Some Other Now

by Sarah Everett

  Once, when I was nine, my mom had been in bed all day and I was hungry and cranky and tired of being quiet, so I kept inventing excuses to go into her room and talk to her. First I told her I was hungry. Then I asked if I could have a Popsicle. Then I asked if she knew it was raining. The fourth time I went in there, my dad, who had just gotten home from work, stopped me before I could say anything. He pulled me out into the hallway, shut Mom’s door, and leaned down to talk to me.

  “Mommy’s really tired today. Let’s let her rest for a little while, okay?”

  He tried to get me to follow him to the kitchen, but I refused to budge.

  “Jessi,” he said with a sigh.

  “Can I go to Rowan’s house for dinner?” I asked.

  “Not tonight.”

  “But why?”

  Dad sighed again, this time through his nose. “You know, honey, sometimes people just need to be on their own.”

  I knew what he meant—that the Cohens were their own family and we were ours. But it was also true of my mom, that most times she didn’t need or want me around.

  I was remembering those words alone in my room one Friday night, the second week after Mel’s treatment started, when my phone rang.

  I lunged for it, panic setting in when I saw the name on the screen.

  “Luke,” I said as soon as I answered. “Is she okay? Do I need to come over?”

  “Mom’s good,” Luke said, knowing right away who “she” was. “It’s not that. It’s Ro.”

  I sat up straighter in bed. “What’s wrong with Ro?”

  “He went to practice this morning and never came home. I told Mom he was with you, so she wouldn’t worry. He’s . . . not, is he?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head as if he could see me. A sick feeling flooded my body. It wasn’t like Rowan to disappear without telling anyone. I wasn’t used to this distance between us—my best friend not confiding in me.

  “Do you have any idea where he could be?” Luke asked.

  I racked my brain and threw out some names. Luke had either already checked with those people or they were people we didn’t have numbers for. Like that Saul kid Ro co-taught with at the tennis club. Or Claudia, a sophomore last year, who Rowan had dated for, like, half a minute.

  “Shit,” Luke muttered low, under his breath. It wasn’t that often he swore or that often he was worried, really worried, but I’d seen it twice just this summer. Tonight, and the night Mel got her results.

  It unnerved me.

  Luke was saying something about calling him if I heard anything, when it suddenly hit me.

  “Celia!” I shouted into the phone. “It’s Friday night!”

  Celia famously had a blowout bash every Friday night in the summer. She lived on the edge of town, and her parents were always spending weekends at some lake house upstate. It didn’t make sense that Ro would be there. He could be impulsive and stupid, and from the time we were little, he had always been the life of the party, but the last thing Ro would do was risk losing a tennis scholarship by being busted for underage drinking. Also, Mel would kick his ass. Still, I couldn’t think of any other place to try.

  “Celia?” Luke repeated. Sometimes, with the year between Luke and Ro and me, I forgot that there was a small but significant group of people we knew at school who he didn’t know, and vice versa.

  “Celia Murphy. I can show you where she lives.”

  Luke was in front of my house in fifteen minutes. When I climbed into the passenger seat of his car, the moonlight cut a jagged line across his face, but it was clear how stressed-out he’d been. His hair was all messy, like he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were wide and tired.

  “Thanks for coming with me. Are you good with your parents?” he asked, and I waved off his question.

  “It’s okay. They won’t care.” It wasn’t true. Dad was most likely to notice my absence, and he would certainly care, but I was counting on my parents not waking up until the next morning, when I would be fast asleep in my own bed. Just in case, though, I’d scribbled a quick note on the kitchen counter before I left, telling them Ro was missing and I’d gone to help Mel look for him.

  We didn’t speak much as we drove. It was only after the sound began to aggravate me that I realized I was responsible for the tapping noise, my nails rapping repeatedly against the door of the car. If it annoyed Luke, he didn’t show it.

