“This isn’t a slow song, Jay,” I whisper.
“Who said I want to dance?”
Jamison lowers his face, his nose coming to my hair, and I wonder if he’s memorizing my smell, like I’ve done with him. I squeeze my eyes closed, feeling the gloom that edges elation, knowing this can’t last forever.
“Please, tell me you understand what I’m saying,” Jamison whispers.
I pull back. He stares down at me with an intense look. How many times have I disappointed him? How many times did he go to the mailbox, hoping to see a letter from me that wasn’t there? A text? A phone call? Anything to break the silence. How could I have done that to him? I’d give anything to change my actions. But I can’t. I can only change now.
“I do,” I say.
The air feels fragile. I move slowly, cautiously, reaching up on my tiptoes. It’s a question in movement. Is this OK? Can we really do this? My mouth knows where it wants to be. I’ve played this moment in my imagination so many times.
It’s only cheating when it actually means something. This means everything. But I decide, right now, it’s worth the potential consequences.
“Amoris . . .” Jamison whispers, his mouth so close to mine. “Are you still with Zach?”
I fumble with a response, but I’m unable to lie. I am still technically with Zach. And Jamison knows it. But I was willing to forget the promise I made to Zach. The years of our relationship. The time we spent together, the secrets we shared, the trust we gave each other, just to get what I wanted. Who I wanted.
How could I do that?
I hear the sound of people running down the hallway, and Jamison steps back from me.
“We better go,” he says.
And we walk back to the gym, in silence.
15
A LOVE SONG
Snow peppers the mountains around Alder Creek. Football season is over, and River is incessantly playing basketball now. The sound of him dribbling and shooting and dribbling again, over and over for hours, is the soundtrack of my house lately. It’s better than silence.
Chris is gone again. He swore he’d be back by Thanksgiving, which happens to be tomorrow. My house is eerily silent. No more River yelling and slamming doors. Just the sound of a basketball on pavement, ticking like an irregular clock.
I managed to flip through the college material Lori gave me. After homecoming, I decided I want to get as far away from Alder Creek as an in-state tuition will allow me. Multiple college applications are permanently open on my computer, though I haven’t filled in a single one. I can’t seem to type my name, let alone an essay. I thought this would be the fix. College was my easy answer to life’s complications. But it’s just another step following in line. College feels like more brainwashing. The applications just sit there, staring at me, reminding me of my indecision.
Coward, they whisper.
“Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Peppermint. Evergreen. Eggnog. Wrapping paper.” I read the labels on the bottles in Rayne’s studio as she folds laundry. “Why are the holidays so hard for people?”
“People feel the pressure to rewrite personal history the way they wish it had been, instead of the way it really was,” she says. “It puts a lot of stress on the body. The hardest thing to dig out of a muscle is honesty. Honesty requires change, and most people don’t have time for that. They just want the pain to go away for a short time, so they can keep moving forward.”
“That’s depressing,” I say. And true. Because honesty is merciless. And yet wishing away pain, without making any real change, is exactly what I’ve done. “Why keep treating people if they never change?”
“My mom used to say that hope is the only antidote to fear.”
“Do you have a bottle of hope lying around?” I ask. “I need to borrow it.”
Rayne laughs. “Unfortunately, hope never sticks around long enough.”
“How rude of hope to keep disappearing on us.” I pick up a bottle labeled “Sunshine” and dab some on my wrist.
“Wait long enough, and she’ll come back.” She winks. “She always does.”
A train of people have come and gone from Rayne’s studio lately. So many broken people in search of hope and a quick fix. Making appointment after appointment. And maybe that’s how it goes—you fix the little things until one day you wake up and everything has changed. You look in the mirror and you don’t recognize your old broken self anymore. Or . . . you keep fixing the little things, and suddenly you wake up one day and the little things still break down, and you’re still in pain, and nothing has changed.
Waiting is suffocating.
“I’ll be back later,” I say.
“Where are you going?”
“I need a therapy session.”
A stack of records sits next to me in the listening booth at Black and Read. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here—minutes, hours. I’m counting the songs, not the seconds. Life is easier that way. My fingers hurt from playing. I lean back in the booth, guitar resting on my lap, and close my eyes. My hands won’t move fast enough to keep up with the music. I keep tripping on the rhythms, and yet I’ve played these songs over a hundred times before. I’m too distracted. Too slow. Too . . . imperfect. Or maybe I’m just sick of playing them.
A new song starts and simultaneously the door of the booth opens, startling me. Jamison stands in front of me, dressed like he’s going to church—crisp button-down shirt, jeans, and pristinely clean sneakers.
“I texted you, but you didn’t respond,” he says.
My phone is somewhere in my purse. Possibly dead. I don’t want to look at it.
“You’re all dressed up.” But my tone doesn’t sound pleased at seeing him so handsome.
“Kaydene insists I look presentable when we fly anywhere, even if it’s just back to Kansas City. It’s easier that way. People leave us alone.”
“When do you leave?”
“Our flight’s in a few hours.”
