by Lizzy Mason
She wouldn’t look at me, but I could tell she was working on an answer, so I didn’t ask again.
“I’ve been remembering some things lately,” she said finally.
My heart was suddenly beating loudly in my ears. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. I hoped my expression was neutral, just in case she glanced at me.
“Did something happen between me and Mike?” she asked. “Because . . .” Her chin trembled. “I just keep having this memory of fighting with Neema and then all of a sudden I’m with Mike. And we’re . . . kissing.” Her entire face turned red, all the way to the tips of her ears, but she rolled over to face me when she asked, “Is it real?”
“Yes,” I said, once I’d swallowed the lump in my throat. Audrey’s eyes widened. “It was at the party the night of the accident. You kissed him after Neema told you she was in love with you.”
Audrey stared at me, her eyes filling with tears. “Oh God,” she whispered. She looked down at her hands, and the tears spilled over, splashing onto the blanket. “I kept thinking it had to be a nightmare. I never . . . How could I have done that? How could I have hurt both of you like that? How are you both still here, anywhere near me, after I did that to you?”
Her breathing was shallow and fast, and her hands squeezed into fists. I wrapped my hands around the fist closest to me.
“I was so angry,” I said. “At first. But seeing you here, in the hospital, struggling to breathe, to walk, to live? Eventually, I was able to put things into perspective.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. She looked so hurt that a spark of anger coursed through me. She shouldn’t get to be hurt when I was the one who had been betrayed. But I couldn’t sustain the anger. Having almost lost her, and having had enough distance to see that I could survive the aftermath of it, I just wanted to forgive her and move on.
“I hated you for a while, but when you didn’t remember, I felt like you were given a do-over. You could go back to being the Audrey who had never betrayed me. Because you aren’t the same person you were when you came with me to that party. And neither am I.”
Audrey’s forehead creased, and she swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her eyes pleading. “Harley, I’m so, so sorry.”
I gathered her into my arms, pulling her thin body to mine. I could feel her ribs even through the hoodie she was wearing.
“I know you are,” I said. “I’m sorry, too.”
She pulled back enough to look at me. “For what?”
“For all the times I was mean, or ignored you, or made you feel like I didn’t want you around. I wasn’t always the most supportive sister.”
“You were, too,” she said, hugging me again. “You slept next to me for years, and you could have smothered me with a pillow a thousand times, but you never did.”
I laughed, pushing her playfully. “You’re right,” I said. “I really am a saint.”
Audrey laughed, too, wiping away the remaining tears on her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, kid,” I said. Then I gasped and sat up. “Oh my God, I almost forgot to tell you. I saw Jason today.”
Audrey’s smile grew shy. “Jason Raymond?”
I nodded. “He asked about you.”
She glanced away, but her smile grew. “How did he look?”
“He looked good, I guess,” I said. “He and Ryan were coming from Frisbee, so they were a little sweaty. Do you want me to invite him to come see you here?”
She considered it for a moment before shaking her head. “No, I’m not ready to see him yet. I want to wait until I can shower and dry my own hair. I want to be wearing something besides sweatpants.”
I argued that I didn’t think he’d care, but she was adamant. And I knew better than to try to convince her otherwise.
“So,” I said instead, “do you feel like watching The African Queen?”
She grinned. “Yeah. But if we like it, let’s not tell Dad. It’ll just make him insufferable.”
I stuck out my pinkie, and she linked hers with mine. “Deal.”
Acknowledgments
I’ve spent my life surrounded by the most inspiring book lovers. I have dreamed of someday seeing my own name on the shelves of the bookstores in which I’ve spent hundreds of hours. But seeing the dream come true has taken the help of an army of people, to whom I owe enormous thanks.
This book is dedicated to my sister, Anna Woodward, because I could—and did—write pages about how wonderful she is. Bugso, you’ve always had confidence, whether you’re dancing or singing or learning or teaching. I believe in myself because you never seem scared to try something new and I’ve always wanted to be like you.
But this book wouldn’t exist without the constant support of my mom. Thank you for telling me so many times “You are a writer,” for showing me that creativity is important and teaching me to write, for insisting that I always keep a journal, and for asking “What happens next?” until I finish my stories. But mostly, thank you for talking me down off all those ledges and being there to catch me when I jumped anyway.
Dad, thank you for all the jokes, the puns, and the one-liners. You’ve taught me that work and fun don’t have to be mutually exclusive, and that fun sometimes takes work. Sorry for all that burned daylight. Thanks for checking my medical facts, and for loving this book and making me believe in it too. I swear, someday I will watch The African Queen. And I’ll keep working on that Ferrari.
