by Stacie Ramey
No. I’m not. If I were…
“Tell me about her.”
I shake my head.
“Was she pretty?”
A sob comes out. But not because she was pretty. Because she was beautiful. To me.
“Did you feel better just being with her?”
I nod. The muscles in my shoulders sag.
“I bet she felt that way about you. I bet she felt like you took care of her.”
And just like that, the weight feels a little lighter, and I hate him for breaking me and then helping me. I hate him. I hate myself. Because she left me. Because I wasn’t good enough.
He turns me to face him. Puts his hands on my shoulders. I lower my head.
“The thing is, John, you have to do all the work, not just deal with the stuff that’s on the surface.”
I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “You said I didn’t always have to tell you everything.”
“I lied. You can’t keep this stuff in.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because it’ll kill you, man.”
“Maybe I’m already dead.”
“Nope. No way. Because if you were, none of this would hurt anymore.”
He goes to the fridge and pulls out a Coke. He pops the top and hands it to me. I take a swig, let it cool me as I drink and drink and drink. I walk to the couch and sit, blindsided and numb and just too tired to talk.
“Tell me one thing about her.”
“I could always make her laugh.” The words come out even before I realize I’m talking. “She had the most beautiful smile. And I loved her hair. It was so shiny. So pretty. So…”
“Alive?” Steve asks.
“Yeah. She was so alive.” It feels stupid to say when she’s not now. “She was always so worried about what people thought of her, but she shouldn’t have been. She was beautiful. In every way.”
“I know this hurts, John, but I’m glad you did this.”
“Did what?”
“I’m glad you let yourself be loved.”
I sit with that for a minute. How it felt when Leah needed me. How she looked at me when it was just the two of us.
“All the anger inside you after the Ryan accident. All the pain you felt with your parents, and you still allowed yourself to be loved.”
“I never said she loved me. I don’t even know if she did.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute. I think she loved you just as much as you loved her.”
I stare at a spot on the floor.
“The next time you fall in love, maybe it’ll be with someone who does for you as much as you do for them. Maybe you’ll decide you deserve to be taken care of too.”
I want to scoff at Steve and his stupid-assed psychic predictions. I want to ask him if he’s running one of those hotlines for lonely people they show on TV in the middle of the night. I want to be all smart-ass, but I just can’t. Maybe because I’m tired from all this but maybe also because there’s a tiny piece of me, a speck really, that kind of hopes he’s right.
Chapter 13
I almost consider canceling my date with Emily, because my head is still so messed up from the emotional lobotomy Steve dished out, but sitting at a table for two at Joey’s Pizza, my control is almost back, and my checkout plan is one doctored Coke away from getting started. Emily folds her slice in half, pulls pieces of the melted cheese off the end, takes tiny bites, sucking the sauce off her finger, and it’s so cute, it almost makes me laugh.
“What?” she demands.
“Nothing.”
“Sorry I don’t eat salads like the girls you’re used to.”
“How do you know what kind of girls I’m used to?”
“I’m pretty sure I could guess.”
I put my hand over hers. “Don’t.” My eyes are serious but not angry.
She goes back to picking at the cheese on her slice. She smiles. “Soooo, new conversation?”
“Probably best.” I nod soberly but add a smile so she knows I’m still playing.
I drink my Coke, letting it cool me inside and out. Then I pull out a flask I’ve filled with Jack. She watches as I pour a small splash of my favorite drink into my soda. Much smaller than if I were going to be drinking this alone. “This is why you should have ordered a soda, but don’t worry, I’ll share.”
“You’re incorrigible,” Emily says.
“That’s just a big word for sexy, right?”
She laughs so much, she almost does a spit-take, and I realize I’m having a really good time with this girl.
“So tell me about you. Your family. What makes Emily tick?”
Her eyes go a little darker, and I’m sorry I pushed. She takes a sip of water. Puts it down on the table, plays with the condensation drip on the side of the glass. “Well, I have an older brother, Christian, who is prelaw. Soon to be at Harvard Law. My sister, Abby, is the oldest in the family, and she is an accountant in New York. I am the laid-back one in my family.”
My turn to almost spit-take.
“What?”
“While you are very easy to be with, I wouldn’t consider you exactly easygoing.”
“Why not?”
I take a bite of pizza, chew, and swallow it down with a huge drink of my mildly doctored Coke. “Let’s see, you get to school a half hour early. From what I hear, you’re a beast on the field. You’re taking a crap ton of AP classes, and—this is my favorite part—you are going into the super highly competitive world of journalism. Yeah. Not laid-back. Maybe in your family but not laid-back in terms of anyone else’s family.”
Emily lights up with my little dissertation about her, and that gives me a warm feeling.
“So what did your father think of your mad lacrosse skills?”
“I’m pretty sure he was hoping for better.”
She shakes her head like she’s pissed at Dad, which makes me feel good in a way. “You really went after the ball, and you did great on the face-offs.”
