Only Love Can Break Your Heart

by Katherine Webber

  The back of his neck goes red, and it makes me want to throw up. I didn’t want to believe it was true.

  “You were the one who wanted us to be together!” I say.

  “Well, now I don’t.”

  I start to cry.

  I’m not just crying. I’m sobbing because I knew this was coming and I should have done something to stop it. Because now Seth gets to be the one who dumped me. And that’s not fair. Seth Rogers shouldn’t dump me, and I wonder when everything got so mixed up between us. When did we switch places? When did I lose control of him, of us?

  Outside the window, high above us, the crescent moon is crying too. I’m sure of it.

  “Please stop crying,” he says, but he won’t look at me. He’s still turned away.

  “You don’t mean it,” I say, even though I know he does.

  “I’m sorry, Reiko.”

  He doesn’t sound very sorry.

  And in that moment, anger, white and hot, shoves my sadness away. I want to hit him. Because I never wanted this in the first place. I wanted the desert and adventure and fun. Not this pain inside of me, like something is clawing its way out.

  “Why?” I say.

  “Why what?”

  “Why any of it?” Why couldn’t things have stayed the same? Why’d he have to ruin what we had by pushing us into this? I was fine without him, and then he was in my life, and now I can’t remember what my life was like before him. And I don’t know how to go back. And now he’s even destroyed homecoming for me, which was something I’ve worked toward for years, because it was something I thought I wanted. Something I thought would fix me.

  He turns to me then.

  “People never know what they’ll do,” he says, echoing his words from the day we went up the tram. “All I know is that I don’t want to be with you.”

  CHAPTER 43

  He drove me home after that, and when we got to my house, he kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  And now I’m standing in my dining room, staring at a reflection of myself in a mirror on the wall, trying to recognize who it is, because surely this crumpled, sad, keening animal of a person can’t be me.

  I don’t look like that. I know what I look like.

  And if I didn’t, there are forty, maybe fifty, pictures of me staring up from the dining-room table. Pictures from tonight. My dad must have already gotten them developed. As a surprise.

  I keep looking at the girl in the mirror and the girl in the pictures and I can’t comprehend how they are the same person. How they are both me.

  In the pictures, I’m glossy and glamorous and gorgeous. But still not good enough for Seth.

  Not good enough.

  I pick up one of the pictures with shaking hands. It’s of the two of us, from just hours before. I’m leaning on him, looking up at him, smiling, like my dad directed. But Seth doesn’t look happy at all. His jaw is stiff and he’s clenching a fist. How did I not see it? Except I did. It was just easier to brush it aside.

  There’s only one picture in which Seth looks happy and relaxed. It’s the one where he’s talking to Libby.

  I rip up the picture, sobbing as I do. Then I tear off the necklace he gave me and throw it in the trash.

  The stairwell lights flicker on.

  “Reiko? What are you doing home? I thought you were sleeping at a friend’s house?” My dad is yawning and rubbing his eyes. Then he sees the state of me. “Reiko! What’s wrong?” He immediately envelops me in a hug, holding me close like I’m a little girl again. He hasn’t held me like this in years.

  I keep crying.

  “Reiko, Reiko, are you all right? Are you hurt? Do we need to call someone?”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m … I’m all right. I’m not hurt.” Not physically. And I know that’s what he means.

  My father sags with relief at my words. “What, what is it then?” He guides me to the couch and passes me a blanket that my obaachan knitted for me when I was little. “I’ll make us some tea, but first you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Seth…”

  My father tenses. “Seth what?” And for the first time I can remember, I see anger cloud my gentle father’s eyes.

  It makes me realize that getting dumped is not the worst thing that can happen to a girl on the night of the homecoming dance.

  “Seth broke up with me,” I say. “He … dumped me.” And now that I’ve said it out loud, it makes it both real and … silly. Here I am, bawling my eyes out, because of that.

  I know that girls can have a lot more to cry about.

  My dad lifts up my chin so I’m looking at him. “Reiko,” he says, “Seth is a shit.”

  It is so unexpected that I start to giggle. My dad never swears. “You only met him tonight,” I say, in between hiccuping giggle sobs.

  “I did! But clearly, he is a shit. You” − my dad gives me another hug − “you are better than him, Reiko. You know this. I know this. He knows this. Everyone knows this.” Then he frowns. “Like I said. He’s a shit.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Both my giggles and tears are starting to subside.

  “I’ll make us some tea.” And he starts to go into the kitchen. He pauses next to the table, where all the pictures of Seth and me are, and his face falls. “Oh no! Reiko, I’m so sorry. I thought this was a good thing to do. I thought it would make you happy.” He sounds almost more upset about the pictures than about Seth dumping me.

  “I know, Daddy,” I say. “Thank you for getting them printed.”

  “Do you want me to get rid of them?”

  I shake my head and wipe my dripping nose on the back of my hand. “No. They are nice to have.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nod. “I’m sure.”

  We drink tea together in silence, my dad alternating between making comforting sounds while patting my back and cursing Seth in Japanese.

  “Do you want me to get Mom?” he asks.

  “I’m OK,” I say, even though I’m clearly not. “I think I’ll just go to bed.”