“Give Talia a hug for me,” I say. It’s not what I really want to say. I want to apologize for being weak. I want to explain myself and my choices over the past month. I want to grab him and not let go. I want to tell him that he’s what I’m thankful for. But all those things will only lead us to this exact same place. Right here. Nothing changed.
Jamison grips either side of the booth’s frame and then without warning, steps inside and closes the door. I stand quickly, setting my guitar down. My heart hitches into my throat, Jamison’s chest mere inches from mine. The booth is not really big enough for two people, and the air is instantly warm and smells of him. I get lightheaded at the suddenness of it all. He doesn’t touch me but stands with a sliver of space between us. His presence is overwhelming, the sheer size of him. Overwhelming in the best way, like I could get swept up in him and never look back.
Jamison sets his copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on the seat.
“In case you need it while I’m gone.” The words come out flat. Emotionless.
I pick up the worn, familiar book. “I can’t take it, Jay.”
But what I really mean is, I don’t deserve it.
“I don’t mind,” he says.
“You know I’m not a reader.”
“You could try,” he says.
I only love Harry Potter because Jay reads it to me. It’s him, not the book, that I need. I place it back in his hands. “I can’t.”
“Fine,” he says, disappointed yet again. “Happy Thanksgiving, Amoris.”
And then he’s gone. I collapse back on the seat. Tears sting my eyes. A love song plays in the background. I can’t stand the sound of it, but I don’t turn it off either. It’s my punishment. I am such a disappointment.
I dig my phone out of my purse and see the text from Jamison, along with one from Zach.
Zach is why I was hoping my phone was secretly eaten by my purse, never to be found again. Coward, it says, louder this time.
Zach isn’t coming home for Thanksgivin
g, and I declined his parents’ offer to pay for my ticket to New York. I blamed it on Rayne. Said she needed me to help with the holiday since she’s so busy with work.
Zach has sent a picture of his family at the top of the Empire State Building. He’s been sending a lot of pictures lately. And texts. And Snapchats. And voice messages.
I wish you were here. I’m counting the days until I see you.
Zach’s perfectly written texts piss me off. The correctness of them is infuriating.
I read Jamison’s text.
No goodbye?
It reeks of frustration, and I deserve it.
I tried to dump Zach. I did. The day after homecoming. It’s what a person should do when she almost cheats on her boyfriend. I sat in my bed, replaying the memory of Jamison’s lips, inches from mine, how good it felt to be close to him. How it seemed everything in my life had led me there, right then, and how one word destroyed it.
Zach.
I hated him for ruining my perfect moment, though it wasn’t his fault. It was mine. My relationship with Zach felt like something in another lifetime. Another body. Zach never made me feel the way Jamison does.
I phoned Zach the next day, to end it properly. Clean. He picked up right away.
“I’m so glad you called,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
“I need to talk to you, too,” I said, trying to remain soft and calm.
And then he blurted out, “I can’t lie to you anymore!”
“What?”
“I hate Columbia, Amoris. I hate New York City. I hate how noisy it is. I hate how bright it is, even at night. I hate how it smells like garbage and dog shit all the time. And don’t get me started on the subway. Yesterday I got flashed by a homeless man. At the Forty-Second Street stop. In the middle of the day. No one noticed but me! And the subway was packed! These people are crazy! Worse, they think crazy is normal!”
“It can’t be that bad, Zach.”
“It is.” He was in a panic like I’d never heard. “Worse. I’m failing. I can’t concentrate. It’s like I’m a prisoner. I spend every day devising a plan on how to get the hell out of here.”
The conversation deteriorated from there. Zach went into an all-out confession of everything that had gone wrong since he left Alder Creek. How he’s been lying to me, to his family, because he didn’t want to let everyone down.
“It’s Columbia!” he said. “It’s an Ivy League school! My dad went here! I should be happy. But I don’t belong in New York.”
“This happens to everyone their freshman year,” I said. “It’s completely normal. It’ll get better. This is your dream.”
“No,” he said. “It’s not my dream. It’s what’s supposed to be my dream. People like me go to Ivy League schools.”
“People like you?” I asked.
“Do you know the strings my dad had to pull to get me in? A friend of his is on the admissions committee.”
“Are you saying you shouldn’t have gotten into Columbia?”
“No,” Zach said. “I had the grades and test scores and stuff, but it’s competitive, Amoris. I just had an edge. It’s a hell of a lot easier to get in if you know someone. But now, I’m fucking it all up. My dad’s gonna be so pissed.”
This was about the time I decided college wasn’t for me. Zach sounded like a privileged asshole. I’d never heard him talk like that before. Or maybe I’d just never noticed. I kept imagining whoever got rejected because Zach’s dad “knows someone.” Maybe Columbia was their dream school. Maybe they worked, like I have, saving money just to afford it. Did they cry when they got the rejection? Where did they go to college instead? And how is their life different because of one single decision? It made me want to end our relationship even more.
But then Zach started crying. Not just a few whimpers. Messy, snot-ridden tears that made him hiccup as he talked. “I need you, Amoris.” Hiccup. Snort. Wipe. “You’re the only thing that helps. Thinking about seeing you again. Being together.”
Hiccup. Snort. Wipe. Over and over again.
And then he said the three words that broke my resolve completely. “I love you.”