“I need to do better. Be better.”
She swallows a bite of pizza. Nods. Tilts her head. “You played really well for your first game in forever.”
“Nah. It’s like I’ve got to be a jock for myself and for Ryan. I don’t know, that sounded way whinier than I meant it.”
“No. I understand what you mean.” She eyes my Coke. “May I?”
I slide it to her. She takes a sip. “Yum.”
I drink again. “It’s like they were made for each other.”
“You are a booze romantic.” She takes another swig, then slides the glass back. I take my turn, then push it her way. She drinks some more. “But I think you’re right.”
“More like I’m a booze genius,” I say.
“You just might be, Jax Teller. I mean…”
“Man…” I pretend-slap the table. Turn my biggest smile on her. “You girls are all the same…want a bad boyfriend to hold on to as we drive away recklessly on our Harleys.”
“Well, yeaaah.” Her smile loosening with each passing moment.
By the time I pay the check and we are ready to go, I can tell Emily’s relaxed, because she has to really concentrate to stand without knocking over her water glass and to find the keys in her purse, which she hands to me. “You mind?”
“Not at all.” Another benefit of her drinking, I get to drive. One slightly Jacked-up Coke won’t affect my driving skills. Mad or otherwise.
• • •
I take us back to the park where we took Ryan and Livy. It’s deserted at night, too early even for people to park and do their thing. I take out my flask and hand it to her. She drinks, then closes her eyes. This girl’s not only drank before, she’s missed it.
“Take it easy, princess.”
“Princess? I’m not sure I like that designation.”
/>
“Jeez, I was trying to compliment you.”
“Then call me a queen. Queens have power.”
I blink. The memory of Leah telling me she wanted to be king one day almost knocks the wind out of me. She’d said it almost exactly like Emily did. She’d said, “Kings have more power.”
Emily’s hand goes on mine. Her voice breaks through the fog. “What’s the matter? John? Did I do something wrong?”
I blink. Shake my head. “No. I’m sorry. I’m fine. Just remembering something.”
“Something or someone?”
I let the liquid slide down my throat like honey until I’ve emptied the flask. I screw the top back on.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It was just…”
Her eyes are so soft and understanding, and after the whole Steve session today, Leah is front and center, and I feel like she’s with me now as much as when she was alive. The alcohol has loosened my mind and, apparently, my tongue. “I had a girlfriend. Leah. Her name was Leah.”
She nods.
“Leah. Um. She died last year.” I fiddle with the knobs on the radio, even though it’s not on. “She killed herself.”
Emily’s hand goes on my shoulder. It’s a heavy weight, even though I can tell it’s the kind of touch that is intended to be the opposite. “I’m so sorry.”
I nod. I wish I’d kept my stupid mouth shut.
She opens the glove compartment. “I brought this.” It’s a pint of Jack and makes me feel better just looking at it. She hands it to me, and I crack it open and bring it to my lips. Before I’m even done drinking, her hand reaches out. “You’re gonna be OK to drive me home, right?”
“Yeah. Not even close to being drunk.”
“I’ve not exactly been truthful with you since we’ve met. But then again, I haven’t been truthful with anyone.” She drinks some more.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m kind of a problem girl.”
I can’t help laughing. “You are not a problem.”
She’s slurring her words now. “I am. I’m serious.”
I stare at her perfectly innocent face. “What could you have done?”
She wipes a tear. “It’s not me exactly. It’s my cousin, Dylan.” She leans back in her seat, her shoulders slumped. “He screws up a lot.”
My face must ask the question, because she answers before my words come out. “He doesn’t go to this school. He used to. Before.”
I let the words she doesn’t want to say fill in the gaps between us, and I wonder if those texts she’s always getting are from him. Part of me hopes they are, not some other guy.
She takes another drink. “He got kicked out.”
“I figured. It’s OK, you don’t have to…”
“I tried to help him. They…everyone sort of gave up on him.”
“But not you?”
“I couldn’t. He was everything to me.” She puts her hand out.
I put the bottle in her hand. “Go easy on this, OK?”
“Too late.” She drinks some more. “I grew up with him. He was my best friend.” She wipes her eyes.
“What happened to him?”
“He sort of went crazy, I guess.”
“Why?”
She huffs. Shoots me a look. “People need a reason to go crazy?”
My turn to drink. “I guess not.”
“Anyway, he got in a lot of trouble, and instead of turning him in, I helped him. And now, I’ve got to be the consummate good girl. To make it all up to my parents for, you know, going against the grain, ruining their perfect image in town.”
“So isn’t this”—I hold up the bottle—“kind of risky?”
“They don’t need to know, do they?”
“No, not at all. Not from me anyway.” I reach out and hold her hand.
“The thing is, I know you are biding your time here. I guess I’m kind of doing that too. And we both need to build cred with our parents…”
“So the good girl thing wasn’t real?”
