The Truth About Heartbreak

by Celeste, B.

  When my fourteenth birthday neared, I knew I would have to convince them not to make a big deal of it. Birthdays aren’t special, they’re just another day. Mine landed on a school day anyway, so everyone would be too busy with work and school to focus on me. I preferred it that way.

  Two days before my birthday, Oliver mentions that Bridgette has been wanting to do a small get-together. Intimate, she calls it. No party, just a dinner of my choosing. But that isn’t true, because I chose not to celebrate, and everyone is pushing me toward it anyway.

  Oliver rarely ever comes to my room unless it’s to tell me dinner is ready. Sometimes he’ll yell goodnight on the way to his room, but he never steps foot into my space.

  “Mom really wants to do this for you,” he presses, examining a few books I checked out from the school library. One of them is by Jane Austen and the other by Charlotte Bronte. They’re supposed to be good, but I can’t get into either of them, so they just sit on the corner of my desk untouched, unloved. Kind of like me.

  “I know she does, but …” I fidget with the notebook placed in front of me on the bed, not really seeing my science notes as more than blurs of definitions and theories. I consider everything Bridgette has done for me. I don’t like parties, hate people paying attention to me, but it’s the least I can do.

  Oliver must see the moment my resolve crumbles, because he claps loudly. I flinch at the sound and draw back into myself. He’s happy for his mom because he knows how much she wants this dinner. Maybe he wants one too. I’m not sure why though.

  “It’ll be small, I promise.”

  “What do you promise?” The deep voice behind Oliver belongs to Everett, I don’t even need to look. Robert’s voice is deeper, older, wiser. Everett still has youth in his, which makes sense since he’s not even eighteen yet.

  Oliver grins. “River decided to let Mom throw her a birthday dinner.” Sometimes he’ll correct himself when he calls Bridgette “mom” because he knows I can’t call her that. Not yet.

  Everett’s eyes cut to me. “Wednesday, right?”

  Heat spreads across my cheeks. He knows when my birthday is? I don’t remember telling him. In fact, I know I never told him. But maybe Oliver did. I’m sure of it.

  I just nod.

  He nods once. “Cool. I know Bridgette won’t disappoint. And Darlene makes some great chocolate cake.”

  “Maybe she wants vanilla,” Oliver huffs.

  Everett snorts. “No, you want vanilla.” He glances back over at me. “Don’t let your brother convince you to have vanilla cake. Unless you want that, but I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

  How would you know?

  Oliver sighs heavily. “I’m just saying, vanilla cake is good too.”

  “You also like that nasty ice cream shit.”

  Oliver gapes at him. “Ice cream cake is the best kind of cake. I don’t know how we stay friends with your awful taste.”

  Biting back a smile, I shift on the bed. “Um, are you coming?” That’s directed to Everett, but my voice is quiet and unsure, and I can’t make eye contact with him.

  Thankfully, he hears me just fine. “If you want me to, I’m there.”

  My heart does a summersault in my chest. I beat down the sappy smile that wants to stretch across my face. I don’t want to think about why it keeps wanting to pop up whenever Everett is nice to me. He’s nice to me a lot.

  Everett tips his chin toward the door. “We still playing video games, or do you need to study for Hall’s test?”

  Oliver frowns. “Hall is giving us a test?”

  The soft rumble of Everett’s laughs echoes in my room, causing little goosebumps to pebble on my arms. “I guess we’re studying. He mentioned it the other day. You know, when you were flirting with Viki.”

  Oliver side eyes me like I’m not supposed to know he flirts with girls. I hear things at school, mostly from Steph. She’s into all the gossip, especially if it involves Oliver and Everett.

  Instead of entertaining Everett with an answer, Oliver says, “Like you’re any better. I have it on good authority that you’ve been spending an awful lot of time texting Issy when you should be listening to lectures.”

  The sound of another girl’s name tenses my shoulders. It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it does. “Who’s Issy?”

  Normally, I’d keep my mouth shut.

