Solving for Ex

by LeighAnn Kopans

  He started to laugh, and then all of a sudden, he sat forward and turned back to look at me. His breath warmed my cheek, and if he hadn’t just told me his mom was an alcoholic and he was basically taking care of her and his whole house all the time, it would have been the perfect time to kiss him. But it wasn’t. It so wasn’t. I sat up straight again, and breaking contact with him was excruciating.

  “What do you do? When that happens, I mean?”

  “Sometimes I bring her a drink. Sometimes I don’t. I bring it to her more often than not. What can I do? A lot of times she throws things at me if I don’t. Or cries. Or both. If I don’t, she comes downstairs and messes shit up looking for more to drink anyway. And then I get myself and Julia out of the house every morning.” He hung his head. “Plus, I make plans to go to CMU instead of Harvard, so Julia’s not left here all by herself to deal with it.”

  “Oh,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “That’s why you quit talking so much about Harvard.”

  “Or Stanford, or MIT. Yeah. That’s why.”

  Not to stay here for me. Not for a long shot. Of course not. God, how could I have been so stupid? How could I have ever thought that?

  “How long has it been like this?”

  “Since Paris last year. When Julia and I went to visit my grandmother for the summer. Dad was traveling a lot, I guess, and we were gone, and she was lonely. That’s what she says.”

  He shrugged again, and sniffled, which totally caught me off guard. I sat up and looked at him just as he swiped at his eye, then stood up, brushing his hands off on the fronts of his jeans. He stared at the back of his backyard, hard.

  “I never understood him and his goddamn cars and his goddamn glass garage. I’m gonna have to Windex that whole goddamn piece of shit motherfucking thing now.”

  “Wow, I haven’t heard you swear that many times in one sentence in, like, ever.” I stood up next to him, and laughed a little, hoping at least my smile would transfer to him. “Hey. Hey, you okay?” This was one time I wasn’t going to think about whether Brendan liked me or whether he liked Sofia or whether he was just obsessed with Mathletes and clueless. I grabbed his hand. He squeezed it, and if he wasn’t so upset, I seriously might have swooned.

  “Yeah, I just….I’m sorry your birthday sucked so much. I knew you wouldn’t like this.” I bristled, but held on. I couldn’t ever get too mad at him. After all, he was right. I totally hated this crap.

  “B!” warbled a voice from just inside. “There you are!” The screen door banged open and Sofia’s flower-cloud and hair bounced out through it. She was wearing a tiny shirt and a tight jean skirt, and wobbling significantly on spiky heels that made her just about Brendan’s height.

  Brendan dropped my hand as Sofia rammed into his side and I tried to get over my supreme annoyance of that, the fact that she had interrupted us, and why she ever thought it was okay to call Brendan “B.”

  The party raged on from the inside, the band playing ever louder. I marveled at the miracle of all the kids coming to puke back here, in the high-hedged backyard, and thanked God for the fact that no one had dragged any tacky red plastic cups out to the front yard, or deposited their vomit there.

  Just then, Sofia lurched across the deck, dragging Brendan with her, and managed to instruct him to hold her hair before she vomited over the side. Awesome.

  “Hey Vincent?” I called. I craned my neck back just in time to look through the window and see him knocking back a honey-colored shot with two other guys, then licking his wrist. I rolled my eyes and tried to tamp down the anger in my chest. Did he seriously break from cleaning up the mess of alcohol in the kitchen to…contributing to the mess of alcohol in the kitchen?

  Happy freaking birthday to me.

  “Vincent, I think we need you out here.”

  He banged out the door too, and saw Sofia, still sputtering over the edge of the deck.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, Sof. Really? I think someone needs to take her home,” Vincent said.

  “You think, genius?” Brendan’s voice ripped through the air, stronger than I’d ever heard it.

  “Well, be my guest.”

  Sofia moaned over the banister. “Brendan, take me home,” she whimpered.

  “Can’t you just crash upstairs somewhere?”

  “All the beds are taken,” she moaned. “Besides, I want my stuff. Brendan?”

  Vincent looked at Brendan. “You can go ahead, bro. I’ll take care of stuff here.”