  “It’s just been such a long time since I’ve seen you cry … like this.”

  I don’t like thinking about the last time I cried this hard. The last time I cried at all.

  “I don’t want to upset Mom,” I say.

  “Oh, Reiko, she won’t be upset,” my dad says, petting my hair. “She’ll want to make you feel better.”

  And while I know that is true, I also know that if she sees that I’m upset she’ll assume that it’s about something much worse than just stupid Seth Rogers breaking my heart. She’ll assume this is about Mika. She’ll assume that I’ve fallen back into the place where I can’t stop crying, where I can’t speak to anyone. I don’t want her to think I’ve relapsed in my grief, and guilt, or that, like grief, this is something that can be “cured” by going to rehab. The last therapist we saw, after my breakdown about Mika, told my parents to let me heal in my own way, and if that meant not talking out loud about Mika, that was fine. That was two years ago. And I haven’t cried since then.

  I take a deep shuddering breath. “I’m OK,” I say again. “I’ll be OK.”

  “Of course you will,” my dad says, squeezing my shoulder. “You are a Smith-Mori! We’re always OK.”

  That’s a lie, but I know what he means. That even if we aren’t OK, we say we are and carry on.

  The next day my mom comes into my room and opens up the blinds on my windows, and light blares into my room. I scrunch my eyes shut and burrow into my pillow, away from the loud, loud light.

  “Reiko, sweetie. Dad told me what happened.” My mom’s voice is both gentle and firm, the kind of voice she uses when she goes horseback riding. “You need to get up. It’s almost two in the afternoon.”

  I hear the curtains swish and then there is somehow, impossibly, even more light in my room.

  A small body crawls under the covers and curls up next to me. Mika.

  “You h
eard Mom,” she whispers in my ear. “Get up. It’ll make her sad if you don’t.” She knows this is the thing that will get me going. I fling my covers off in a sudden movement, startling both my mom and Mika.

  “OK,” I say, and my voice is all fugged up from my stuffy nose and I know my eyes are puffy. “Let me just shower first.”

  “Are you … are you OK?” my mom says. “Dad said you were very upset last night, and I don’t blame you—”

  “I’m fine. It’s fine.” My throat is starting to clog, and my eyes are starting to leak and I won’t let it happen. I’m stronger than that. I won’t let anyone see me weak.

  Especially not over a stupid boy like Seth Rogers.

  “I thought we could go to Las Cas for lunch,” my mom says, sitting at the foot of my bed. “You and me?”

  I glance at Mika, feeling guilty, as always, that she can’t come.

  “Go,” she says. “Las Cas makes everything better.” She smiles at me. “I want you to feel better, Reiko.”

  So I go, but only for Mika and my mom.

  Las Casuelas smells incredible. It’s my family’s favorite restaurant; we’ve been coming here for years. My mom used to come with her parents when she was little − apparently, they knew the original owners.

  The restaurant makes me think of Mika, but it doesn’t hurt the way so many things that remind me of Mika do. Maybe that’s because all my memories of her here are so happy. Mika, ordering more than all of us, and out-eating everyone. Mika, making friends with the bartender and convincing him to give her unlimited virgin margaritas. Mika, determined to try everything on the menu and almost making her way through it.

  My mom and I slide into a wooden booth and look at the menus, even though we both know what we want.

  “So,” my mom says, voice overly cheerful. “Your regular? I remember how it used to always make you feel better.”

  “You know that enchiladas don’t fix everything. I don’t know why you are pretending they do,” I say with a half-smile as the waiter walks up. But I still order what I always have. One cheese enchilada, one chicken, and a ground-beef taco.

  “They might not fix everything, but they help. Reiko, sweetie, tell me what happened.”

  I close my eyes and pinch the top of my nose. I can feel a headache building. But it isn’t a normal headache. This one is coming up from my heart, snaking up my throat and all the way through to right behind my eyes.

  “I want to be here for you,” my mom says.

  Since I won’t talk about Mika, my mom never feels like she’s been able to be there for me, so I know she’s jumping at the chance to help with something. To finally fix me. She doesn’t understand how her grief is so different from mine. How I’m still drowning in it years later and the only way for me to stay afloat is to not talk about it, not think about it.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I say, and I mean it.

  I tell her a condensed version of what happened last night.

  “He’s not worth a single tear,” my mom says with authority as the waiter puts our steaming plates of food in front of us. “You’re so much better than him. It was obvious even from the night of the homecoming game.”

  I smile, but I’m wondering if I’m better than him, then why did he dump me?

  Another thought occurs to me: if I’m better than him, surely I can get him back.

  It’s just a matter of time.

  I can fix this.

  CHAPTER 44

  On Monday, Dre sticks to my side like an overprotective bodyguard, practically biting anyone who looks at me funny. Anyone who looks at me at all.

  I don’t expect to see Seth much − surely he’ll go back to wherever he used to hang out before this all happened. So when I see him in the parking lot, with my group of friends, it’s like a punch in the stomach. And when I walk up to him, expecting him to at least say hello, and all he does is give me this confident little head nod that is so completely out of character, it sends me staggering back, because where did this confidence come from, who is he? And I’m so aware of people watching us that all I can do is my own version of the stupid head nod back. Then I turn away from him first. But I hear Libby’s laugh and his laugh, and I want to run away, but instead I slip my arm through the person’s next to me (it’s Zach Garcia), like he was the reason I came over to this part of the parking lot.

