creeping back and forth, moving between the rooms, I guess. Around midnight, after my back aches from sitting against the wall for so long, I finally pull off my shirt, throw it onto the floor, and crawl underneath my sheets.

  In the morning I shuffle into the bathroom, the hot water of the shower calling to me. I don’t want to leave; I want to just stand here. Maybe I’d eventually just drown; that’s easy enough to do in a bathtub, right?

  It’s mortifying watching Hannah and Thomas look up from the table in the kitchen, both of their gazes settling on me. I can already see so much of what they’re thinking on their faces. It’s pity and sadness and fear and I fucking hate it so much.

  “Hey, kiddo. How’re you doing?” Thomas asks.

  “Fine.” I’m pretty sure we all know that’s a lie.

  “Why don’t you sit down? I think we need to talk.” Hannah pats at the empty space on the table.

  “Do we have to?”

  “Yes,” Thomas says, no room for question in his voice.

  I force myself to move forward, no point in running back upstairs and hiding in my room all day. Especially if they have a key.

  “I think Dr. Taylor needs to know about what happened last night.” Hannah pauses.

  “You didn’t call already, did you?” I ask.

  Hannah shakes her head. “Didn’t want to do that without you. I remembered the confidentiality stuff and didn’t think you’d be comfortable without me asking you first.”

  Maybe she just doubted that I’d ever tell Dr. Taylor myself, or maybe she was so scared of what I might do the next time this happened. “You can call,” I say.

  “Do you want to talk to her yourself?” Thomas asks.

  “No.” I won’t even know where to start.

  “Okay.” Hannah searches through her contacts for Dr. Taylor’s number. I hear it ring for a few seconds, and then the muffled sound of her voice. Is she actually in her office on a Saturday? “Hey, Dr. Taylor. It’s Hannah Waller. Ben’s sister? I just, um … I don’t really know where to begin with this.”

  There’s some noise, the sound of someone talking.

  “No, yeah. Ben is fine. Well, kind of. They’re right here. But last night, there was an incident. I think it might’ve been a panic attack or something. And we just wanted you to be aware of it.”

  Dr. Taylor says something else.

  “Yes. I understand. Okay.” Hannah puts her hand over the phone. “She wants to know if you want to meet earlier than next Thursday?”

&nbs
p; I shrug, a non-answer. But Hannah accepts it.

  “If you don’t mind,” Hannah says. “Mhmm. Yes, thank you. I’ll bring them Monday right after school. Thank you, have a nice weekend.” Hannah ends the call. “Sorry.” She gives me a guilty look.

  “It’s whatever,” I tell her. Maybe I’m actually a little happy she took the lead on this one. I don’t know, I think if I’d actually told them what I wanted to do, I might’ve said no.

  “Ben,” Thomas cuts in. “Do you want to talk about anything?”

  “No, just not today.” I try to make the words sound like a firm statement, but I doubt it actually comes out that way. “Please?”

  Hannah and Thomas pass a look between them. “Okay,” Thomas says. “Do you need us to do anything?”

  Even if there is something they can do, I doubt I’d be able to tell them. I’ve never been so scared like that. It was like I shut down. I couldn’t even speak; it was like my brain just refused to form the words.

  “No, there’s nothing.”

  Every night that weekend, I dream about my parents. I wake up covered in sweat, the sheets tangled around my legs. I only remember Mom’s face, the frigidity of that night. Saturday night I manage to fall back asleep after a while. Sunday is a different story though. No matter how hard I try, my mind refuses to rest. So after an hour of wrestling with my sheets, I know it’s no use. I’ll be a zombie tomorrow morning at school.

  In some combination of my insomnia and curiosity, I go downstairs to the living room and pull out the laptop, googling the causes of insomnia, but that doesn’t help. One, because I’m not sure that’s what this is, and sometimes self-diagnosis can be dangerous. And two, the results yield anything from asthma to sinus issues to arthritis. None of which I’ve ever had to deal with. But there are two causes that stick out to me, right near the middle of the page.

  Anxiety and depression are two of the key factors contributing to insomnia. Patients will usually experience—

  I stop, almost looking up anxiety, but I don’t want to open that can of worms. I close the tab and grab my headphones, killing time by listening to one of my playlists and taking BuzzFeed quizzes. Eventually I go to Mariam’s channel and watch their latest video.

  A few hours later, the sun starts to peek up from behind the curtains, bathing the room in a warm glow. Another night lost. I head back upstairs and take a quick shower. Hannah and Thomas are still asleep, or one of them is. I can hear someone moving around in their bedroom.

  “Morning, Ben.” Thomas marches down the steps about an hour later, buttoning the sleeves of his shirt.

  “Morning.”

  He opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of water. “You’re up early.”

  “Couldn’t sleep.” I swallow the last bit of cereal and drink the leftover milk, which is the best part, honestly.

  “Oh, that sucks. I’ve had those nights.” Thomas leans against the counter. “So …”

  Uh-oh. I’m already bracing for the worst. “So …” I repeat.

  “Nathan’s been asking about you.”

  I eye Thomas suspiciously. “Asked what about me?”

  “He, uh …” Thomas laughs, less like he finds this funny, and more like he doesn’t want to say the next part of his sentence. “He was wondering what he did to offend you.”

  My heart drops. “Oh.” It’s all I can really think to say.

  “I told him I didn’t think you were mad at him or anything. Just that you were going through some stuff.”

  I open my mouth to ask a question, but Thomas is already one step ahead of me. “I didn’t tell him anything,” he assures me. “Kept it vague and mysterious, just how you like it.”

