Forty-Two
THE TAP AT MY DOOR WAS SO SOFT AND UNEXPECTED, I almost didn’t process it as a knock. I lifted my face off the pillow. The doorknob turned.
“May I come in?” It was unusual for Mom to even ask, but she still didn’t wait for an answer.
I sat up and looked at the clock. It wasn’t time yet for setting the table. It wasn’t time yet for her to be home. She sat on the edge of my bed and I pulled my knees to my chest so my legs wouldn’t touch her. I guessed it was time for a Talk.
“Aiden’s father called,” she said. Every muscle in my body went on high alert. I couldn’t tell from her expression whether it was good news or bad. I almost didn’t want to know. “He’s awake.”
She was watching for my reaction but I didn’t blink or feel or move, only waited to hear more. There were a million buts that could follow that.
“There’s a long road ahead, months of healing and physical therapy and rehabilitation to come, but based on what they can see today, the doctors are optimistic. He’s going to pull through this. He’s going to be okay.”
I swallowed. I wanted to jump up and cry out and scream and laugh and release all my tears, but I didn’t dare move, just in case this wasn’t real, just in case by reacting I might change it. He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay. I waited for the hopes and fears wrapped so tightly around my chest to loosen, unspool, untangle, rethread. They didn’t.
“There’s a clinic in Arizona that specializes in recovery for these types of injuries, where he can get good care and be close to his mother. They’ll be moving him there as soon as he’s able.” I flinched, knowing how Aiden wanted nothing to do with his mom.
Arizona. I could hear Jo’s voice in my head saying, Good. Good riddance, but despite that, despite everything, I ached at the idea that he would be taken so far away from me.
My mother shook her head slowly. “He’s very lucky. And we’re lucky too. Thank god you weren’t on that death trap with him. I can’t even begin to let myself think about what could have happened to you.”
But if I had been with him, none of this would have happened. He would have driven carefully. Neither one of us would have gotten hurt.
No. Now that he was awake, now that I knew for sure he would live, I could allow myself to admit it: I still would have gotten hurt. He hadn’t been careful with me. He’d hit me. He’d manipulated me. He’d accused me of things I hadn’t done and refused to accept my assurances. He’d held out his love like a test that was designed for me to fail, and made me work to prove again and again the truths he would never believe.
But I couldn’t help it; I still loved him. I wanted to believe that from now on, things could be different for us. As pathetic as it made me, I wanted the impossible to be true.
“I’m sorry,” I said, because I didn’t know what else to tell her.
She sighed. “I know you can’t begin to comprehend how terrifying it is to let your child grow up and go out into this world. Your father and I have always tried to set boundaries to help keep you and your brother safe. We’ve tried to help you learn good judgment and make smart choices. We thought we were doing well. But everything about this, about you and that boy, makes me wonder. How can I ever trust you again?”
I met her eyes. “You can’t, Mom. It’s not a matter of trust. My decisions about my life, my body, my future, have nothing to do with you. My choices are on me now. You have to let me make my own mistakes. Who I love is not up to you.” Whether Aiden and I stayed together or not, I needed her to know that.
“I will not stand by and watch you throw your life away for him.”
I looked away. “You don’t know him,” I said, but I was tired of defending him. Tired of the loop of my own emotions and excuses; tired of being a giant walking cliché. I knew better, of course I did. What I knew and what I felt were two deeply different things. I was tired of trying to reconcile them.
“The Aiden I remember had a lot of rage and entitlement—not the best combination in a young man. Those certainly aren’t traits I want near my daughter.”
I picked at the bedspread. “You don’t think people change?” I wondered if I thought he truly could.
“Sometimes. Slowly. And I hope he’ll get that chance. But not with you in his path.”
We sat quietly, at a standstill. I swiveled the ring Aiden had made me. It was turning my finger green.
“I’m sorry for all the ways I’ve failed you,” she said. “I do my best and sometimes it’s not enough. I don’t know what I could have done differently this time, but believe me, I stay up nights wondering and counting the ways.”
My gut twisted with shame. It had never occurred to me that my choices and lies would feel like her failures.
She tucked her arm around me and I realized I was shaking. “I wish I could protect you from everything that hurts.”
