“Will you ask Chris where he is?” she asked.
“We’re not in seventh grade, Beck. You ask him if you want.”
She sneered at me but immediately started texting. We waited. Her phone dinged.
“So?” I said. “What did Chris say?”
“He doesn’t know.”
Then her phone rang. She looked at it and her eyes lit up like a Christmas tree in a lightning storm.
“Cody?” I asked.
She nodded and answered.
“Hi,” she said, then smiled and giggled as she listened. He was obviously on one of his funny drama rants, and she was eating it all up. Next she would invite him over and all would be well in Rebecca-Cody land.
She gave me a thumbs up.
I raced to the door. I’d have to rush my shower to get to Chris’s on time.
Dinner at Chris’s was like always—easy, comfortable—opposite of my house. Chris’s parents asked us questions, talked about the news, and listened to what we had to say. There was no wine for us, no fancy china. Just dinner and conversation. Afterward, we watched a movie. Chris, his twelve-year-old brother, Joseph, and I all squeezed on the couch while his parents sat on armchairs. His dad read the paper while we all watched the movie. Lady lay in front of the couch, flapping her tail, and Peaceboy curled up on Theresa’s lap like a cat. It was all so normal. So … pure. There was no way I could let this go. Now with Mom fighting with Dad whenever he was home, with all the memories of Scott released, this was my only hope for goodness, for being part of a real family.
I was almost completely ensconced in my Holtz world, making believe I was really one of them, feeling the warmth of Chris’s chest where my head rested. But when I felt my phone buzz, I couldn’t ignore it, so I went to the bathroom to check it.
SEBASTIAN: I was such an immature asshole today. I was completely wrong and you were completely right. I’m sorry. I’d really like to apologize in person. Can we do something tomorrow?
A rush of warmth spread through me, and I smiled all by myself.
ME: Yes.
But when I went back to the couch, it was just me again. Macy sitting among the perfect family Holtz, no longer part of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The next night, I half-watched a James Bond movie while I devoured the last of Darren and Kevin’s roast chicken from their dinner party the night before. Everything had gone smoothly with Ben and Avery’s bedtime despite the limited movement of my aching legs and butt from running. My phone buzzed. I wiped my greasy fingers on a napkin and picked it up.
SEBASTIAN: Are you free to talk?
I felt a wave of relief and excitement. I hadn’t heard from him since the text I’d gotten at Chris’s, and I didn’t want to text him first.
ME: Babysitting til 9:30. What’s up?
SEBASTIAN: A little blue. I’m alone in the house.
ME: I cud come over if u want.
SEBASTIAN: Yes. I’d love that.
I’d told Rebecca and Chris I’d meet them at a party, but I wasn’t that into it anyway.
ME: OK. C u soon.
SEBASTIAN: Just come inside when you get here. The door’s open. I’m up in my room.
I texted Rebecca and Chris to tell them I was too tired to go to the party. I cleaned off my dishes and waited for Darren and Kevin to come home, practically jumping out of my skin with impatience.
When I got to Sebastian’s, I opened the front door and walked up the stairs, which were carpeted in a dark red and blue floral pattern. A few framed photos of Sebastian and his sister lined the wall on a diagonal, going up the stairs. I ran my hand along the banister, knowing that in a minute I would be in Sebastian’s room. Alone with him. How did I feel about that? All that broke through was a very pleasant sense of calm.
“Macy? Second door on the right. Well, no door, just doorway,” Sebastian called out, his voice raspy. I followed his instructions, walking on the blue and red flowered carpet that continued down a short, narrow hallway to Sebastian’s room. I noticed the empty hinges on the doorframe.
“Part of the program,” he said. “Privacy at this point is not a luxury I’m afforded.”
He was lying on his double bed, a navy blue plaid comforter bunched up under him. His room was surprisingly “boy.” Dark wood, navy blue sheets. A laptop at his desk. A few academic awards and running trophies. Some clothes in a heap in the corner. I didn’t know what I’d expected—everything perfect and in its place? A look that matched his thoughtfulness?
“Are you sick?” I asked. Seeing him lying on his bed was a mix of odd things—vulnerable, comfortable, sexual.
“No,” he said. “But I said I was so I wouldn’t have to go with them. A pool party at one of the houses my stepfather just built. I just couldn’t deal—the stares and everything. Not to mention the drinks. I thought it would be better if I didn’t go.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t it late for Sofia?”
“She’s a night owl. I guess European time runs in our blood.”
I eased myself farther onto his bed. He grabbed an extra pillow for me, and I stretched out, letting my head sink into the soft flannel.
“I’m really sorry about the diner,” he said. He grabbed my hand and squeezed. I squeezed back and smiled. He let go and stared at the ceiling.
“Am I allowed to be here?” I asked.
“Truthfully?” he said. “They’d prefer it. I may have lied a little. They didn’t want to leave me alone, so I told them we’d planned to hang out tonight.”
“So, you only asked me over to make yourself feel better about lying to your parents? Now I feel like an idiot.”
“No, no, no,” he said. “I didn’t want you to see me like this. But then I decided that I’d rather that than not see you at all.”