  It was rare for it to be just us two, driving somewhere this late at night, and the fact that my best friend was missing made it even stranger. Still, I felt a quiet comfort that Luke and I were in this together. That wherever Rowan was, we would find him. Everything would be okay.

  I was glad I was the person Luke had thought to call when he needed help.

  “He better have a damn good reason for disappearing like this,” Luke said, annoyance temporarily overtaking his worry.

  “I’m sure he will,” I said, even though I wasn’t quite sure it was the truth.

  I leaned back in my seat as a trace of mint tickled my nose. I wondered whether Luke had been eating something minty or whether the small leaf air freshener around the rearview mirror was new.

  Stealing a glance at his profile, I wondered where he’d been before he’d started looking for Rowan. Had he worked at the computer store today? Was he packing for college already?

  The thought of him being six hours away in just a couple of months made my stomach lurch. I would probably only see him over the holidays and in the summer from now on. Mel kept reminding Luke that she had Mom Rights, as far as communication went, so he’d definitely have to call home at least once a week. I was another story. Would he even think about me when he was surrounded by a bunch of new friends in a new town in a new life? I could barely get him to drop punctuation in our sporadic text messages; a phone call would be downright earthshattering.

  “What?” he suddenly asked, touching his chin. My cheeks warmed as I realized I’d been caught staring. “Do I have something on my face?”

  “Yep. Skin,” I said, the best I could do to save face.

  Luke grimaced at my lame joke.

  “I’m thinking of staying,” he said all of a sudden.

  “Staying—” I repeated dumbly.

  “In Winchester. Not leaving Mom and Ro when she’s so . . .” He cleared his throat.

  A pang went through my chest.

  “And not going to college?”

  Luke nodded and glanced over at me.

  “But . . . Mel would kill you. And what about your scholarship? She said she just bought you a laundry basket.”

  Luke’s laugh filled the car. He laughed so rarely that it felt like a badge of honor when I was the one responsible for it.

  “I called student financing at State, and they said my scholarship would still be there if I deferred for a year. I know I won’t be able to concentrate on anything while I’m there. As for the laundry basket, I’m pretty sure it can be returned.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure. Walmart’s return policy is ironclad these days.”

  He laughed again, and I bit my lip to hide my smile.

  “So what do you think?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “I mean, it’s your decision. Yeah, Mel will have a Mel-tdown, but it’s your life, you know?”

  Luke sighed. “That’s it? I know it’s my decision. I want to hear what you think.”

  Don’t go, I thought.

  I shrugged, we drove in silence for another minute, and then I told the truth. Or half of it, anyway.

  “If it was me, I’d stay.”

  The “if it was me” part reminded me of Ro’s imagine if it was your mom comment, and that felt gross, but I was being honest. If I had been Mel’s daughter, there was no way in hell I’d have been able to go to college and leave her.

  Luke smiled over at me. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “Why’d you ask, if you knew?” I said, exasperated.

  “I wante
d to hear it,” he said. Then, after a moment, “Thanks.”

  Another couple of minutes passed before we pulled up in front of Celia’s sprawling circular driveway. Cars were littered all along it and all the way down the street. It would be a shitshow trying to get out of here when this party got busted. And that was a matter of when, not if, judging by the sheer volume of noise spilling out of the house.

  Luckily, I spotted Macy, who Rowan and I were friends with, almost as soon as we walked in. “Have you seen Ro?” I asked, feeling a flicker of anxiety. If she hadn’t, there was no plan B.

  “Mmmmm.” She frowned, like she was thinking hard about it.

  Today would be nice, I thought.

  “Actually, yes!” she said, as if she’d just had a revelation. It was clear she had been drinking. Her voice was all watery and high-pitched. “Yes! And he was getting his ass beat at beer pong.”

  Relief shot through me.

  “Thanks, Mace,” I said, and turned to follow Luke, who was already headed to the next room.

  We found Rowan in the dining room, breakdancing. Like, he was literally on his head when we walked in.

