Manhattan

by Steiner, Kandi

  We stopped at a gas station twenty minutes outside of Stratford to fill up the truck. While Mikey pumped gas, I ran inside to get us each a breakfast taquito and blue raspberry Slurpee — an admittedly gross tradition for us when we stopped at 7-Elevens together. The smile on my face seemed to be a new permanent part of my appearance that morning, and I was humming “Mr. Brightside” as I made my way back to the truck with our snacks in tow.

  “Got the goods,” I announced, setting Mikey’s Slurpee in the cupholder while I took a big sip of mine. “Do you want your taquito now or later?” When I looked over at him for an answer, the smile I’d worn all morning finally slipped. “What? What’s wrong?”

  His shoulders were hunched, brows furrowed tightly together as he stared at his phone in his hands. The muscle in his jaw ticked, the ones lining his arms tense. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end like lightning was about to strike, and in a way I couldn’t have predicted then — it was.

  “Mikey?”

  I glanced at his phone and then back at him, stomach churning. I worried it was his mom, or one of his brothers. I wondered if it was Jordan, if he’d found something on the hard drive, something bad.

  I prayed no one was hurt.

  I prayed the sickening wave rolling through me was wrong.

  “What is it?” I asked again.

  He swallowed, taking one long, deep breath with his eyes still on his phone. He wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t look at anything but that screen.

  Finally, he let the phone drop into his lap, though he still clutched it with his hands as his head fell back against the headrest. He looked up at the roof of my truck like he’d asked a question out loud and that roof somehow had the answer.

  “Bailey called.”

  Two words. Two words struck my paradise like a Mack truck at ninety miles per hour, completely obliterating it in an instant. The blood in my veins ran as ice cold as the cup in my hand, and I gripped that cup a little tighter, as if that would somehow change what he’d just said.

  I thought of how she’d liked my video of Mikey, how she’d liked the photo of us on top of the water tower, and my stomach churned violently.

  “Oh,” I managed, my pulse ticking up a notch.

  Mikey finally looked at me. “She’s coming to Stratford for the Single Barrel Soirée next weekend,” he explained, two lines forming between his brows as another swallow bobbed in his throat. “She asked if we could talk.”

  My next breath felt like I was inhaling black smoke.

  I waited for him to say more, but he just sat up, tossing his phone in the center console and throwing the truck in drive. We pulled back out on the little highway that led into our hometown without him saying another word.

  I faced the windshield, watching the little yellow lines separating us from the opposite lane flash by. The rain had stopped, but the clouds still hung heavy and dark overhead.

  “So…” I said after a minute that felt like an hour of silence, setting my cup in the holder. Our taquitos were still in the bag at my feet.

  That one word apparently didn’t prompt him to say anything else, as he remained silent, so I swallowed my pride and asked the question I needed the answer to.

  “Are you going to?”

  “Going to what?”

  I pressed my lips together, fighting against the urge to huff or scream or rattle him. “Are you going to see her?”

  “Yeah,” he answered easily — shrugging, nonetheless, like that answer was obvious. “I don’t see why not.”

  “You don’t see why not,” I deadpanned, tonguing my cheek as I faced the front again. “I can give you a few reasons.”

  “She just wants to talk,” he said, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “We were in a relationship for two years, Kylie. It’s not like we don’t have a friendship, or like I hate her or something.”

  I inhaled a stiff, cold breath through my nose, letting it out slowly to stop myself from crying. I didn’t handle confrontation well — it had never been my strong suit. But, for some reason, Mikey knew all the right buttons to push to make me boil over.

  And the worst part was that he didn’t even realize it.

  “Yes, you were in a relationship,” I echoed. “Were being the keyword there. But, she left… not that I need to remind you of that,” I added, throwing my hands up when he glanced over at me. “I’m just saying. She put you through hell, and you’re just now getting back to yourself.” I looked at him then, and our eyes met for just a flash before he was looking at the road again. “Why would you let her back in when you’ve done so much work to let her go?”