I smiled. “And what is ‘like this’?”
“I don’t know. Down. Slogging through the crap in my head.”
“Okay,” I said. “So now I’m here. Might as well make it worth it. Let’s slog through it together. What’s going on?”
“Today was the hardest day since I’ve been out of the hospital. This morning I started getting bummed out about some stuff, and I wanted to take something to make the feeling go away. It was so natural to just want that; I was seriously ready to throw everything away—all the work I’ve done, everything. I convinced myself that I could use and still stay in control.”
“So, what did you do?” I asked hesitantly, suddenly wondering whether he was high right now. What would I do? Call his mom? The hospital? He would hate me forever.
“I went to a meeting,” he said. “And after it was over, I went to another one.”
“Wow.”
He nodded slowly. “Still clean. One more day, as they say.”
“I’m glad,” I said, which was the most ridiculous understatement there ever was. “But what made you so bummed out this morning?”
He smiled shyly and tilted his head toward me. “You mean other than the fact that you were with your boyfriend last night?”
I opened my mouth, but he continued before I could say anything.
“I was thinking about my dad, how much I’m like him, and how much it scares me,” he said quietly.
“You’re nothing like him.”
“There’s more. And you might not like me after I tell you this,” he said.
I could feel my jaw tighten. What could make me not like Sebastian?
“Sophomore year I had a girlfriend. I know I told you that it was bad, but in the beginning, it was good. Really good. We were in love.”
I closed my eyes. Sebastian had been in love. I didn’t know if I was even capable of being in love, but I was pretty sure that if I was, it would be with him. I looked up at the ceiling, where I could see the remnants of glow-in-the-dark stars that someone had unsuccessfully tried to scrape off. I willed myself to be still, to not let my body betray my—what?—feeling of betrayal? Like he cheated on me? Before he even really knew
me? But I knew that wasn’t fair of me. Not only was he allowed to have a past, but I had Chris.
Sebastian propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at me. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, should I?”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, my voice cracking. “You need to.”
He lay back down on his pillow.
“Okay. Jacqueline and I were way into drugs.”
He’d pronounced Jacqueline with a French accent.
I sat up. “Jacqueline?”
“Do you know her?” he asked, hesitantly.
“No,” I said quickly. “But if it’s the same Jacqueline, I went to rescue Rebecca from a party at her house the other night.”
“Rescue?”
“She thought Cody ditched her there, so she called me to pick her up.”
He put his hand on his head and rubbed.
“This is weird,” he said. “Jacqueline went to a different school. I never thought you’d know her.”
“I don’t. I never even saw her. But, well, never mind.”
“What?” he asked.
“There was something about her house that made me curious about who she was,” I said. “It seemed like a really warm, nice place to grow up.”
Sebastian laughed bitterly.
“Warm and nice are not exactly the words I’d use to describe her or her family. But I know what you mean—the house is very inviting. It’s the French country thing. Her mother is an interior designer.”
“Oh,” I said. The disappointment that Jacqueline wasn’t who I thought she was, that her house wasn’t what I thought it was, was much more acute than I thought possible. I should have been pleased that someone who seemed so perfect and had been loved by Sebastian had crappy parents, but I wasn’t. I wanted there to be hope out there.
“Is this too weird?” he asked.
Even though it kind of was too weird, I shook my head. “Go on.”
He continued. “Jacqueline and I mostly took pills—oxy, that kind of stuff. Some coke, pot. We were high most of the time. But then something changed, and I needed it more than she did. Our stash kept dwindling faster and faster because I needed more and more. One day, she got pissed at me for something—I don’t even remember what—and she took all of our pills and flushed them down the toilet. I turned into this raving lunatic madman. I hated her. And I hated her even more because she’d made me get as angry as my father used to get.”
Suddenly, the lack of air-conditioning in Sebastian’s house became very noticeable. The spot where the backs of our hands touched—my left, his right—as we lay side by side, felt clammy.
“I was literally pulling out my hair trying not to hit her. I kept telling myself, ‘you are not him, you are not him.’ Jacqueline was freaking out. She knew I was going crazy. It was totally surreal. But it was also way too real. Finally, I gave in, and I punched her window. There was glass and blood everywhere.
“But then she attacked me. I thought she’d push me out the broken window. That’s where it was headed—she was high, and she wasn’t thinking clearly either. And then I lost it. I saw red, black, whatever you see when there’s nothing but anger. I put my hand around her neck. The blood from my cut hand was all over her. I’ll never forget the way she looked at me. The way I probably looked when my father was in one of his rages. Terrified.”
He paused. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“I realized what I’d been about to do, and I let go immediately. She was so quiet and still; it was worse than if she’d screamed. Then I just fell apart. Crying. I was a mess. My hand was in bad shape, so she called her parents to come home from a dinner party and they took us to the hospital. She didn’t tell them what I’d done to her. But I knew it was over for us. And I knew it was over for me, too—that I could never forgive myself. Two weeks later, she was gone. She’d never wanted to go to boarding school even though her parents were pushing her, but I guess she changed her mind after that.”
