All of It

by Kim Holden

  If they didn’t hold my interest or meet my expectations, I quickly broke it off (would it kill them to bring some interesting, intelligent conversation to the table? Or have an elementary grasp of manners? Kindness and wit seem to be in short supply as well.) And if they did hold my interest, when they figured out I wasn’t going to have sex with them, they broke it off (my virginal status is legendary around school. It precedes me “like a police escort complete with flashing lights and sirens,” so Teagan and Tate tell me. You’d think they would’ve known what kind of a dead end they were getting into. Why did they even bother? My name is apparently synonymous with “conquest.” A challenge. A game.)

  Even stranger, after the breakups, the guys and I almost always remain friends … even after all of the weirdness. It seems I’m fantastic at being one of the guys, the buddy, the friend. I just suck at being the girlfriend.

  And now, my dilemma. I’m now (finally) in a relationship with someone who I adore. He’s well aware I’m not going to sleep with him any time soon, and he’s actually sticking around. On several occasions he’s been on the verge of using the L-word. I’ve stopped him. Maybe I don’t believe he can really love me; maybe I fear the feeling is mutual … or maybe (and more likely) I’m just a complete, fucking moron. I’m no good at this; I’m only supposed to be the friend, the buddy. Being the girlfriend makes me feel vulnerable.

  And being vulnerable is scary.

  Spending time with Dimitri is irresistible, but it’s also alienated me from my friends. Keeping everyone happy has begun to feel impossible. The comments range from the genuine “I miss hanging out with you,” to the snide “I guess you don’t need friends anymore now that you’ve got a boyfriend.” I know some of the girls are just jealous, but it makes their comments no less hurtful and cutting. And when my guy friends start commenting, I know there’s something wrong. My world feels completely out of balance.

  There’s also the small matter of what to do after graduation, which looms on the ever-closer horizon. There are only four daunting months until I graduate. My grades have afforded me with the choice of many universities and I don’t want to make a mistake and screw up everything I’ve worked so hard for by making the wrong decision. This is an expensive and life-changing decision. Many of the schools are out of state, and the thought of being away from my parents is terrifying. They’re not only my support system, but they’re also my friends. My mom just went through a breast cancer scare (which she didn’t tell me about until after the fact) and even though it turned out to be benign (thank God), it made me painfully aware of the fact that my parents are fragile humans just like everyone else, not superheroes like I’ve always thought. What if something like that happens again, and the outcome isn’t so good? I don’t want to be away from her. So, where to go? How to pay for college? Student loans? Scholarships? What to major in? These are all questions that should’ve already been answered months ago, but I’ve procrastinated, and now I’m behind schedule. I can literally hear the clock ticking like a time bomb. The timeline is one pressure, and making the right choices is another.

  Lastly, the optometrist office where I work is closing in less than a month. One of the doctors has decided to retire, and the other is joining another practice on the other side of town. That means I’m out of a job. Looking for a new job doesn’t scare me, but the thought of not seeing these people anymore makes me sad. I make it my job to take care of each one of them, and soon they won’t need me anymore. I like to be needed.

  I feel like a juggler who keeps adding more and more balls until there’s no option but for some of them to drop. My boyfriend, my friends, my family, my future, my job … suddenly there are too many balls in my routine. The emotional and rational parts of me are at odds. The worst part? It’s all my fault. I’m the one out of control.

  I hate being out of control.

  I spend the entire weekend locked in my bedroom and vow to come up with a plan to regain control. I don’t answer my phone. I don’t talk to anyone except my mom and that is kept to a bare minimum. In the end it appears that the only ball I can’t juggle, no matter how desperately I want to, is … Dimitri.

  Getting out of bed Monday morning is agonizing. It hurts, in a quantifiable and very real way. It feels like a five hundred pound weight is bearing down on my chest making it almost impossible to breathe. How am I going to face Dimitri? I’ve avoided his calls and visits all weekend. My mom told him I was sick, which is true. This decision has made me physically sick. I haven’t eaten anything or slept in two days. The moment I decided to break up with him, my heart broke as well. How will he react? He never does anything like a typical teenager. Will he be angry? Hurt? Maybe he’ll be relieved that he’s off the hook. My mind runs itself in circles. I can’t think about any of the possibilities—they’re all equally painful.

  On my drive to school, I consider my terrible plan. It’s January, which means a new semester is underway and Dimitri and I have two classes together: Literature and History (third and sixth period). I can avoid him for a few more hours if I don’t go to my locker. I park in the lot on the backside of the school. I’m embarrassed by my cowardice, but I push it aside as I run across the lot and straight to my first class. My palms are sweating and waves of nausea roll through me. My first two classes pass by too quickly. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other to walk to Literature. I look longingly at the parking lot through the doors and consider making a run for it—but I can’t. I need to face him.

