You Say It First

by Katie Cotugno

  Meg sighed again, reaching up to run her hands through her greasy, tangled hair. It was still sticky from all the hairspray they’d put in it at the salon, her fingertips catching on bobby pins. “It’s his literal wedding night,” she argued.

  “And you’re his literal daughter.”

  Meg leaned her head back for a moment, staring at the acoustic tile in the ceiling. Hadn’t Colby been telling her pretty much the same thing this whole time? “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you’re right.”

  “I should go,” Lillian said a little while later, getting to her feet and setting her baseball cap back on her head, artfully crooked. “Maja will be up in a couple of hours, and she needs the car to get to work. But text me if you need me, will you?”

  “I will.” Meg hugged Lillian goodbye and got herself a cup of coffee from the vending machine. She watched middle-of-the-night infomercials on mute. She tried, and mostly failed, not to think about Colby, who was probably all the way across Pennsylvania by now, successfully not thinking about her. Even though she knew better, she couldn’t help picking up her phone and scrolling back in their texts: inside jokes and random pictures and good mornings, not to mention a surplus of emojis on her part that made her feel like a total dumbass now.

  For what it’s worth, he’d written almost back at the very beginning, in response to some inane worry she’d had about the piddly results of the sock drive she’d been running at school for a homeless shelter in South Philly, I don’t actually think it always has to be your sole responsibility to make sure everything goes perfectly all the time.

  Well.

  Meg tugged at her bottom lip for a moment, imagining texting like he had that night after their fight in Ohio. Wondering if he’d made it back home. Then she glanced at her mom, sleeping openmouthed in the hospital bed, and knew there was another call she had to make first.

  She got up and headed out into the hallway, clutching her phone hard enough to make her knuckles ache and sliding down the wall until she was sitting on the linoleum.

  “Hey, Dad?” she said when he answered. “I need help.”

  Thirty-Three

  Colby

  “This is a bad idea,” Jordan said two nights later, standing at the edge of the empty fountain and squinting at the instructions on the back of a box of fireworks in the orange glow of the parking lot’s safety light. Micah had gone to visit his uncle in West Virginia over the holiday weekend and come back with a trunk full of them: snakes and poppers and parachutes, Black Cats and Lady Fingers and half a dozen roman candles that were probably going to take somebody’s thumbs off before the end of the night.

  Colby leaned back against the hood of his car and tipped his head up at the sky thick with fireflies, a bottle of Bud Light sweating not-unpleasantly in his hand. He thought it was his third, or maybe his fourth? He’d been trying to take it easy for a while there, but now, two days after he’d gotten back from Philly, it didn’t seem like there was much of a point. He watched as Micah tossed a ground spinner into the fountain, the whistle and crack of it like tiny gunshots splitting the quiet night. This was worse than a bad idea, he thought idly; watch Keith show up and arrest them all, and Colby’d be right back where he started, sulking in a holding cell like the last two months hadn’t happened at all.

  He’d known it wasn’t going to work with Meg from the very beginning, he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra for the thousandth time: Even if this weekend hadn’t been a total fucking calamity, what kind of future did they have? Him lying to all his friends and driving up to visit her on her yuppie college campus on his days off from whatever grunt job he managed to find for himself? Casually avoiding talking about anything real with her and her Patagonia-wearing classmates, both of them irritated and resentful and biting their tongues all the time? Eventually breaking up anyway, because they were just too different? It was better this way.

  Even if it didn’t feel like it.

  He was thinking about digging another beer out of the cooler when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked down at the display screen, swearing softly under his breath even as his heart tripped over its shoelaces:

  Meg.

  Colby almost dropped the damn thing onto the concrete, thumbing frantically at the button to silence it and jamming it back into his pocket. He wasn’t going to answer. There was no fucking point.

  “Shit,” he said, louder this time, and headed for the grassy shoulder at the very edge of the lot.

