The Edge of Us

by Veronica Larsen

  "Alright, man," he says, straightening. "I won't take up anymore of your time, I just—"

  My gaze darts past him to the spot where Mila had been standing just a few minutes ago.

  Andrew follows my line of sight. "Where'd Mila go? Parking lot?"

  I frown, looking around. Seems as though everyone else has cleared the area and Mila's gone, too.

  "Yeah," I say, distracted. "Probably."

  He nods toward the paved road. "Let's go down there. She should know we made it through a conversation without threatening each other, though the night is young."

  We walk toward the paved road, which winds a path through the cemetery and down to the parking lot. The silence between us is heavy with a rift years in the making.

  "You know, Cole, I never…" He pauses. "I never apologized for what I did. You were right, I was trying to bring you down just to look better in front of…uh…shit."

  "Karen."

  "Right, right. I was insecure, man. Plain and simple. I thought you were the one trying to bring me down, but all you ever did was try to be a good friend. I have a really bad habit of believing the worst in people."

  "It was a dick move, I won't lie. But Karen didn't help by telling everyone she knew."

  "What ever happened to her?"

  "She lives in Long Island now with her wife and their two adopted kids."

  "No shit."

  "Yeah, man." I crack a small smile. "There was no future there for either of us."

  "I saw your dad's convertible in the parking lot when I came in," he says as we walk. "I can't believe he still has that thing. Remember when you let me take it out for a drive without his permission?"

  I nod. "You took a turn too fast, sideswiped a parked car, and lost the side mirror."

  "You know, sometimes I wake up in the dead of night panicked, just thinking about the owner of that parked car."

  "Being an adult will do that to you, man."

  "Fucking hate it."

  "Camille took the blame," I remind him.

  He snaps his fingers.

  "That's right. Your dad came barging into the house, ready to kill us, but Camille talked him down and convinced him she was the one driving and that she went through the gate too fast." He walks a few steps in silences then adds, "She really loved you, man."

  I swallow, staring straight ahead. "Yeah…I know."

  We reach the parking lot, but I don't recognize the few cars left. Mila's isn't among them.

  "Where's your ride?" he asks.

  "I came with Grant. He probably thought I was leaving with Mila."

  Andrew starts to ask me something then hesitates.

  "You want to know if Mila and I are back together," I say, without looking at him.

  "I should probably ask her."

  "Probably, but the answer is the same. We're not."

  He watches me for a moment, his hands in his pockets as he settles into a wide stance. Then he nods toward a black Acura.

  "Come on, man. I'll take you home."

  I stare out at the sea of headstones and sloping hills for a few moments then nod.

  "Yeah, I'd appreciate it."

  We get in his car and for the first few minutes of the drive, my head is buzzing so loud I don't realize neither of us has spoken a word until Andrew taps a finger on the steering wheel.

  "I don't know what's going on with you and Mila," he says, "but I need to hear that your intentions are in the right place. I want your word you won't hurt her again."

  "You don't have to worry about that, you have my word."

  My promise weighs heavy in my chest, but Andrew doesn't gauge their true meaning.

  "Nothing happened between us," he says. "Not sure if she told you."

  I don't answer him.

  "But, it turns out you were right," he says.

  "About what?"

  "I care about Mila and I wanted to protect her. And…I mean, you already know, she's gorgeous. But you were right. This was never about her. I was just trying to forget someone, just like she was trying to forget you. But I'll be honest, all those old insecurities came right back. I never felt like I could compete with you. Not with Karen, not with Mila. It got into my head."

  "The fucked up part is you're the better man, Andrew." I stare out the car window, watching the passing road. "Even when we were kids. You were always the better man."

  Silence falls over us until sirens blare in the distance.

  "Who is she?" I ask.

  He glances at me, confused.

  "The one you're trying to forget, who is she?"

  He shakes his head. "Someone I hurt. Really, really bad."

  "Can't be worse than what I did."

  He flashes me a look, stone cold and filled with a self-loathing I've never seen in another person.

  "Trust me, it is," he says, jaw flexing at the admission. "It's worse."

  I shake my head, refusing to believe it.

  "You know, Cole, you're not the monster you think you are."

  FORTY-SEVEN

  MILA

  I NEVER WOULD'VE IMAGINED a day when Cole would be back and Camille would be gone. But the constant in my life remains the same. When my doorbell rang, my heart did a backflip because I thought for sure it would be Cole. But it was Andrew. I hid my disappointment and invited him in.

  I nodded along, distracted, as he told me how he and Cole talked things out earlier, after I left them both at the cemetery. And while I'm glad they did, I also can't bring myself to care beyond a superficial level because my body aches and my head hurts.

  I came home to cry in private but couldn't figure out how.

  Andrew could see it all on my face. He stayed, even when I told him he didn't have to. And now he lounges on the other side of my couch, his arms crossed over his chest, eyes trained on the television where a heated argument plays out between two women in Spanish.

  He peers over at me, brows pulling together.

  "What are they saying?" he asks.

  "I don't know. I don't speak Spanish."

  "Then why are you watching telenovelas?"

