You Don’t Know Me but I Know You

by Rebecca Barrow

  Audrey stared at Rose for a long moment, searching her face. “Yeah,” she finally said. “And if you always give yourself the excuse to, you’ll keep doing it. Rose, you don’t have to be this hard on yourself! No one’s expecting you to be perfect. You say, ‘Olivia, I’ve never done this before, and I don’t want to mess up. Can you help me?’”

  Rose closed her eyes “Easy,” she said, that one word dripping with disdain.

  Audrey threw her hands up. “So what if it’s not?” She raised her voice. “If you don’t talk to people, things get way harder. Haven’t we just learned that?”

  Rose opened her eyes. “You’re the only person I have,” she said again, sounding so sad. “My parents are always gone. They’ve always been gone, and they always will be, even when they’re here. And Gia left; she’s never coming back. I wouldn’t if I were her. And that made you my only person, but then you started disappearing, too, and Olivia was there. I just . . . I fell full force into her. Now I’ve ruined that, too, and I don’t have anybody.”

  “You’ll always have me,” Audrey said, insistent. “Even if we didn’t talk for ten years, I’d still be your person. You’d still be mine.” She remembered Rose’s words from their fight: There’s about to be a whole other thing—a whole other person—for you to leave me behind for. “And even if I were going to have this baby, it would not take me away from you. You know that, right? I wouldn’t let it happen.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, things would have changed. But things are going to change; they always do. We’re going to change. But we’re never going to leave each other behind. Come on—who else would have us?”

  “No one knows me the way you do,” Rose said quietly, maybe agreeing. “You’re my better half.”

  “Not better,” Audrey said. “You’re no worse than me. We’re both figuring shit out. Maybe you just need a little more help in certain areas.”

  Rose looked down at her hands, rubbing one thumb in circles on the palm of her other hand. “She was so mad,” she said quietly. “She knew. I got up and was trying to find my shoes, and I’m saying I can’t stay for dinner, I have to go, I have homework and I might be busy next weekend, and she started yelling at me. Completely calling me on it all, saying . . . God, everything. ‘Don’t run away.’” Rose exhaled. “‘Walking away from me doesn’t mean this is done. At least respect me enough to tell me the truth instead of lying.’”

  She looked at Audrey again. “We were over before we even started.”

  Without meaning to, Audrey laughed, hard, earning a glare from Rose. “I’m glad this is hilarious to you. Jesus, Audrey.”

  Audrey shook herself, pinching her thigh to stop her laughter. “I’m sorry,” she said, the last gasps easing out. “But Rose. You two are not over.”

  Rose looked equal parts hopeful and confused. “We’re not?”

  “Not if she said . . . what was it? Oh, right: ‘Walking away from me doesn’t mean this is done.’” Audrey pressed her hand over her heart. “I think you’re fighting, is all. And what have we just learned about fights?”

  Now Rose looked even more confused. “That . . . they’re bad?”

  “That to fix them you need to talk,” Audrey said slowly. “Right?”

  “Right,” Rose said. “But—what, I’m supposed to just . . . say sorry? But she’s so pissed.”

  “Yeah, and that’s the point of apologizing.” Audrey grabbed her things and jumped to her feet, holding out her hand to Rose expectantly. “I’ll help you. It’s going to be okay, Rose,” she said. “Trust me.”

  In the flower shop, the silver-haired owner wanted to know what the flowers were for. “Lilies are traditionally a mourning flower,” he said, watching Rose touch a vibrant green leaf. “But I like them in all arrangements.”

  Audrey touched the petal of a pink bloom. “What’s good for saying sorry?”

  “Roses.”

  They looked at each other and laughed. “We’ll skip those,” Rose said. “What about carnations? I like them.”

  Audrey waited at the counter as Rose and the owner put together a bunch of plump white carnations, pale-purple irises, and yellow daisy-like things. He wrapped the whole bunch in blue paper and tied a slippery pink ribbon around it. “Give them plenty of water,” he said after Rose had paid, handing them over with a smile. “And whoever they’re for, good luck.”