  “Oh, I…I really should not leave the house. Not with it like this. You’ll have to do it. She’s your sister.”

  Vincent flexed his jaw, standing up straighter. “Dude. If I take her home like this, no way I can leave her there. She’s so trashed, I wouldn’t feel okay with her being there alone.”

  “Which is exactly why I can’t take her. I can’t leave Julia here with all this shit to clean up, can I?”

  Damn Sofia. If she hadn’t felt the need to get drunk off her ass we wouldn’t be in this situation.

  But, after all, it was my birthday party. Of course it was all about her. That made perfect freaking sense.

  Vincent threw his hands up in the air. “Dude, I got here first, remember? My car’s blocked. At least give me your keys. Yours is in that garage, right?” Vincent tilted his head up to indicate the huge white garage that stretched out behind the pool and opened to the street behind. “I’ll take yours, and I’ll bring it back in the morning.”

  Brendan dug in his pocket and pulled out a key chain. “Take my Corolla. There on the left. Okay?”

  “What, you don’t trust me with any of the sweeter rides?” Vincent smiled that mischievous smile that I’m sure was really cute when the situation was not annoying or gross. Unfortunately, it was exactly that right now.

  “No. The sweet rides are my dad’s, not mine. And besides, on that upholstery? Not with her like this.” I grimaced as Sofia lurched back toward me, and I wrapped my arm around her bony waist to support her. The flower cloud was now replaced by a vomit stench, and I wrinkled my nose. I couldn’t believe I was actually wishing for those flowers back. Brendan, on her other side, turned his head away. “C’mon. We’ll walk her back, you get the car started.”

  Vincent started to pull away, but Sofia nearly fell down again, so he motioned for Hal, who had come out to the backyard with his own drunk girlfriend and was washing the whipped cream off his wrists in the pool, which was probably a healthy percentage vomit now. This night probably could not get any grosser.

  Brendan glared at him. “Can’t you see that he’s drunk, dude?”

  “He’s just starting up the car. I can’t leave her, you said that yourself.”

  I had to admit, there was something kind of hilarious about all these problems being caused by Sofia’s complete lack of ability to restrain herself. Or, it would be hilarious if it wasn’t all so gross.

  Sofia stood there, moaning, waiting for the car to pull out. After a few minutes, I heard an engine revving, and we slowly started down the deck steps.

  The crazy thing was, I knew what Brendan’s Corolla sounded like. It was a little rattly from that tailpipe we’d rammed into the concrete parking space barrier and never told his dad about. This was a loud, low purr.

  Brendan must have heard it too, because all at once, his head snapped up and he let all of Sofia’s weight drop against me. Hal sat in the driver’s seat of a car. But it wasn’t the Corolla. “No fucking…” he muttered, then sprinted toward the garage at full tilt. “No fucking way!”

  But he was too late. He was almost to the garage’s side door, his arm reaching out for the knob, when the revving got louder. So fast I couldn’t believe it, the car lurched backward, shattered the glass into a million twinkling crystals on the lawn, and shot across the yard, straight into the swimming pool.

  Brendan stood frozen, his hand still on the garage door’s handle, staring at the garage-wall carnage and the giant bubbles breaking the surface of the swimming pool’s wa
ter. An anguished squeak-whine escaped his gaping mouth.

  Sofia was the first to scream. Either she hadn’t been quite as drunk as she was pretending to be, or the sound and the splash woke her up. I followed it up with a hearty, “Jesus Christ!” while she staggered toward the pool.

  There was just one problem with this whole picture, aside from Brendan’s dad’s prized Ferrari dying a slow, bubbly death in the swimming pool that probably cost half as much as the damn car did. Hal still hadn’t surfaced. Five seconds later, no sign. Not even little bubbles.

  “Oh my God,” I moaned, realizing what I was going to have to do. I ran to the edge of the pool, kicked off my flats, and dove in.

  The shock of frigid water seemed to slice through my skin and thicken my blood. I forced each movement of my muscles as I practically felt my body temperature dropping. Hal sat in the driver’s seat, eyes wide, and I thanked God he was conscious. I swam down to him and tugged on his wrist, pulling him out of his shock and helping him snake his way out of one of the open windows. His hand scrabbled at mine as we both swam back up to fresh air.

