by Lara Avery
No need to change out of her tank top and sweatpants, which were beginning to smell like barbecue potato chips. No need to expose herself to the outside world. Seventeen years was enough.
She emerged from her room on the lookout for her parents. They were downstairs. She crossed into Michelle’s room and opened the closet, reaching to the top shelf, beyond the notebooks and markers and brushes, until her fingers brushed the box.
Michelle’s secret stash: Marlboro 27s and a unicorn lighter. Probably stale by now, but Kelsey was glad her mother hadn’t found them.
Kelsey rarely had a cigarette, but when Michelle was feeling down after a breakup, Kelsey had accompanied her to their porch to watch her blow out smoke and cry. Most of the time, especially as they got older, she had only come outside to judge her sister. To tell her she was asking for it, falling in and out of love so quickly. That she shouldn’t smoke, that she was killing herself.
Now Kelsey was opening the screen door to light one up, Michelle gone.
She had always said it helped her calm down.
It helps me think.
The memory of Michelle, diffused in the misty afternoon smoke, joined her.
I can’t do it.
She had gone halfway across the world to tell Peter that Michelle was dead, but she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to tear him up, but it was more than that. She could have sat him down at the airport, and let the facts do their job. But she didn’t.
I just don’t want it to be true.
That was it. The myth would be over. Michelle would be over. She stared at the smoke as it curled around her hand, down through the rungs on her sister’s porch. She thought of all the conversations they had here, and then she realized: Michelle didn’t have to die again.
Kelsey may not have had the courage to tell Peter the truth, but lord knows she had spent enough time on this very porch, listening to Michelle fall out of love. If Kelsey couldn’t push Peter away, then Michelle could. She would tell him she had met someone else: a fry cook at Burger Stand. A DJ at the Taproom. She would hang up on him, refuse to write him, whatever it took. She would make him angry, which would force him to do something she could never do: move on.
When she flicked the finished Marlboro over the wooden railing, she returned inside through her side of the porch, spraying herself with Chloe perfume to hide the smell.
She grabbed Michelle’s laptop from under the bed, slipped on a jacket, and put her bare feet into her boots.
“Where are you off to?” her mother called as she passed her in the living room.
“Fresh air,” Kelsey replied.
She walked the two blocks to Central Park, named haphazardly by the city of Lawrence after the park in New York City, but twenty times less its size. When she arrived, she sat on a bench near the community center, where she could pick up Wi-Fi, and opened the laptop. There she waited, hoping the battery would keep until Peter saw her online. He had told her on their last night in Paris that he was supposed to return from a mission today.
When his Skype icon turned green, Kelsey wasted no time.
“Hi, Peter,” she said when he answered her call. His video was still loading. “Are you there?”
“I’m here,” he replied, but when his image appeared, he didn’t look like the Peter she knew in Paris. Dark circles had returned to his eyes, which were bloodshot, the clear blue clouded over.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t tell you,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“You have to tell me,” Kelsey said, swallowing. She was finding it difficult to be as numb as she had been determined to be. She was finding it difficult not to cry herself at the sight of his distress. He had become her best friend after all.
Peter looked behind him, making sure no one had followed. Then he grabbed a notebook and pen, scribbled something on the paper, paused, and scribbled more.
Our company lost 2 men on the way back from a mission, the paper read, and when Kelsey saw the name written underneath, she held a hand to her head, pulling her hair until it hurt.
Sam.
“No.”
Peter nodded. He looked away to compose himself.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, but she knew it wasn’t enough.
She wished she could tell him she knew how it felt to lose someone so close, and nothing anyone says can change the stripped, punched-in-the-gut feeling. She was stabbed by guilt, knowing Sam had died keeping her secret.
“His truck hit a mine,” Peter said, his voice low. “Right in front of ours.”
At that, he put his head in his hands, and let out a string of curses. Words she had never heard Peter use before, unintelligible, a broken language.
“Hey,” she said gently.