  I let out a sigh of relief and walk over to the sink to rinse out the bowl. “Thank you.”

  “He’s a good kid, just a little nosy.”

  I glare at Thomas. “A little?”

  That makes him genuinely laugh. “Okay, he’s a lot nosy, but he’s got a big heart. He likes to make people feel welcome.”

  “Yeah.” I open the dishwasher, stacking the bowl so it fits perfectly. I don’t know what to make of Nathan yet, honestly. He seems cool enough, and he’s been nothing but nice to me since I got to Raleigh, almost to a fault. Like he has something inside him that’s telling him he can’t leave me alone for more than five seconds. “I should be nicer to him, shouldn’t I?”

  “Maybe,” Thomas begins to say. “You should at least give him a chance. It can’t be easy, I mean, your life is … Well, a lot has happened over the last few weeks, Ben. You need someone you can talk to.”

  “I thought that’s why I was seeing Dr. Taylor.”

  “Okay, well, it helps to talk to someone your own age who you aren’t paying to dissect everything you say.”

  “I guess.” I sigh. I can only rely on Mariam for so much. Between the time difference and them traveling so much to speak with nonbinary and queer groups across the country, having a friend might not be so bad.

  Thomas pats my shoulder and gives me one of those awkward smiles. “You want to go ahead and leave? I can get a head start on my grading.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s not really anywhere for me to go so early in the morning. Mrs. Liu won’t be in for another hour, and it feels awkward to be in the art room before she is.

  I like Thomas and all, but I’m not prepared to spend an extra hour in his classroom with nothing between us but awkward conversation and even more awkward silence. So I head back to the quad. At least now I can be alone, and the place doesn’t reek of cigarette smoke and pot yet.

  I find a spot to sit down and pull out my sketchbook, but I’d really rather be painting right now. Maybe I could do the sky, the mix of light blues and almost transparent purples. With just the barest hints of orange and green from the sun. It’s like now that I can pick up a brush, it’s all I want to do.

  There’s this really cool drip painting I did last week, that I’m really proud of. Mrs. Liu was teaching the Art 1 class about Jackson Pollock, so she had me study and show off the way he did his drip-style paintings. Mrs. Liu actually liked it so much that she put it on the wall of the other student paintings, across from the one of the cardinal.

  I pull my phone out of my pocket and search through my reference photos. The one true benefit of getting a new phone is that I can now clog all my extra storage with useless reference photos I’ll never get to use.

  There’s one of a rose I have been using though, and I’m really liking how the sketch is coming out. I think I’ve got the perfect brushes to try and paint it too. The kind that will capture the delicate softness in the petals.

  “Now, Benjamin, you know phones aren’t allowed at school.” I jump, and Nathan plops down next to me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t scare me,” I lie. “And school hasn’t even started yet,” I argue without looking at him.

  “Touché. What’s that?” He points to the half-finished drawing. I guess it is hard to tell what it’s supposed to be when it’s just vague lines sketched out.

  “A rose.”

  “Oh, nice.” He dramatically rolls over onto the grass next to the concrete steps, lounging out. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

  I stare at him.

  “Titanic?”

  “That’s a little dated, don’t you think?” I say.

  Mom loves that movie. I remember begging to stay up and watch it with her so many times when it was on TV. Little did I know that it’s almost three hours long, so I’d always fall asleep before we even got to the iceberg scene.

  “Whatever.” He shrugs me off. “Hey, can I see any more?”

  It takes me a few seconds to realize he means the sketchbook. “Oh, um.”

  “Just one? Come on.”

  I sigh and start flipping through the pages quickly to find something that’s actually finished. There’s this idea for a painting I’ve been playing around with. It’s just a sketch, but I’m done
with that part of the planning. “Just one,” I say, handing it to him.

  Nathan’s smile grows wider, if that’s even possible, as he takes the pad. He handles it with the same care I’d expect him to give a baby.

  “It isn’t going to break, you know.”

  “I know,” he says, still setting it in his lap carefully. “This is really cool, Ben.”

  “Thanks.” I feel my face get hot, so I turn away from him. Oh God, I’m not blushing, am I? “It’s an idea for a painting I have.”

  “You paint too?”

  “A little.” I reach for my phone. “I’ve just got some photos though.”

  “Can I see one, please?” He hands the sketchbook back to me, leaning closer to get a look at my phone. I hope he doesn’t question the background. There’s this ice-skating anime Mariam and I both love, and I don’t think now’s the right time to explain just how gay it can really get.

  “Hold on.” I flip through the camera roll, trying to find something he might like. “Give me a second?”

  “Sure, I’ll even turn around.” Nathan tucks his knees up near his chest and swivels around on his butt, which can’t be comfortable on these concrete steps.

  “You didn’t have to do all that.”

  “Now you tell me!” He doesn’t sound too offended though. “I gave myself a wedgie doing that.”

  I could show him the drip painting, but that doesn’t seem too impressive. There is this small painting of a skull I did, partially a study in anatomy. It isn’t perfect. I messed up on some of the colors and the shading, but overall it isn’t terrible. I tap Nathan on the shoulder and he leans back without turning around, grabbing the phone.

  Please don’t start going through my phone. Please don’t start going through my phone.

  “Ominous. You aren’t, like, secretly some dark lord or anything, right?” He laughs.

  “If I was some evil overlord, I’d like to think I’d have better things to do than go to school.” I reach for the phone, but Nathan pulls it away at the last second.

  “Not done.” He eyes it closely, spreading his fingers to zoom in.