The Guy on the Right

by Kate Stewart

  I step forward.

  He steps back.

  “This is in your head.”

  “No, it’s fucked up my heart!” He pounds a fist to his chest. “How can I trust you now?”

  “You would have to trust me in the first place,” I say, my heart charring to ash. I choke on that revelation as he glances at the ground between us. “Oh my God, you never did trust me, did you?” I shake my head, unable to believe the truth of it. “You were expecting me to screw this up. The whole time. Weren’t you?”

  His silence singes me to the point I can no longer take an easy breath.

  “You were waiting for me to ruin it.”

  “Congratulations,” he says bitterly, “you succeeded.”

  “You don’t mean any of this.”

  “Maybe I do. You said so yourself the night we met. Lie to me, Laney. Tell me you love me too. Isn’t it my turn?”

  “You’re going to feel like such an idiot when you figure out how ridiculous you’re acting.”

  “Or maybe I just saved myself a whole hell of a lot of fucking headaches.”

  “You’re a bastard.”

  “Fine, I’m the bad guy, are we done here?”

  “Oh yeah,” my voice cracks. “we’re done.”

  “Good, because I wouldn’t want to hold you back.”

  I glare at him through my tears. “You’re not who I thought you were.”

  “Funny, you’re exactly who I thought you were.”

  “Go straight to hell, Houseman.”

  Chin quivering, I try and pull myself together from all sides as he climbs the steps to his porch. At the door, he glances at me over his shoulder, his eyes swimming with hurt.

  “How could you—” he shakes his head as tears slide down his jaw and my heart stops beating.

  “Theo—”

  “I always knew—” he says hoarsely before swallowing, another tear sliding down his cheek. “I knew if you saw him, that would be the end of us.”

  “Well, that only proves how much you know,” I cry with an identical tear running down my own face, “because I chose you over him months ago.”

  I leave him there, because nothing I say at this point will matter as much as if I’d said it before. My hesitance cost me dearly, my past caught up with me. And my words came much, much too late.

  Grannism—You aren’t hungry, you’re bored.

  Laney

  “Where is she?” I hear Devin say from the porch.

  Great, an intervention. It’s not like I’ve emptied two cans of Cheez Whiz in my mouth today. I’ve cut back to one. I push the empty box of Famous Amos away with my foot and bury my head under a couch pillow just as the screen door slams.

  “Shit, it’s worse than I thought.”

  I groan through the fabric. “Don’t you dare. I’m just having a moment.”

  “You’ve been having a moment for the last two weeks.”

  “Lookie here,” I say, sitting and pulling the pillow to shield the carb bulge of my belly, “I’m just bored.”

  Devin pushes at my feet to make room for her on the couch as I retreat to my corner. “He’s hurting too, I assure you.” She surveys the coffee table. “I see we’re still on a strict diet of whiskey and carbs.”

  “And it’s of no consequence to you.”

  “No, but your ass is going to pay the price.”

  Letting out a harsh breath, I give her a dead stare. “Always a pleasure, buddy, it’s naptime. Kindly see yourself out.”

  “Nope, we’re getting out of here. I’ve gotten clearance from the hubs for a girls’ night, and you need it.”

  “I need no such thing, I’m happy here.”

  “Yes, I can tell by the crumbs collecting in your cleavage you’re living life to the fullest. You plannin’ on feastin’ on that half a cookie later?”

  I pull a stray piece of cookie from my chest. “Okay, maybe I could use a shower.”

  My mother joins us, busying herself in the kitchen, aka eavesdropping.

  “You’re eating your feelings. It’s not healthy.”

  “I’m eating because these things are delicious!”

  She eyes me skeptically.

  “Fine,” I say, clearing the contents of the table in my arms and walking them over to the trash before resting my hands on my hips. “Happy?”

  “Right as rain, how are you?”

  “I told you, I’m bored.”

  “You’re in denial.”

  “I’m not. I just need to regroup.”