  I felt Luke stiffen beside me. So much for Ro having a good excuse for disappearing.

  Still, I pulled out my phone and took a picture of him balancing on his head. I had to.

  As disconcerting as it was seeing Ro drunk off his face, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Ro and I had a policy that if you were stupid enough to do something, pictures were more than fair game. He had a picture of me wailing after downing two packets of hot sauce on a dare. I had dozens of pictures of him with his hair dyed green for Spirit Day.

  “Did you just take a picture?” Luke asked as I stuffed my phone back into my pocket. He shook his head, still annoyed, when I grinned. If he wasn’t used to our antics by now, he never would be.

  We walked over to Ro, and he stopped mid-spin and stared at us.

  “You’re taking up my space,” he complained.

  “You’re upside down!” I shot back, but as Luke and I helped him to his feet, he didn’t seem too embarrassed. He held his head, as if the room were spinning.

  “What the hell is your problem?” Luke asked him in a low voice.

  “What’s yours?” Ro spat back, glaring down at Luke. He had about an inch on his older brother, and he wouldn’t let anyone forget it.

  “Okay, settle down,” I said, getting between them. I hadn’t seen Ro and Luke fight since they were like ten and eleven, and though I doubted Luke would indulge him, a keyed-up Rowan had to be stopped before he got going. The motto of Ro’s life was to act first, think later, unless it directly affected his ability to play tennis. His scholarship and spot on the team were pretty much the most important things to him. Which was why it was so unsettling finding him drunk.

  “Grab your shoes. We’re leaving,” Luke hissed, and I noticed for the first time that Ro was, in fact, barefoot.

  Surprisingly obedient, he crossed the room and picked up a pair of Vans that may or may not have belonged to him, and then we followed him out of the house.

  As we crossed the driveway and walked back to where we’d parked on the side of the road, Ro stumbling between us, Luke and I discussed the logistics of one of us driving Ro’s car home, but the parking situation being what it was, we decided not to deal with it.

  “He can take the bus and come and pick it up tomorrow,” Luke said. He used one hand to steady Rowan while his other held his phone up to his ear.

  “Don’t tell me you’re fucking calling Mom!” Ro suddenly snapped, and I swear he had never sounded more petulant in his life.

  “Rowan, shut up!” I said. I was pretty sure Luke had been listening to a voice mail.

  “Calm the hell down, or you can walk,” Luke told him.

  “Asswipe,” Ro murmured, but it was significantly below his breath, so I took it to mean that he knew Luke was serious.

  After we’d gotten him into the car, I climbed into the passenger seat and we drove back to my house. About an hour had passed since I’d left, and I had no missed calls or messages, so I felt pretty confident that my parents were still asleep.

  By now, Rowan was snoring softly in the back seat.

  Luke cut the engine in my driveway and looked at me as I climbed out of the car. “Thanks, J.J.,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake his brother.

  My stomach flipped at the nickname. When I was a kid, I hated my name. Jessi Rumfield.

  I hated that my parents hadn’t even gone as far as to commit to “Jessica.” They’d been so busy living their best lives, and then I’d come along. And maybe I was still such an afterthought to them that abbreviating one of the most overused names of all time was the best they could do. They hadn’t even bothered to give me a middle name. In elementary school I started trying to convince people to call me J.J.

  Right around the time it caught on, though, common sense kicked in. I realized how immature the whole thing had been and forbade anyone to call me anything but Jessi. All the people who had obliged me (basically everyone but my parents) went back to my given name. Everyone except Luke.

  Sometimes.

  Rarely, but sometimes.

  With my newfound maturity and, with it, my newfound disdain for tryhards who went by initials, I don’t know how I didn’t manage to beat it out of him. Or maybe I didn’t really want to.

  “Anytime,” I said now, and I meant it.

  Luke smiled—he knew I did mean it—and then I shut the door and walked back into my house.