  I shrug then pull the throw blanket tighter around my shoulders.

  "They can make you feel better about your life, if you can figure out what's going on."

  "Please, enlighten me. Why is that woman now sobbing hysterically?"

  "I think she just found out the blonde lady is her identical twin sister."

  "But they look nothing alike."

  "Well, yeah, because her twin had reconstructive surgery after faking her own death. But see that guy standing behind them—"

  "You know what?" Andrew puts his hands up. "I'm cool. I just realized I don't care."

  "Suit yourself," I say, snuggling against the armrest on my end of the couch.

  We don't talk for a long time, but Andrew watches me when he thinks I'm not paying attention. His lips pull in. A few times he drags a hand through his hair. Finally, the question gnawing at him comes out.

  "How are you handling everything?"

  I chew on my lip, not looking at him.

  "It just hit me, you know? Everything just hit me all at once today."

  "And Cole? What's going on with you two?"

  "I don't…even know anymore," I say, rubbing my tired eyes.

  When I glance in Andrew's direction, I catch the thoughts floating through his mind.

  "I know, Drew. I know I said he didn't have a chance. I'm that girl, apparently."

  "I'm not judging you. I'm just trying to understand what changed."

  "Whatever it was, it didn't hold. He's pulling away from me again. Can you believe it? After everything he put me through, after jamming his way back into my life, he's looking to just burst back out again."

  "He's grieving, Mila."

  I shut my eyes. "I know that."

  "You're grieving, too. You should be grieving together."

  "So, what am I supposed to do?"

  "I don't know," he says. "Get me dru
nk. I'm much wiser when I'm drunk."

  I roll my eyes and smooth out the blanket around me. I sneak glances at Andrew, whose attention is back on the television screen.

  "Are we okay?" I ask.

  He looks down before turning his attention to me.

  "Come here," he says, nodding me over.

  "Why?"

  "God, you're so stubborn, just bring your ass over here."

  I clutch the blanket with one hand then scoot over next to him. He throws an arm around me in a half hug and pulls me closer to his side. My head falls into the crook of his arm.

  "I love you, Mila," he says. "Of course we're okay. We'll always be okay."

  My eyes burn, but I press them together. I can feel Andrew nodding overhead.

  "You're going to cry now, aren't you?" he asks.

  "No," I say, sniffling. "Shut up, I hate you."

  He chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath my face.

  "Why do you always do this to me?" I demand.

  He gives me a gentle squeeze.

  "This is just what we do, you and me. It's all we were ever meant to do."

  FORTY-EIGHT

  MILA

  I'VE ALWAYS SEEN CRYING as an unfortunate moment of weakness. Something that slips past your armor despite your best efforts. You wipe at your eyes, you sniffle a few times then you pull yourself together. Tonight is different. Tonight, there is no trace of armor, no deep breaths to compose myself, not a single attempt to contain the outpouring of pain.

  For the first time in my life, I cry fully. I cry even when my chest hurts and breathing becomes difficult. I cry for Camille. I cry for Cole. I cry for myself and the pain I can't understand. Noises I've never allowed myself to make escape my lips and I gasp for breaths.

  Andrew holds me, not saying a word the entire time. He doesn't tell me it's going to be okay, he doesn't try to shush my cries. He sits in silence as I sob into his chest. And somehow, it's everything I need.

  It all stops on its own, without me deciding to let it.

  I go silent, blinking at the ceiling lights of my living room. The pain finished carving its path through me and now that it's done, I feel lighter. Stronger. This episode is the single most cathartic experience I've ever had. And when I look up at Andrew's pale face, and I think of what he said about Cole grieving too, I know exactly what I need to do. When I tell Andrew, he agrees and offers to give me a ride.

  It's late when I get to the building.

  I'd much rather Cole not know I was coming, but the front desk has to announce my arrival to Grant. I'm allowed access to the elevator that goes straight to the top floor.

  When the doors open, Grant is out in the hall waiting for me.

  "You didn't have to wait out here," I say, sensing there's a reason I won't like.

  "No, I wanted to talk to you first."

  I look to the closed doors behind him, my stomach clenching.

  "Is he not here?"

  "He's here."

  My hand rises to my chest, but there's still Grant's expression to deal with.

  "What is it, then?"

  Grant rubs his chin, struggling with the words.

  "I don't think you should talk to him. He's not in a good place right now, I'm worried."

  "You think I came here to argue with him?"

  He tilts his head pointedly. "I caught the tension between you two. I don't know what's going on, but I think you should give him space."

  "No," I say. "No, I won't give him space. He needs me. Look, I'm not here to fight with him. I'm not here to give him ultimatums. I just want to be here for him. That's all."

  Grant stares at me, a deliberation working its way through his expression.

  "Fine. Just promise me you understand he's not himself right now. He's in pain."

  "I get it. Trust me."

  He exhales and motions toward the door.

  "Go ahead. I'm going out."

  He walks past me and hits the elevator button. The doors open right away. Grant steps inside and turns to look at me.

  "I won't be back tonight, if you plan on staying."

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  The elevator doors close.

