First, Last, and Always

by Lehman, Kim

Miles?

  His name spins around like a broken record in my head. So many things flash from my memory. Every conversation we ever had, every bus ride we ever loathed, every star we ever shot. All of it. Me and him. Him and I. And that’s when it hits me.

  It’s Miles.

  There isn’t anything else in the world that makes more sense. We’re like Uncle Paul and Aunt Claire—infallible hearts. Unbroken souls; meant for each other. He’s the person. He’s my person; the one I’ve always wanted, and my best friend. “Lani,” I say, feeling my breath catch in my throat, “hand me the phone.”

  Miles

  I hit play on the voice message for the fifth time:

  “Miles, it’s me.” Like always, she makes me smile. “I’m sorry I freaked out. There was a huge misunderstanding. I’ll explain later, but anyway, I have to see you. We need to talk. I mean, we really need to talk.” She laughs. “You probably already know that, though. God, this is weird. So, I have this anniversary dinner tonight that I have to go to for my aunt and uncle, but maybe we can talk tomorrow? Call me as soon as you get up, okay? Okay...well...bye.”

  Sighing, I sit back against the headboard of my bed.

  Lani already explained. I called her as soon as I heard the message. Actually, I called Charlotte first, but like she said, she wasn’t home, so Lani filled me in and then told me Charlotte wouldn’t be home until around eleven, so I’d have to suffer through the night and talk to her tomorrow. I can’t believe Charlotte thought that Lani and I were together. I can’t believe she thought there would ever be anyone other than her.

  My finger hits the play button again.

  “Miles, it’s me...”

  Charlotte

  “You girls look beautiful,” Mom says, taking Dad’s arm under hers and winking at Alexa and me as we stroll into the reception room of the restaurant where Aunt Claire and Uncle Paul are having their twentieth wedding anniversary dinner. There are easily over a hundred family members and friends milling about. Conversation buzzes like white noise; glasses clink; the smell of cigars, red wine, and hot hors d’oeuvres floats in the air. Off to the right side of the room are two sets of French doors that open to another room with round tables, all adorned with tall floral centerpieces and giant bows along the backs of the chairs. This whole ordeal is much fancier than I expected.

  After taking off our coats, Mom and dad stroll around the room to talk with other guests and Alexa retreats to a corner of the room where she resumes being her miserable self. We haven’t said a word to each other since Tuesday night. The car ride over to the restaurant is the closest we’ve been in proximity in days, and I’m instantly reminded of what a crank she is. My parents and I spent the entire ride listening to her complain about having to attend “some stupid dinner.” It’s just like my birthday. If it isn’t a celebration for her, she doesn’t care about it at all.

  To keep myself busy, I pick food off the trays of passed hors d’oeuvres—something wrapped in bacon, chicken on a stick, a mini hamburger. When the tray of mini hamburgers comes back around I grab another.

  Twenty minutes or so after we arrive, my aunt Claire walks to the center of the room. She sees me off to the side and gives me a small wave. Smiling back, I do the same. She looks stunning. Her dress is an elegant floor-length scarlet A-line halter that spirals around her feet as she moves. Her blond hair has the usual soft curls, but instead of being pinned on both sides of her head, she has it half pinned. The other side of her hair drapes down her neckline. Hands down, there is no woman in the room more beautiful than her. One of the waiters hands her a microphone. Claire nervously fumbles with the switch for a moment before it clicks to life and the speakers in the room make a popping noise. Taking a deep breath, she taps her glass and clears her throat in an effort to get everyone’s attention. Slowly, heads and bodies spin around. I feel Alexa walk up beside me, evident by the fact that the space I’m in becomes ten degrees cooler.

