“They do,” Audrey said. “Aren’t you glad you learned something?”
“Something I could have gone my entire lifetime without knowing,” Julian said, and then he let out a short sigh. “So.”
“So.”
“We’re not doing it,” he said. “We’re not . . . having a baby.”
Audrey counted the seconds between his nonquestion and her definite answer. One. Two . . . “No,” she said simply. “I can’t. And as much as I’d like to believe I want to, I don’t. I mean, yes, I want to be a mom, but . . . one day. When I’m ready. When I have a baby, I want to do my best, and I don’t think—no, I know that we can’t give that right now.”
“You’re always right. It’s annoying,” Julian said, and then knocked his shoulder against hers. “Hey. C’mere.”
He slid one hand around the back of Audrey’s neck and used the other to push her hair out of her face. “We’re going to be okay, you and me. Yes?”
“Yeah.” Audrey nodded, sending a couple of lonely tears tracking down her cheeks. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, surprised. “I can’t stop crying lately! What’s wrong with me?”
“Hormones,” Julian deadpanned, but he couldn’t keep the anxious look off his face for long. “I can talk to Pete, get off for the rest of my shift—”
“No, don’t do that.” Audrey tipped her chin up to kiss Julian, only once, only quickly, but the feel of his lips on hers was like home. She pulled away and smiled. “I’ll be okay. Besides, Adam and my mom are waiting; I’m supposed to be getting dinner. Which I should go do, otherwise I’ll turn up at home with no food and the bonus news that I’m going to get an abortion. Surprise!”
Julian grabbed her hands. “Don’t tell them tonight. I want to be there. Not like last time.”
Audrey hesitated. She didn’t want to go through the keeping-a-secret thing again, but at the same time, telling her parents that she was pregnant on her own had been hard. “Okay.” She studied his face. “Are you okay with this?”
“Yes. No. No, because I wish we didn’t have to make this decision, and yes, because I think you’re right; this is the best thing for us to do. It was fun, though, for a while. Wasn’t it?” He pressed a kiss to her open palm. “Playing make-believe.”
“One day it’ll be for real,” Audrey said. “That’s what I want to believe.”
“Right.” He squeezed her hands tight. “You and me, right?”
Audrey squeezed back. His hands were rough with guitar-playing calluses, but his fingers were the long, piano-player kind. She’d always loved how she could tell so much about him from his touch alone. They were in this together—all of it: the guilt, the selfishness, the sadness, the righteousness, the relief. They weren’t perfect, but at least they could be that way together.
“You and me.”
THIRTY-THREE
Dinner was quiet—that cold feeling from her mom, the awkwardness of Adam’s attempted conversation starters. Audrey busied herself picking off the red onions on her pizza and turning over everything she and Julian had talked about. She’d thought that finally telling him her decision would make her feel better, and it did—at least she didn’t have that nagging anxiety worming around the pit of her stomach anymore. And knowing he felt the same was better than she could have imagined. But there was fear, too, that this fantasy life they’d so briefly entertained wouldn’t be there in the future.
By the time they’d finished eating it was late, and when Adam took the dishes to the kitchen, her mom stood up and stretched. “I’m exhausted,” she said, more to the room than to Audrey. “I’m going to head to bed. See you in the morning.”
Audrey watched her walk away, her mom’s perfect posture and the hair spilling down the back of her easy gray tee and the measure of each step. If Audrey were a braver person, she would have called out, stood up and said . . . God, something. Anything would be better than the silence stretching out in this way that felt eternal.
But by the time she finished thinking about it, her mom had vanished upstairs.
She cleared the dinner debris from the table and declined Adam’s offer of coffee when he came back inside. “I have homework,” she said flatly, not even bothering to pretend she wasn’t lying, and went up to her room.
Her phone flashed, battery on red, and she snapped the charger in before typing a text to Jen: Tell me something good, it read. I’m in a shitty mood.
Two, then ten, then twenty minutes passed without a response, and Audrey tossed her phone aside with a pissed-off sigh, opening her laptop instead.
