Live Through This

by Mindi Scott

  The only things keeping me from losing my mind are texts with my friends.

  Ming: I’m soooo sorry about last nite. The engine was running - we thought you were leaving! You forgive me, rite?

  Me: I suppose I forgive you ;)

  Dia: Have fun in Canada! We should all do something after you get back!

  Me: We should!

  Reece: Au revoir

  Me: Adios!

  Reece: Sawatdi (I looked that up. It’s Thai)

  Me: Nomistay! (from my yoga video. I probably spelled it wrong)

  “Coley!” Tony yells over his shoulder on his way out the door. “Please put your phone away and tell your mother we’re about to leave without her! Let’s go, kids. Outside.”

  They all file out.

  “Hey, Mom!” I call.

  She comes around the corner with her purse over her shoulder, dragging her suitcase behind her. “I heard. And I’m ready.”

  I shove my phone into my coat pocket, and Mom follows me. Outside, Tony has started up the minivan and the triplets are piling into it. Bryan is standing next to his car with the driver-side door open, staring at the ground. I wait at the top of the driveway, suddenly not sure where to go.

  “Nicole, you’re riding with Bryan?” Mom asks in a tone suggesting that my answer had better be yes.

  “I can,” I say.

  I glance at Bryan to try to gauge if it’s what he wants, but he just climbs in and slams the door.

  “Here’s your permission letter,” Mom says. “You have your passport?”

  I nod and she wraps her arms around me. “Do something about your brother, okay?” she whispers, even though no one except me can hear her. “He needs you. You’re the only one who can get through to him.”

  That used to be true. “I’ll try.”

  She lets go and tucks my hair behind my ear. “What does Yoda say? ‘Do it or do not do it. There’s no such thing as try’?”

  “Something like that.”

  I sit next to Bryan and before I’ve even closed my door, he shoves into reverse. Emma waves at me out her window and I wave back.

  “What’s Mom’s deal?” Bryan asks.

  “She gave me a travel permission letter for you to show the border guards. And botched a Star Wars quote.”

  He rolls his eyes and turns up the music—the same angry-sounding stuff that’s been coming from his room all week. Louder and louder and louder. It’s bass kicking my back through the seat. It’s an awful voice screaming syllables instead of words. It’s treble stabbing my brain.

  We ride this way for over an hour. It’s the total opposite of silence, but it feels even lonelier somehow. Every so often, I sneak glances at Bryan’s profile. The skin all around his eyes is dark and puffy, his jaw and cheeks are stubbly, and his mouth is turned down. It’s as if he’s given up.

  Noah: r u gonna bring me some nice Cubans from bc

  Me: Sorry. I’m not spending 10 years in jail over illegal cigars for you :)

  Noah: chicken id do it 4 u

  Ming: I’m sure you’ll be kissing in canada! . . . you still never told me what Reece gave you????

  Me: Thats your punishment. You can never know! Mwhahaha

  Reece: Nomaskaar (That’s goodbye in Bengali. Looked this up too, in case you couldn’t guess)

  Me: See ya! (New Zealand)

  Reece: LOL. Yadalanh (Apache for “farewell”)

  About twenty miles before the border, Bryan finally turns down the music. “Do you need me to stop?” he asks.

  “I’ll be fine for a while.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him slide his hand into his shirt pocket and pull out a joint and a lighter. Fantastic.

  It isn’t like he doesn’t know the deal. If you want to get in and out of Canada with as few issues as possible, you turn off your radio, remove your sunglasses and hat, and be extra-polite when answering the guards’ questions—even if they happen to be in the mood to be stern toward you. You do not get stoned less than thirty minutes before trying to cross.

  Bryan breathes in deeply and holds the joint out for me.

  “I don’t smoke,” I say, staring straight ahead out the dirty, rain-splattered windshield. “And I have to tell you, I was really counting on not getting arrested at the border today.”