He looked up. “He wasn’t my best friend, but he was a good man. A better soldier than me, that’s for sure. We were partners, you know? He had my back, I had his.” Peter looked around again, twitching at the sound of a door closing. No one interrupted, so he continued, breathing through his nostrils, trying to calm himself. “I met his mother at the airport in Maine. What is she going to do now?”
“Oh, Peter.”
Before she realized what she was doing, Kelsey was touching the screen, brushing her fingers on his shoulders, his hands, as if he could feel her.
She lost all desire to push him away. She wished she was next to him again, as she had wished so many times since she had left him in Paris, and now, he needed a friend more than ever. He needed her. And unless she intended to mope in her room for the foreseeable future, she needed him, too.
Peter looked up, noticed her hand on the screen, and put his fingers where hers might be. After that, he simply stared at her, his shoulders straight again, his mouth hard.
Kelsey grew nervous. She was suddenly aware of her unwashed hair and potato chip–stained shirt.
“I have a lot of… feelings for you,” Peter said, and he paused, embarrassed. “And I’m sorry it took me this long to tell you. I thought I loved you from the moment I met you, but I wasn’t sure. I was worried when I went overseas. But after seeing you in Paris… the way you were. The way we were together. Your, you know, your terrible jokes. When we were at Notre Dame, the way you looked at the building, like it was the first time anybody had ever seen it. When we danced at the bar. Sorry, I’m thinking out loud here. But I know. I know now.”
He paused.
“I love you.”
As she listened, Kelsey realized he was talking about her. He wasn’t talking about Michelle, or the combination of the two of them she had made, he was talking about Kelsey. Kelsey dancing, Kelsey telling bad jokes, Kelsey as he knew her, and, for the past five months, as she knew herself.
Peter waited, poised, and the fact that he could have been taken with Sam, taken at any moment, sank into the quiet.
She heard herself say it before she knew the words were out. “I love you, too.”
Immediately, she realized it was true.
And she knew she would have to do what she set out to do, but she would have to do it as herself.
She would have to let go of Michelle for good, and she would have to trust that their love could survive it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kelsey, on her way through the University of Kansas campus, was trying not to skip. She passed students on the narrow sidewalk, grass now erupting on either side of the cement, though she could still see her breath in the air. Kansas weather had a reputation for being a bit schizophrenic. Kelsey fit right in.
She caught the students’ eyes, smiling at engineering majors bent under their backpacks, nodding hello to the football players who loitered outside the union, gliding past gaggles of bleached-blonde girls who shivered in short skirts, desperate for the state’s first bit of sun.
They all stared back. Maybe they were curious about the spring in Kelsey’s step, her unfettered air of joy, or maybe they were just looking at her pajamas. It was the day after she had spoken to Peter, b
ut Kelsey still hadn’t changed out of her barbecue dust–streaked tank top and sweatpants.
She didn’t care. She was in love.
Kelsey climbed the streets of Mount Oread to Delta Sigma, where Davis was waiting for her on the front porch, comfortably lounging in a wicker chair between the white columns, like an old Southern gentleman.
As she approached him on the green lawn, Kelsey took a moment to appreciate his long, thin legs splayed out, wearing loafers and no socks, eyes behind Ray-Bans. He took a hand from around a bottle of Gatorade to wave.
She would miss him.
“I thought you’d never come,” he said, enfolding her in a hug and kissing the top of her head. “I thought you might have gone to Boca Raton by now, dancing on tables with your girlfriends.”
Kelsey let out a “ha!” at the ridiculous image. “I wouldn’t get on top of a table right now if somebody paid me.”
“Oh, you,” Davis said as they sat down on the porch steps. “Still on your parents’ dime. Fraternity dues are expensive. Baby, I’d grind on a church altar if someone paid me.”
Kelsey rolled her eyes. “No one would pay you to grind on anything.”