But she didn’t care about Karima Yang’s statuses or the stupid video everyone was sharing or even the pictures of the band at their last show. None of it seemed to matter, and for some strange reason that fact made her want to cry more than anything else. More than her mom being mad at her and the lack of Rose’s acidic laugh in her life and more, even, than saying good-bye to the baby she’d never really been going to have.
“So stupid,” Audrey muttered, brushing at her stinging eyes. But it was sad, because she used to care about those things so much even if they were shallow, and now she didn’t at all; she only felt the strangest kind of empty.
She got up to put the computer back on her desk and selected some music, some guy singing over a mournful mandolin. Then she changed into pajamas and turned out the lights, got into bed, and fell asleep as soon as her eyes closed.
THIRTY-FOUR
Audrey jerked awake with a sharp inhale. A tingling feeling crawled its way up her legs, and her eyes snapped wide open.
Something’s wrong.
Her brain took a minute to send that message to the rest of her body, and then she sat up so she could throw off the covers and look down at her pajama pants. But there was nothing there, none of the blooming red blood that, for a fraction of a second, she’d been so sure she’d see. And as she ran her hands over her stomach, her chest, her arms, she realized that she felt no different than usual. (Well, than this new usual.)
Audrey relaxed back. That wasn’t why she’d woken then. She blew out slowly, a soft hiss. That was the only sound, she noticed. No noise came from anywhere else in the house, no creaking floorboards or door hinges, not even the jingling of Marmalade’s bell. Why was she awake? A bad dream, she thought, her eyes blinking against the dark. Or—
The room lit up, a strobing flash.
Her phone.
The screen glowed bright in the blackness of her room, a text buzzing in, and Audrey shifted toward the nightstand, grappling for it.
She sucked in a breath when she saw the name there, and the brief contents of the message: 911.
Audrey scrambled to sit up on her knees, pressing the Call button and mashing the phone to her ear. Pick up. Come on, pick up.
“Hi.”
The sound of Rose’s voice, her raspy, thick voice, did nothing to calm Audrey’s nerves, singing on high alert now. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Audrey asked in an urgent whisper. “Rose? Say something.”
“I’m okay,” that voice said again, and then it hiccupped. “Well. Actually, no. I’m not okay.”
“Where are you?” Audrey got to her feet, rising onto her toes so her parents wouldn’t hear her footsteps through their ceiling. “Do you need me to come get you?” She was already at her closet, pulling out a sweatshirt and scarf.
It should have been weird, how easily their fight and everything else in between faded into the background in a split second. But Audrey couldn’t think about that right now—the things they’d said, the hurt they’d caused; they could wait. Rose was her best friend, the girl who knew the worst parts of her and still let Audrey in. Who still loved her. There was a magic in the moments they’d had, good and awful, that couldn’t ever truly be undone.
“I’ve ruined everything,” Rose said. She sounded small through the phone, a little girl. “Like I always do.”
“That’s not true,” Audrey said. “Rose, where are you?”
A shaky
laugh. “I’m outside.”
“Outside where?”
“Your house.”
Audrey dropped the clothes in her hand and went to the window, peering down onto the street. Moonlight gleamed on the silver of Rose’s car, waiting. “Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m coming down.”
“Okay,” Rose said. “Thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Audrey said automatically. “This is what best friends are for, right?”
She waited a second for Rose’s reply but heard only a smothered intake of breath. “Of course it is,” Audrey said, answering for both of them. “I’ll be down in a sec. It’s going to be all right, Rose. Promise.”
The house was still, quiet, and Audrey crept downstairs as carefully as possible in her bare feet. She got to the kitchen and was about to step out into the hall when her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, found a figure slouching over the table. Her heart kicked into overdrive, and she took an automatic step back. “Adam?”
He startled, raising his messy-hair head. “Hey, kiddo.”
Audrey fumbled for the light switch, and they both squinted when the light flickered on. “What are you doing down here?”