  “Jesus, Coley. Relax. I don’t have any more on me. I’m not an idiot. Plus, everyone knows BC Bud is the best. I’ll just buy it when I get there.”

  “You do that.”

  He opens his window a few inches and the wind blows his hair all around. He needs a haircut. “What’s your problem?” he asks. “I drive better when I’m stoned. So what? And don’t act like you’re so above it. I’ve seen you smoke before.”

  This is one of the first official conversations between the two of us since he came home with Heather for a couple of weeks back in July, and wow, am I hating every second of it. “That was a one-time, never-going-to-happen-again occurrence,” I say.

  “It was hilarious is what it was. You stared at my carpet, I swear, for an hour, like you’d never seen anything so awesome in your life.”

  I don’t answer. We’ve never talked about it, never even admitted out loud that it happened. At the time, I was about to start ninth grade and Bryan was about to start his freshman year of college. I was upset because it was his last night home before he left for the University of Connecticut, so I decided to get high with him. He told me I needed to smoke a lot since it was my first time, so I took hit after hit until I lost count. Then I laughed, cried, pretty much lost the use of my limbs, and fell into a restless sleep filled with hallucinations. The truth is, I haven’t gotten over it, I will never get over it, and the pungent smell of Bryan’s weed now is threatening to take my mind to a place that I don’t want it to go.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me that night,” Bryan says in a more pleasant tone than before. “You know, after we talked about how I could have gone to school near home if Tony hadn’t basically forced me to go to his old school?”

  I wish he would drop this. “I don’t remember anything that I said aside from your hair looking plastic like a Fisher-Price toy.”

  “You also told me, ‘You don’t have to do what Tony wants. We can run away. We don’t need him or his money.’ ”

  “And, obviously, I was high,” I say.

  “That’s the thing, though. You were right. We don’t need him. We don’t need anyone. I mean, we have dual citizenship and could even go back to New Zealand if we wanted to.”

  “Sure. Let’s do that, after Mom’s moved us halfway around the world to get away from the man who threw her at walls and broke her ribs and arms.”

  “Okay, fine,” he says, shrugging. “Not New Zealand then. But I’m just so over this, you know? Mom and Tony can have their perfect little family without us and we can take off. I’m ready to start over.”

  “Well, I’m not.”

  He stares at me, shocked. “It was your idea in the first place!”

  “That was over a year ago. My big brother was moving across the country and I was about to start high school. It was scary. But you know what? I got through it and I don’t hate my life. I’m on an awesome dance team. We made State last year and we’re going to do it again this year. I have a lot of friends—”

  “Like this Reece guy? Is that who you keep texting?”

  I place my phone in the car door pocket. “Despite what Mom and Tony might have you believe, his name isn’t ‘This Reece Guy’ or ‘That Reece Kid.’ It’s just Reece.”

  “All right. So is ‘just Reece’ your boyfriend or what?”

  I don’t want to talk about that, either. There’s no way for me to know if Bryan’s going to make fun of me or be all protective older brother-ish about it. I have no doubt that the only reason he defended me and told Mom that she should let Reece meet up with us is because it was the opposite of what she and Tony wanted.

  “Why did you and Heather break up?” I ask, avoi
ding his question entirely.

  Bryan groans. “Coley, come on.”

  “Just tell me. You bailed on us for Thanksgiving to be with her family. What happened between then and last week?”

  “She’s a bitch and I hate her,” he says, running his hand roughly over his hair. “End of story.”

  “I’m sure she’s always been that way, but that didn’t keep you from forcing her on us during your vacations last year.”

  He glances my way, chewing his lip and narrowing his eyes like he’s trying to process what I just said. Like he really had no idea all this time that I couldn’t stand his girlfriend. Which, I guess, makes sense since it isn’t like I was ever rude to her like she was to me.