  “Keeping quiet means less trouble,” Jill always told me when she’d drop me off at a new home. Most people probably think it’s awful that a social worker would tell a foster that, but Jill has always been realistic.

  But I can’t keep quiet now because I want to know who Issy is and why Everett is talking to her.

  Everett sighs. “She’s a friend.”

  “His girlfriend,” Oliver taunts.

  Girlfriend? Steph never said anything about him dating anyone. Maybe it’s because she likes Everett and doesn’t want to admit it out loud. How many high school relationships last, anyway?

  I don’t hide the curve of my downward lips before Everett sees them. His eyes fill with sympathy. “Don’t worry, River. You’re still my number one.”

  The soft tone of his voice paired with those words make my whole body heat up. Oliver doesn’t seem to notice my reaction, thank God. Instead, he pats Everett on the shoulder like he’s being a good friend.

  And he is. Everett is the best. I know better than to read into what he said. They’re just words and words mean nothing. Actions on the other hand? Actions mean everything.

  “Ready?” Everett presses, obviously over this conversation. I wonder why he doesn’t want to talk about his girlfriend. Are they not really dating? Are they just friends?

  I don’t bother asking those questions and just watch them leave. His words ring loud and clear in my head.

  You’re still my number one.

  But for how long?

  Steph comes home after school with me on Wednesday to have dinner with the James’. It’s all she talked about all day but promised not to let anyone at school know. Eddy O’Brien’s birthday was two weeks ago and the whole art class sang him happy birthday.

  No thanks.

  Darlene suggested I give Steph a tour of the house. It’s a bad tour, because I only know what a few of the rooms are used for, but Bridgette would be proud of me. It’s what a good host would do.

  Steph doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t know what some of the rooms are. When we get to my room, she jumps on the bed and exclaims how much bigger my room is compared to hers.

  I haven’t been to her house yet even though she’s invited me over. Last month, her and some of her other friends were having a sleepover. I’ve slept in lots of people’s houses, I just want to stay in mine.

  Mine. The word feels funny to me. I’ve never used it when talking about homes I’ve lived in because they weren’t mine.

  “Are you okay?” Steph asks quietly.

  Tears well in my eyes and I force them away. I don’t want her to see me cry. They aren’t sad tears, but I won’t be able to explain that to someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to have my kind of upbringing. And I’m glad she doesn’t. The scars I bare, both physically and emotionally, aren’t worth anyone truly understanding the pain behind them. Or the relief that no one can hurt me again.

  Silently, I nod.

  She accepts my answer and climbs off the bed to examine my room. Not much has changed since I first moved in. The bookshelf in the corner has two shelves full of various books and knick-knacks that Bridgette saw me looking at the few times we’ve been shopping. On my desk there’s a laptop I rarely use, and on the corner of my nightstand is a small frame holding the photo of my mother and me.

  Oliver told me I should display it. When I asked him why, he told me that my mother will always be a piece of me.

  “Plus,” Oliver adds, “We wouldn’t have adopted you if she didn’t decide to be selfless enough to give you away.”

  I never thought of it like that. Over the years, I he
ard my mother called lots of things. Selfless has never been one of them.

  Steph rummages through my closet. “We need to look cute for the party.”

  I tell her for the second time it’s not a party. Sometimes I wonder if she even listens, but I don’t let it bother me. She’s my only friend, and she’s always so busy talking about herself that she doesn’t ask personal questions about my past. I can’t risk losing her.

  I do talk to some other girls in art club. Mrs. Cohen spoke to my parents about me joining shortly after she gave me the paper with the information. I think Oliver mentioned it to them, because the paper disappeared from my backpack one night. I thought I just misplaced it, but the next day both Robert and Bridgette encouraged me to join.

  “Why do we need to look cute?” I settle on the edge of my bed, crossing my legs under me.

  Steph pulls a black dress out of my closet and holds it up to herself in front of the mirror attached to the back of the closet door. “Because it’s your birthday, and the birthday girl always has to look cute.”