Davis laughed, draining the last of his drink. They sat in familiar silence, except for the distant sound of two of Davis’s frat brothers screaming at each other about a video game. On the lawn of a neighboring frat, two guys in pinnies threw a Frisbee back and forth, trying to avoid beer cans scattered everywhere. What a cartoon world.
What a foreign, flat world, even compared to the simplest of exchanges with Peter through a screen. Kelsey smiled to herself. The thought of Peter made her feel strong, free. She took a deep breath, and blew it out, fortifying herself.
“So,” Davis said, nudging her shoulder with his. “What’s it going to be?”
Kelsey looked at him, taking in the square-jawed face she had been kissing and yelling at and talking to for the past three years. They had barely spoken in several weeks, and now, there was a wall between them. They both knew what was about to happen, but to soften the blow, she said, “What do you mean?”
Davis’s jaw clenched. “C’mon, Kels. Your text said, ‘We need to talk.’”
“Yeah,” she said, looking at her nails. “We do.”
“So, talk,” Davis said, and for the first time in a while, Kelsey saw hurt cross his face.
Her chest tightened. “I think I’ve changed. And you’ve changed.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” Davis said. “I’m still the same person. I’m a pretty simple guy. The guy who loves you and supports you.”
“Well, we’ve changed, then. The way you and I are,” Kelsey said, putting a hand on his knee. It stiffened underneath her hand.
“I’m not going to deny that,” he said, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.
“We’ve drifted apart.”
Davis shrugged. “A few miles, across the city.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Davis said, and tipped back the bottle, though it was now empty. He shook it. “You don’t think I can be serious, but I can.”
Kelsey could feel herself grimace. Someone from inside the frat house had started playing a rap song. The bass bumped, vibrating the wood beneath them.
“You’re pushing me away,” Davis said. “You’ve been pushing me away since Michelle died.”
Kelsey said nothing, knowing it was true. He rarely spoke so plainly. He had been thinking about the two of them, just as she had.
“I’m sorry it has to be like this,” she said.
“But it doesn’t!” he said, laughing but angry, incredulous. “We’ve grown together before. We’ve gone through stuff. We were kids when we met.”
Kelsey almost smiled, the memory swelling inside her. “You had just gotten your braces off,” she said quietly. “Everyone thought you were so hot and cool and funny. And I was the one to get you. I was so proud.”
He stood up. “I’m still proud.”
Kelsey stood with him. “Davis—” she began.
“So it’s over?” he said quickly, stretching, trying to be as casual as he could be, though his jaw was still tight.
Kelsey nodded. “It’s over.”
Davis forced himself to smile down on her. “For now.” Then he clapped his hands, rubbing them together, like he did before a game or a night out.
Kelsey couldn’t help but smile, shaking her head. Always on the bright side. In her mind, there was no “for now.” Their relationship was over for good. But she would be losing a dear friend, too, and hoped she hadn’t lost him forever.
Before she got to the street, Kelsey paused, and turned back to Davis.
“Are you going to be okay?” she called from across the lawn.
“Me?” he called, picking up the empty bottle. “I’ll be fine. I’m not the one wearing my pajamas.”
Kelsey looked down at herself, then back to her ex-boyfriend.
“It’s a long story,” she said, and before she could reconsider the solemn, handsome figure on the porch, she let a new beginning tug her away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The next afternoon, the first day back from spring break, Kelsey sat in the far corner of the Lawrence High cafeteria, her tray of spaghetti ignored, unwrapping a 3 Musketeers bar. First she bit into the end, to snap off the chocolate casing. Then a bite from the top, and the bottom. She watched the nougat reveal itself, as Peter had put it. The chocolate nonsense.
“Sugar is bad for you,” she heard a voice say. She looked up.
Above her, Ingrid stood, jean jacket unbuttoned over her purple dress, her golden hair curling more than usual in the moist chill.
“But chocolate is good for your emotional well-being,” Kelsey said, and held the half-eaten candy bar out to her friend.
Kelsey hadn’t had more than a couple minutes alone with Ingrid since the iciness between Gillian and her began.