Adam shrugged, looking at her with bleary eyes. “Couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake up your mom with my tossing and turning.”
The glass in front of him glimmered with dark-amber liquid. “Whiskey?” Audrey guessed.
“Yup,” Adam said with a small smile. “So, what’s your excuse?”
Audrey shifted uncomfortably. Things were still strange between them, too—probably, Audrey thought, because now he’d seen what kind of girl she really was, the awful things she could do. He’d only witnessed the good version of her before, and now, she knew, he’d never be able to see her in the same way.
She found herself wanting to say sorry to him then, but it would only pull the tension tighter. So Audrey kept any apology to herself and instead said, “What?”
He took of a sip of the whiskey, grimacing as he swallowed. “It’s one a.m., and you’re not in bed. So either you can’t sleep, too, or you’re sneaking out somewhere. . . .” Adam looked her up and down. “Although if I were you, I’d rethink the pajamas before you go anywhere.”
Audrey looked down at the holey tee (stolen from Julian) and flannel bottoms (too long for her) that served as her nightwear. “Right.” Then she looked at Adam again, straightening up. “It’s neither of those things. It’s—I got a message from Rose, and I think she’s maybe in some kind of trouble—”
“Trouble?” This made Adam sit up straight. “You need me to come with you?”
Audrey exhaled, a noisy gust of relief. See, that was why she loved Adam—no questions, no hesitation, he was there. “I’m not going anywhere,” Audrey said. “She’s outside. I think she’s just upset and—I know it’s late, but she can come in, right?”
Adam raked a hand through his hair, making it stand on end more than it already was. “I guess I’m supposed to say yes while still reminding you that I’m breaking the rules and that you should be very grateful to me for doing it. So I’ll pretend I did that, and you go get her.”
Her adrenaline ratcheted up a notch, and she reached for the light switch. “Will you do me another favor?”
Adam mimed zipping his lips shut. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
Audrey nodded and turned off the light, plunging them into darkness. “Thanks.”
She stepped out into the hall. The floor chilled her toes as she walked to the door and ducked to search for her keys, tucked inside her jacket pocket. When she found them, she opened the door onto the empty night. “Rose?” Her whisper-shout fell into the silence.
Across the street, Rose emerged from her car and started across the icy asphalt. As she got closer, the moonlight lit up the angry redness of her eyes, the flush in her cheeks. Her mouth was set in a hard line that didn’t falter as she mounted the steps outside the house. When she reached the top she stopped, standing there opposite Audrey, and they both stared at each other for the longest, fastest time. “Hey,” Audrey said eventually. “Do you want to come in?” And it was then that Rose crumpled.
She let out a hiccup of a sob and wrapped her arms around her body, like she was holding herself together. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she said, so quietly that at first Audrey wasn’t sure she’d heard right. But then Rose cleared her throat. “I have nobody,” she said, her voice catching, and she looked up to the sky. “Why do I always do this? I shouldn’t have come here, I’m sorry—”
She turned like she was going to run, and Audrey grabbed Rose’s arm, hard. “No,” she said, sharp. “You can always come here. You don’t have nobody, Rose; you have me. I know we’re fighting, but are you really giving up on us that easily? Come on.” The laugh that sneaked out was bitter and bright at the same time. “I expect more from you. And it’s not just me. You have Jen and María, you have Julian, you have Olivia—”
“Not anymore.” Rose shook her head. “Not after tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we got into this ridiculous fight—no, I started a ridiculous fight because Olivia asked me to come to dinner one night, with her mom, and I’m a complete mess and I have this thing about parents and of course I got all weird and she got pissed and I’m pretty sure she’s done with me.” Rose’s words ran out in one slippery stream. “Why wouldn’t she be? If I were her, I’d run as far and as fast from me as I could. I should just stop, because I fuck everything up without even trying. Isn’t that so fun?”