  “Regroup,” Devin says nodding, “how’s that working out?”

  “I’m getting there.”

  “Uh huh,” she says, turning to my mother who decides now is the perfect time to harp in.

  “Your graduation is coming up and you haven’t even picked out a dress.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “No, you haven’t.”

  “I’m planning on it,” I grab the remote, “I just need—”

  Devin jerks the remote from my hands. “That’s it. GET UP! This is ridiculous. You got your heart broken. We gave you a decent enough grace period to lose your shit. You’ve spent the whole time denying it. Time to get back up.”

  “I’m not down or in denial,” I assure them both as my mother takes the seat opposite of me.

  “Excited about your trip?” Mom asks.

  “Yes. Of course.” No.

  I twirl a lock of hair between my fingers. “I’m bored. I need…a change of scenery, and I’ll get it on my trip. I’m just restless, I just need something…” I scrutinize the ends of my hair. “You two wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m pretty sure I would,” my mother says through a sigh.

  “You miss him,” Devin declares softly.

  “To hell with him.”

  “With who?” My mom pipes in. “You can’t even say his name.”

  “Laney,” Devin says in the same maternal tone. “It’s okay to admit your heart is broken. It’s us.”

  Mom nods. “He roped you in good, baby girl. You had nothing but stars in your eyes for months.”

  “You’re upset, maybe a little devastated and that’s okay.”

  “For the last time, I’m restless. I need a change.” I stare at my split-ends.

  “You clearly miss him. You fell in love with him. We both saw it.”

  “Yeah, well, he doesn’t think so. And anyway, drop it. I just need something…” I pluck at my hair, “I know exactly what I need.”

  I rise from the couch marching toward my bedroom and hear a collective, “Stop her!”

  I’m already in my bathroom with my scissors raised when Devin tackles me like a fucking linebacker into my bathtub.

  “You idiot!” I scream as we crash through the shower curtain and land at a horrible angle.

  I’m gasping for air as Devin wrestles the scissors from me.

  “Stop it! Damn it, Devin! You aren’t supposed to even run with scissors, let alone get tackled with them!”

  My mom is howling with laughter behind us as Devin manages to get them from me and stands pointing them in my direction as if I’m the threat.

  I stand, ass bruised and back on fire, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “You gonna stand guard all night, Red Rover, ‘cause my mind’s made up!”

  “If I have to,” Devin challenges, not one bit intimidated.

  “I need to cut my hair! I need a change!”

  Devin lifts the open tampon box on my bathroom counter and raises a brow. “You need Midol, possibly a Xanax, and to sleep on this decision for about a week. Until then, these belong to me.”

  I glare at my mother.

  “This is funny to you?” Tears fill my eyes. “I’m a joke to you two?”

  “I’m sorry, little woman, but I agree. You’re a hot ass mess.” She comes toward me, and I shake my head, lifting my chin defiantly to ward them off.

  Devin turns back to grin at her. “Remember that time she tried to dye her hair blonde with
peroxide and came out looking like a leopard?”

  “I meant to do that,” I snap through watery eyes. “I was going through an Animal Planet phase.”

  “Oh God, how about when she shaved it on one side!” My mom supplies through a light laugh of her own.

  “I wanted it to look like Pink’s!” I toss my hands up. “Have you seen that woman’s hair? It’s glorious!”

  “Or the other time she tried to give herself dreads so she could be country chic,” Devin says, keeping in conversation as they both completely ignore me. “She washed her hair with raw eggs!”

  “That’s what I read to do online! I go through hair phases. Everyone does.”

  Devin looks back at me, determination in her voice. “Laney, the only thing you love about your appearance lately is your hair, and you are not cutting it because you got your heart broken. It will break ten times worse when you wake up and realize your mistake.”

  I raise my wobbling chin a notch further. “What are you even doing here anyway? Didn’t we marry you off? Aren’t you supposed to be ironing and cooking right now?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Maybe if I got married in the ‘50s? Chase is the one that cooks most nights. And who irons anymore? Besides, with comments like that, I know you’ve really lost it.”