I couldn’t picture Sebastian hurting anyone. Calm, soft-spoken Sebastian.
I cleared my throat.
“She might have pushed you out the window,” I said.
“No excuse.”
“But, she was doing drugs too. She could have tried to help you.”
“Maybe flushing it all down the toilet was her way of trying to help. Macy, I hurt her. Please don’t make excuses for me. That’s not why I told you. I just want you to know everything. That anger—like my dad’s—it exists. I know how to control it pretty well with therapy and without the drugs messing with me. But it’s always there. Under the surface.”
He was right. Why had I been trying to excuse him for what he’d done? I made a little gasp as a realization shot into my thoughts so quickly like an injection into my bloodstream. I was used to making excuses—for Scott and now for Sebastian.
“You okay?” Sebastian asked. I realized I’d balled up my fists and pressed them against my cheeks. I released them and nodded.
“Did your mom know what happened?” I asked.
“Only that I punched the window. Not the … other part. She worried, like I did, that I was just like my dad. She sent me to therapy to control my temper. But I never told the therapist about the drugs. I cut down on the pills, limiting myself to just enough to get me through the day but not enough to go on any more insane rampages. And that’s what I’ve been doing since. Until now—the hospital, therapy, working on the anger.”
He sniffed, wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
“So,” I said. “You haven’t seen her since?”
He shook his head.
“That must be weird,” I said. “If you were so into each other and then suddenly you’re not together anymore?”
“Yeah. It was weird.”
“I mean, no closure,” I said. “Right?”
“I guess. It doesn’t really matter. It was over, even without it.”
I stared at the stars on the ceiling.
“I shouldn’t have told you that, right?” he asked.
“You should have. We’re helping each other.”
I grabbed his hand and touched his scarred knuckles.
“I haven’t helped you,” he said. “I don’t even know what hurts you.”
“You’re helping me figure it out.”
We intertwined our fingers, stroked each other’s palms. Our hands were having their own very intense conversation, and I was starting to tingle all over, wanting to kiss him, to know what his lips felt like.
He groaned softly.
“What?”
“You have no idea … you can’t imagine how badly I want to kiss you right now,” he said, staring up at the ceiling.
“Oh, yes I can,” I whispered.
“But we can’t,” he said, half statement, half question.
“No.” I pictured Chris’s face and the perfection of his family that I would lose forever.
“I guess that’s best. I’m afraid if we did, I wouldn’t want to stop,” he said.
“Same.”
He turned onto his side and faced me.
“I just feel really close to you. I wish I could be closer,” he said.
I turned to face him too. We were inches apart. He put his hand on my waist. It was heavy and warm on my side.
“Do you think this is okay?” he asked.
I nodded. I put my hand on his bony hip. He circled his arm around my back. Now our bodies were, at most, one inch apart. His lips were a millimeter from mine, his breath warm and sweet on my face. I shut my eyes. Every part of my body was alive with Sebastian’s presence. And now I wanted to kiss him. But we wouldn’t. Because of Chris, and because of NA, and maybe because of Jacqueline.
“If our lips just touch, it’s not really kissing,” I whispered, vaguely aware that it made no sense.
I parted my lips as his touched mine, overlapping, fitting perfectly. And now I knew what his lips felt like—soft, so soft. We stayed like that, our mouths together, our breat
h intermingling, our noses touching, our arms around each other’s sides. Our breathing fell into a joint rhythm. I was completely relaxed, aware of the easy happiness I was feeling for the first time in ages. I felt myself slip into a moment of blissful sleep—aware but not—a quick dream of breeze and sun and tree branches against the sky. Then I slid back into full awareness and opened my eyes. Our lips had moved apart, but our foreheads were touching. Sebastian’s eyes were closed. I stared at his long black eyelashes, a freckle on the side of his temple. I studied his face, and then I put my fingers on his cheek, feeling the faint stubble on his creamy brown skin.
He opened his eyes. He lifted his hand from my side and put it on my face, his fingertips gently inching into my hair.
“I wish we could stay like this all night,” he whispered. “But I think they’re coming home soon.”
“Yeah, I should go.” I sat up.
“Wait. I didn’t mean for you to get up right this second.” He pulled me back down. “I want you to stay longer.”
“I shouldn’t,” I said, returning to reality, knowing I probably had texts from Chris on my silenced phone, guilt creeping in and crowding out the bliss.
“Yeah, you’re right.” We stared at each other, and we smiled, but it seemed like an effort for both of us.
“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he said.
I nodded, afraid I’d cry if I spoke. I’d never wanted anything more in my life than to just stay there in his bed with him, doing nothing but holding each other and drifting in and out of sleep.
When I got to the bottom of the stairs, Sebastian, one step above me, put his hands on my shoulders and pulled me to him, so my back was against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, right at my collarbones, and leaned his head on my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck. I reached up and covered his hands with mine, closed my eyes, felt our bodies together, separate, one.
“I feel so …” he started, then sighed.
“Me too,” I said, leaning back against him briefly, like a final kiss, and then I took the last few steps to the door. I felt him watching me as I walked to my car, got in, started it, and drove off.
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