  I toy with the hem of my sleeve. “But it’s not your birthday.”

  She rolls her eyes and flicks her blonde hair behind her shoulder. It’s curly today. She said she spent a lot of time on it this morning, same with her makeup. The thick black eyeliner looks good against her blue eyes and she promised she’d teach me how to do the winged style. I said sure, but I don’t really want to know.

  Putting back the black dress, she takes out a different one. This one is burgundy and falls just above my knees, which means it’ll be shorter on her because she’s a few inches taller than I am. “I’m looking cute because Everett is going to be there. Plus, I’m your guest. We both need to be presentable. That’s what my mom always says.”

  After thirty minutes of playing dress up, she tells me that I have to wear the cream dress hanging in the very back of the closet. It’s lace and tighter than my other dresses. Bridgette picked it out because she said I have the type of figure I should enjoy while I’m young. Whatever that means.

  It’s a pretty dress, but there’s a mesh cutout just under the bust that would show too much skin. It shouldn’t be a big deal and to most it wouldn’t be, but I don’t like showing off that part of my body.

  “I don’t know …”

  She groans. “You’re going to look beautiful, River. I’d totally wear this, but it would wash me out. Plus, I’m bigger than you.”

  I frown. She isn’t that much bigger than me. Maybe when I first came here, but between Darlene and the James’ making sure I’m fed, I’ve packed on over ten pounds. Twelve, to be exact. Darlene tells me I look healthier, and I guess she’s right. It doesn’t hurt to sit on hard surfaces anymore, and my collarbones aren’t as prominent as before.

  When Steph sticks out her bottom lip, my frown deepens. “Please, River? For me? I’m your best friend, so I’m obligated to dress you up and show you off. This dress begs to be worn tonight.”

  She doesn’t know what’s under my shirt. Very few people do, except Jill and the people who gave the marks to me. They’re everywhere, clear as day. Some are little circles, and some are long thin lines. But they’re all various shades of pink and white and jut out from my pale skin.

  My mouth dries when she walks over and holds it out to me. Dropping my shoulders, I accept the dress. Steph claps and tells me how fun the night will be.

  I don’t agree.

  When six o’clock comes around, Steph and I are both ready to go downstairs. Me in the cream dress and her in the burgundy one. Our makeup is vastly different. Unlike her winged eyeliner, mine is just around the edges of my eyes. She put some sort of pink shadow on my lids, a similar color on my cheeks, and finished off my lips with a clear gloss. She tells me it’s neutral because she knows I don’t like attention. When I look in the mirror, I don’t recognize the girl staring back.

  My auburn hair is pulled up on one side, clipped back by two black barrettes. The rest falls in waves down my other shoulder. The makeup I’m wearing isn’t very noticeable except the eyeliner, because it makes my brown eyes look almost golden.

  “I’m … pretty.”

  Steph gives my shoulders a squeeze. “You’ve always been pretty, River. You’re just extra gorgeous tonight. Ready to show yourself off?”

  I flush over the thought. My arm wraps around the mesh part of the dress, covering the scars that peek out from the see-through material.

  Steph must assume it’s nerves. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be right there with you. Plus, you said it’s a small dinner party, right?”

  Lips twitching, I nod.

  Her smile widens. “Good. Nothing to worry about then. It’ll just be your family and Everett.”

  Repeating that as a chant in my head, I let her drag us downstairs. Bridgette sees us first, her friendly smile stretching into a happy greeting as her hand reaches out to me.

  “Oh, River.” She holds my hands and examines me at an arm’s length. “I knew that dress would look amazing on you. Wasn’t I right, Robert?”

  Robert nods once. “You look beautiful, River.”

  My relationship with Robert is still limited, and guilt eats at me. He’s been nothing but nice since I’ve gotten here. He gives me space and doesn’t push because he knows about my past. Not the details, but enough.

  “Thanks.” My cheeks heat up.