I let her hold me. I tried to imagine going back to him. I imagined staying away. “I wish you could too.”
Forty-Three
I LEFT SCHOOL EARLY AND WALKED THREE BLOCKS IN the rain to catch the metro bus to the hospital. I didn’t dare try Jo’s self-sign-out trick, but I hoped I wouldn’t need it—my last class of the day had a sub and I’d asked Eleanor to say “here” at my name if he bothered to take attendance. She’d agreed without asking questions, and I was grateful. Perhaps she could see I didn’t feel like talking about it. Perhaps she had her own shit going on and didn’t fully care about mine. Or maybe, I realized as the bus doors wheezed open and I climbed the damp steps and paid my fare, she was just being a good friend.
After so many days of time moving at a slower-than-glacial pace, the bus ride passed alarmingly swiftly and I found myself entering the hospital lobby, squinting under the fluorescent lights, realizing I hadn’t thought through how I would even convince them to let me see him. But I was signed in without resistance and pointed toward Aiden’s room, up two floors and down a beige-on-beige corridor lined with the rooms of other people living out tragedies or miracles of their own. I didn’t pause to witness them. I passed through Aiden’s doorway and everything else in the world disappeared.
He lay on the bed, eyes closed, body still, except for the rise and fall of his chest each time he breathed. My own breath went shallow as I took in the bruises on his skin, the needle in his arm, the bandages and the medical tape and the cast that held his leg together. All these signs of what it had taken to keep the boy I loved alive.
I stepped closer. Aiden’s eyes opened slowly and he looked at me in a way that felt like he’d been watching me stand there all along.
“What are you doing here?” he said. His voice was as cold as his words.
I hesitated. I had been asking myself the same question again and again on the way over—asking and avoiding it, both. Now that I was here by his side, I finally knew the answer. “I came to say good-bye.”
I slid the ring off my finger and set it on the table beside his bed. It made a soft clink that I felt like the turn of a key in my heart.
Aiden’s eyes filled with sorrow. “Bee, no. Don’t do this. I love you so much. You at least owe me another chance.”
“I love you too,” I said, because it was true. But I could see another truth now, one that in all my imaginings of us starting over and my hopes for how things would improve, I had tried so hard to deny: It would get worse. He would grow angrier and more controlling. He would hit me again, harder. Our lives would intertwine and it would be more and more impossible for me get away. I had to end it now. This was my new beginning.
I gathered all the strength I had and said, “And I don’t owe you a thing.” The words were electric in the air, and I could feel it now, everything Jo had tried to tell me. The truths I’d denied, the anger I’d suppressed. Fear of losing him was giving way to the urgency of reclaiming myself. It expanded in my chest like courage. “I love you more than I loved myself, and I’m done with that. I’m done with us. I thought that love
could be enough and I was wrong, so wrong. But I am not the problem. You are. And you will never come near me again. That’s what I came here to tell you.”
His smile snaked up slowly, as calm and certain as that first smile he gave me, the one that literally took my breath away. “You’ll regret it,” he said.
I smiled back and kept breathing. “I already do. I regret I didn’t do this sooner.” I turned on my heel and walked away.
A rush of adrenaline powered me outside into the spitting rain. I zipped up my jacket, turned my face toward the sky, and allowed the sting of the raindrops to prove this was real, I was here, I had done it. It was over. I wanted to whoop and leap and throw up and hug Jo, but instead I blinked into the clouds, exhaled, and moved forward. I sank into a seat on the half-empty bus, stared across at the fogged-up windows, and let the fear and sadness I had been carrying for so long roll out of me in fat, silent tears. I mourned what I’d lost, mourned what he’d taken, mourned what I knew now could never have been. By the time the bus reached my stop, I felt stronger, lighter. I exited out the back, leaving the weight of it all behind me. I’d done it. I was free.
Forty-Four
I REACHED THE SHACK SIXTEEN MINUTES EARLY, TOO soon to clock in, but I went inside anyway, tied on my apron, and prepared to face Lexa, rehearsing an apology in my head. I would quit this job after today, I decided, and let her have this place. I would find a new job, a fresh start for summer, somewhere that wasn’t tainted by memories of him.
