by Harper James
“Sebastian, I should have told you,” I say when he’s a few yards away. My words are spluttering and shaky.
Sebastian laughs humorlessly, and stops just out of my reach. “I knew you were spying on us for the student advocacy group. I just had no idea you were spying on me for your family.”
“I wasn’t. I’m not—“
“Sure,” Sebastian says, shaking his head. “Why would I believe that? Why would I believe anything you tell me? I haven’t lied to you once. I’ve talked to you about my dad, about my brothers— and now I guess I’ll hear about that in court, huh? Tell me this, Ashlynn— did something I tell you get my father arrested? Is that why we just had to empty our savings account to bail him out? Because I’m replaying every conversation you and I ever had, trying to figure out if this is my fault.”
“No, no, nothing. I didn’t say anything— I didn’t have anything to say. It’s not like you’ve told me anything new—“ I wince, because I hear how that sounds; like I was analyzing what he told me, sorting it into “new information” and “old information” instead of “things the guy I like is saying to me”. I try to start over. “I should have told you, but I really do love you, Sebastian. I didn’t want you to leave. And then it just became too late, and I just…I should have told you.”
“I just can’t believe you kept this from me. I never lied to you.”
“But you said we could pretend like the murder never happened,” I plead uselessly, like I might be able to argue my way out of this mess. “That’s what I wanted, too.”
Sebastian looks away for a moment, grits his teeth. “When I thought I was the only one really pretending. When I thought you were a girl willing to look past my father’s case. When I thought you were with me for me, not for research. When I thought you were being as honest with me as I’ve been with you.”
“I didn’t even know who you were the first night, Sebastian. At the party, when you gave me your jersey, I didn’t know who you were, but I wanted you.”
“You didn’t kiss me, then, till you knew who I was,” he answers coldly. I frown, thinking he must be wrong— but no. He’s right. I froze up that first time. I know how this must look— like I didn’t want him, then I did as soon as I learned the truth. I shake my head, but I can’t think of a way to explain that this wasn’t the case, that I wanted him all along.
“I promise, I won’t keep anything from you again. I was just so overwhelmed,” I say, holding my hands out in surrender.
Sebastian nods, but not in a way that makes me think he’s accepting my vow. “Okay,” he says testily. “No secrets? Fine. Tell me the truth, Ashlynn— do you think my father’s innocent?”
I take a long, slow breath, let my eyes drift shut— because I don’t want to be looking at him when I say this. “No,” I whisper. It’s the truth, and I hate it.
“Well. I think we’re done here, then,” Sebastian says briskly, and when my eyes spring open, he’s already walking back to the car. My lips part, I want to say something else, but what? So I merely watch in the near darkness as he swing back into the driver’s seat and, without any delay, drives off.
Leaving me behind.
25
Fall break is the following week, thank god— because it means I get to go home. I planned on staying here, truth be told, but now I can’t wait to get away for a week. I speed out of class on Friday afternoon and straight to my already-packed car. My face is still tender and puffy from crying, and my phone is full of messages from my roommates who are sending me funny memes on the hour, every hour, trying to cheer me up. One thing my phone is totally void of? Messages from Sebastian. I haven’t heard a word from him since that day after his practice and, honestly, I can’t blame him. Why talk to someone who not only lied by omission, but is sure your dad’s a murderer?
And I am still sure about it. I think about this as I drive home— how confident I am that Dennis Slate killed my aunt. Somehow, losing Sebastian has made it suddenly easy for me to accept the idea that Dennis Slate is a monster, but Sebastian isn’t. Perhaps it’s because of how much I miss Sebastian; perhaps it’s because even my mother pitied me when I came clean and told her who I’d been in a relationship with. She was shocked, of course, but not nearly as angry as I expected her to be— more confused, if anything. Though she did say that she used my confession to mark off “decides to stop dating ‘nice guys’” on her Bad Decision Bingo board.
“Do you want to talk any more about it?” she asks when I get home.
“I really don’t,” I say, hugging her tightly. “I just want to mope around, mostly.”
“Reasonable,” she says, nodding. “Also, Stephanie sent you a fruit basket. She feels really badly about the whole thing.”
“It’s not her fault,” I say.
My mom nods. “Okay, well, can we talk about your aunt, and just leave Sebastian out of it?”
“Of course,” I say, and slide into a chair at the kitchen table— the one that’s been here since I was a little girl.
“Well, Dennis Slate was released on bail. As I assume you know?” she says slowly. I nod. She takes a breath, then goes on, “And the Slates want to know if we’re willing to settle the civil suit out of court.”
I widen my eyes. “Before the criminal trial?”
“That’s what Stephanie said. They’re under the strong impression there will be enough reasonable doubt to get him off entirely in the criminal trial. She says that if he’s found innocent in a criminal trial, getting anything in the civil after the fact will be harder. If they’re found guilty, it’ll be easier— but then, Dennis Slate will be in jail, so he might be able to move money around so that we can’t get to any of it.”
“It’s not about the money,” I say, shaking my head.