Hiccup. Snort. Wipe.
He said it once before, and it paralyzed me then. I didn’t say it back. Never have.
“There’s magic between us. Right, Amoris? We’re magic together. And I know you’re overwhelmed right now with what I’m telling you, but I needed you to know. I love you, and I want to come home so we can be together.”
When I could finally get words out of my mouth, I asked, “What are you going to do?”
Zach composed himself. “I just need to wait it out here until Christmas. I’ll tell my parents everything when I’m home for the holiday. I’m not going back. I have it all figured out. I’ll go to college in Boulder. Start fresh with a new semester. It’s only a few hours away. And we can see each other on the weekends.”
I tried one last time to stop him, but he cut me off.
“I’m happy when I’m with you,” he said. “I swear, you’re the only thing that gets me through the day here. If I didn’t have you, I don’t know what I’d do. Probably jump into the Hudson and put myself out of my misery.”
Was that a suicide threat?
After that, I said nothing.
“It was fate,” he said. “That day in the record store. We’re meant to be together. I can just feel it.”
I had nothing to offer but silence. Cold. Dead. Silence.
You’d think I’d have learned my lesson, but I was caught. How could I break up with Zach now? He was acting like Romeo, offering love and suicide in one breath.
And a part of me knew he deserved better. I was the failure. Not him.
“I’m sorry,” Zach said. “You called me and I unloaded on you. I’m an ass. What did you want to talk about?”
I stood at my window, staring at the house next door, and served Zach a pretty lie that almost choked me to death. “Nothing. It’s not important right now.”
He went on to tell me all the research he’d done on apartments in Boulder. He’d called the school about transferring. “I’ll only be a semester behind, but if I take classes in the summer, I’ll catch up quickly and still graduate in four years. I just know I’ll be more comfortable in Boulder. People in New York City just aren’t like me.”
I uttered almost those same words to Rayne when I returned from New York last summer. Hearing Zach say them made me cringe. Is life really about surrounding yourself with familiarity? Backing out of uncomfortable situations? A safe life like that feels empty now.
The conversation with Zach was over a month ago. I promised myself I’d wait for Christmas to break up with him officially. When he’s home. I owe him at least that. Zach didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t fall for someone else behind my back. Zach factored me into all the changes he has planned. But me—I’ve eliminated him without his knowing.
And it hurts. Some days, I think I might drown in my own sadness, just to save Zach from actually doing exactly that.
The booth at Black and Read gets smaller and smaller the longer I sit. And as a love song continues to play, I close my eyes and cry.
16
ATTENTION, ATTENTION
River and Matt, Ellis’s dad, are watching football in the living room, occasionally yelling at the television, as Ellis and Rayne, who are wearing matching aprons, flit around the kitchen. Rayne is mashing potatoes in a large pot on the stove. Ellis is setting the table. Rayne wipes her long hair from her face and exhales, arching her back, her spine cracking.
“Oh my God. That did not sound good,” Ellis says.
“Effects of the job,” Rayne says.
“So, in fixing other people’s bodies, you allow yours to fall apart,” Ellis says. “That’s kind of messed up.” She forces Rayne into a seat so she can massage her shoulders. It’s a nice gesture. Why didn’t I think of that?
Grayish circles hang under my mom’s eyes. She was up early tending to th
e turkey and shopping for last-minute supplies at the grocery store. Thanksgiving is Rayne’s favorite holiday because the only gift exchanged is love, and thus no one is disappointed when they unwrap it. But this year, she’s less enthusiastic.
“Better?” Ellis asks.
“Much. Thank you, Ellis.”
Another uproar comes from the living room. Yelling about a bad call and a bullshit penalty. Then River hollers, “When’s the food gonna be ready? I’m starving!”
Rayne opens the oven door to check the turkey. “Shit!” she screams, grabbing her hand and slamming the door closed. “I forgot to put on an oven mitt!”
I race to the freezer for an icepack, but Ellis is there first. She grabs a kitchen towel and wraps it around Rayne’s burned hand, sitting her back down at the table.
“Are you OK, Mom?” Ellis says.
We all hear the slip. The room falls silent.
River yells again, “Mom! The food! When’s it gonna be ready?”
“If you want food, come in here and make it yourself!” I yell at him.
River storms into the kitchen. “What the hell is going on?” he asks in an ugly, selfish way. In an “I’m hungry and growing and I need to consume a lot of calories, where is my food?” way. Just as I’m about to unleash on him, Chris appears in the doorway, duffel bag in hand.
“Happy Thanksgiving!” He drops his bag onto the floor. “I had to drive through the night, but I made it, just like I said I would.”
River claps exaggeratedly. “Well, now today officially fucking sucks.”
“Good to see you, too, son,” Chris counters.
River exits the kitchen for his bedroom.
“I can see he hasn’t changed a bit since I left.” Chris kisses Rayne on the forehead, and then scoops a spoonful of mashed potatoes from the pot, eating it. “It needs more salt,” he says casually, with no regard to Rayne’s burned hand or the other tension in the kitchen.
“I was getting to that,” Rayne says.
Only the Pretty Lies Page 11