  “Hey!” Micah called after him, a box of sparklers in one hand; he had a plan to make a video of himself drawing shiny dicks in the air and upload it onto YouTube. “Where you going?”

  “I gotta take this,” Colby said, then kept going until he was far enough away that he was sure nobody could hear him. Both Jordan and Micah had made fun of him for an entire day after Meg had come to visit, then never asked about her again. He wasn’t in any hurry to reopen that particular can of worms. He took a deep breath and swallowed his nerves down, staring out at the empty road. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” Meg replied, her voice clipped and distant. “How are you?”

  “Uh. I’m good.” Colby cleared his throat, setting his beer on the curb and sitting down beside it. It felt like a lot longer than just two days since he’d heard her voice. “I didn’t think you’d call,” he said, rubbing hard at the back of his neck.

  “I knew you wouldn’t,” Meg countered immediately. Then: “What’s that sound?”

  Colby glanced over his shoulder at where Jordan and Micah were launching firecrackers in the direction of the tree line, neon light streaking through the air. “What sound?” he asked, even as he reminded himself there was no reason to lie to her at this point. It didn’t actually matter what she thought.

  “That—” Meg broke off. “Forget it,” she said. “Don’t tell me.” Then she sighed. “Anyway, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure you made it home.”

  She could have texted if that was what she wanted. Colby didn’t know what it meant that she’d called. “I did.”

  “Okay.”

  Neither of them said anything for a minute. Colby flopped back into the scruffy, weedy grass. “Meg,” he said, at the same time as she said, “Colby . . .”

  Both of them exhaled, laughing a little bit. “You go first,” she said.

  Colby stared up at the sky for another moment, stalling. He didn’t actually know what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell her he sort of wished they’d never met each other. He wanted to tell her everything had been easier before she came along. He wanted to tell her there was a not-insignificant chance he was in love with her, but when he opened his mouth to try and say it, “It was never going to work” is what came out.

  Meg breathed in then, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, and for a moment Colby was sure to his particles he’d made a horrible mistake. “Okay,” she said, before he could take it back. “That’s . . . about what I was going to say, too.”

  “It is?” Colby asked, sitting up so fast he got dizzy. He didn’t know if he believed her or not.

  “Yeah,” Meg said, her voice bright and just this side of brittle. “Absolutely. I mean, we’re just too different, right? It was always kind of a joke, you and me.”

  “Totally,” Colby agreed, trying to ignore the weird stinging behind his rib cage, like he’d gulped a mouthful of soda down too fast. He thought of her shy, sleepy smile that morning in the artificial light of the hotel room. He thought of how warm her skin had been in her car the other night. “I mean, let’s be real: it was a disaster every time we met in person.”

  “A total cluster.”

  “Seriously.” Colby stood up, adrenaline zinging through his body like possibly he was going to have to run somewhere in the immediate future. He took a deep breath and glanced over his shoulder. Jordan and Micah were arguing about the best place to set off the roman candles, Jordan’s beanie askew on his head even though it was close to eighty degrees. His regular life r
ight here in front of his face, same as it ever was. “Okay,” he said finally. “So . . .”

  Meg made a sound at the back of her throat, noncommittal. “Yeah.”

  “I guess . . .”

  “Yup.” That sound again, almost like a hiccup. Almost, but not quite, like a sob. “Um,” she said. “Bye, Colby.”

  Colby opened his mouth, shut it again. Kicked over his beer by mistake. This is stupid, he almost told her, looking down in quiet bewilderment as it foamed around his sneakers. I’m sorry. I keep thinking about you. I really, really don’t want to not talk to you every day.

  “Bye,” he said.

  Colby hung up and stared out at the empty road for a moment longer. Then he turned around and went back to his friends.

  June seeped by in a hot, colorless blur. Colby slept a lot. He had no fucking job to speak of. Mostly, he drove around, but he wasn’t going to be able to keep doing that much longer, either, since he had next to no money for gas. He spent a lot of time at Paradise, lying on the hood of the car and staring up at the light flickering through the leaves on the trees.

