Everything to Me

by Teresa Hill

  She knows about my stash. I slipped up once before, telling her my theory about disasters floating around in the sky. About maybe getting kicked out of Zach and Julie’s house, needing to be ready for anything. She figured out what the money was for — me if I ever need to take off.

  It was about my mom then. She got paroled last spring. I would have taken off and not come back if anybody tried to send me back to her. No fucking way I’ll ever live with her again. Lucky me, it didn’t take her long to violate her parole and get locked up again, but it didn’t last. She’s out again.

  So, here I am, still hoarding money and expecting disaster. Dana’s a smart girl, and she knows me too well. She knows what was going to come out of my mouth next.

  No matter what happens, I’ll be okay. I’ve got some money stashed away.

  “Peter, if it’s not for running away, what’s the money for?” Dana asks again. “What do you think is going to happen?”

  “Jesus, I don’t even know anymore. I don’t even remember what I said that started all this,” I say, giving into the anger, the frustration, of trying to hide things from her and failing.

  I see hurt flare in her eyes, see her flinch.

  Fuck. I was aiming to put just enough heat in my voice to end this conversation and get myself out of here, not hurt her feelings. But it doesn’t stop her.

  “You said you have money saved, so you’ll be okay.” The stubborn girl is back in force, the one that never has been and never will be a pushover for anybody.

  I’m glad she’s got that kind of toughness, that she stands up for herself, stands up to anybody who tries to hurt her, no matter how inconvenient that trait of hers is for me right now.

  She frowns, her big brown eyes staring like they can see right through me. “Is this about your mother? Have you seen her—”

  “Okay, I’m done talking. I’m leaving.”

  I stand up, forcing her to either step back or find herself pressed up against me from her forehead down to her toes. She waits a split second too long to make up her mind what to do, and it’s almost like I’m pushing her back with my body, that she either steps back or falls.

  I reach for her. No fucking way I’m ever going to knock her down. But she won’t have any of that and jerks her arm out of my reach as she does this awkward half step, half stumble backward, glaring at me as the whole thing happens.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to ... None of this. I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs and turns her head away. I catch a glimmer of tears shining in her eyes, and I know I’m being an ass. This whole night, I’ve done nothing but screw up one thing after another.

  Except for Andie. No way I was going to let Tripp hurt any girl, but I got her away from him without a fight. I certainly didn’t have to go find him later and goad him into hitting me, so we could fight but I could still claim I didn’t start it. Which led me here, with Dana. To this stupid conversation and me awed by the way she cares about me, tormented by having her close, hurting her feelings and leaving her in tears.

  Zach’s right. I’m an idiot. Especially when I fight.

  She deserves so much better than this. The girl deserves the whole world, anything she wants, anything she needs, certainly someone a helluva lot better than me.

  She’s fighting back tears, fighting to not do that gasping, sniffling breath that girls do when they’re really upset but trying not to show it. She’s got her arms wrapped around her waist now, like she’s trying to hold herself together, now that I’ve tried to tear her apart.

  This is what I’ve done to her. I make myself look, because I need to have a clear picture in my mind of her after I’ve hurt her, to teach me I have to stay the hell away.

  “Dana—”

  She holds up a hand to silence me, tears still shimmering in her eyes. I feel like absolute shit.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  Once her hand falls to her side, I take one step toward her and drop a light kiss on her forehead, the only kind I’ll allow myself.

  Can’t let myself get any closer.

  She doesn’t look at me, doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to even breathe, and then I’m gone.

  * * *

  3

  Dana

  I don’t know what happened.

  I had him in my house, late at night, basically alone, and somehow it all went wrong.

  Standing at the front window, I watch him drive away, watch until his truck is out of sight, and then I sink down to the floor and let loose. I do that awful hick-upy thing where you’re trying to stop crying, but can’t, and end up sounding like you’re deranged. I cry until my nose runs and my head pounds, and I’m a gigantic, stupid mess.

  Over him.

  Again.

  That was the longest time we’ve spent alone together in ages, and I was determined to make it count¸ to figure out what’s wrong between us and fix it.

  But somehow, here I am, all by myself, sitting in the quiet near-darkness. I can still feel his lips like a whisper, so soft and so quick I’m not sure if they were real.

  On my forehead.

  He kisses my little sister Lizzie like that. She’s three. He’s always happy to see her, to spend time with her. She adores him, giggles like crazy and makes him pick her up and spin around with her. Making her fly, she calls it.

  He’d probably rather see Lizzie than me.

  My phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and realize my hands are shaking. It’s Becca, and I decide she’s the only person in the world I could stand to talk to right now.

  I click to answer the call. “Hello,” I whisper pitifully.

  “Dana?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’m going to end up being a little old ninety-five-year-old lady who’s still a virgin and living with seventeen cats,” I say.

  “Uhh, why?”

  “I just do.”

  Becca sighs. She’s been through this sort of thing with me so many times. “So, it didn’t go well with Peter?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, so, what went wrong?”

  “Everything. Every single, possible thing.” I’m doing the hick-upy cry again. “I’m not getting better at this. I’m getting worse.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” Becca says.

