I Know It's Over

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “You keep saying that like it’s not breaking up.” I leaned over the table, steam from the coffee warming my chin. “So did you get things taken care of?” I thought it’d probably be okay anyway, that it was the least of our problems, but she was making such a big deal about cutting out sex.

  Sasha shook her head and played with her plastic lid. “I almost did. I was going to. I chickened out, I guess.” She lowered her voice and added, “You didn’t finish until you put the other condom on anyway, right?”

  She knew the facts as well as I did. She was there.

  I was still angry, but I was so far from being over her that I shoved my hard feelings aside and said, “I’m sure you’re okay, but look, we’ll stop all that. I get that you’re not ready for sex. It’s not a problem—and that’s not just something I’m saying.”

  “It’s a break, Nick. I need one.” Her voice cracked in frustration. “We’ll see each other at school. We’ll talk.”

  “Go out with other people,” I added sullenly. “Because that’s the way it’ll turn out, you know.”

  “No, it won’t. Not for me.” Sasha’s tone was definite, but her eyes were glossy. She smeared her tears across the bridge of her nose and stared me down. “What you do is up to you.”

  And suddenly it was. I didn’t have to worry about being careful anymore. I could do whatever I wanted. There was no one to stop me. I wanted to feel happy about it. Fuck you, Sasha. You think you’re so much better than everyone else, but you’re nothing special. I don’t know why I wasted my time. But inside I just felt cold. Like nothing mattered anymore.

  I stood up and zipped my jacket. “So I’ll see you at school, then.”

  “Nick!” She followed me outside and cut in front of me. I laughed hollowly, but she was crying. My chest filled with salt. It stuck to my ribs and rushed up to my throat, burning my insides raw. Sasha wrapped her arms around me and hugged me like it was the end of the world. “Trust me; we can do this,” she said.

  But we couldn’t.

  By the end of the week I was avoiding her in the halls and by the end of the next week she was avoiding me too. I wanted to talk to her. Every time I saw her in law class, her head facing front like she couldn’t feel me staring at her, I wanted to stand next to her desk and ask if we could start over. At first I was too angry to do it and by the third week I was sure she hated my guts.

  Everything started to suffer. I didn’t bother with law homework and got a D on a math test. I was rude to Sports 2 Go customers and told Grayson he was the biggest asshole I’d ever met. I cut Mom off when she tried to talk to me. Everything I did only made me feel worse. My game turned to shit and there was nothing I could do about it. I smoked so much weed with Keelor that my brain oozed out of my ears, into the street and down the sewer and then Keelor, the last person who should’ve complained, told me I was doing too much shit and ruining my game. “This isn’t the way to get over her, man,” he said. “Hook up with someone else. Then she’ll beg you to take her back.” He snapped his fingers. “It’s a classic.”

  Classic head games. What a fucking sad concept.

  I missed her. I hated her for hating me. And then Christmas Eve happened and made those things look like the easy part.

  twelve

  I climb into Dad’s car and stare past the windshield wipers. The snow’s coming down heavy and it looks like magic in the air. The way Christmas is supposed to look. For a second I think everything will be all right now that Dad knows, but by the time he opens the back door, the feeling’s already fading. He hands me my backpack and gets into the front seat. “We’re taking Nicholas back to Courtland,” he announces, not looking at Bridgette.

  “What’s happening here?” Bridgette asks.

  “We’re taking Nicholas back to Courtland,” Dad repeats sternly.

  “Yes,” Bridgette says in her stupid clipped voice. “But why?”

  I don’t answer. I’m not there in the car with them, not really. I close my fingers around the backpack straps and think about Sasha waiting for me. It’s us in the situation. Her and me. Everybody else is on the outside. That’s the way things are.

  “I’m dropping Nicholas off at a friend’s house and we’re not going to discuss it any further at the moment.” That’s Dad’s don’t argue voice and Bridgette doesn’t argue, but she gapes at me in the backseat, frowning so hard that the line between her eyebrows deepens into a crevice that begs for a plastic surgeon.

  “You have something to say to me, Bridgette?” I ask, my voice full of attitude.