  “I have not!” I defend. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re an undeclared feminist who just told me to go play June Cleaver! You’re hurting, and I won’t let you take it out on your hair!”

  “I-I-I-I’m not,” my voice cracks, “I’m not…” sad, miserable, heartbroken, “myself,” I cry out as my face falls.

  “Shit,” Devin murmurs, capturing me in her arms just as I break. My mom is right behind her as they both wrap around me with words of comfort. And I cry. I cry so hard I cover them both in snot. When I’m finally able to breathe, I pull away spotting Max as he walks in looking at us like the lunatics we are before scoffing and walking out.

  “H-he-he won’t talk to me. He’s just,” I hiccup, “he’s done. H-h-how am I supposed to do this?”

  “This is just phase one. You know all the hell hounds I went through to get to Chase. We might not put up with bullshit long, Laney, but the pain is still the same. I’ve been where you are. You can’t force him.”

  “But I loved him, I loved him the best way I knew how, why wasn’t that good enough?”

  Both their eyes fill, and I shake my head. “Cut it out right now. Both of you.”

  “Shit, she finally did it,” Devin whispers to my mother who gazes on at me. “I’m so proud of you. You finally opened yourself up—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it, I’ve been conquered. Now how do I get him back?”

  They exchange a long look before turning to me. I see the answer in their eyes.

  I don’t get him back. And I guess that realization starts phase two.

  Theo

  “Hey ya,” I hear for the tenth time since I got to school. At first, I wasn’t sure if it was for me.

  And then I was getting the official Grand Salute everywhere, on every corner of campus, by everyone, including faculty. And one brave girl had the audacity to lecture me during finals. “Hey ya, buddy, just call her. You two belong together.”

  I wanted to argue that all she knows is what she saw on social media and that it’s misleading. But it’s not. It’s us. That was the whole point. And that point is constantly stabbing me.

  After a hundred or so greetings, I pull up our account to see a candid of me she posted and the hashtag beneath it.

  Has anyone seen my best friend? If you do, please do me a favor and give him a “Hey ya,” for me.

  #imissmybestfriend #livingmyloneliestlife

  The sentiment doesn’t ring hollow, and only hits harder as the day goes on, and one classmate after the other calls out to me from every direction. “Hey ya!” The greeting is used often enough, but I don’t think it’s ever been used quite like this. I’m willing to bet Laney’s project outshined every other senior’s this year, and all we had to do to make it happen was fall in love.

  Her project might be a smashing success, but we are currently a disaster. She’ll be leaving soon. She’s about to graduate. It’s been weeks since we broke up. The most miserable fucking two weeks of my life.

  This is where I’m supposed to admit I overreacted.

  I did.

  This is also the part where I’m supposed to run and tell the girl and admit what an idiot I’ve been.

  I haven’t.

  Because though I credit myself for having a different mindset than most, I’m still a fucking guy. A guy who’s spent more good years catering to women and getting his heart mangled in return.

  Maybe nice guys do finish last. And for the first time, since I met Troy and Lance, I fully understand their philosophy.

  Theodore Houseman’s Colossal College Mistake #2, falling for a caged bird.

  Laney was never a sure thing. She was a wild card. And I painted my glasses the perfect shade of rose to discredit any reasons why we shouldn’t be together. The woman’s signature characteristic is indecisiveness. She’s got no map for her future. She only lives in the present with the pretense of later. And I encouraged it because I was too afraid to push her in any one set direction, including mine.

  Because I’d catered to her too. No questions. No pressure to make decisions; about us, what we were, and where we were going.

  But one thing is for certain. She is going.

  “Hey ya,” a voice rings out in the distance, and I pump my legs to try and escape them, but it’s pointless. Another voice calls out to me, then another, and another, and eventually it’s only her voice I hear, reminding me of what I’m missing. A solid lump forms in my throat as the greetings stab me from all directions while I make my way to my car. Safely inside, I white-knuckle my steering wheel. Chest battered and soul bruised from the ache of missing her, I turn over the ignition and lift my phone rereading her last text.