  “I didn’t either, but I am.” I sniffle. “Have you ever seen that old movie called Broadcast News? It’s about these two guy TV reporters and a female producer. My mom loves it.”

  “Maybe one time at your house.”

  “The girl, Holly Hunter, is so smart and good at her job and so many other things, but she’s lousy with men. She likes William Hurt, who’s actually kind of cute — you know, for an old guy. Anyway, she gets him alone in her hotel room on her bed, and she’s so excited, thinking this is going to be great, and then she says the absolute wrong thing, and he walks. Then she calls her best friend and says she’s crossed some invisible line into ... I don’t know what, but she says, ‘I’m starting to repel people I’m trying to seduce.’ Bec, it was awful.”

  “Wait, you didn’t really get him on your bed and try to seduce him, right?”

  “No. That was the movie. The thing that reminded me of the movie was the me-repelling-the-guy-I-want thing. That’s what I did. He was so mad he yelled at me and took off.”

  “Sorry. Just checking,” Becca said.

  “She never ends up with him in the movie. They have one date, and she completely blows it — again — and then he gets sent to the London office. Years later when he comes back, he’s anchoring the news, and she’s still there, all alone with her job and nothing else. She claims there’s a guy in her life, but I don’t believe it. I think she made the other guy up, because she couldn’t stand for William Hurt to know how pathetic her life is, that she never got over him and never found anyone else.”

  “Dana, you’re thinking way too much about the ending of a movie, and it’s not even the real ending. It’s one you made up
, where she didn’t have a guy, but she had seventeen cats.”

  “She didn’t have any cats, but I think she really never figured it out — the guy thing — just like me. What if I never figure it out?”

  “Hey,” Becca says, “you’re not that girl in the movie, and Peter isn’t William Hurt. Can we stick with the two of you for now? Calm down and tell me what happened.”

  “Blood was dripping off him and onto the seat of his truck. I think that’s the only way I got him to come into my house, to keep him from messing up his truck’s seat. So, I had him there, with his shirt off and my hands on him, and I decided I wasn’t going to let him go until he either kissed me or told me what went wrong between us, and then ... ”

  “Then, what?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m whining, and I hate that. “We were talking, and he started to say something and stopped, and I pushed and pushed to get him to talk to me about it, and he got really mad and left.”

  “Pushed him to talk about what, Dana?”

  “Money he’s saving, and Zach and Julie getting mad over the fight, and ... him not running away ... I don’t really know, but something’s wrong. He started to tell me and then just stopped, refused to say anymore.”

  “Why would he run anywhere? School’s starting. It’s our Senior year. It’s going to be epic.”

  “I know, but something’s going on. Something important. Maybe his mother’s back. Or she’s done something or is getting ready to do something. The only thing that messes him up the way he was tonight is his mother. Or maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s always been me.”

  “It’s not you. There is nothing wrong with you.” Becca goes quiet for a long moment, and then very cautiously says, “Dana—”

  “No.” I cut her off because I know what she’s going to say next. “Don’t.”

  Becca sighs. “I have to, because I’m your friend, your best friend, and I worry about you and want you to be happy. So I have to ask — how long are you going to do this to yourself?”

  “As long as it takes,” I insist.

  But that’s not true. Time is slipping away for us. I think that’s what made me so desperate, so crazy tonight. That, and thinking of him with yet another girl who’s not me.

  It’s happened before. He goes from girl to girl. Not in that man-whore kind of way. Not a new girl every weekend or anything like that. More like every two months or so. I’ve gotten almost numb to it. One more girl he wants more than me, who he’s holding and kissing and ... I can’t think about the rest. I fight not to, but it digs into me in some deep, very private place that just aches.

  I lock it away. It would hurt too much if I didn’t. I’d end up in his face screaming at him, demanding he tell me what’s so great about them and what’s so wrong with me that he doesn’t want me. And I ... I am so not that girl. The crazy, up-in-your-face, screaming, jealous girl.

  Okay, somewhere way deep inside I might be, but I like to think I hide it well.

  Tonight, not so much. That part of me is dangerously close to the surface tonight.

  Andie, I think. When did that happen?

  “When he was hitting Tripp, Peter was furious. I saw his face all bruised and bleeding and I had to get to him, to have some time alone to talk to him, and ... ”

  The more uncomfortable he got, the more determined I got, like that bloody nose of his was a metaphor for our whole relationship.

  Let me be here. Let me help. Tell me everything that’s going on with you. Show me I’m still important to you.

  He showed me all right.

  He got mad and walked away.

  “Dana, he keeps hurting you,” Becca says. “And you insist on hurting yourself, too. You think you love this guy, and it hurts you over and over again.”

  “I don’t think I love him. I do. I absolutely do.”

  I sit there miserably and think, How did we get here, him and me? I’ve known him since I was twelve, and I always thought we had so much time, that eventually, we were bound to get it right between us. I’m supposed to be with him. I’m so sure that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

  But it’s Senior year. A year from now, I leave for college. I don’t know where, but not here. Probably someplace a long way away, and Peter ... I don’t know where he’ll be or what he’ll do.

