Tell Me How This Ends

by Victoria De La O

  “Clear enough?” she says, smiling for the first time since she got here.

  “You s-stole my line.”

  “It was a good one.”

  We sit there like that for a while. I’m amazed we can already be comfortably silent around each other.

  “What now? Because honestly, I still don’t have any answers,” she says. I smooth my thumb over the delicate skin under her eye.

  “Do you want to see where this goes between us?”

  “Yes, but everything’s so messed up,” she replies without hesitation.

  I put my head on her shoulder, releasing the tension I’ve been carrying. “I want to say to hell with him, but I can’t ever do that.”

  “I would never ask you to.”

  “I need to talk to him. I know this could be weird, but if he can do it, can you?”

  She sighs. “I don’t want to cause problems between you.”

  “That won’t happen. Jude and I have been through a lot. We can work this out, too. But you have to want it.”

  “This is a terrible idea, Ryan.” She sinks down further into me. “But I don’t think I can turn away from it now.”

  “You sure you made the right choice?”

  Her smile is enigmatic, but then she nods and kisses me again.

  Jude

  I signed two new clients today, one of which I’m researching right now. It’s a tech company—aren’t they all?—that does mobile advertising. Sometimes I wish we’d get more clients that sell actual products. But this is Silicon Valley, where ideas have become their own industry.

  Still, thank God for work. I’ve been killing it the last couple of days, probably because I’ve been focusing on nothing else.

  I get the message I was dreading from Ryan.

  I know what happened so you can come home now you coward.

  I write back: Scale of one to ten how much do you hate me?

  He sends a devil emoticon, so I take that to mean a zero.

  I’m happy he’s in a joking mood, except this means he and Elizabeth made up. Of course they did. As I’ve told Ryan a thousand times, his “I’m sensitive and kind and I like to read poetry” thing is irresistible to girls. Especially since it’s not an act. She’d be an idiot not to fight for him. I wish she were an idiot. I wish she wanted to take a chance on someone like me, even if I don’t deserve it. I wish so many things.

  I ask Ryan to meet me at a bar near my work on West Santa Clara Street. It’s clean and comfortable, and they know me here, so I don’t get watered-down liquor. I arrive early so I can have a drink in peace and quiet. An Adele song is playing in the background.

  Ryan walks in five minutes late, flushed and excited. So he just came from seeing her, then. I can picture her face as he touched her hair and kissed her good-bye, whispering promises to her about how he’d talk to the big bad wolf and make it all okay for the two of them.

  He sits down and orders a beer. He still gets carded, which I find amusing. I haven’t looked under twenty-one since I was eighteen. I’m leaner and darker, and my five-o’clock shadow is more prominent. Ryan still has a rounder face and a beard that doesn’t ever grow in thick enough to be taken seriously.

  He doesn’t seem to know what to say, so I cut in.

  “Let’s get straight to it. I can tell by your shit-eating grin that the two of you figured it all out. So are we cool?”

  “I know you didn’t realize we were into the same girl. You wouldn’t do that to me. But I need to know if it will bother you if I keep seeing her.” He is peeling the label off of his beer.

  My eyebrow raises and my temper goes with it. Who is he kidding? I have no fucking choice here. “Because you would give her up if it did?” I take a drink of my bourbon and feel it burn down my throat.

  “Yes. I would. I’m not saying I’d like it, but I would.”

  “Jesus. Then I’m not sure you deserve her.”

  “Fuck you, man. You’d put a girl before me?”

  I take a second to make him sweat it out. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He finishes his beer and we sit in silence for a minute.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Ryan always was too smart for his own damn good. “You know me. I don’t get attached.”

  He lets out a breath. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  “I moved on. No offense, but it wasn’t that hard.”

  “Cool. If you say so,” he says a little too quickly.

  I order some food and we sit and eat in silence.

  “She makes me happy,” he finally says.

  “I know. I’m glad.” This is just the first of many lies I’m going to have to tell my brother.

  For the first time in my life, I really am alone.

  CHAPTER 8

  Elizabeth

  “You’re not taking this until April. Why are we doing this in October?” I ask Sam, as I drill her on organic chemistry questions.

  “Because the MCATs take that long to study for. And if I don’t get an amazing score, my future is fucked.”

  Sam is lying on our couch in the fetal position. Her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head. She is wearing pajamas that are a size too big and have peace signs on them—a Christmas present from her parents.

  Sam’s from Santa Cruz, and if her family isn’t the epitome of Bay Area living, I don’t know whose is. Her dad is white, while her mom, Divina, is from a big Filipino family. Somewhere along the way, she shed Catholicism and adopted her husband’s New Age philosophy. Now Sam’s parents live like—what I call—upscale hippies. There are lots of those around here. They work in offices but keep beehives and make honey. They use words like “homesteading” and take canning classes, but they own brand-new Priuses and iPads. I can appreciate that they’re trying to get back to a more basic way of living, but where I’m from, those things are called chores, and we don’t spend hundreds of dollars to learn how to do them. It’s like people are playacting at having to fend for themselves. But if they want to spend a whole day up to their elbows in stewed tomatoes, which make your skin raw from the acid, more power to them.