  As I open the classroom door, I keep my eyes glued to the dark tile floor. A tiny voice in my head reminds me that I am, without a doubt, the most horrible person in the world. I just don’t know what else to do. I can’t see any other alternatives. I take my seat and open a book and begin pretending to read. When I can no longer fight the urge, I risk a glance sideways through my hair at his seat. To my surprise, it’s empty. I breathe a small sigh of relief. The room fills quickly and as the bell rings I steal another glance. Still empty. Mrs. Santo starts her lesson promptly, as always. Not two minutes later, she’s interrupted by the creak of the door opening. She whips around to face Dimitri as he enters.

  “Mr. Glenn, I’m so glad you decided to grace us with your presence today,” she says sarcastically. Kind and understanding are not two words I would use to describe her. Tact isn’t at the top of the list either.

  “I apologize, Mrs. Santo,” Dimitri says quietly. I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, or my guilty conscience, but he sounds tired … and worried … and sad.

  I stare at a chip in one of the bricks on the front wall of the classroom the entire period. I don’t listen. I don’t feel. I don’t even blink. I just stare.

  The bell rings and a force outside my control propels me from my seat. My eyes burn, like a flame is being held to the backs of my eyelids, and the lump in my throat swells until I’m convinced I will suffocate. I pick up my books and begin walking toward the door. I flinch involuntarily from the hand that touches my shoulder.

  “Ronnie, are you okay?” His voice is soft and concerned, but strangled by fear.

  The tears begin flowing as I turn to face him. I can’t meet his eyes … his beautiful eyes.

  He grips my upper arms firmly. Not with the intention of hurting me, but more with the intention of never letting go. It’s agonizing. “Ronnie, what’s wrong?” The fear is pronounced now. He knows this isn’t good.

  I struggle to catch my breath between sobs as I push quickly past him. I stop just outside the classroom. He trails closely behind.

  “Ronnie, please tell me. What’s going on? Jo said you were sick, but you’re a mess. What’s wrong?” He’s pleading in a strained whisper.

  I bury my face in my hands. I feel that crushing weight in my chest again. I don’t know if I’ll be able to speak. “I can’t do this anymore,” I sob from behind my hands.

  He tries to pull my hands gently from my face, but I resist. “Can’t do what?”

  �
�Thh-iiss,” I stutter through the sobs.

  “I don’t understand.” He says softly, but his voice betrays him and I know he understands all too well. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  “I have to get to class,” I say turning away from him.

  “Please, Ronnie.” His voice cracks, and with it another fissure opens in my heart.

  “I have to get to class,” I repeat, though I don’t take a step. “Later, maybe.”

  “After school?” His voice is equal parts despair, hurt, and anger.

  I nod. “After school.”

  With that, he strides past me. I watch him go. He’s frustrated, his hands balled up into fists. I stop in the bathroom before I make a late appearance in French. I know I’m quite a sight. Madame Lemieux’s eyes grow wide when I enter but she doesn’t say anything. She casts worried glances in my direction the entire hour.

  Dimitri is a no-show in History, though that’s the only thing I recall from the remainder of the school day. I drive home mechanically, strictly on autopilot. Thank God it’s a short drive, because I could’ve run someone over and never even noticed. I’m only two houses away when I realize that Dimitri’s Porsche is parked in front of my house. He isn’t sitting in it. I pull slowly into the driveway watching the garage door rise before me in slow motion. I park and get out, leaving my bag in the passenger seat.

  I walk quickly over the frosty ground to the back door with keys in hand and nothing else. I know he’ll be waiting there for me and I don’t like the idea of him standing in the cold. The irony of the situation hits me like a freight train. I’m willing to break his heart, but I don’t want to keep him waiting in the cold before I do it? I shake my head at the absurdity of it. I look up tentatively as I approach the door. He’s not there. Where is he? I turn around and quickly scan the driveway.

  I unlock the door and run through the house to the front door. My heart begins to race. I open the door and look at his car again. He’s not sitting in it. I start to panic. Two minutes ago I was dreading facing him and now I am frantic to find him. I shut the door and walk back to the kitchen to collect my scattered thoughts. As I pass by the sliding glass door to the backyard, a knock on the glass stops my racing heart.

  There stands Dimitri.

  I look at him through the glass, and in that moment of recognition my life with him flashes before my eyes: our first awkward day, the rainy day lunch in my kitchen, our first date, homecoming, and the dreams—all of it in an instant. And it’s at that moment I know this isn’t over, un-believable or not. I can’t be the girlfriend he deserves right now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care.

  He knocks again and mouths the words, “Ronnie, can I come in pl—?”

  I pull the door open before he can finish. “What are you doing back here? You’ll freeze to death.”

  “It’s not that cold, Ronnie. I’ve been sitting on the swing waiting for you to come home. I’ve been here all afternoon. It’s a good place to think. I’ve run through several scenarios of how this is going to all play out, and in the end I decided to just let you talk … after I say one thing.”

  The lump grows in my throat again and my voice cracks. “Go ahead.”

  He walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table. I follow his lead. He waits to begin until I’m seated across the table from him. He looks tired, and though his eyes are puffy they burn sincerely into mine and I can’t look away.