Thank you both for putting me in rehab, and for loving me enough to not be afraid of letting me hate you. I am strong because you supported me.
To my agent, Stephen Barbara, who signed me for what was clearly an imperfect book based on the number of revisions we did: thank you for seeing the good and for helping me fill in what was missing. Thank for you holding my hand and answering questions I should probably know the answer to after this long in publishing. Thank you for making my dream come true.
To my editor, the incomparable Daniel Ehrenhaft: thank you for believing that Harley and I had an important story to share. Thank you for working through the corrupted files and feverish epiphanies that made this a better book and me a better writer, and for somehow knowing what I was trying to say, but not quite saying, and making it better. (Could you edit that sentence?) I am lucky to count myself among the many members of the Dan Ehrenhaft Fan Club.
“Thank you” may not cover what the team at Soho Teen deserves, especially Bronwen Hruska, Rachel Kowal, Paul Oliver, Steven Tran, Monica White, and Janine Agro. As a publishing veteran, I know how much work goes into making a book, and I know that it can’t happen without an incredible team behind it. Thank you for believing in this story, for making it look pretty, for making sure people know it exists, and for a hundred other things that I didn’t even know were happening.
To my family—especially Patricia Hinn, Della Hinn, Andrew King, Jane Palmer, Maury Palmer, Robert Palmer, Steven Woodward, and Sara Taylor—thank you for proving that family can be friends. I’m sure people all over the world think this, but I have the BEST family.
To my mother-in-law, Betty Gold, thank you for believing I would finish this book long before I did. Your notes were invaluable and your encouragement kept me writing. Thanks also to my father-in-law, Alan Gold, for your support and writing wisdom, and for giving Karl the comics that eventually inspired my main character.
I wouldn’t know what friendship was without my best, oldest friends Meredith Bracco, Kara O’Donnell, and Erin Riley. Thank you for getting me through high school and for sometimes acting like we’re still teenagers.
Marcio, thank you for being my first best friend and for appearing out of the dark that night all those years later. Thank you for inspiring Rafael.
My amazing earliest readers: Ksenia Winnicki, thank you for being there any time for a book signing or writing date or movie
or nachos. Jamie Pacton, proof that Internet friends are real friends, thank you for always being willing to talk me through plot problems and read my messy drafts. Gaby Salpeter, thank you for so many nights of tots at Big Daddy and for your invaluable thoughts on this book when it really needed it. And to Stephanie Brown and Hannah McBride, thank you for being my first blogger friends, for being so supportive for so many years, and for being the first to ever give me an “author” badge at an event and making me cry.
To all the authors who believed we’d one day share shelf space: thank you. Special thanks to Robin Benway, Alexandra Bracken, Susan Dennard, Elizabeth Eulberg, Jeff Giles, Brigid Kemmerer, and Danielle Paige for all the pep talks, hand-holding, advice, and writing wisdom.
To the Bloomsbury team, my work family, thank you for the support when I took days off to write and for not mentioning it if you saw me crying at my desk. I feel incredibly lucky to have found a place among such creative, enthusiastic, and brilliant people.
And finally, to my husband, Karl, thank you for sitting next to me while I wrote every word of this book, and for never once complaining when I was so distracted by my stories that I forgot to make dinner, or left my keys in the front door, or left the bathmat in the laundry room. You are my love, my puppy, my bee bee, my sweet. Thank you for your unfaltering support and for holding me while I cried, and especially for not letting me give up on myself. (You know I tried.) You are everything I could have ever hoped for.
Author’s Note
If you’re struggling with substance abuse, there are several places you can turn to. You can find an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting near you at www.AA.org or a Narcotics Anonymous meeting at www.NA.org. Or if you know someone who is struggling, check out Al-Anon at https://al-anon.org.
For more information about addiction, you may wish to visit the resources below:
Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation:
http://www.hazeldenbettyford.org/addiction/what-is-addiction
National Institute on Drug Abuse: https://www.drugabuse.gov
Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration’s National Helpline:
https://www.samhsa.gov/find-help/national-helpline
If you’re dealing with mental illness or thinking of suicide, help is available:
American Psychiatric Association: https://www.psychiatry.org
National Alliance on Mental Illness: https://www.nami.org
National Suicide Prevention Hotline:
https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org
Or call 1-800-273-8255