  For the rest of the week, I can’t get the sound of Libby and Seth’s laughter out of my head.

  The week drags on. I can’t tell if people are watching me more now or less, and I don’t know which would be better. Dre offers to sleep over for the whole weekend, to be with me, and I love her for it, but I don’t want her.

  I want Seth.

  “I’ll be all right,” I lie. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  Anyway, I don’t need her because I’ve got Mika, and Mika listens as I plot how to make everything right again.

  October turns into November, and I still haven’t made any progress with Seth. If anything, it seems like he’s making progress of a different kind. Everyone seems to be into him now. He wears his new confidence like a cape. He’s even started dressing differently. It infuriates me, because I was the one who saw him when he was invisible to everyone else. I gave him that confidence. Now that he has it, he doesn’t need me anymore, and he can just cast me aside.

  “Why do you care so much?” Dre asks. “It isn’t like you ever really liked him, right?”

  But I did, I did, I did, and I didn’t know it because I was confused by what love was. I know now, though. Seth is the only one to really know me, the real Reiko. And apparently, he didn’t like what he saw. But I can change that. I can be everything he wants. I can be his wildest dream come true. Like, I know he’s into the schoolgirl look. It creeped me out before, but I can definitely pull that off. I order a pleated skirt online, and pair it with a collared shirt. I even braid my hair. I look hot.

  I start to think that maybe I took it too far when Dre says, “Reiko. Why are you dressed like Britney Spears circa ‘Baby One More Time’?”

  Shit. I was hoping it wasn’t that obvious.

  “Reiko,” she goes on, “does this have anything to do with—?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I hold my head up high, the way my mom taught me.

  Zach Garcia whistles appreciatively as I walk by. “Lookin’ cute, Rei-Rei.”

  “Just cute?”

  “Maybe more than cute.”

  I wink. Like I care what Zach Garcia thinks.

  “Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” Dre says. “Who exactly are you trying to impress here?”

  I know Seth notices me because how can he not notice me? Everyone is noticing me. But just like the week after Seth dumped me, I can’t tell if it is a good noticing or a bad noticing, but I decide it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Everything is good, nothing is wrong. The principal clucks in disapproval when I walk by, but technically I’m not violating the dress code so I just smile at her.

  “You look ridiculous,” Dre says at lunch. “Like seriously ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know,” says Megan, tilting her head to assess my outfit. “I think she pulls it off.”

  Dre rolls her eyes. “Of course she pulls it off. Reiko pulls everything off, but it is still ridiculous.”

  “I bet Krissy Tran wears something similar tomorrow,” Megan says, grinning wickedly. “And then her whole little crew will too.”

  “It is kind of adorable how Krissy styles herself like a mini Reiko,” Dre admits, reaching over to grab a Dorito out of my bag. “She’s been doing it for years now.”

  “Reiko, Reiko, Reiko, what the hell are you wearing?” Libby has sauntered up behind us and is smirking at me.

  I tug at my skirt but keep my head tall.

  “I mean, this doesn’t have anything to do with a certain someone, does it?” says Libby, leaning in.

  I don’t believe we used to be friends. Or even pretended to be friends. Dr
e and I should have dropped her after the winter formal fiasco last year.

  I toss my hair over my shoulder. “Libby, will you chill out? A photographer friend of my mom’s is doing a photo shoot this afternoon and I said I’d help out. I liked the outfit so decided to wear it all day. But thanks for your concern.” I smile with my mouth shut.

  “Oh,” she says.

  “Really?” Megan asks, mouth askance.

  “Yes, really,” I snap. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, but, since Libby wouldn’t shut up about my outfit, I didn’t really have a choice.”

  As we walk away, Dre lowers her voice. “That’s bullshit, right?”

  I give her a wide grin. “Totally. But you know you’re going to have to take some pictures of me in this now, right? Something I can post online to make it look like I really had a photo shoot?”

  Dre sighs and shakes her head. “Nobody can accuse you of not being thorough.”

  “Why are we walking this way?” Dre asks after lunch as we make our way across campus.

  “Don’t hate me,” I whisper, and then I start laughing like she’s said something really, really funny. Seth is walking toward us.

  “Are you kidding me?” she whispers back, but she puts on her biggest, brightest smile and laughs with me.

  I don’t know what I’d do without Dre.

  I see Seth pause for a minute and look at me, once, twice, and then he kind of shakes his head and keeps walking.

  Once Seth is past us, I stop laughing and so does Dre.

  “Not cool, Reiko,” she says lightly.

  “I know,” I say. But I’d do it again and we both know it. “Remember Chris?” I ask, nudging her with my shoulder. Dre had a huge crush on this guy who was a year older than us and worked at a hardware store, and we used to go to that store every other week and look at paint samples, giggling every time we passed Chris at the register. Every time Dre wanted to go to that hardware store, I’d go with her.