  “Nick, don’t,” Dad says. “That’s the last thing we need.”

  So what’s the first thing we need? A truck to ram into the side of Dad’s car and kill me instantly? Things like that only happen when you don’t want them to.

  I let go of the straps and stare numbly out the window. The car is quiet all the way to Courtland. Dad remembers the way to Sasha’s and when we get there, he steps out of the car with me and plants his hand on my shoulder. “What happened, Nick?” he asks. “We had that talk.”

  Yeah, I remember. I still have the fifty-dollar bills to prove it. “That’s not the cure for everything, Dad.” I laugh under my breath. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I didn’t say you disappointed me, Nick.” Dad’s green eyes flicker. He looks so much like me that it’s like staring thirty years into my future. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “I don’t know.” My nose is running from the cold and I sniffle like a kid who’s played too long outside. I feel like I should be wearing wet mittens or something. It’s crazy. I can’t keep my head in one place long enough to form a sentence. “I want to talk to her first.”

  “You two should do that.” Dad nods and I nod along with him. “And I assume you’ll be going back to your mother’s tonight?”

  “I guess so.” My shoulders drop. “I guess I’ll miss Christmas.”

  Dad sighs and tries to smile. “Well, don’t worry about that, Nicholas. We can catch up on that later.”

  “Yeah.” I laugh again. It’s impossible to imagine the next three minutes. Tomorrow seems like science fiction.

  Dad clutches my shoulder harder. “Are you going to be all right? Maybe we should stay.”

  “No. It’s okay. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I have no idea how long I’ll be and the thought of Dad’s car idling in the Jasinskis’ driveway, Bridgette silently fuming in the passenger seat, doesn’t calm me down any.

  “Okay.” Dad stares at the car, then back at me. “We’ll work this out somehow, Nick. It’s not a good situation, but we can work it out.”

  “Thanks.” He’s being good about this, I know. It’s just that I can’t feel anything.

  I watch him get in the car and drive away. Then it’s just me standing there alone in Sasha’s driveway. I don’t want to move, but I lurch towards the front door and ring the bell.

  Mr. Jasinski answers. His eyes fill with suspicion and he says, “Sasha mentioned you’d be dropping by. This is Christmas Eve, you realize. We have people over and Sasha doesn’t have much time.”

  Mrs. Jasinski steps up behind him, her hair swept into a bun and a Christmas tree pin clipped to her velvet top. She steers her husband out of the doorway and says, “Come in, Nick. Sasha’s waiting for you in the den, but we’ll all be off to church shortly.”

  I don’t know what to say to any of that so I don’t say anything. I take my shoes off at the front door and walk along the hall to the den. Sasha is sitting on the couch in a long burgundy skirt and white sweater, watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas! She looks at me and hikes up the volume. I stand there in my socks, the sound of cheery Jasinski voices floating in through the hall.

  “You’re going?” I say.

  “To church,” she tells me. “I have to. I tried to get out of it, but my grandparents are here too.” She motions to the hallway.

  “Shit. I thought we had some time to talk.” I sit down beside her, my heart racing.

&nbs
p; “I know.” Sasha’s voice is dull. “I had to tell them we were thinking of getting back together—otherwise they’d never even have let you in.” She stares over at the TV, but I can tell she isn’t really seeing it. “My dad was freaking before you got here. He said, ‘Nick always brings drama with him.’”

  On any other day that would’ve offended me. Today it barely registers. “Do you have any idea what you want to do?” I ask patiently. I don’t want to push her, but I need to know.

  “Am I going to have it?” She lets the question hang there until I can’t take it and look away. “I don’t know yet. I’ll have to tell my parents either way. I just wanted you to know first.”

  “Okay.” I don’t know what she wants to hear. “Can you do me a favor? Can you take another test? It was just that one time and I wasn’t even finished when it—”

  “These tests are pretty accurate, Nick.”

  “Yeah, I know, but it won’t hurt, right? Can you do that? Just to be sure before you tell them?”