  “I’m terrible at speeches,” Claire starts. Chuckles flitter throughout the room. “But I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to say a few words to all of the friends and family who have joined us today.” She nods around the room. “First I want to take an opportunity to thank my best friend and sister-in-law, Deena Hubbard, for helping to put this together so quickly.” As Claire’s speaking, Uncle Paul steps up beside her. I noticed him as soon as I arrived. He’s just as dashing as Claire is in his black suit and tie. They look made for each other, like a lock and key that fit perfectly. Pausing, Claire glances up at him and smiles, then says, “Paul and I decided to do something a little nontraditional and have an anniversary party marking the day we met, on the exact day that we met thirty years ago.” Claps fill the room. “And in another month we also celebrate our twentieth wedding anniversary.” Cheers erupt and the clapping gets louder. “I know.” Claire nods. “It’s hard to believe that thirty years ago today I met the man who is not only my best friend, but an amazing man and husband.” There’s another pause as Paul leans over to plant a quick kiss, then she looks up at him and says into the microphone. “Thank you for the best years of my life.”

  Shaking his head, Uncle Paul grabs the microphone, sighs, and stares out at all the faces in the room. “I don’t know what to say,” he starts. He seems truly speechless.

  Next to me, Alexa scoffs.

  “It’s difficult to follow that.” Glancing at Claire, he squeezes her hand. “Claire, all I can say is that I’m the luckiest man in the world.” She nods with tears filling her eyes. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me,” he says, before turning back to all the guests. “And I know Claire already said it, but thank you all again. We’re so blessed to be able to share this moment with all of you.” There is another round of clapping. Everyone thinks they’re done. A few people in chairs get up to walk to the bar. Others start walking away, but then Claire grabs the microphone one more time. “Everyone?” she says trying to usher people back. “I have one more thing I want to do.” Still standing beside her, Uncle Paul’s face contorts. You can tell he isn’t expecting more. Claire takes a deep breath. “I wanted to surprise you,” she says to Uncle Paul, “with a video. It’s something I’ve been working on the past few months. A collection of all the memories we’ve shared from our past. Our favorite moments together. I brought it tonight and I wanted to play it for you.”

  Uncle Paul puts his hand on his chest. “What?” he says in disbelief.

  She nods. “Stay here,” she says, excited. “Everything should be ready to go. I just have to have them dim the lights and bring down the screen.”

  Uncle Paul runs a hand through his hair and continues to shake his head. You’re amazing, I see him mouth to her.

  Flicking off the microphone, she walks toward the back of the room. As she passes by me, she winks. “Here,” she says, passing me the microphone. “Hold this for just a second. I’ll be back.”

  Next to me, Alexa whispers in my ear. “Please tell me we aren’t seriously going to watch a video about their love story.”

  “Shh,” I respond.

  “I can’t do this,” she says. “I am seriously going to lose my mind if I have to stay in this room another second.”

  “Do you mind?” I whisper over my shoulder to her.

  “Did you see him holding her hand?” Alexa grunts. “I wanted to puke.”

  I’ve had enough. I flip around and glare at her. “What is wrong with you?” I say as quietly as I possibly can. “Why can’t you just be happy for someone other than yourself for once?”

  She returns the glare. “Well, it’s hard to be happy for them when I know that Uncle Paul is having an affair with one of my teachers at school.”

  My jaw falls to my ankles. Alexa’s eyes grow wide.

  She whispered those words. Nobody was close enough to hear. Nobody had to know what she said, except that half a second before she said the last part of her sentence my finger slipped up the microphone and turned it on. The words blared through the speakers. She
may as well have yelled them. Everyone had to hear.

  When my senses return to normal, I pan the room. It’s in a state of pause, as if time has stopped. Everyone is looking at Alexa and me, except for Aunt Claire and Uncle Paul. They’re looking at each other. Uncle Paul stands motionless, his face pale. Aunt Claire shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No.”

  Uncle Paul starts to walk to her, extending his arm. “Claire—”

  Everyone’s eyes shift to Claire and Paul. People start whispering, shaking their heads, covering their mouths. Everything moves quickly after that. Claire runs from the room out the front entrance. Paul runs after Claire. My parents run after both of them, and Alexa bolts the opposite direction out the back. I don’t know what to do. Should I go after Claire or Alexa? I can’t help thinking this is all my fault. If I hadn’t clicked on the microphone, nobody would know. This wouldn’t be happening. My head sways to the front, then the back, then the front.