  That was what he was doing one afternoon when he heard Matt’s car pulling down the dusty path, the distinctive hum of his engine. Colby wondered how Matt had known he was here, then decided it didn’t matter. Matt got out of his car and came over to Colby’s, sitting next to him on the hood without bothering to ask if he could. “Where’d that come from?” he asked, motioning with his freshly shaven chin.

  Colby looked at the Annie Hernandez yard sign he’d plunked into the weedy grass, then back at Matt. “Dunno,” he lied, shrugging a little. Truthfully, it had cost ten bucks he didn’t have. “Was here when I showed up.”

  Matt looked skeptical, but he didn’t comment. “I brought lunch.”

  Why? Colby thought, but that felt unnecessary, and he was hungry besides. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the Subway bag from his brother’s outstretched hand.

  Matt nodded. “How was your wedding?”

  Colby busied himself unwrapping his sandwich; Matt had sprung for the meatball marinara, which was both of their favorite. “It sucked, actually.”

  “Too bad.”

  Colby shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said through a huge bite of meatball. “I barely knew her.”

  “Really?” Matt seemed surprised by that. “I would have thought you really liked her, if you could be fucked to drive all the way to Philly.”

  “Yeah, well,” Colby said, hoping Matt would take the hint and move on. “Waste of gas.”

  Matt did, but only sort of: “What happened with Doug?” he asked instead, like possibly he’d made a list of annoying, invasive questions in his head on the drive over here and was determined to work his way through each and every one. “You start working for him yet or what?”

  Colby shook his head. “Didn’t work out.”

  Matt smirked over his sub. “Because he tried to date you?”

  “Can you shut the fuck up?” Colby snapped, surprising himself a little. “I swear to God, Matt, you say shit like that and it makes you sound like a joke, not him.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows and Colby got ready to argue, but then Matt just sort of shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Huh. Colby tilted his head, surprised; that was a lot easier than he’d thought it would be, actually. He wanted to tell Meg, only then he remembered he and Meg weren’t talking anymore. He put his sandwich down.

  Neither one of them said anything for a minute. Colby could hear a pair of birds chattering away in the trees. The sun beat down on the back of his neck, insistent; probably he was going to get a burn. “I fucked it up,” he said finally. “The job with Doug. Is that what you want to hear? I actually wanted it this time, and I blew it.”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “That’s not what I want to hear at all, actually,” he said quietly. “That sucks.”

  “Uh-huh.” Colby kicked at the bumper. “Sure it’s not.”

  “I’m serious,” Matt said. “Believe it or not, asshole, I actually want you to succeed.”

  Colby glanced at him sidelong, looking for the catch; still, he had to admit Matt sounded sincere. “Okay.”

  Matt sighed. “Look,” he said, rattling the ice in his waxy paper cup of Coke, “I’m sorry about what happened at the house that day. No matter how pissed I was, I shouldn’t have said—”

  “Dude, I don’t want to start . . .” Colby shook his head. “We were both idiots. It’s fine.”

  “No, I know, but what I said about you and Dad—”

  “Matt, really.”

  “Fuck, man, can you just let me say this?” Matt looked irritated. “Jesus. Dad was sick, and I don’t blame him for what he did. For a long time I did, but not anymore.”

  Colby swallowed the last of his sandwich, the bread sticking in his throat a little. “Oh no?”

  “No,” Matt said. “But that shit runs in families, and I don’t want . . .”

  Colby felt his eyes widen. “I’m not going to kill myself, Matty.” He blew a breath out, this strangled-sounding laugh. “Jesus.”

  “I know that,” Matt said quickly. “Of course I know that, I just . . .” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault you were the baby, okay? That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t blame anybody for . . . anything. It is what it is, that’s all.”