  He shook his head, and I swore to God if he told me I didn’t understand again like he had the night outside Scootin’ Boots, I really would throttle him.

  “I’m not letting her back in,” he said, definitively. “I haven’t even answered her, okay? She left a voicemail. But I don’t see why I would say no to just talking. Maybe she wants to apologize. Maybe she wants to be friends.”

  “Friends,” I snorted, crossing my arms.

  “Why are you being so dramatic?” he shot at me, like a bullet to the chest.

  “I’m being dramatic?” I scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry I don’t want my boyfriend hanging out with his ex who broke his heart less than a year ago. I guess a normal person would be completely fine with that.”

  Mikey shook his head, laughing through his nose at my passive-aggressiveness. “She wants to talk, Ky — not makeout.”

  “Yeah? So you’d be cool if, say…” I waved my hand in the air. “Parker Morris called me? And asked if we could talk and I said sure, I don’t see why not?”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  “It is absolutely the same thing.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re being so possessive right now,” Mikey said loudly. “I’ve made it clear how I feel about you.”

  “Yes, which is why none of this makes sense. Why would you go see her if we’re… if we’re…” I was at a loss for words.

  “It’s not that big of a deal!” he hollered again, exasperated, his hands flying off the wheel before they clamped down again. “Going to see her, to hear her out, does not mean anything. Besides, I don’t really see why you’re getting all up in arms about it. I’m leaving soon anyway, it’s not like we—”

  He clamped his mouth shut, shaking his head, but I was watching him like he was a wildfire that somehow made it to my backyard without me even realizing I was in danger.

  “It’s not like we what, Michael?” I pressed.

  He exhaled. “Nothing.”

  “No, not nothing. Finish your sentence.”

  A semi whizzed past us, rocking the truck, and Mikey gripped the wheel a little tighter.

  “I’m just saying, I’m leaving soon. I’m going to New York, and…” He swallowed. “I just don’t know what that means for us.”

  And there it was — the truth we’d both been avoiding ever since the night we first kissed. He was still leaving. He was going to New York, and anything else that he’d said or we’d done didn’t matter past that.

  “You don’t know what that means for us,” I repeated, enunciating each word slowly, like that would somehow make the sentence as a whole sting less.

  My eyes flooded with tears, and I hated myself so badly for crying in that moment. I wanted to hold my head high, to be strong, to look him in the eyes when I said my next words, but I couldn’t.

  “Wow.” The word bubbled out of me, my voice trembling as the first tear slipped over my cheek. I swiped it away, crossing my arms again. “You know what? You’re right. You should go. Go to the girl who broke your heart and left you stranded, who built up a future with you and then decided on a whim to take it all back. Leave the girl who loves you,” I choked on that last sentence, squeezing my eyes shut and setting free another wave of tears. “Who has always loved you, who has always been there for you. Leave that girl behind.”

  Mikey’s hand folde
d over my knee, but I ripped it away, hugging the passenger door like he was poison. I turned on him, meeting him with narrowed eyes.

  “You think you’re so misunderstood,” I cried. “That no one gets you. But I’ve known and loved you for exactly who you are since we were kids. I have always been here. I have always understood. But this?” I shook my head. “I do not understand this.”

  “Kylie…”

  “No, you know what?” I threw my hands up, laughing a little. “This is actually kind of perfect. I mean, I don’t know what I expected,” I confessed, crossing my legs against the ache that was still there — the proof that my best friend had been inside me the night before.

  He’d been inside me, but he never planned to stay.

  I swiped away the new tears on my cheeks like they were flies.

  “I’ve never been the girl who gets the guy,” I whispered, more to myself than to him now. “I’m not the pretty girl, the talented girl, the fun one every girl wants to be friends with and every guy wants to date.” I laughed, pointing my thumb into my chest. “I’m the girl who reads about the fairy tale ending — not the girl who gets one.” My heart sank with the truth of it all, shoulders sagging along with it as I whispered, “I’m not the girl who wins.”