  Laney: I trusted myself. I trusted you.

  Reading the words while feeling this raw has my heart rupturing. She sent it a week ago, and then the texts stopped. What message am I sending her by ignoring it? I vowed to be the one man in her life that wouldn’t abandon her. The anger was enough then to fuel my silence, but now it’s the hurt and fear keeping me quiet. We met at a crossroads, and now we’re at another. Trust is what we based our whole relationship on and what tore us apart. The brutal truth is, every time I think about her, I see him too, and the way she looked at him.

  Music blares out of the jukebox as I sit at the bar downing another shot before drowning the aftertaste with beer.

  I’ve been sitting here since school let out, unwilling to head home. Troy moved out the night I blew up. The house has been eerily quiet since and if I’m honest, I miss the traffic.

  “Hey, man.” I look over to see Lance sidle up on the barstool next to me.

  Glancing over, I study the bulk of him. I observe he’s the dark jock to Troy’s light as he orders a beer. “What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing here. This isn’t your scene, is it?”

  I glance around the musty bar. Skeletons of longhorns hang sporadically around the place while stapled signed dollar bills pose as wallpaper.

  “Not my scene, no,” he says, sipping his beer. “This is where you come to hide, and it’s cheap.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You look bummed.”

  I shrug. “Girl shit.”

  “Something to do with that beauty you used to bring home all the time?”

  “You saw her?”

  “Heard her mostly. She cracked me up.”

  I frown.

  He shrugs. “Thin walls. Couldn’t be helped.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Seems like you had a good year.” He grins and sips his beer, and I study the barbed wire tattoo around his bicep.

  “Well, my good year is ending on a shitty note. Garçon!” I call to the bartender
who gives me a tattooed bird before pouring more shots.

  “So, what’s your story?” I ask. “Seriously. I’ve never seen a jock be such a recluse.”

  “I’m a creature of my routine. I break out once in a while. But I stick to my circle, and it’s small.”

  “I get it. Mine is dwindling.”

  “Yeah, be careful with that,” he says, tapping the bar next to my empty shot glass. Seconds later we’re raising freshly poured shots in a toast. “To the graduating class of 2019,” he says before tipping it back. I inhale the liquid with him.

  “So, are your parents coming to your graduation?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah.”

  “Really, why?”

  “I’m up,” he says, jutting a chin over his shoulder at the guy waiting at the pool table, stick in hand. “See you, man.”

  “See you.”

  He lays a twenty on the bar, and it’s when he walks away that I realize I discovered absolutely nothing about Lance. He’s moving out in a week and will forever remain a mystery to me.

  I raise my finger.

  “Another shot?”

  “Line ‘em up,” I pluck my wallet of another twenty when my phone buzzes due to a slew of incoming texts.

  Zach: Fucking parties everywhere man! Hit me up!

  Courtney: You better not have screwed this up!

  Brenna: Hey Ya? What the hell is going on?

  Jamie: Call me right now!!

  Sighing, I glance down at the coaster under my beer and see it’s an advertisement for Laney’s favorite. It doesn’t matter where I look, she’s there.

  Just as that thought crosses my mind, the music changes, and Tim McGraw’s voice fills the bar.

  “Are you fucking serious!?”

  “What’s that?” The bartender asks.

  “Mind if I unplug the jukebox?” I ask before tossing back the shots.

  “Yes, I fucking mind, and you need to slow it down there.”

  “I’m good,” I stand on shaky legs and make my way toward the source of the noise. The words of the song are like gravel scraping across my gaping chest. I pull another bill from my pocket and put it into the machine as the chorus hammers into me. “Fuck you, Tim McGraw,” I flip through the music as Laney’s first love tells me the story about a girl he lost because he was stupid enough to let her go and how it haunts him.