  My head broke the surface, and I gasped and sputtered. I glared at Hal, who was gasping way harder than I was, and made it to the side to see Brendan standing in the grass, gaping at the bubbling pool, about ten feet away from Sofia, who just sat on the grass holding her head. I could still hear the glass shattering, like it was on a loop in tiny microphones in my ears. After I made sure Hal made it to the side too, I hauled myself out of the pool and surveyed the scene.

  I don’t think I could have made up a bigger disaster if I tried.

  Until I looked up at the deck, and saw Brendan’s dad just standing there, taking it all in, looking like he was going to puke himself. His mouth dropped open once, twice, three times. His face progressively turned from pale, graying green to bright red, to purple. I rarely heard Mr. Thomas talk—rarely saw him, as a matter of fact—but I assumed the choked high-pitched sound that came out of his mouth next was not normal.

  “Is everyone safe?”

  “Dad, I…” Brendan said in a low whisper.

  I wasn’t sure if I was imagining the giant vein popping out of his neck, but I swore his voice got even quieter. “Is everyone safe, Brendan?”

  “Yes. Yes sir, Ashley pulled Hal out, and he was the only one in the car.” Brendan’s voice was so quiet, like it was tiptoeing around landmines of his father’s rage.

  I was surprised Brendan didn’t turn around and puke, as terrifying as his dad’s expression was.

  Then Mr. Thomas’s line of sight connected with Sofia, sitting on the lawn, and Vincent, slowly stepping back toward her. “Sofia? Sofia and Vincent Cole are here,” Mr. Thomas said as the strange plum hue slowly left his face, leaving an odd pattern of white and red blotches. My arms trembled. I wasn’t sure whether it was from how wet and frozen I was, or from outright fear.

  “Yes, sir,” Vincent said, lowering his eyes to the ground. “Yes, sir. It was my idea. A birthday party for Ashley. My father was entertaining, so we couldn’t use our house and I really only wanted to have a small get-together. It seems that some kids broke into Mrs. Thomas’s liquor cabinet, and I was in there trying to clean up, and Sofia wasn’t feeling well, so Brendan gave me the keys to his car, and I asked my friend to start it for me, because I didn’t want to leave my sister. She’s…not feeling well.”

  “As you said.”

  “Well, it was poor judgment, sir, because this kid really wanted to mess around in your Ferrari. I’m so sorry.”

  I had to give it to Vincent. He had balls to be talking to Mr. Thomas like this when he’d basically just drowned Mr. Thomas’s baby. Even I knew how much Mr. Thomas loved that damn car.

  But instead of crying, slamming things, or flying into a rage, Mr. Thomas just stared at the pool, licked his lips, and said, “Well, son, that’s what insurance is for.”

  “Mr. Thomas, I assure you, I—”

  “Vincent. Get your sister home, son. Most of your…guests…left when I arrived home and sent them away. So your car is free now. And Ashley,” he said, turning to me, “You’d better go on home. I understand that this isn’t your fault…”

  Brendan sputtered, “She didn’t ask for it, Dad, she didn’t even want a party, she—”

  “I’ll speak to you in a few minutes.”

  Mr. Thomas cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Ashley, I know this isn’t your fault, so I won’t speak to Kristin or Bruce about this this time. As long as it doesn’t happen again. Understood?”

  Every bone in my body wanted to tell him that I had absolutely no control over whether it happened again, but seeing the terrified look on Brendan’s face and hearing the occasional bubble that still broke the surface of the pool put me into a somber mood. “Yes, sir.”

  Without a word, Vincent walked over to Sofia, hoisted her off the grass, and started walking her toward the front door.

  “I’m sorry I ruined your birthday,” he murmured as he passed.

  “Ruined my birthday” was an understatement. Vincent had promised me a chill party, talked me into it, and then allowed the whole thing to spiral into the least chill event I could imagine. “My birthday? You think that’s all I care about here? God, Vincent! You’re such an insufferable asshole.” I’d never said anything with as much venom in my voice in my entire life. I looked over at Brendan one more time, then stalked over to the side of the house, grabbed a huge rubber trash can, and started picking up red cups from all over the lawn and chucking them in. Each one punctuated Vincent’s stunned silence with a hollow, pinging thunk as it hit the inside of the can.