  The truck jerked then, and I grabbed the handle above my window with one hand and the center console with the other as Mikey pulled us to the side of the road — right in front of the large, wooden sign that read Welcome to Stratford.

  Mikey threw the truck in park, turning in his seat and reaching for my hands. But as soon as he touched me, my stomach turned, tears blurring my eyes again as I recoiled from him.

  “Kylie, please,” he whispered, his eyes searching mine. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just…” He pressed his lips together, swallowing hard. “You are that kind of girl. You’re beautiful — and not in a fake way, or a way you have to try. You’re effortlessly so. And you’re funny, and smart, and giving, and kind. You deserve to be loved.” He paused. “I love you.”

  My face twisted with emotion, and I rolled my lips between my teeth, looking out the window and away from him. “You love me?” I whispered.

  “Yes,” he said instantly. “I do, I love you. I’m sorry about what I said about leaving. We can figure it out. We can… I don’t know. I can stay a little longer, we can make a plan.”

  As much as I wanted to feel relief, in that moment, it wasn’t about New York. It wasn’t about whether he would leave and I’d go with him or if we’d do long distance or if we’d even stay together at all.

  Right then, though I hated it more than I could stand, it was about Bailey — and the fact that she was more important to him than I was.

  “You love me?” I asked again, still looking out the window.

  He nodded, reaching for my hands, and this time I let him hold them. “Yes, Kylie. I love you.”

  I turned then, locking my eyes on his. “Then choose me.”

  Mikey frowned, as if he didn’t understand what I was asking, but as recognition settled in, his face leveled out. He swallowed, looking down at where he held my hands in his, and he rubbed his thumb over the skin stretched across my wrist, over and over, like he was trying to find some hidden message.

  I waited, both of us silent — the entire world silent, save for the soft whoosh of the cars passing us every now and then.

  When Mikey looked at me again, his brows were furrowed, but his jaw was set and sure. “She just wants to talk.”

  I closed my eyes, freeing two more tears — tears I swore would be the last ones I would ever cry over Michael Becker. I pulled my hands from his gently, not in haste, and slowly wiped my cheeks. My eyes traced the letters on the welcome sign, drifting to our little town and where it began just behind that mark, and somewhere deep in my chest, my heart splintered into two, perfectly jagged pieces.

  “Get out,” I whispered.

  Mikey reached for me again, but I pulled away, facing him with as much resolution as I could manage.

  “I said get out.”

  “Kylie,” he warned, shaking his head. “Don’t do this.”

  “I didn’t do this,” I said, voice trembling as I pointed a finger right into his chest. “You did. I’m not asking you again. Get out of my truck. You can walk or call for a ride or…” I waved my hands. “Whatever you want. I don’t care. But I’m done giving you my time, my energy, my heart.” That last word stung, but I swallowed it down before the tears could burn my eyes again, keeping my promise to myself as I faced him head on. “Get. Out.”

  Mikey swallowed, and suddenly, everything about him looked worn and tired, like he’d just lived twenty-five years in the last fifteen minutes. He opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Then, like I asked, he reached into the back, grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and slipped out of the driver seat to stand on the side of the road.

  I sniffed, making sure there were no more tears on my cheeks as I climbed over the console and settled behind the steering wheel. I shut the door without looking at Mikey, adjusting the mirrors and firing the engine to life.

  “Please, Kylie,” he said, his voice muted behind the window that separated us. “I love you.”

  But I ignored the lie, throwing the truck into drive and sending gravel flying with the tires as I sped back onto the highway. I didn’t look at him in my rearview mirror, and I didn’t cry a single tear more than I had in front of him.

  He had his chance to choose me, and he didn’t.

  I might have missed the sign the thunderstorm was trying to give me, but I wouldn’t mistake this one.