  They got back to school a little after the final bell, and the parking lot was half empty but scattered with people walking out. Audrey scanned for Olivia’s blue hair, the neon hightops. “There she is.” She grabbed Rose’s arm and pointed toward the bus stop where Olivia was waiting. “Now go get her.”

  Rose bounced on the balls of her feet. “One more time?” she said.

  Audrey gave a sigh, but not an annoyed one. “You say sorry,” she told Rose again. “You give her the flowers, and you say sorry again, and then you explain. You tell her the truth.” She gave Rose an encouraging shove. “Go!”

  Audrey hung back as Rose walked toward Olivia, clutching those pretty flowers. She was too far away to hear anything, but when Rose reached Olivia, Audrey saw as clear as anything the hesitation in Olivia’s movements. “Come on,” Audrey said under her breath. “You can do this, Rose. Come on.”

  It was hard to tell if it was going well or not, but then Rose held out the flowers toward Olivia, and—after a long, tense moment—Olivia took them. Audrey clapped her hands together as Olivia reached for Rose, and then the flowers were crushed between them as they kissed, a long, sweet kiss, and Audrey’s heart skipped.

  “You did it,” she whispered, and Rose broke away from Olivia, almost like she’d heard. Then she was looking directly at Audrey, her hands over her mouth, and Olivia turned, too, her face overtaken by this megawatt smile. She laughed—was it her imagination, or could Audrey really hear it carrying on the wind? It didn’t really matter; all that mattered was that Rose had taken a big step and not fallen. But even if she had, Audrey would have been there to pick her back up. That was for sure.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Audrey was sitting in the kitchen drawing when the front door opened. She heard the telltale sounds of her mom’s homecoming patterns: the clink of her keys in the glass bowl, the sigh of relief as her boots were unzipped, the similar soft exhale of the couch cushions in the living room.

  Rose had been brave. Now it was her turn.

  Audrey left her sketchbook open on the counter and walked on quiet feet through the hallway.

  “Mom?” Audrey paused in the doorway and looked at her mom, sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other, exhaustion on her face. “Can I come in?”

  Laura gave her a strange look before answering. “Sure.”

  Audrey wrung her hands together as she sat on the other couch. “Mom.”

  Now Laura gave an exasperated sigh. “What, Audrey?”

  “I’m sorry,” Audrey said suddenly, the words bursting out of her. “Mom, I’m sorry, I am. I’m so sorry for all those things I said, and the way I’ve been acting and I hate you being mad at me but you have every right to be, I know that—” She stopped to take a gulping breath of air as her mom turned to look at her, really look at her for the first time in days. “I’m sorry.”

  It was as if time stopped for a moment and they were left waiting, stuck in suspended animation. Like the moment at the top of a coin toss when which side it would fall on was still unknown.

  Laura moved first, her mouth curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes but seemed thawed from the ice Audrey had so recently become used to. “I know,” she said softly. “You always are.”

  “I . . .” Audrey didn’t quite get what that was supposed to mean. “Okay.”

  “You did hurt my feelings.” Laura sat there, pulling the charm on the long chain around her neck back and forth, back and forth. “When you said I didn’t understand.”

  Audrey’s entire body flooded with shame. I really did say that, didn’t I?

  “I know I didn
’t give birth to you,” her mom said now. “I haven’t ever been pregnant, that much is true. But you are my child, Audrey. The only one I’ll ever have. And I feel what you feel. I raised you and I took care of you—I take care of you because I love you and you are the light of my life. I know I wasn’t the one who made you, but—”

  “You made me,” Audrey interrupted, her eyes hot. “Anyone can make a baby. Me and Julian made a baby, for God’s sake.” Her mom gave a wry nod at that. “You’re the one who taught me how to do everything, and you never yell at me, and . . . somebody else chose you to be my mom because they thought you’d be amazing at it, and you are, you are.”