  “Okay,” she agrees. She reaches down, her chin trembling, and smoothes invisible wrinkles out of her skirt. “I’m so stupid.” She folds her left arm in front of her stomach and kneads her forehead with the other. “I’m sorry.”

  “No.” I touch her sleeve. “You were just scared.”

  “And stupid.”

  I’m not up for this. I can’t sit here and tell her she’s not stupid until her parents drag her off to church. I don’t want to feel any sorrier for her than I already do. It won’t help. “So you’ll do it?” I say. “You won’t tell them until you take another test?”

  “Yeah.” She smiles bitterly. “Don’t get your hopes up too high.”

  I nod. “I just don’t want to make another mistake if we don’t have to.”

  “What about your dad?” she asks. “What did he say?”

  “He asked if he could help.” I shrug. “I told him I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “He wasn’t mad?”

  “He couldn’t understand how it happened.” I hang my head and laugh at that; I can’t help it. “I think he’s in shock.” I think I am too. One minute I can’t stop laughing and the next I feel frozen from the knees up. “I didn’t want to tell him, but it was the only way I could get here.”

  Sasha makes a clicking noise with her mouth. Her hand brushes against mine. “Thanks. I know things have been really rough between us.”

  “There hasn’t been an us for the past month,” I remind her. “You didn’t want me around until today.” Harsh but true. “It didn’t have to turn out like this, Sasha. I would’ve gone with you, you know. Everything would’ve been okay.” Suddenly I’m angry, just when I least expect it.

  “I know.” The words are so low that I can’t hear them over the sound of the TV; I read them on her lips and think how unfair this is. We could’ve been okay, the two of us, but I never had a choice.

  “You didn’t need to break us up,” I say. The words feel jagged in my mouth.

  “I know,” she repeats. “I never thought it would turn out this way.” It’s my turn to go quiet. Sasha makes everything she says sound right, even when I know it’s wrong. “You think it was easy for me? I wanted to talk to you so many times, but you had to have it all or nothing.”

  “I never said that!” I shout. I glance at the hallway, half expecting Mr. J. to skid into the room and do something crazy.

  “Keep your voice down,” Sasha hisses.

  “You know I didn’t say that,” I continue, forcing my voice into a carefully modulated Jasinski-approved tone. “I told you we could stop sleeping together.”

  “You said that, but it wouldn’t work.” She charges off on a tangent, explaining that was the whole purpose of the break, to see if we could handle a platonic relationship. Another test, like I said in the first place.

  Mrs. Jasinski walks in at the end of Sasha’s speech, her Christmas tree pin glittering like a dozen diamonds, and something clicks in my head and reminds me why I’m here. “Sasha, we’ll be leaving in about ten minutes,” she says. She turns towards me and adds, “Sorry to rush you out, Nick, but it’s a busy family time. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Sure.” I’m already getting to my feet.

  “Oh, no.” Mrs. Jasinski motions for me to sit down. “You still have a few minutes.”

  So I sit down again and that stupid knotted weed twists back and forth in my stomach. I want to throw up, but I know I won’t. This is what it must be like to swallow poison ivy. “Sasha.” I dip my head towards hers. “We have a lot to think about. Can you meet me after you take the test?”

  “You’re not going back to your dad’s?” Her face is flushed from arguing.

  “I told him to go. I’m working the twenty-sixth—do you think you could meet me at the store around one?”

  Sasha slides a finger across her lip and says: “One o’clock. Okay.”

  I get back up. This time I’m really going and it feels wrong, everything undecided between us and that weed flapping its leaves inside me like it wants to fly. Sasha stands up next to me. Her cheeks practically match her skirt and I hope her parents won’t ask too many questions about us; I don’t think she’ll be able to handle that right now. “Are you gonna be okay?”

  She opens her mouth but closes it again before saying: “I guess I can act like I am for a while.”

  “You can IM me later if you want,” I offer. “Not like I’ll be getting any sleep tonight.”

  “Okay, I might. I’m glad you came over anyway.”

  “You are?” I say it lightly. I’m not sure this meeting helped either of us any.