  My chest ached, heart splitting more, and I pressed a hand over the bones, soothing them as best I could. I forced three long, burning breaths, and then I drove back into my little hometown with only one aspiration.

  To leave it.

  Along with the boy I wished I’d never met.

  Michael

  I didn’t realize I’d escaped the numbness I woke up in the day after my high school graduation — not until I slipped back into it, like it was two open arms welcoming me home. And it only took four days for it to happen.

  Four days without Kylie.

  Four days of unanswered calls and texts.

  Four days, and somehow, an entire summer had been erased.

  In a way, it did feel like home — to be broken, to be numb, to be hopeless. Sure, I’d had a summer of warmth and sunshine, of long days and even longer nights with Kylie. But that was gone now.

  She was gone now.

  And I had no one to blame but myself.

  Somewhere, deep down, I think I knew. I knew when I first kissed her that it was a mistake, that there was no way I could ever be the kind of man she deserved. I was too fucked up from Bailey, from just who I naturally was as a person.

  Unlovable.

  Unsaveable.

  I hadn’t seen Kylie coming, hadn’t been able to predict what would happen between us — and how fast it all would happen. Blindly… that’s how I had fallen into her. She was safe, and familiar, and somehow completely fresh and new, too. It all felt natural, like there was no other choice for either of us but to end up together.

  Except that I’d ignored one very important thing.

  I hadn’t healed from Bailey.

  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t thought of her in months, or that I no longer checked my phone and wished to see her name there, or laid awake at night wondering what she was doing in Nashville. It didn’t matter that when Kylie and I went to Nashville, I hadn’t even paused to realize I was in the same city as my ex. It didn’t matter that when I saw that she’d liked the photo of me and Kylie, I hadn’t cared one bit — not even enough to give the notification a second glance before I’d shut the app completely.

  I was all Kylie’s — heart, soul, and more.

  All I cared about was being with her, singing with her, dancing with her, making love to her.

  But when Bailey called, when I heard h
er voicemail, something in my dumb, broken brain short-circuited.

  And as per usual, I fucked up.

  A heavy and deep sigh was my next breath as I looked myself over once more in the bathroom mirror at the Scooter Distillery, deciding that no matter how I tried, I couldn’t look like anything but shit. It was Thursday and I hadn’t slept since Saturday, had barely eaten, had barely done anything other than stare at the lines of unanswered texts in my phone and wonder how I could have screwed up so royally.

  Maybe it was because I didn’t need to wonder. I already knew.

  Bailey still had her hooks in me.

  And even at the risk of hurting Kylie, I needed to see her.

  I wasn’t sure what I hoped for as I climbed into my car after work, hands shaking a bit on the steering wheel. Just a short drive into town would take me to the old diner, to the booth where I’d shared milkshakes and onion rings with Bailey, and to the place where she waited for me now.

  Maybe I’ll get closure, I thought idly as I drove. Maybe she’ll apologize, tell me she should have handled things differently.

  When Kylie and I had argued in her truck, those were the thoughts in my head. I wanted to hear Bailey out. I wanted to hear her say she was wrong. I wanted to hear her apologize.

  And, though I hated to admit it, I wanted to see her.

  She’d left my life so abruptly, almost as if she’d died. And now, I had the chance to see her resurrected, to get answers, to get… something I couldn’t quite name but knew I needed.

  I hadn’t known that day in Kylie’s truck what it would cost me to get the closure I so desperately wanted.

  I blew out another sigh, shaking my head at the same anxiety spiral I’d found myself in all week. The truth was that it didn’t matter what I’d done, what I’d do differently, because it was enough to push Kylie completely away.

  She wouldn’t talk to me.

  She wouldn’t see me.

  And I couldn’t blame her.

  I had no other choice but to let her go, to accept what I’d done and move forward. On. To New York. To a new job, a new home, a new life — just like I’d planned.