But Lexa didn’t show. “Schedule change,” Janice explained with a shrug, and I didn’t ask her any more about it. In the shifts I’d worked with Janice before, she was friendly with the customers, but not especially so with me. She had a teenage kid at home and seemed to resent having to work with one, too.
I thought about texting Lexa to make sure she was okay, but if she was avoiding me on purpose, the least I could do was respect that. There would be plenty of time for apologizing later, if later she was willing to hear it. I pushed her out of my mind and fell into the rhythm of the shift.
The rain seemed to keep most of the drop-ins at bay—people came in knowing what they wanted to buy and were uninspired to linger. That kind of efficiency was calming, and as I cut and weighed blocks of peanut butter fudge, packed a pint of Creamy Dreamy Caramel ice cream, rang up bouquets of lollipops, and wiped the counter until it shined, knowing this would be my last shift here ever allowed me to almost-nostalgically enjoy it. In the past two months, everything in my life had metamorphosed or exploded except this place, which changed with the day and season yet always stayed the same.
In the rockiness and limbo of senior-year uncertainties, I’d clung to Aiden, needing a sense of permanence. Maybe it was okay for some things to change.
I added it to the list of Things to Tell Jo in person tonight: one more of today’s million revelations.
“You mind if I take a smoke?” Janice asked, disappearing without waiting for an answer. I nodded into the empty space and felt glad to be alone. But before I could fully relax into it, the entrance bells jingled and Eric came inside. I set down my cleaning rag. I hadn’t seen him since I’d walked straight into him Monday morning, and it would be fair to say I had basically been avoiding him the past two days. From his tentative look as he glanced around at everything in the shop except me, it seemed safe to guess he’d been avoiding me too. I felt bad. He probably hadn’t realized I’d be working.
“Lexa’s not here,” I said. “She switched shifts.”
Eric cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair, exposing the spot above his temple where, instead of jet-black, a patch always grew in white. It was usually masked pretty well by his haircut, but I loved that secret little imperfection. I used to joke it was the only way to tell him and Jo apart. “I know. I came to see you. I was hoping you’d have a minute to talk,” he said.
For some reason this made me panic and I thought about inventing some task I had to tend to, but it was pretty obvious I wasn’t busy. “Sure.”
His shoulders relaxed, like he’d been bracing himself for me to say no. I tried to lower my defenses too. “I wanted to check if you’re okay,” he said.
I soaked up the warmth in his kind, familiar eyes, so similar to Jo’s yet with a glister all his own, and felt how lucky I was to have these friends who loved me. “Yeah,” I said. “I am. I will be.” For the first time in a long time, I knew it was really true. “How about you?”
“You heard about me and Lexa,” he guessed.
“I did. I’m sorry.”
He acknowledged that with a grimace. “Don’t be. I mean, it sucks. Lexa’s great and I adore her, but it was never going to be more than what it was, you know? And I realized I want that. I want something more.”
I nodded. Of course he did, and I had no doubt he would find it. I tried not to feel jealous of whatever lucky person got to have that with him at some point down the line, tried not to still wish it could be me. I was lucky too. I’d gotten to grow up beside him, to count him as my friend all this time. I needed to let that be enough and stop allowing myself to wonder what a real kiss with him would be like.
“Bee, listen. What happened the other night at the dance, between us—I know you don’t want to talk about it, and after this we never have to, but I wanted to say, I wish it could have been different. That the timing and the circumstances could have been better for us both. You know?”
I did know. I wished that too. But I hadn’t realized he felt that way.
I guess he saw the question in my eyes. “It wasn’t just you,” he said. “I wanted to kiss you. I thought you should know that.”
My skin tingled with a slow, new awareness. I barely trusted myself to move. “Thanks,” I said carefully. “That—that’s really nice to hear.” This day, this week—the past two months—had been too much of a roller coaster for me to say or do anything else. I knew better than to catapult into anyone else’s arms, even Eric’s. Especially Eric’s. What I needed now was not a new boyfriend. What I needed now was my friends. But I was grateful he’d said that.
He looked almost pained. “I still want to kiss you. And I know the timing is lousy, still, for both of us. But I wanted to say, if you still want to kiss me too—I’ll wait.”
The warmth on the surface of my skin seeped inside. It felt a lot like hope. “I might,” I said. “Not today. But maybe. Eventually. Yes.”