  Taking a step forward, I let the microphone fall from my hand, landing on the floor with a thud as I run out the back door.

  Outside, I creep around the building. There’s a noise in the distance, a whimper. Squinting into the darkness, I notice a human figure behind the bush, a girl. When I take a closer look, I can see it’s Alexa. She’s crying—shoulders shaking, hands in face, full-blown sobbing. If it weren’t for the honey-blond hair, I might not have realized it was her. Alexa isn’t one to cry very often. The last time I saw her cry that hard was when she broke her leg falling off the balance beam in gymnastics just before her seventh-grade year.

  My feet glide me forward. I’m sure she’s just going to tell me to go away. “Alexa?” I say, when I’m close enough for her to hear. “I swear, it was an accident,” I tell her. “My hand slipped.”

  “I know,” she nods, sobbing louder.

  With hesitation, I sit down beside her, bend my legs, and pull them into me. For a while, neither of us speaks. Then eventually Alexa sighs, wipes her eyes and says, “How bad is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But I think it’s really bad.”

  She closes her eyes. Tears start to fall again. “Shit.”

  We’re both quiet again for a while and then she looks at me and says, “How are you not as upset as I am about this?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t even process what’s happening right now. My mind doesn’t want to go there.”

  She sniffles. “God, this has been the worst fucking week.”

  “What could be worse than this?” I ask.

  “Lance broke up with me,” she says.

  My jaw is dropping a lot tonight. “What?” I gasp.

  She nods. “He cheated on me.”

  “With who?”

  “Jazz,” she wails.

  “No!” I cry.

  “Yep.”

  “When did that happen?”

  Alexa shrugs. “It’s been a while, I guess, but I found out right before you got home Tuesday night. That girl has no shame. She has seriously slept with the entire basketball team. I think Lance was the last person on her list.” Alexa sniffles.

  This explains why she was so upset.

  “Just so you know,” Alexa adds, “the things I said, they weren’t directed at you. I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t trying to say that whatever-his-name-is—the guy in your class—I wasn’t saying he didn’t like you because of who you are, I was trying to say he wouldn’t like you because he’s a guy. Because guys are clearly assholes and anything you try to do to get a guy to like you—makeup, making out, or changing everything you like for him—it doesn’t work.”

  I pull my knees tighter into my chest. “Yeah. I realized that too,” I admit.

  Alexa looks toward the restaurant. “You think anyone is looking for us?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t want to go back in yet.”

  “Me neither,” she says. I glance at her and she gives me a small smile. “Hey, what you said the other night, did you mean it?” she asks.

  “Which part?” I said a lot of things. I’m pretty sure I meant all of them, but it’s possible I said something I didn’t mean.

  “About always looking up to me.”

  I nod. “Yeah. I did.”

  “I thought you hated me,” she says, which makes me jerk my neck back.

  “When?”

  “Always.”

  “How can you say that? We used to be so close.”

  “Yeah. That’s true. We were close when we were younger, but the past couple years you’d come home and you wouldn’t even talk to me. You would go straight into the living room or up to your room.”

  “I didn’t talk to you because you never talked to me. Plus, you were with Jazz. Every time you were around her you acted different.”

  “Different how?”

  “Honestly,” I sigh, hoping she isn’t going to be offended by what I say. “You acted like a total snob.”

  “I did not!” she scoffs.

  “You did. You once told me, when Jazz was over, that there is mediocre and there is primo. I was the former. You were the latter. Then you guys laughed.”

  “That did not happen.”

  “It did.” She can deny it all she wants. I remember it clearly.

  “Jazz must have said that. I did not say that,” Alexa says.

  “You said it.”