Ingrid took the candy bar and tore off a big chunk with her teeth. Kelsey smiled.
She handed it back. “Speaking of no sugar, how’s rehearsing for Rock Chalk Dancer auditions?”
“Oh, geez. I haven’t—I haven’t thought about that for a while,” Kelsey said, feeling her brow furrow at the reminder. “Want to sit together?”
Kelsey motioned for her to join, but Ingrid jerked her head toward the window, where the three of them used to sit.
Kelsey stood with her tray and followed, cautiously. She had avoided their usual table near the window since she and Gillian had begun to fight. And even before that, right after she had returned to school, she had made excuses to be alone during lunch.
“Just for the heck of it, huh? For old times’ sake?” Ingrid said as they plopped down across from each other. They used to have competitions to see who could speak the longest in British accents. Ingrid always lost. Gillian used to teach the two of them Korean swearwords, which they delighted in shouting over the din without getting in trouble.
The spring sun shone warmly on the courtyard, through the glass, and Kelsey couldn’t help but burst out laughing as Ingrid, after finishing another mouthful of candy bar, began to chug an entire carton of milk.
“Thatta girl,” Kelsey said. “You can have mine, too.”
Ingrid finished, swallowed, and let out a small burp. “So,” she said. “I heard that you and Davis broke up.”
“Yea.” Kelsey furrowed her brow. “It was a long time coming, actually.”
Ingrid dug into her lunch, still looking at Kelsey with her puppy-dog eyes as she slurped spaghetti. “Why?” she asked.
“Why? Um…” Kelsey stalled, poking at her food.
Ingrid always had a way of cutting to the chase. When they were freshmen, she asked the Sex Ed teacher what the difference was between a banana, on which she was putting a condom, and “the real thing.” Gillian, who had also been in the class, answered, “Bananas aren’t attached to morons.” They had been best friends ever since.
Ingrid swallowed a mouthful of n
oodles. “You seemed happy.”
Kelsey felt her throat tighten. She thought of lazy days on the front porch with Davis, bullshitting for hours. “Yeah, we were, weren’t we?”
“I liked his T-shirts.”
“Me, too,” Kelsey replied. But Davis didn’t strike her with anything other than friendly nostalgia now. Now her thoughts, her heart, her future: All of it was Peter. “I can’t believe we spent three years together,” she muttered, almost to herself.
“Do you wish you hadn’t?” Ingrid asked.
Kelsey folded her arms. She wasn’t ready to think about all this. She bit into her candy bar and said, “I don’t know.”
“You were both just kids,” Ingrid said, thoughtful. “I mean, I think we’ll always look back and wonder what the heck we were thinking. No use trying to justify it.”
Kelsey looked in surprise at Ingrid. She was rarely so reflective.
“That’s what my mom tells me, anyway,” she continued. “She tells me I better get all my stupid out now, because soon I won’t be so cute, and no one will forgive me.”
“I can’t decide if that’s really wise, or kind of mean,” Kelsey said, trying not to laugh.
Ingrid smiled. “Well, you know best. It’s love, you know? If you are, you are. If you aren’t, you aren’t.”
Kelsey uncrossed her arms, leaning forward. Finally, the word she had been looking for. The word that wove through everything and injected her with a good kind of poison, the kind that sent soda through her veins, that made everything else a blur. She was dying to tell someone about Paris, how the simplest things like traffic lights and water fountains reminded her of its beauty. Maybe Ingrid would understand.
“That’s the thing, Ingrid, I am in love, but not—”
Suddenly, a bang. Kelsey and Ingrid jumped. Gillian dropped her tray next to Ingrid’s, an apple held in her teeth, her eyes cold.
“Oh, um—” Ingrid looked at the two of them in turn, pasting on a smile, as if she was about to introduce them to each other.
Gillian removed the apple and matched Ingrid’s blank smile. “Hello, Kelsey! Where have you been?”