  I take a deep breath, my lungs filling in a different way than before the big cry, and head down the hall.

  Grant left the door parted, not closed. I pull it open and step into the dark living space. It's a little bit eerie, everything covered in shadows from the mosaic of lights trickling in from the large windows.

  The silence is what bothers me most. I walk down the hall, toward the guest room, where Cole and I crashed in the past when Grant had parties. There's light shining from around the sides of the half-open door.

  I should knock, and yet I don't think of it until I've already pushed the door open and catch sight of Cole sitting on the king-sized mattress. His back is up against the headboard and his hands are moving across a sketchpad on his lap. The scratching sounds of pencil on paper grow louder as I step inside.

  "Hey."

  He startles, then sees it's me. Surprise flashes across his face, then concern. He sets the sketchpad aside and starts toward me, but I rush forward before he can get off the bed.

  He sits on the edge, staring up at me. It's a sight I'm not used to.

  "You've been crying," he says.

  "I have."

  I come closer to him, standing between his parted knees, and set my hands on his shoulders. He tenses but doesn't move.

  "Mila, we need to talk."

  "Not today," I say.

  "Might as well be today. I'm just trying to protect you, you don't want—"

  I press a finger to his lips.

  "No talking. Just be here."

  I run a hand over his forehead and smooth back his hair. He closes his eyes at my touch and lets out a breath. His chest rises and falls as silence presses in on us from all directions.

  Cole stares into my eyes for several long seconds before looking away. His eyes are unfocused as his thoughts carry him far off. Seconds stretch out into hours, and it seems like he's considering the best way to convince me I'm better off without him.

  I get his arguments, I can hear them buzzing all around his head. His sister died of an overdose and now he's putting himself in her shoes. He thinks he could end up just like her, but I think he's wrong. Camille never thought she had a problem. No one else did either until it was too late. It seemed she knew how to keep herself from falling into the type of crippling addiction that destroyed her brother's life. But her addiction turned out to be much more insidious. It creeped up on her, teased her to play with the line until it toppled her over to the point of no return. And now she's gone.

  I can't believe she's gone.

  "I can't believe she's gone," Cole whispers.

  I blink at him speaking my thought aloud almost the moment it occurred.

  "I know," I say, dragging my fingers absently through the back of his hair. "I know."

  More silence. I don't know how long he'll sit here, but Cole seems lost in thought. It occurs to me I should offer to get him some food or some—

  Cole rakes in a shaky breath. I go still, but before I can speak a single syllable, he shatters in my arms like a semi-truck hit him. My eyes go wide as he sobs, his shoulders shaking and his hands clutching my sides. My mouth opens, words of comfort just on the tip of my tongue, but I press my lips together again, remembering where I was just a few hours ago and how loud the pain pounded in my head. So loud I could barely hear myself crying. Cole is making similar noises now. Except his are low, guttural sounds that rip my heart in two. I shut my eyes and hold his face to my chest, his tears soaking through to my skin.

  My own tears begin to form as he cries. But I blink toward the ceiling, not allowing them to fall. I had my turn. This is his. But witnessing this moment makes my heart ache thinking of what Andrew went through, as well.

  It's not easy, resisting the urge to say everything is going to be okay. It's physically painful to bi
te your tongue and resist the instinct to quiet someone's pained whimpers. It's difficult and uncomfortable and goes against every instinct to witness another human suffering and do nothing at all to stop it.

  FORTY-NINE

  MILA

  I WAKE UP FULLY clothed on Cole's bed. Dehydrated and disoriented. I blink a few times until his face comes into focus. He's lying on the pillow beside me, watching me. His blinks are slow, too, like he only woke up a few seconds ago.

  I rub my face then check my watch.

  "Crap. I have to get ready for work," I say, looking down my body to confirm I'm in no shape to head to the office.

  "Thank you for staying," he says.

  "Thank you for letting me."

  He wipes away an eyelash from my cheek. My heart stirs at the gesture, but the sadness in his expression tells me he's still in a place of doubt and fear. He gets up and helps me out of his bed. He walks me down to the elevator and even gets inside with me.

  "I'll take you down," he says.

  I don't say anything. I'm tired and sad, and I'm not sure I've got fight left in me. The elevator reaches the main floor. When the doors open, Grant stands there ready to come up.

  "Oh," he says, surprised to see us. "Hey, guys."

  His energy is light as he steps to the side to let us out.

  "Hold the doors," Cole says to Grant. "I just need a minute."

  Cole gives me another hug, then brings his lips to my ear, and says. "We'll talk. Tonight?"

  "Sure." I swallow, unsure I could wait an entire day for him to end us for good.

  Cole walks backward onto the elevator. I stare. Will he and I ever be able to find the right place in time to be together? It seems we can't ever get it right, chance and circumstance intent on keeping us apart. Intent on proving what we might feel for each other pales in comparison to situations that hamper our growth. As though all we're ever meant to do is miss each other.

  A cycle we can't break. A story without an end.

  The doors start to close, but I jam an arm between them and they bounce open again. I step onto the elevator and look straight at Cole.

  "Take me to the exhibit," I say.