“No,” my mother says carefully, “of course it isn’t. It’s never been about the money. But I want something, Ashlynn. I want him to go to jail forever, and I want him to have to pay us forever, and I want him to never be able to live a day without thinking about what he did to our family. If bankrupting the Slates is the way to make them remember Tessa’s name, then I’ll take it. We can donate the money, for all I care— I just want them to have to give it up.”
“So you think we should settle?”
“I think we should consider it. But, they aren’t going to officially make an offer until this spring, at the end of April.” She waits, like she expects me to realize something. I’m about to protest, ask for the answer, when I get it.
That’s when the NFL draft will be finalized. They aren’t looking to settle with Dennis Slate’s money— they’re looking to settle with Sebastian’s. He’s the one that would be paying my family for ages, the one who would have to think of Aunt Tessa daily. Not Dennis, not even Mrs. Slate. Sebastian, who didn’t do anything wrong. Sebastian, who I still care about, still worry about, still think about even though I know it’s over.
“What do you think?” my mom asks when she’s sure I understand what the settlement offer means.
“I don’t know,” I say with a sigh. “I have no idea what to think.”
“Well, there’s no huge rush. The criminal trial is a ways off, and like I said— the offer isn’t officially on the table until April. I just wanted you to know because…well…” She looks away.
“Yeah. I know. Thanks,” I say, and capture her eyes for the weakest of smiles.
I sleep late and ruin any semblance of a schedule while at home. Mom and I go see every movie that’s playing, and I meet up with a handful of high school friends, all of whom know better than to pelt me with questions about my aunt, and who thankfully don’t know anything about my relationship with Sebastian. By Wednesday, I’m starting to feel the tiniest bit lighter, though it’s possible that’s because my vegan mother has been feeding me actual vegetables instead of a rotation of Easy Mac, ramen, and frozen waffles. Wednesday night, however, I hear my phone chime— and the message is from the last person I expected to hear from.
Sebastian Slate: Are you busy?
I stare at the message, unsure what to do. How do I respond? Is it worse to just pretend I didn’t get the message, or to answer only to discover he wants to tell me another thousand ways he’s angry with me? I sit cross-legged on the twin bed I’ve slept in since I was a kid, debating, deciding…
I text him back.
Ashlynn Sawyer: No.
Sebastian Slate: I’d like to talk to you.
Ashlynn Sawyer: Ok.
My hands are shaking, now, but I hype myself up.
Sebastian Slate: 10 minutes?
I frown, then realize— he doesn’t know that I’m not at school. Why would he? I’d planned to stay there over the break, after all— the decision to come home was made after we broke up. I tense and chew my lip. I hate to turn him down, but Berkfield is almost six hours away.
Ashlynn Sawyer: I’m not at school. I came home for break. I’m in Walton.
Sebastian types something, but never sends it— I’m left with the Ellipses Of Anxiety for a minute or two before they disappear altogether. I mentally plan a thousand things to send back: promise that I’ll meet up with him the moment I get back, offer to give him a call. Maybe we could Skype? Is it appropriate to offer to Skype with your ex-boyfriend, potential legal settlement funder, and son of your aunt’s murderer?
And then I hear it— a knock at the door. A knock I recognize. Sebastian— he’s here.
I fly to my bedroom door just in time to see my mom walking toward the front. She must have heard my feet pounding on the ground; she stops to look upstairs at me quizzically as she enters the foyer.
“It’s Sebastian,” I say weakly.
“Oh!” she whispers. I know Sebastian can see her through the decorative glass on our front door, but my mom doesn’t seem to care. “Should I not answer?” she whispers up at me.
“Yes.”
“Yes, I shouldn’t answer?”
“Yes, you should!” I say, but them cram my fingertips into my mouth, worried I’ve said the wrong thing. My mother gives me a wary look, then walks to the door— but I see that even she has to take a deep breath before swinging it open and coming face to face with a Slate.
“Sebastian Slate,” she says warmly— well, almost warmly, but you’d have to know her to hear the crispness in her voice.
“Hello,” Sebastian says gently. He’s standing away from the door, and I can see he has his hands down by his sides, palms open, doing his best to look non-threatening. “You must be Mrs. Sawyer.”
“I am,” my mom says. Still warmly, but clipped— strong. Large as Sebastian is, my mother’s voice blocks him from coming in the house as effectively as any wall might. “Can I help you?”
“I’d like to talk to Ashlynn, if that’s alright with her. And you,” he adds quickly.
“Well. I’ll see if she’d like to see you. Ashlynn—“ she turns around and calls out louder than necessary, making it appear like I’m farther away than just looming at the top of the stairs. “Ashlynn, Sebastian Slate is here. Are you interested in talking to him?”
“Yes, I’ll be right there,” I call back, then blush when I hear Sebastian hide a snort— it’s pretty obvious I’m not tucked away in another room. I roll my eyes at myself, run my fingers through my hair, then hurry down the steps. When Sebastian comes into view, I feel my stomach flip in excitement. In worry. He doesn’t look angry, and he laughed earlier, so that’s got to be a good sign. Right?
“Call me every ten minutes,” my mom says. “I’m serious.”