  “I thought she was the one, you know?” Bryan says. “And the thing that sucks the most is that she got to decide it was over and I have to live with it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

  I shake my head, but in a way, I can relate. A little bit, maybe. It’s kind of like when Bryan left last fall. He’d been there since I was born. He calmed me down whenever I had bad dreams, picked me up at Alejandra’s after my dance lessons and his basketball practices, and was always, always on my side no matter what. Then he wasn’t there for me anymore. And really, he hasn’t been ever since.

  He continues. “It took me off-guard. Totally knocked me on my ass. I mean, she broke up with me in a text, of all things.”

  I turn toward him. “What?”

  “Yeah. She was late meeting me at the restaurant for my birthday. I texted, asking where she was, and she basically said she wasn’t coming and it was over between us. And that was it. She won’t talk to me. She won’t see me.” His voice cracks. “She changed her profile online to ‘single’ and put up a picture of her kissing some dude that I don’t even know.”

  “Are you serious?”

  He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to.

  That horrible girl dumped my brother—my ultra-sensitive brother who loved her more than he’d loved any other girlfriend—on his birthday without explaining why. I clench my jaw and fists as tears sting my eyes. I hate her more than I did before. More than I’ve ever hated anyone.

  “I’m sorry, B,” I say.

  “It isn’t your fault, C. I just don’t know what I did. It was something, obviously. Something big.”

  I shake my head. “No. She’s stuck-up and she has a weird nose and she sucks and you can do so much better.”

  He tosses the last few centimeters of his joint out the window and smiles at me. It’s a sad smile. A stoned smile. But at least he doesn’t look completely miserable at this moment. “Her nose is kind of fucked up, isn’t it?”

  My head tingles a little, and I nod and smile back.

  Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I am still the one person who can get through to him.

  • • •

  When we pull up in front of the town house, the minivan is in the driveway with every door open. I wheel my suitcase through the propped-open front door. Inside the small, tiled foyer, there’s a flight of stairs leading up and another leading down.

  “Look who’s finally here!” Jacob yells as he barrels toward me from the upper staircase. “Losers!”

  Bryan and I jump aside as Jacob runs past us. Tony traipses down after him. “Took you a while to get here,” he says. “We made a stop for produce and still beat you by ten minutes.”

  “I picked the wrong line at the border,” Bryan says. “As usual.”

  I keep my expression neutral. The truth is, our border crossing wasn’t long at all, but he detoured into Whistler Village instead of coming straight here. I waited in the car and didn’t ask questions when he came back twenty minutes later, but I’m positive that he scored his BC Bud. Otherwise, we’d probably still be there.

  Tony nods in sympathy. “Been there, done that. Well, you two get to argue over the downstairs bedrooms. Go ahead and put your bags in your rooms and then come back up, all right? I can use help carrying things in, and your mom’s trying to get the kitchen in order.”

  He didn’t mention anything about Emma sleeping with me, like it isn’t even on anyone’s mind for this trip. Resentment toward Heather swells through me once again. If she were here, Emma and I would have no choice except to be in the same room because, technically, there wouldn’t be enough beds.

  Dragging my suitcase, I follow Bryan down to the bottom floor where there’s a bathroom for us to share and two big rooms, each with a king-sized bed.

  “Argue over bedrooms,” Bryan mutters. “I think he’s mixing us up with his bratty kids.”

  “Probably.” I put on a smile and ball up my hands. “But I’m about to beat you down for the lavender bedspread.”

  He smiles back. “How about if I just let you have it? No fisticuffs required.”

  “Aww,” I say, reaching up and patting the top of his head. “You’re the best brother in the whole, wide world. And, of course, this has nothing to do with the fact that you like navy blue better, right?”

  “Right.” He pokes both of his cheeks to make dimples. “Or that Christmas is coming and my heart’s grown three sizes today.”

  I push my suitcase into my room, and make my way up two flights of stairs to check out more of the town house. On the second floor, Mom is putting away groceries. She has bags and boxes of food strewn throughout the kitchen, dining area, and living room. I wander over to the sliding glass doors, and as I’m peeking out at the hot tub on the balcony, my sister comes running down the steps.