  She closed her eyes, squeezed them tight as she began to cry, and then her mom was in front of her; Audrey could feel her there. “Audrey,” Laura said softly. “It’s okay, baby. We had a fight. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “Do you think—” Audrey hiccupped the words, opening her eyes to see her mom standing there, that familiar tilt of her head. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

  “Love.” Laura put her chin in her hands and smiled, and her eyes were wet, too. “You are one of the best people I know. You are kind, and generous, and you love with everything you have in you, even when it hurts you. You have changed my life in ways I could not have ever, ever imagined—sometimes I think about Before Audrey times and it’s as if I’m looking at a stranger’s memories.”

  She leaned in and grasped Audrey’s hands, holding them tight. “So no, darling child. I don’t think you’re a bad person. I think you’re a very, very good person.”

  “Even if—” She swallowed. “Even if I don’t want to have a baby?”

  “Yes. Even if you don’t want to have a baby,” her mom said immediately, earnestly. “I love you whatever you do. Whatever you decide to do.” She paused for a second. “Is it—is that what you’ve decided?”

  “I don’t—” Audrey cut herself off. “No, I do know. Yeah, that is what I’ve decided. I can’t go through with it.”

  There. It was out, again.

  It wasn’t like when she’d told her mom and Adam that she was pregnant—she didn’t get that lifted-weight feeling, that beautiful moment of pure relief. Audrey wasn’t sure whether it was because of everything that had already happened in the past day, that perhaps she didn’t have the capacity to feel more momentous emotions right now, or if there was something else wrong with her. Maybe this was her brain’s way of protecting her.

  Actually, Audrey realized, it was nice not to have her heart tossing around in a wild ocean of feelings. To be sailing steady, for once.

  “It’s not right,” she said, her head shaking slowly. “I don’t want to . . . be a mother right now. I want to be me. You know?”

  Her mom nodded once, and the chains around her neck chimed quietly. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” Audrey repeated. Is that it? Is it this easy? “Are you—you’re not mad at me, right?”

  Laura pulled a hand through her long hair and smiled so widely that her one slightly crooked tooth showed. “Why are you always asking me that? I’m not mad at you, love. Come here.”

  Audrey took the hand Laura reached out. “Listen to me,” Laura said. “There are times I’m mad at you. When you leave your dishes in the sink because you can’t be bothered to empty the dishwasher. When you borrow my shoes without asking first. When you eat the last slice of cheesecake that I’ve been saving for when I really need it. Okay?” She laughed. “Those are the things you do that piss me off. Things like this—life things, big things? I could never be mad at you as long as you’re doing what you think is right and taking care of yourself along the way. Do you get that?”

  “I thought maybe . . .” Audrey paused. Sitting this close to her mom felt like childhood: the scent of Laura’s darkly sweet perfume and the tickle of her hair against Audrey’s cheek. “You wanted a baby so bad, and here I am getting rid of my chance at that.”

  “Oh, baby.” Laura’s arm tightened around Audrey’s shoulder. “This doesn’t have anything to do with me. It’s your life. And you’ll have other chances, when you’re older, if that’s what you want. I don’t want anything for you other than what you want for yourself, what you think will make you the happiest you can be. And I am so proud of you for making this decision for yourself. Do you understand me?”

  Audrey almost burst open with all the things she wanted to say, but none of them seemed right to set free at this exact moment in time.

  So instead she twisted and wrapped her arms around her mom, burying her face in the soft silk of her blouse, and that was enough.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  C’mere, Marmalade.” Audrey patted the bed next to her, and the cat jumped up, digging his paws into her thighs. “Good boy.”

  The phone rang in her ear, and she burrowed down under the covers, one hand scratching through Marmalade’s soft fur. It was late, again—Adam had come home with the makings of pork dumplings, a dinner Audrey always played sous-chef for. Now she was dead tired, but in that pleasing, almost hypnotic way: getting everything out in the open had been emotionally draining, but now she felt good. Fresh and new.