“We won’t be long,” Sebastian says, and rather than reassuring me, this breaks my heart. We won’t be long? That doesn’t sound promising.
“Ten minutes,” my mom says again, then lets me pass through the doorframe, onto the stair landing. She shuts the door behind me, and Sebastian and I stare at one another for a long moment.
“Hi,” I say shakily.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he says, tilting his head toward the street.
26
Sebastian and I walk in silence for a hundred feet, two hundred, three hundred. I see him move more than once to put his arm around me, as he always did when we walked together— but then he catches himself, and slings his hands into his pockets instead. It stings.
“How did you know I was here?” I ask when the silence has become too much for me to handle.
Sebastian smiles. “I told you— I make it a point of knowing about girls I’m interested in. And also, some friends of yours tagged you on Facebook.”
I shake my head. “Right, of course.”
“The real question,” Sebastian says, stopping to take an uneasy breath. I’m not used to seeing him like this, and it throws me. “Is why I’m here.”
“Okay. Why are you here?” I ask. We’re walking almost comically slowly, feet sliding one after another, like we’re both afraid to hurry through this time together. Despite this, it’s another twenty steps before Sebastian answers me— I know because I count them in order to ease my racing mind.
“I’m here for you,” he says. “I’m here because I don’t like how things ended.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. “Did you want…is there something you wanted to say? Or…” I’m suddenly worried that he isn’t here to do me any kindness, but to release a barrage of anger he forgot to mention in our last talk. What if he’s about to calmly tear me down? That’ll probably feel worse than him speeding away from me did.
“I’m angry that you lied to me, Ashlynn,” he says, stopping. We’re at a cul-de-sac at the end of my street, near the ridiculously oversized fountain my see-how-we-got-rich-off-a-fluke-investment neighbors have in their front yard. There are flamingos spouting water up into the air, but even they can’t lighten the weight of my heart when I hear Sebastian’s words.
“I know. You’re right to be,” I say, looking down.
“But I also realize it must have been hard for you, hearing me talk about my father and never saying anything. No matter what happened, you lost someone you love. And we never talked about that. We never talked about how sad that was— how sad it probably still is. I wish I’d known. I wish I could make you less sad about it,” he says, sounding almost angry at himself, now, for his inability to fix the problem.
“It was hard,” I admit. “And it is still sad. I think about it every day. I think about her every day. And then somehow being with you, of all people, helped me forget a little. Instead of this dull ache missing Aunt Tessa became like a roller coaster— I’d go to these highs where I only vaguely thought about her, then these lows where I felt so awful about everything I was doing. To her memory, to you, to our families…”
“I wish you’d told me. Not just so you weren’t lying, but so I could help,” Sebastian says sincerely. He looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he looks over my shoulder and frowns. “Wait— are those flamingos?”
“Rose gold flamingos,” I say, sniffing— I didn’t realize I was so close to tears, but now they’re flowing freely, like the sudden mood change set them loose.
Sebastian smiles a little, then takes the smallest step closer to me. “Are you alright?” he asks, tilting his head to try and get a good look at my face.
I wipe my eyes with the bottom of my palm and shake my head. “Ugh, no, I’m a mess. I just wish I could go back. I wish we could go back.”
“Really?” Sebastian says. When I nod, he tells me, “I don’t.”
I give him a disbelieving look, but he goes on. “You asked me in the car that day— what if my father did kill your aunt? And so I…I did some reading. I talked to our lawyer. I talked to my father, even…” His voice is wary now, and my stomach is tumbling. I have no idea where this is going, but wherever it is, I think I might be sick when we get there.
“What do you mean?” I ask in a near whisper, unsure if I even want to hear the answer.
Sebastian takes a long, steadying breath, and stares at the fountain, like the ridiculousness of the
birds might give him strength. “I love my father despite everything, and I always will. Alright? You have to know that. He’s my father.” For a second, I think I hear a tremble in his voice, but then I’m not entirely sure if it was there or not.
“I understand,” I say. My voice is definitely trembling.
Sebastian rubs the back of his head, then meets my eyes. “I never looked at any of the evidence against him before, Ashlynn. I never thought I needed to. I knew he was innocent. But you questioned that in the car, that day. So when I found out who you were, when I began to worry that maybe I’d said something damning about him, I starting thinking on everything you’d said, everything I’d said. Everything stacked against my dad, and everything stacked for him. I’ve never done that before. Carson asked me to look through it all once with him, and I refused. I thought that even looking at the case against him meant I was doubting him. Like it made me a terrible son.”
“That’s not true,” I say, but he waves a hand— he needs to get through this. He looks like he may break at any moment, strong as he is, big as he is. Perfect as he is.
He swallows. “I’m not saying I think he killed your aunt, Ashlynn. But I am saying that I don’t know, anymore. Not like I used to. And what’s most important to me right now is that the person who is guilty goes to jail. Even if that person is my dad.”
My eyes well up anew. I don’t even know what to say, much less where to look or where to put my hands. “Sebastian,” I start, but then don’t know where to go. I settle on this: “I’m so sorry I lied. I love you. Still, I mean. And I won’t lie to you again.”