  Colby glanced over at him, squinting a little in the sunlight. He’d known it was true, he guessed, that there wasn’t anything he could have done to change what happened; still, it was different to actually believe it. “It must have sucked for you,” he allowed after a moment, which was the most generous thing he’d said to his brother possibly ever. “Having to know all that stuff while I was walking around with my thumb up my ass thinking everything was fine.”

  Matt shrugged. “It didn’t tickle, no.”

  “No,” Colby echoed. “I guess not.”

  “I used to be so fucking jealous of you,” Matt continued, almost to himself. “Because you guys had this great relationship, you know? And it was like I had seen too much or knew too much for him to ever have that with me. But you still got to hero-worship him; you didn’t know any better. So it was like when he was with you he still liked himself or something.”

  “I didn’t hero-worship him,” Colby said immediately, feeling himself bristle.

  “Dude, it’s not a knock on you,” Matt said. “It doesn’t make you an idiot to believe in your father, of all people. And just because he didn’t turn out to be the perfect guy you thought, just because he had demons or whatever, doesn’t mean it’s stupid to believe in anything else ever again, either.”

  Colby dropped his head forward, rubbing at the too-hot back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, because it seemed pretty clear he had to say something. Already his brother’s words were worming their way into his skull. “I hear you.”

  For a second, it seemed like Matt was going to press him about it, but in the end he just shook his head. “Look,” he repeated, crumpling up his sandwich wrapper and tucking it into the plastic bag, “bottom line is, I think you’re an idiot for wanting to work with that dude. But if you do, you should convince him.”

  “Oh yeah?” Now Colby smirked; he couldn’t help it. His brother sounded—well, actually, he sounded like Meg. “Just go to his house, throw myself on his mercy, embarrass myself?”

  “There are worse things in life than embarrassing yourself,” Matt pointed out. “Besides, you already do that all the time.”

  “Fuck you,” Colby said, but there was no heat behind it. Then, more quietly: “Maybe.”

  “Think about it, at least.” Matt boosted himself up off the bumper. “I gotta get back to work.”

  Colby nodded. Once, back when they were real little kids, Matt had pulled a nail out of the bottom of Colby’s foot in the woods behind their house without ever batting an eyelash. Colby didn’t know why he was thinking about that right now. “Sure thing,” he said, lifting the pop hi
s brother had brought him in a makeshift salute. “See you.”

  Once Matt was gone, Colby lay back on the hood of the car, the metal uncomfortably hot through the fabric of his T-shirt and the sunlight prickling the bare skin on his arms. The logical part of him knew Matt had no clue what he was talking about, at least as far as things went with Doug; in terms of embarrassing displays that would solve exactly nothing, he might as well have suggested Colby get fully naked and do cartwheels across the football field at next year’s Homecoming. Still, he could feel the idea lodged under his skin like an extremely stupid, ill-advised splinter.

  For a second, he wished he could ask Meg what she thought about it, though it wasn’t like he didn’t already know exactly what she’d say. He remembered that night on the phone: I just want you to be happy, actually. He hadn’t believed her at the time, and he thought he was probably right not to; still, he guessed that didn’t mean she hadn’t had a point.

  Maybe it wasn’t the dumbest idea in world to try again, he conceded grudgingly, the sound of her voice echoing deep inside his brain. Maybe it was only the second or third dumbest.

  Colby dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and shook his head to clear it. Then he heaved himself up off the hood and got back in the car.

  Thirty-Four

  Meg

  She found Emily at her locker before their free period on Tuesday, tossing old worksheets into one of the big recycling bins that had appeared in the hallways so people could start cleaning out their clutter. Graduation was only a few weeks away. “Can we go somewhere and talk for a minute?” Meg asked, jamming her hands into her back jeans pockets. “Like. Please?”

  Emily rolled her eyes, huffed a breath out. Then all at once her shoulders sagged. “Fine,” she said, slamming her locker shut and heading for the senior entrance without looking back to see if Meg was following. “Hipster salads?”

  Meg hesitated, just for a moment. “Why don’t we do coffee instead?”