  The phone rang for so long that when Julian finally answered, Audrey had slipped almost completely horizontal. “Hey,” he said, and his voice sent comfort rushing through Audrey’s bones. “One sec, I’m leaving Izzy’s.”

  The sound of his footsteps echoed down the line, and then a crunching noise, and then a slam that had to be his car door closing. “All right,” he said. “Hi, Rapscallion.”

  “What?”

  “You and Rose, Thelma-and-Louise-ing it out of school today. Yeah, I figured it out. I’m a supersleuth.”

  “Oh, that.” Audrey rolled onto her side. “I would have told you, but then you would have been an accomplice, right? It was for your own good.”

  Julian laughed. “Sure. So . . . you two have made up, then? You’re not fighting anymore?”

  The cautious relief in his voice made Audrey smile. “No, we’re not fighting anymore,” she said. “We made up. So you don’t have to walk on eggshells or whatever.”

  “Thank God,” he said. “You’re so much harder to handle when you’re not good with her.”

  “Hey!”

  “I’m just saying, it’s nice to know I won’t have to mediate or anything.”

  “Like you would ever,” Audrey said.

  “And this means you’ve . . . told her, right?” Julian asked. “Everything?”

  Audrey dug her toes into the sheets. “She knows. It’s okay. We’re okay.” And they were. Maybe over these past couple of months it hadn’t been that way, but times had been hard, for both of them. They had needed secrets to be kept and lies to be told. But in the end, they’d given each other the truth. That was what counted.

  Shit. “Speaking of . . .”

  “What?” Julian said. “What did you do?”

  Audrey cleared her throat. “I told my mom about the abortion.”

  “Wait,” Julian said. “Already? Without me?”

  “Yeah. I know, I’m sorry. I should have waited to tell her with you. Are you mad?”

  “Totally,” Julian said. “I am so mad. I can’t believe I didn’t get the chance to tell my girlfriend’s mom that her daughter, who I knocked up, is getting an abortion! And I was really looking forward to that.”

  “Shut up.” Audrey laughed. “Okay, I get it.”

  Julian went quiet then. “Are you mad at me?”

  “No. What for? You haven’t done anything.”

  “You wouldn’t have to be getting an abortion if it wasn’t for me. You wouldn’t be pregnant if it wasn’t for me.”

  “Well, duh,” Audrey said. “It’s not like I can have sex with myself and put a baby in me.” She frowned in the darkness when Julian didn’t laugh. “It took both of us, you know. I seem to remember always wanting it the exact same as you did. And hey—we played by the rules. We were safe. It’s not our fault the birth control didn’t work.
”

  She listened carefully, to the sound of Julian’s breathing and what she would have bet any money was him drumming on the dash. “Still,” he said eventually. “I feel like it is my fault. You’re the one it’s happening to—I get to stand on the sidelines and act like it’s as hard for me as it is for you, but we both know it’s not. So you can be mad at me if you want.”

  “I’m not mad at you. And I don’t want to be,” Audrey said. “But I will be if you keep telling me to, I swear to God.”

  “Do you think things are going to be different between us now?”

  Audrey heard the nervous rasp in his voice, and oh, did she wish she were with him, that she could tiptoe her fingers across his lips and tell him not to be so ridiculous. That things weren’t going to be any different and he was crazy for even thinking it.

  But part of her worried the same way: What was going to happen to them in a month, when this was all behind them? Would they fall back into their same comfortable patterns, or would they be too changed to do that? Even if they did, they still had the future to face: college and moving across the country and growing up. Honestly, Audrey realized, I have no idea what’s going to happen with us. I only know what I want us to be.

  So that was what she told him. “Who knows if we’re going to make it?” Audrey wrapped her arm around herself, conscious of the slow thump of her heart. “I like to think so. Because I’m real-deal, bottom-of-my-bones in love with you, and there’s no way I’d let you go without a dirty fight first.”