  “I love you. I’m not telling you this because I’m looking for you to say it in return. It’s just something I need to say because I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I don’t. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and I absolutely adore you … despite days like today.” He sighs, blinks twice and then adds, “That’s it. That’s all of it.”

  And there it was; the “I love you.” I feel crushed. His gaze is still intensely focused on me. I pause for several seconds to put my thoughts in order before I speak. This conversation with anyone else would be rushed to spare myself the emotion, but I owe this to Dimitri. Talking to him has always been easy and I want to be completely honest with him. “Dimitri, I am so sorry. It’s not you, it’s me.” And my honesty sounds cliché.

  Dimitri looks down, shakes his head slightly and mutters, “Come on, Ronnie, you can do better than that.”

  “I know that is so overused, but it’s true. I have so much going on in my life right now that I feel like it’s literally driving me insane. Like I’m on the verge of a breakdown.”

  He’s still looking down at the table, “What’s going on?” he whispers.

  The tears finally begin to flow and my voice is already strained. “My friends hate me. We graduate in four months and I have no idea where I’m going to go to school, what I’m going to major in, or how I’m going to pay for it. I’ll be unemployed in a few weeks. And lastly, and most importantly, my mom found a lump in her breast.”

  His neck whips up and his eyes meet mine again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is she okay?”

  I grab a napkin off the counter and sit back down as I wipe my nose. “She’s okay. It was benign, thank God. She kept it all from me until she got the results back late last week.”

  His shoulders relax and his eyes soften. “That’s good though, right? She’s okay.”

  “I guess so, it’s just scary. It wasn’t cancer this time, but what if it happens again?”

  “Ronnie, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I know your parents mean the world to you. Will and Jo are amazing and I genuinely hope they live very long, happy, healthy lives. But unfortunately, that’s life. That’s why it’s so important to seize the moment and make the most of each and every day. There aren’t any guarantees and it’s not always fair. Sometimes bad things happen to really great people.”

  He’s talking softly and trying desperately not to upset me, but his attempt fails. “That’s a nice thing to say. You’re talking about my parents!” I’m raising my voice, which feels hollow in the empty kitchen.

  His face is suddenly aged and even more tired if that’s possible. He turns away from me, looks out the window and whispers, “I’ve lived it.”

  And there it is.

  Regret.

  If I could take it back, I would. I want to crawl under the table and hide my face. “Your dad,” I say. Of course, his father. How inconsiderate can I be? “Dimitri, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I guess you would know better than I would. I really am sorry.”

  He continues to gaze out the window at nothing in particular, just a blank stare. “Don’t be. Unfortunately that kind of loss is something I’ve had to deal with more times than I care to remember.”

  “Who else, besides your dad?” I whisper.

  His eyes drop to the floor. “I don’t want to think about that … especially not today.”

  We sit in silence for more than two minutes. I’m watching the clock on the wall tick deafeningly in the stillness of the room.

  Finally Dimitri breaks the silence. “Ronnie, I don’t want to trivialize any of your problems, but your friends don’t hate you. Beyond that, the rest are just the cards that life’s dealt you right now. You just need to decide how you want to deal with them. It’s not life or death … it’s just life. If you need help, why don’t you just ask for it?” He’s staring at me again and the sincerity has returned to his eyes.

  I bite my lip and inhale and exhale deeply. “I’m not so good at asking for help.”

  He huffs and half smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I know.”

  “It’s hard for me. I’m the one everyone else comes to when they need help.” I look away. “I feel weak asking for it.” I’m ashamed to hear myself say it aloud.

  He closes his eyes and rubs his temples. Exasperated, he sighs. “You’re such a goddamn martyr, Ronnie. Did it ever occur to you that people want to help you? I would do anything in my power to help you … anything. Monica, Tate, John, Piper—they would all help you in a heartbeat. Teagan would probably cut of
f his freaking right arm if you asked him to.”

  The tears start up again. “I can’t ask them for help, not after the way I’ve treated them lately.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but if there’s an issue with your friends maybe it’s time to address it.”

  I sob. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “I’m confused, Ronnie. Tell me what’s going on.”

  I sit there and cry uncontrollably for several minutes before I’m contained enough to speak. “I can’t be the girlfriend you deserve and the friend they deserve. I’ve spent all of my time with you this year and I’ve put them on the back burner.”

  His face drops and he whispers, “I don’t expect you to sacrifice friendships for me, but has the time you’ve spent with me really been such a bad trade-off? Because I don’t regret a single minute I’ve spent with you.”

  The tears continue. “I just want to stop hurting everyone. I can’t seem to balance all of the people in my life that I care about. I can’t give each of them the focus they deserve. If I spend time with you like I have been, then my friends are hurt. And if I start spending time with them, then I hurt you.”

  His eyes are focused on mine again. “I’m willing to share.”

  The sobs start again. “Of course you are. Why do you have to be so damn understanding? I can’t do it. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl. If I’m going to be your girlfriend I need to feel like I’m in it one hundred percent. I can’t divide myself up.”