  “Hey, Emma!” I call out. “I got us the lavender room on the bottom floor. Where’s your luggage?”

  “Oh!” She looks back and forth between me and Mom. “Aren’t I supposed to sleep upstairs on the hide-a-bed by Jacob and Zach’s room?”

  Mom nods. “I think that will be best.”

  “Why?” I ask. “She can stay with me. We’ll have a whole week of slumber parties. Do you want to, Em?”

  “Yeah!” she says.

  “Oh, I can see how this is going to go already,” Mom says to me, shaking her head. “You know how difficult your sister is to sleep with.”

  Emma pouts. “But I’m not anymore. I’ve changed! I don’t even snore now that my tonsils are out. I promise, I’ll be quiet and lay flat like this all night long.” She closes her eyes and stands at attention for a couple of seconds. “See?”

  My sister is truly the noisiest, most restless blanket hog I’ve ever known. “It’ll be fine,” I say.

  Mom shoves cereal boxes into a cupboard. “It actually would be nice if we could save that pullout bed on the third floor for Reece instead of having him down here. That way, the living room won’t be all cluttered up with him and his things during our last two days. But it’s totally up to you, Nicole.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes that she thinks Reece will “clutter up” the place. “Are you going to keep your promise and be still and quiet when I’m ready to sleep?” I ask Emma.

  She nods, still grinning as her curls bob up and down by her face.

  “Go get your stuff, then,” I say.

  “Yay!” Emma skips back upstairs.

  “She does love hanging around with her big sis,” Mom says. “I hope it all works out.”

  “It will. It’s going to be great.”

  CHAPTER 7

  It’s our first day up on the mountain and soft, fluffy flakes are dancing around my face. This is the kind of snow that inspires people to smile and sing and feel all holiday-ish. No one else in my family seems to even notice it, though, because Tony had us rush to eat, rush to gear up, rush to get to the resort. Then, upon arriving, we got stuck waiting for tickets, waiting for the gondola, waiting for the chairlift. Tony’s annoyed, Mom’s annoyed, Bryan’s annoyed. I’m annoyed that they’re all annoyed.

  “What did we expect, though?” Mom asks as we finally reach the front of the line for the Peak Chair. “It’s two days before Christmas. I heard someone say that this is Whistler’s busiest week of the year
.”

  “We might want to wake up earlier tomorrow,” Tony says. “Just in case it’s worse.”

  Bryan elbows me. I don’t have to look at him to know what he’s thinking because I’m thinking it too: The triplets are at snowboarding lessons for the next six hours, so Mom and Tony could be skiing anywhere on the mountain right now. Instead, they’re tagging along with us. Why, why, why?

  We all move forward together to get on the lift—Mom and Bryan on the outsides and Tony and me in the middle.

  “And, we’re off,” Tony says, tucking his poles under his leg while Bryan and Mom pull down the safety bar. “Speaking of waiting. Bryan, did you happen to see if first semester grades are ready?”

  Bryan’s body tenses beside me. “They’re up.”

  “And?”

  “And . . . could be better, could be worse. I kind of screwed up my finals, but whatever.”

  Tony puts his elbow on the bar, and I flatten myself against the back of the seat as he talks over me. “We’ve discussed this so many times. You have to stay laser focused during undergrad if you want to get into a good law school. That’s just the way it is.”

  “Who said I want to go to law school?” Bryan asks.

  From Tony’s other side, Mom’s voice is loud and clear. “You did, Bryan.”

  Tony nods. “When we talked last summer, you agreed that it’s a great career choice.”

  “Yeah, it’s great for you. But there’s no way I’m becoming an attorney.”

  “Where is this coming from?” Tony asks, frowning. “What’s changed?”

  I wince. I can’t believe that after seeing how hard Bryan’s taking the breakup with Heather, Tony asked that question and is forcing Bryan to have this conversation right now. It’s as if he purposely waited to bring it up when there was no way to escape.

  “Look,” Bryan says. “Right now, I don’t care. Okay?”