  “Yeah, I am. Thanks, Nick.” She takes a step towards me and puts her arms around me. The hug catches me off guard. You’d think it would take longer than a month to forget how to hug someone, but my arms feel heavy and stupid at first. Then my hand reaches for her hair. It’s soft like it always was and I hug her back the way I used to.

  It feels so good to do that. So good that it’s scary.

  How many times can one person break your heart?

  I look like a snowman by the time I get home. My socks are wet, my toes are frozen, and my teeth hurt, but I don’t care. I could take off my clothes and lie down naked in the backyard all night and I wouldn’t feel much different than I do right now.

  The icicle lights are still on, but inside, the house is dark. I can’t remember what Mom and Holland are doing tonight, but I hope they’ll be gone a long time because I don’t think I can pretend I’m okay. At the very least I need an explanation for my presence, but I can’t think. My brain is stuck on Sasha in that burgundy skirt, staring at How the Grinch Stole Christmas!

  I pull off my shoes and socks and tell myself what to do. Change your clothes, you’re cold. Get some food, you haven’t eaten. It’s like I’m on autopilot, like I’m sleepwalking. I change into sweatpants and throw two Jamaican beef patties in the microwave. I eat half of the first one in the kitchen, but it sounds like a cemetery in there so I stretch out on the living room couch and turn on the TV. There’s a lot of Christmas stuff on—The Nightmare Before Christmas, Elf, A Christmas Story, The Santa Clause—but I’m not exactly in a festive mood so I keep flipping until I land on Minority Report. I’ve already seen it twice, but it’s good so I stay with it.

  The year is 2054 and Tom Cruise is being framed for murder. He keeps saying, “Everybody runs.” It’s the best line in the movie. Everybody runs. It’s inevitable. Sometimes there’s only one thing to do. I wish that’s how it was with Sasha and me because I don’t know what I’ll say to her in two days. See, I don’t think I want her to go through with it. I’m like that asshole I told you about, the guy that convinced his girlfriend to have an abortion. I just want it to be over with and I want Sasha to want the same thing so I don’t have to feel bad about it. But this is Sasha we’re talking about. I don’t want her to hate me again. Maybe that’s the most important thing. I’m not sure.

  Anyway, Tom Cruise is on th
e run with that precog girl he kidnapped. She’s the most fragile person you’ve ever seen—pale skin and huge eyes. I’m seeing her and I’m not seeing her because the whole mess with Sasha is squirming around in my head. Then next thing I know, I’m blinking up at Holland. Her mostly pink bangs are back in barrettes and she stares down at me and says, “What’re you doing here?”

  I catch a glimpse of the TV and notice Family Guy is on. I’m not fully awake yet and part of me knows that I don’t want to be. “I came back,” I mumble.

  “Obviously. Did you have a fight with them or something?”

  “No, I…” I struggle into a seated position and notice that Holland’s wearing her coat. She must’ve heard the TV and headed straight for it.

  Mom steps into the living room behind her and says, “Nicholas, honey, what are you doing home?” She sounds soft and worried, but I’m not ready to lay the truth on her. She won’t sound that way when she hears it; she’ll sound more disappointed than ever.

  “I don’t want to talk about it now, okay?” I flip weary glances at Holland and Mom. “I’m gonna be home for Christmas. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it’s all right.” Mom’s still in her coat too. She hardly ever wears high heels anymore, but she’s wearing them now. Blush and eye shadow even. “Is this about her?”

  I shake my head. I think I’m pouting and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe they’ll lay off me for a while if I keep it up. “Mom, I really don’t want to talk about it right now. Everything’s okay. I’m just gonna be here for the holidays. I might see Dad in a few days.”

  I can tell I’ve totally confused them. It would’ve been smarter to let them believe this was about Bridgette or Dad, but I don’t have the energy to lie like that. I squint at the empty plate on the coffee table. I must’ve eaten the second Jamaican patty too, but I can’t remember doing it. I remember Sasha in that burgundy skirt. She’s pregnant. My kid. I already know the second test will be positive.

  I should check my IM, but I can’t get away. Holland and Mom have me cornered. “So where have you guys been?” I ask, rubbing my eyes and milking the little boy lost look for whatever it can get me.