  So I felt desperate tonight, and kept pushing, because we’re running out of time.

  Becca doesn’t say anything else for a long time, and I know she’s worried about me. I know the way I feel about him seems ... irrational, at least. I can’t explain it, and I can’t stop wanting him.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell Becca. “I know you’re only trying to help, but I can’t talk any more tonight.”

  * * *

  Peter

  I get home and into my room without anyone seeing my battered face, but there’s no hiding it the next morning.

  My phone alarm goes off early. I spend my summers and all the time I can during the school year working for Dana’s grandfather, Sam, and her dad in their construction business. They specialize in historical restorations, and now that the family has a business supplying architectural salvage and antique-replica materials to other builders, we’ve been doing a lot of salvage jobs on old houses.

  I’ve worked in the supply business at times, but I’m a lot happier being out with just Sam on a restoration project or a salvage. Pounding things, hauling things, sawing things, nailing things to help burn off energy, frustration, anger, whatever’s going on in my head. I love that feeling of pulling every bit of strength I have out of my body with hard work. Sometimes the best thing you can hope for is to go home so tired you can sleep really well and not even dream. Sam gets that. Sam’s great.

  As I’m getting out of bed, my phone dings. I have a text message from Sam saying that we have a last minute salvage job in a town about an hour from here. He and Dana’s dad are coming to pick me up, and we’ll all drive up there together.

  Great.

  Staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I see the results of Dana’s efforts to patch me up, plus my red, swollen nose, puffy eyelid and fat lip.

  No doubt about what I did last night.

  I can imagine the look on Dana’s father’s face when he sees me.

  Pulling on some ratty jeans and a plain, white t-shirt — salvage is messy business — I go downstairs and shovel a couple of bowls of cereal into my mouth before Sam and Dana’s dad walk in.

  They’d been talking, but they fall silent as they stare at my face. Dana’s dad looks exactly the way I thought he would — not surprised. This is what he expects from me. Sam at least looks disappointed, like he expected better of me.

  “Back to that, huh?” Rye says.

  It makes me want to punch him, but I wouldn’t, even if he weren’t Dana’s dad. I’m not that out-of-control. He thinks I’m bad enough already.

  “It’s been three years since I got into a fight, five months if you count the time those guys got pissed at me in the poker game and jumped me,” I say, then look at Sam, hating the idea of disappointing him. “I didn’t start this.”

  “Well, that’s something,” Sam says, shaking his head. “What does the other guy look like?”

  “I didn’t mess up his face. Went for his ribs. He’s gonna hurt every time he takes a breath.” And yeah, I’m happy about that. The guy deserved it.

  “He gonna make trouble for you?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t know.” I think about what I can say to try to explain, what would be vague enough to not break the promise I made to Andie about keeping quiet about what Tripp did to her. “I was defending somebody, okay?”

  “So, you jumped into somebody else’s fight?” Dana’s dad makes it sound like I was eager to do that.

  “What was I supposed to do? I saw someone hurting someone else, someone smaller and not as strong, someone who can’t fight back. Are you telling me I’m supposed to walk away from something like that?”

  “I’m saying you need to lear
n to solve things without your fists,” he says. “Once you get into a fight, you don’t know what’s going to happen. You don’t know who’s going to get hurt or how badly they might get hurt. You’re starting something that can go bad in ways I bet you never even considered.”

  “I knew I could take the guy.”

  Dana’s dad shakes his head and laughs, but he’s clearly not amused. “Yeah, you know everything, Peter. I’ll be in the truck when you two are ready.”

  Which leaves me with Sam, who says, “He’s right, you know.”

  “He hates me.”

  “No, he hates the way you look at his daughter.”

  It came out so easily, like it was completely obvious, what I feel for her. Like everybody knows. “There’s nothing going on between me and Dana.”

  Sam shrugs. “Didn’t say there was.”

  “He knows there’s nothing going on,” I say.

  “Good.”

  So, this great sin of mine is looking at her? Does anybody know how fucking hard it is to do nothing but look at her? I can’t believe this. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t not look at her. We go to the same school. We’re thrown together at all this family shit. We’re together all the time.”

  “Hey, I get it,” Sam says. “We’ve all been there. You’re almost eighteen. She’s a beautiful, amazing girl. But you’re both kids. No father wants a guy looking at his daughter the way you look at Dana.”

  “I don’t see how the two of you can be brothers. You’re so different,” I say.

  “We didn’t grow up together, and we spent a whole lot of years apart as adults, but we’re not that different,” Sam says. “To me, it doesn’t seem like that long ago that he was staring at Emma the same way you look at Dana, and I was the one who could hardly stand it.”

  Yeah, it’s weird, but Dana’s dad is also Sam’s brother. Sam and Rachel adopted Dana’s mom, Zach and her Aunt Grace. Dana told me one time that her dad came looking for Sam—they hadn’t seen each other since they were little kids—and found Emma instead. She was in college, and at first had no idea Rye was Sam’s brother or how big the age difference between them was. It wasn’t easy, getting people to accept them as a couple, Dana said. Getting Sam to, especially.