He exhaled. A smile tickled my lips.
In my head Jo was laughing at both of us. A nice laugh. The best laugh. One I’d join in when I told her all this. One Eric would appreciate too.
Janice came in through the back room, bringing a jolt of reality and the smell of nicotine along with her. At the same time, the front door opened and a customer blew inside, shaking an umbrella in one hand and holding a toddler’s hand in the other. Eric straightened. “I better let you get back to work, but I’m glad you’re all right. I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” I repeated. “Soon.” I tipped my visor to him and he smiled, releasing my heart like a helium balloon. If there was more to come in our future, we would get there. No rush. I still got to have this gladness, this now.
I moved over to the ice cream station, where the mom was reading off flavors to her kid. “See any you’d like to try?” I asked and reached for a neon taste spoon. I waited for their decision and my stomach dropped as the crackle and roar of a motorcycle approached. A chill crept up my neck and the muscles in my throat went tense. I forced myself to relax. The motorcycle passed.
It wasn’t him.
I wouldn’t be afraid.
That was over.
Truly over.
I was free now.
He was gone.
I dipped the spoon into the carton of Baby That’s Bittersweet and offered the woman a taste.
Resources
LOVE IS RESPECT
Chat at loveisrespect.org
Text loveis to 22522
Call 1-866-331-9474
NATIONAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE HOTLINE
Chat at thehotline.org
Call 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Rosemary Brosnan, for the love you’ve poured into editing and publishing this novel. Your wisdom, guidance, and belief in this story—and in this writer—made a difference on every page.
Thank you, Meredith Kaffel Simonoff, my agent, champion, and friend, for being the calm in my storm, the lick on my arm, the phosphorus to ignite my potassium chlorate, and whatever else the moment calls for.
Robin Wasserman and Lauren Strasnick read an early draft of this manuscript and offered crucial feedback and support. Thank you, Robin and Lauren, for being friends whom I can trust with the messiest versions of my work and of myself. You understood the best of what this story could be and helped me get it closer.
Thanks to everyone at HarperCollins whose time and talents have gone into the publication of this book, including Courtney Stevenson, Erin Fitzsimmons, Bethany Reis, Ebony LaDelle, Ro Romanello, Jean McGinley, and Kate Jackson.
To my publishing colleagues and friends, and the many incredible writers whose books I had the pleasure of editing: Thank you for the privilege of being part of your professional and creative lives, and for the innumerable ways you’ve shaped mine. I have learned so much from all of you. Special thanks to David Levithan, Jen Klonsky, Katherine Tegen, Bethany Buck, Craig Walker, Catherine Daly, Mara Anastas, Russell Gordon, Michelle Nagler, Joy Peskin, Beth Dunfey, Kristin Earhart, Donna Bray, and Abby McAden. Hugs to Alex Arnold, Kendra Levin, Tiffany Liao, Michael Strother, Lisa Cheng, Andrew Eliopulos, Caroline Abbey, Emilia Rhodes, Molly O’Neill, Sheila Perkins, Maria Barbo, Sam Margles, Cara Petrus, Zareen Jaffery, Claudia Gabel, Kalah McCaffrey, and Namrata Tripathi. Grateful nods toward Rotem Moscovich, Kristin Ostby, and Alexa Pastor.
This writing life is made so much better by the ever-growing community of writers I am lucky to call friends. Sharing in each other’s triumphs, setbacks, and everything in between is such a crucial part of the publishing process—thank you all. Especially fierce hugs go to Terra Elan McVoy, Corey Ann Haydu, Amy Jo Burns, Erin Soderberg Downing, Emily X.R. Pan, Rebecca Serle, Claire Legrand, Christa Desir, Elizabeth Eulberg, Amy Reed, Jessica Martinez, Eileen Cook, Jane Mason, Shaun David Hutchinson, Hannah Moskowitz, Kimberly Sabatini, Micol Ostow, Nora Ericson, Chris Crew, Billy Merrell, Dan Poblocki, Lucas Klauss, Leslie Jamison, and the Electric Eighteens support group. Thank you, Megan McCafferty, Deb Caletti, and Jeff Zentner, for your generous words.
Always Forever Maybe Page 18