  As expected, I was safe on the parental front, but my heart was doing this weird leapy thing it sometimes did where Luke was involved. Like when he’d wiped his ancient iPod and filled it with a bunch of Mel’s jazz songs for me one Christmas. Or the time when I got braces and he said my smile was “still a ten.”

  I flopped into bed, thinking of Luke, but it was Ro’s words I woke up to the next morning.

  Sorry bout last night . . . if it’s any consolation, head fucking hurts, Mom yelled at me for like an hour and Luke says there’s a picture of me breakdancing???

  I kept scrolling and saw another text.

  Wake up wake up

  I’m up. What? I asked.

  U pissed? He wrote back within seconds.

  He sent a GIF of a kitten belching out neon letters that spelled out SORRY.

  Am I forgiven?

  Oh sure, I wrote. I mean, you’ve only been a jackass all summer but kitten gifs so I guess all is forgiven.

  I’d set my phone down beside me, and it pinged with his response now. Are you being sarcastic?

  What do you think? I wrote.

  I thought you might say that.

  Before I could ask what he meant, there were two quick raps on my window.

  I pulled open the blinds to see Ro’s face pressed up against the glass. He was standing precariously on the tall ladder my father used for cleaning the gutters.

  “Ro!” I cried. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “I’m about to lose my fucking brains if you don’t open up and let me in,” he said.

  I quickly slid my window open, and Ro thrust a small white box at me, then tumbled in after it. He fell hard on the floor and stayed there, staring up at the ceiling and breathing hard.

  “Shh,” I said. “My parents are downstairs.”

  “Holy shit,” he panted. “Remind me never to do that again.”

  I sat on the floor beside him and burst into laughter. “Oh my God. You’re such an idiot.”

  “I was trying to make a grand gesture!” Ro said.

  “Dying’s a pretty grand gesture.”

  I opened the box Ro had handed me to find two of Mel’s mini cinnamon rolls.

  “A peace offering,” he said. “For being a jerk lately.”

  “Aw, Ro,” I said, a warm feeling rushing through me. I handed him a cinnamon roll, then took one myself. It was sticky-sweet and so delicious I found myself licking my fingers even after it was finished
. I leaned back until we were shoulder to shoulder on the floor, our eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  “Tell me something good,” Rowan whispered. I knew he was thinking of Mel’s illness and the way it had cast a film of sadness over absolutely everything, and I knew he was asking for a distraction.

  I thought about it for a second, grinned, then said, “I do have a picture of you breakdancing. Wanna see?” I reached for the phone on my bed, found the picture, and shoved it in Ro’s face. He groaned and pushed the phone away, but he turned on his side so he was facing me.

  “You tell me something good,” I said.

  “When I go pro,” he said. “I’m going to buy Mom the biggest fucking house in Winchester. She’ll travel everywhere to see me play on tour, stay in the best hotels, and then come back home to a mansion. She’ll only have to work if she wants to. She can hire people to permanently run Rosas.”

  I spoke over the lump in my throat. “That sounds perfect.”

  This was classic Ro. My bighearted, big-dreaming best friend.

  “I guess I’d have to buy Luke something. Maybe like a lifetime supply of comic books and whatever video games he wants.” Then he turned to me. “What do you want?”

  He nudged my toes with his sneakers. “Come on, I’m giving away pipe dreams here.”

  “I want . . .” I said, trailing off, feeling stupid.

  “Say it,” Ro prompted. “I’d give you anything.”

  “I just want my best friend.”

  He stared at me then, his brown eyes intense on mine. “You’ve got him.”

  It all felt so perfect, this moment where we were sharing everything and nothing at all. Ro had apologized for the way he’d been acting the past few weeks. And all this—climbing up to my window, the cinnamon roll—was a nice gesture, but none of it answered the questions I had for him.

  “Ro?” I said. We were so close, our foreheads almost touching. “Why did you kick me out that night?”

  Rowan heaved a loud sigh. “You really wanna know?”