  “Ashley. Ashley.” Vincent’s voice strangely didn’t sound slurred or groggy at all. Still, I told myself he had to be at least a little drunk. If he’d just given Hal the keys to Brendan’s dad’s Ferrari so he could crash it into the pool and he wasn’t drunk, I would have killed him. “Ashley, what are you doing?”

  “I’m cleaning all this trash up off Brendan’s lawn so that he doesn’t have to do it all himself after you’ve gotten him into trouble and sent him into freaking shock, Vincent.”

  “Ash, it’s fine. Forget about it, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

  “No, no. It’s not like anyone else is going to help him. Get the hell out of here, Vincent.”

  “Ashley. This wasn’t my fault. I didn’t bring the alcohol. I didn’t ask anyone to. You have to see that. I’m not even drunk.”

  He could have been right. I’d only seen him do one shot. And his voice was steady, his eyes clear.

  “You heard Brendan’s dad. It’s okay. But seriously. Get the hell out of here.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Brendan’s dad standing over him. I couldn’t hear his voice, but from the look on his face, it was most certainly not okay.

  “So,” Vincent said, “I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

  “If you’re lucky.” I rolled my eyes and kept cleaning up, letting my anger drive my arms.

  Ω

  I spent the next half hour warming up and picking up red cups and other random trash around the house with Julia, whose face was frozen in the same terrified shock as Brendan’s had been. We worked almost silently, spraying surfaces with all-purpose cleaner and straightening cushions. We were both waiting for the roaring to begin.

  But we never heard a single shout from Mr. Thomas. Thirty minutes after he’d come home, Brendan stalked through the house, not looking at me or his sister, ran up the stairs, and shut his door. It happened so quickly I couldn’t have called after him if I wanted to.

  Mr. Thomas came in then, looking totally normal. “Ashley, I think it’s time we all turned in. Thank you for your help.”

  I tried to make eye contact with him, and found I just couldn’t. So I mumbled my thanks, or my acknowledgment, or something, and slunk home.

  I locked the door behind me, hoping Kristin and Bruce wouldn’t be home soon and notice the giant crane that was just pulling up to the house to pull the drowned Ferr
ari out of the pool. I flopped down on my bed face up, turned on my bedside lamp, out of habit, I was sure, and stared at Brendan’s room. I couldn’t believe it, but the light was on. Grinning, I reached up and flashed mine twice, and watched as he did his, too. Then we shut them out together.

  I spent a long time that night staring at the ceiling, listening to the diesel-engine roar of the crane with the huge boom that had rolled into the Thomas’s backyard, and the huge rush of water when it pulled the car out. The creak of the shining red convertible strained against the straps, and there was a weird crunch of metal as it hit the bed of the tow-away truck. I wondered why Brendan’s dad hadn’t completely lost his shit when some stupid drunk kid busted his garage and drowned his Ferrari at some stupid birthday party he knew I would never have asked for.

  not if you were to give me the world

  The sun had just begun to poke in through my blinds when the text notification on my phone screamed in my ear. I didn’t know how I had possibly slept with the image of Mr. Thomas’s plum-faced rage, immediately followed by the weird lack thereof, running through my head. What was worst was how quietly upset Brendan had been.

  The text message tone screamed in my ear again. “What the—?” I muttered before finally grabbing it, swiping the screen and glaring against the impossibly bright light that assaulted my eyes. Just one message, five words from Brendan. “If you’re up, call me?”

  I groaned and sat up, wiping the sleep out of my eyes and willing my head to stop pounding. “Well, now I’m up,” I muttered, punching in his name and pressing the phone to my ear with one hand and tying my hair back with the elastic that was always around my wrist with the other.

  “Hey, Ash,” he answered after the first ring. “We’re still going to breakfast, right?”

  “I mean, yeah. Sure, I guess. If you’re up for it.” Brendan and I hadn’t missed many Saturday morning breakfasts, but he’d canceled yesterday’s to get ready for the party. I hadn’t been planning on him moving it to today.

  “I know it’s Sunday, but I’m in if you are.”