“It’s just kind of new.” She faces me. Her lips are so close to mine. “I mean, I never was that bad to begin with, even with Dylan and his friends.”
My ears start to get jealous. “His friends?”
“Yeah. I sort of dated one of them for a while.”
“And now?”
“He and I are just friends. It’s better that way.”
“His loss.” I put my hand under her chin and bring her mouth toward mine. I kiss her softly. Her mouth is exactly like her: small, sweet, sincere.
I’ve been with tons of girls since Leah died, but none of them mattered, and now this one is here with me, a girl I can’t help but like. We pull apart, and I put my hands in her hair. Her eyes look at me like I’m this person I’m not. And I feel myself want to push this, but I remember Livy telling me I can’t hurt Emily. Emily, who’s already been hurt enough. So I kiss her one more time, soft, then pull back. “I should take you home.”
She puts her hand to her lips like they’re chapped or something. “Yeah. Maybe that’s best.” She stares out the window and shakes her head. I’ve hurt her while trying to protect her.
“Em…”
“No.” She holds up her hand. “Emily. No one calls me Em.”
I put my hand under her chin. “I just want to be careful with you.”
“Sure. No problem.” She shakes loose of my grasp and stares out the window.
The ride back home is silent. That just reinforces my decision to keep things light. Before she gets out of the car, she reaches out, grabs my dragon necklace. “Tell me about this?” She’s super close to me again. “It’s very cool.”
I feel each breath she releases as she speaks. Her breath steaming in the cool air. My face burning. My body heating. Because of her. So now I feel close to her and pissed at her at the same time. Didn’t I just tell her we needed to keep our distance? I slip her fingers off the medallion. “It’s nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
“What does it look like?”
She stares into my eyes, gives me a smart-assed look. “It looks like you don’t want me to get too close.”
I shake my head. “You are dangerous.”
“I get that.” She thrusts the bottle of Jack into my hands. “Will you hold on to this for me?”
“You sure you trust me with it?”
“I just meant I wanted you to keep me from drinking it.”
“Sure.”
“Drinking doesn’t help. Not really.”
I want to argue with her—drinking helps me—but maybe we are looking for different things. I just want peace, and she wants to make things right. Making it right means keeping it as cool as possible with this girl. But I’m starting to feel like going completely the opposite way.
Chapter 14
I make my way to breakfast, hungover as shit but grateful that Mom isn’t forcing us to do this breakfast at an actual restaurant like she used to. I grab a mug of coffee, sit in my seat, and note that Rosie isn’t here, so that means we’re going to have some sort of family meeting. That’s cool with me. I’m all for putting our shit on the table.
Livy hasn’t even gotten the plate of eggs to the table before Mom starts, “Your father and I have made a decision.”
I want to tell her she’s breaking decorum by speaking before we are all seated, but she looks so tired and tense, so the truth is, I feel bad for her.
“We were thinking…”
“We are going to try a place for Ryan,” Dad finishes for her. His hand is super close to hers, and it’s so weird to see them acting like they don’t dislike each other or judge each other.
Mom nods, but I see she’s working like crazy not to cry. She
dabs her mouth with a napkin and puts her hands in her lap.
Ryan kicks his foot and flaps his hand around, but he’s not close enough to anything to do any damage. He laughs, and it kills me, because even though he hears what we’re saying, he has no idea what is going on. That Mom and Dad are talking about making him leave.
Mom breathes out, hard, and for some reason, that makes Ryan laugh. She smiles back at him, and I see how cute he can be. She spoons some pureed crap in his mouth, and he takes a small bite, if you can call it that. It takes hours to feed my brother like this, him slopping and munching with the food falling out of his mouth. Ryan’s food has been one of the long-ranging battles between my parents. I remember the arguments. Then finally the decision.
It was, like, eight years ago. Mom was sitting in the living room, her hand on Ryan’s chair. I remember she was crying back then too. “He should be able to eat real food.”
“He still can. This is just to help with other things, like medication when he’s sick.”
“Or feeding him faster. Sure, it can take him two hours to eat a full meal. But honestly, Scott, I have the time.”
“You have other children who need you, Lydia. You used to have a career too. Don’t you want to take that back?”
“Not at Ryan’s expense.”
I remember thinking what about at our expense? Livy’s and mine, but it had been made very clear by this time that she thought we should take care of ourselves, because we could.
Mom looks at Ryan now, still so long and skinny, still not able to eat well, even after they put the G-tube in, the one that was supposed to stop all the fights over his meals and meds. But that’s not how things work in my family. Not with Ryan anyway. In the end, he had the operation—Dad won that one—but Mom still refused to feed him that way. And eventually, the G-tube war got Dad kicked out of the house. I remember the day he sat Livy and me down and told us he was moving.
“Just a half hour away. I’ll still see you guys all the time.”
I remember feeling that the world was falling away and that Mom was a dangerous person to get mad.