She rubbed her hands together, and Audrey noticed she was shivering. “Come inside,” she said, tugging Rose in. “Look, it’s late and you’re upset and—”
Rose burst into fresh tears and pitched forward, Audrey catching her. “Whoa! I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”
They stayed like that for a minute, Audrey rubbing Rose’s back and making the kind of soothing noises you’d make to a baby. She could feel Rose’s tears soaking through her shirt, leaving a damp patch on her shoulder. For all that they’d fought, it broke Audrey’s heart to see Rose like this, and she wondered how long Rose had been feeling this way. And who she could have told about it—because that was the thing; Rose didn’t talk about how she was feeling to anyone but Audrey, really, and when Audrey hadn’t been there . . . well.
But I’m here now, she thought. She needs me, and I’m here, and we can get through this.
Can’t we?
Rose pulled back, sniffing and wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “I’m sorry. I’ll go now. Forget it.”
“No, I won’t ‘forget it,’” Audrey said. “Are your parents home?”
Rose shook her head. “My mom is in San Francisco,” she said. “I don’t know where my dad is. Some superimportant superbusiness-y trip somewhere. You know how it is.”
The image of Rose all alone in that big house broke Audrey’s heart all over again. “Stay here,” she said. “For tonight. It’s too late to go anywhere, and I don’t want you to be alone.”
Rose looked past Audrey and bit her lip. “Won’t your parents be mad?”
“Of course not,” Audrey said, and she tugged on Rose’s arm again, meeting little resistance, and finally succeeded in getting Rose through the doorway. She locked it again, shutting out the cold and sinister night, and took Rose’s hand. Inside felt safe, secure, and their breathing echoed in the quiet. The reassurance Audrey felt when Rose squeezed her fingers was beautiful. “You know they’d do anything for you. Besides, Adam’s in the kitchen. You can ask him for yourself.”
Right on cue, Adam appeared in the doorway, bleached of all color by the moonlight. “Ask me what?”
Rose took half a step back, putting herself behind Audrey, and so Audrey said the words for her. “Can Rose stay? It’s so late, y’know, and . . .”
Adam looked at Rose. “Your parents away again?” he asked, carefully casual.
“Yeah,” Rose
said, her voice crackly.
“Okay, then.” Adam tipped his head in the direction of the stairs. “Go on up. I’ll let Laura know.” He paused for a second, his eyes softening. “You okay, Rose?”
Audrey looked over her shoulder, curious herself, and watched Rose scrub at her cheeks, the barest hint of a smile playing on her face. “Yeah,” she said. “Or I will be.”
Adam nodded, satisfied. “Good,” he said. “Now go up and go to sleep. You have school tomorrow.” He frowned. “Did those words just come out of my mouth? Weird.”
“You’re a grown-up,” Audrey said, leading Rose to the stairs. “Own it.”
Upstairs in her room, Rose peeled off her clothes and got into pajamas from her drawer, grabbing the sweater Audrey had dropped on the floor earlier. Murmurs and movement came from beneath their feet; it was comforting, in a weird way, knowing Adam and her mom were down there talking about them, worrying about Rose. There weren’t enough people in Rose’s life who worried about her.
“You all good?” Audrey asked as Rose got into bed. “You’re not cold or anything?”
“No,” Rose said. “Just tired.”
“Okay.” Audrey turned off the light before getting into the other side of her bed, shuffling under the covers until she was comfortable and the heat of Rose’s body was near.
As the minutes passed, she heard Rose’s breathing evening out, the little snuffling sounds so familiar. Audrey couldn’t settle, though, and it wasn’t the remaining adrenaline or the extra body in her bed keeping her awake. She knew what it was, and she also knew that she needed to start fixing it now, while Rose was open to her, while they were together again. “Rose?” Audrey kept her voice at a whisper. “Are you awake?”
Rose’s foot knocked against Audrey’s shin under the covers. “Hmm,” she said, which either meant yes or no, Audrey couldn’t tell.
She went on anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “For everything. I hate fighting with you. I wish I would have done things differently, but . . . it doesn’t matter now. I wanted you to know how sorry I am, is all.”
You Don’t Know Me but I Know You Page 18