  Oliver walks over and gives me a funny look, his nose crinkling, then turns to Bridgette. “Don’t you think that dress is a little short?”

  My eyes widen. Is it too short? I quickly tug the hem down, but it just bounces back to where it sits mid-thigh.

  Bridgette doesn’t seem phased. “It’s not too short, Ollie. Quit playing overprotective big brother and tell River how nice she looks.”

  He rolls his eyes but turns and smiles. “You do look beautiful, Riv.”

  Riv. He started calling me that more frequently. Sometimes I’ll call him Ollie like Bridgette and Robert do, but usually he’s just Oliver to me. I can’t even get myself to call him the b word yet, but nobody seems to mind that I just call them by their names instead of the labels they deserve.

  I’m just not ready.

  Steph comes over and squeezes my hand when Everett comes into view. My grip tightens when I see a girl I don’t know appear next to him. She’s holding his hand.

  “Happy birthday,” Everett greets, smiling at me the way he always does. He looks different in the black silk button down and gray slacks. When he smiles, his face is brighter, friendlier. Without the smile, he looks unapproachable. I wonder if he does that on purpose.

  “T-Thank you.”

  The girl tugs on his hand. “Babe, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  Everett clears his throat. “Isabel, this is River. River, this is Isabel. My—”

  “Girlfriend,” she interjects. Her smile is too broad and too bright. It doesn’t reach her eyes as she scans my body from head to toe. “I admire your style, River. I haven’t worn makeup that heavy since sophomore year.”

  My whole face heats up.

  Everett shoots her a quick glare, his lips twitching at the edges. “Really?”

  She bats her eyelashes. They’re long. Way longer than mine. “Oh, I don’t mean anything bad by it. She totally pulls it off! And that dress?” She gestures toward me. “Wow.”

  Steph squeezes my hand like she sees exactly what I do. I’ve been around plenty of fake people and this girl is one of the biggest offenders. What’s worse is that she’s pretty. Steph says that I am too, but this girl would be better qualified as stunning. Her skin is a natural olive tone that compliments her silky brown hair and she’s tall; the tight dress she wears shows off her thin figure. She isn’t sickly like I am, so I see why Everett likes her.

  Bridgette saves me from engaging in anymore conversation. “Come to the kitchen. Darlene put out appetizers to start off the night.”

  I drag Steph along before she can make a comment to Isabel. She’s not afraid to say w
hat’s on her mind unlike me. It doesn’t matter if we see who Isabel really is, Everett obviously doesn’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people need to find out for themselves who’s worth investing time in.

  Dinner goes by quickly, even though some moments feel like they stretch forever. Like when Isabel asks me how being thirteen feels. It’s Everett who tells her I’m fourteen. When she asks me how I like living in such a big house, I tell her it’s nice. But that’s not good enough for her, because she goes on a long rant about how lucky I am to have so much stuff considering where I come from.

  When she says that, I stare at Everett like he betrayed me somehow. He doesn’t know my background enough to tell her anything, but it seems like she knows enough to pass judgement.

  Everett looks uncomfortable throughout most of dinner, like me. Maybe he feels bad that he told Isabel anything. Or maybe he regrets bringing her along. I like that idea more. I just wanted him here, not her. It’s my birthday, after all. Shouldn’t I get what I want?

  You didn’t even want this.

  The entitled thought washes away my momentary anger. I have no right to be upset with Everett or who he decides to bring. This dinner is not just about me turning another year older. It’s about my new family—Robert, Bridgette, and Oliver. And since day one, Oliver said family included Everett.

  Steph asks Everett questions about school and basketball and college, but he doesn’t really answer them. But I’m curious about what he’s going to do, since he’s graduating soon.

  “Where are you going to college?”

  The table gets really quiet from the little side conversations happening, and I squirm when all their eyes shift to me. At first, I’m not sure why they’re staring at me in surprise. Bridgette and Robert the most. But then I realize it’s probably because I never engage the conversation first. I’ll answer somebody if they ask me something but that’s it.