  She looks at me with her eyebrows turned down. “Well, shit. That was a mean thing to say.”

  “I know.” Similar instances start popping into my head. “Then there was this other time you—”

  Alexa holds up her hand. “Okay. I get it. I suck. Can we not beat me over the head about it right this minute?”

  I bite my tongue. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. We both face forward again.

  “So, how did you find out?” I ask.

  “About Jazz and Lance? This girl in my art class sent a picture of the two of them making out in his car.”

  “No. I was talking about Uncle Paul.”

  “Oh. Well, I saw him. On the first day of school. Jazz and I snuck out for lunch, and he was at the far end of the parking lot with my Spanish teacher from last year. I wouldn’t have recognized him, but he wore the hat you and I got him for his fortieth birthday. Before he drove away, she kissed him and it wasn’t the kiss a friend would give. This kiss was rated for mature audiences.” Alexa grunts. “Idiot. After that, I started to pay closer attention. He stopped by the school a lot. She would leave with him on her lunch break sometimes.”

  I start to think about the consequences of his actions. How it will affect them. How it might affect all of us. “What do you think will happen?” I ask.

  “I dunno,” Alexa says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they got a divorce.”

  Goosebumps run up and down my arms. “No they won’t. You really think that?”

  She nods. “It was bound to happen eventually. Everything was too perfect. Plus, no one meets the person they’re supposed to be with when they’re fifteen.”

  Her words echo in my ears. The gravity of the evening spirals around my body and lands on my chest. Miles’s face flashes before my eyes. My stomach clenches, my heart pounds. Tears fill my eyes. Sadness trickles down my cheeks. “Yeah.” I nod. “You’re probably right.”

  Miles

  The rain, which started as a drizzle twenty minutes ago, is coming down harder as the Hubbards’ car pulls into the driveway. Opening my umbrella, I step off the porch and onto the front lawn. The car doors swing open. Everyone jumps out. Mr. Hubbard and Alexa run to the house, covering their heads with their hands. Charlotte walks with her mom toward the house, both of them huddled under an umbrella to stay dry.

  “Hi, Miles,” her mom says glumly as they approach. Her eyes appear swollen. I can’t tell if she’s extremely tired or upset by something. Charlotte is looking away.

  “Hey,” I say, digging my hand into my pockets, gently rocking on my feet.

/>   Mrs. Hubbard looks at Charlotte. “Don’t be too long,” she says. “It’s late.”

  Charlotte nods. She steps out from under her mom’s umbrella, and I make room for her under mine.

  “Hey.” Her lips turn a fraction upward. Although we’re six inches apart, she won’t look directly at me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’m here. Lani told me you’d be home around eleven. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to talk to you.”

  “It’s okay.” She sounds indifferent.

  “How was dinner?”

  “Shitty,” she mumbles.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” Something isn’t right.

  Crossing her arms in front of her, she looks down at her feet.

  “I missed you,” I tell her. Immediately I wish I didn’t say it. She shifts uncomfortably and shakes her head.

  “Miles,” she says, saying my name slowly. “Before you say anything else, I should tell you that I think what happened between us was a mistake.”

  It feels like I’ve been punched in the chest. This is not what I expected. The wind is knocked out of me. It takes a moment for me to catch my breath. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “Things should just stay the same...go back to the way they were,” she stammers. When she lifts her head to glance at me for a split second, I can see confusion, fear, and uncertainty, but there’s also something else. I’m not sure, but I almost think she looks at me like she doesn’t know who I am.

  “It’s normal to be scared,” I tell her, even though I have no idea if it is or not. I reach for her hand to remind her that nothing is different. I’m still the same guy she can trust when she needs someone to lean on. I’m still her best friend. Instead of taking my hand, she backs away from me into the rain.

  “You’re getting wet,” I tell her. “Let’s move to the front porch or inside.”

  She shakes her head. “You should go.”

  The distance growing between us pulls on my heart. “You hate me.” I meant it as a question, but it comes out like a statement.