  “I don’t mind helping you study, but if I never have to read about superoxide and water gas again, I will die a happy girl.”

  Sam slams her MCAT book shut. “You have the nerve to say that to me, Price? How do you think I feel?”

  She only calls me by my last name when she’s cranky, so I retreat. “Sorry. I’ll make a coffee run to make it up to you.”

  “And that would have nothing to do with wanting to see your man?” She gives me that sideways smile that indicates she’s trying to start trouble.

  “Maybe a little.” I know I’m smiling, but I can’t help it. This past month with Ryan has been so good. We see each other in class and almost every spare minute we have. I’m happy my instincts about him were right: He is as nice as he seemed. Hanging out with him is so easy and natural that I’m able to overlook my niggling doubts. Mostly.

  “He’s a doll, I’ll give you that.” Sam took to Ryan right away, and that’s saying something, because Sam’s opinion of guys is low to abysmal. “What about Jude? Has he been around much lately?”

  I look away from her penetrating stare. “I’ve been avoiding him for obvious reasons.”

  “Hmm.”

  I sit on the couch and put my feet up next to her. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s just . . . I still remember the night you danced with Jude.”

  “He swore to Ryan that he’s moved on.” And that shouldn’t have stung when I heard it.

  “A guy like him would, I guess. But, what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  Sam shakes her head. “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ve moved on, too.”

  “As long as you’re sure, it’s all good.”

  “So when are you coming on a double date with us?” I ask, changing the subject.

  “Girl, you know I do
n’t need that misery right now.”

  “It doesn’t have to be. There are plenty of good guys out there. They’re not all like Luke.”

  Sam’s smile tightens. She still hates hearing her ex-boyfriend’s name, even though it’s been a year and a half since they broke up. I can relate to that.

  I never knew Luke, but Sam said he was the love of her life, until she walked in on him with her former roommate. Turns out she and I were going through our heartbreak at the same time, before we even knew each other.

  “It’s great you’re happy. But I don’t want to be needy or dependent on a guy,” she says.

  “Can’t you find a balance?”

  “I’m not good at balance. I was willing to change my entire life to be with Luke. I would have moved, switched schools—whatever I needed to do to be near him when he graduated. I could have screwed up my chances at a good med school. What an idiot I was.”

  Sam stares down at her lap and fiddles with her pajama shirt. It’s so rare to see her doing anything but meeting the world chin-first that it takes me off guard.

  “It took lots of time to get what happened out of my head. I’ve dated other guys. But I don’t know that I trust them yet. I just want to focus on myself right now.”

  I’m more ashamed than ever of how I handled myself after my breakup. Sam may have given up on men, but she never gave up on herself. My cheeks burn at the thought of how much control I used to hand over to other people.

  I pull Sam in for a hug. “You’re the most sensible person I’ve ever met. And you’re going to be an amazing doctor. And someday, the right guy will make you feel like it’s worth the risk.”

  She pulls back and motions me off the couch. “Go get me my caffeine, already.”

  Roy’s Station is a small café in Japantown, not far from Ryan’s house. It used to be a gas station, so it’s filled with old signs and other car memorabilia. Ryan is right at home here, wearing his cute black apron and working the espresso machine. He’s chatting with a customer, and he seems confident and at ease—more so than he does at school. When he sees me, his smile is wide, and I warm up from the inside out.

  “I’ve got her c-covered,” he tells the girl at the cash register.

  I walk over to the counter, and he leans over and gives me a quick kiss.

  “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I promised Sam I’d caffeinate her so she could study.”

  “And that’s the only reason you’re here?”

  “I also was dying to see you in your sexy work smock.”

  He laughs and starts making two iced mochas, the way he knows Sam and I like them.

  “Bless you,” I say when he hands them to me.

  “You can thank me b-by coming over later. Jude will be there.”

  I told Ryan we should lay low for a few weeks after he talked to Jude, just to be respectful. Looks like he’s getting restless for us to move forward. I guess it’s time.

  “Okay. That’s fine.”

  “Yeah?” Ryan is so pleased, it makes me feel guilty.

  “Yeah. I’ll come over at six.”

  He leans over and kisses me again, and this time he seems relieved.

  I knock on Ryan’s door, nerves jumping in my stomach. Still, I’m resolute.

  I prepare for my first sighting of Jude in almost a month, but when he opens the door, I still have to take a deep breath. He obviously just got home from work, because he’s in pinstripe pants and a white button-up shirt. His tie is off, and his shirt is open at the neck and untucked from his pants. A rare sighting of a rumpled Jude.

  Jude is like a shark that would die if it stopped swimming. Even standing at the door he’s still in motion, one hand twirling a wooden spoon.

  “Hi, Lizzie,” he says, with a formal smile. The use of my nickname bothers me more than I can say.

  “Hi, Jude. How are you?”

  “Good. You eating with us tonight?”

  Ryan comes up and pulls me into a hug. “Hey, b-babe. Jude made tacos, and they’re g-going to be good.”

  “Taco Tuesday,” Jude says, his tone distant and polite.

  I walk through the house, which is a one-level Craftsman style with wood flooring throughout. There’s a small entryway, with bedrooms off to the right. The first time Ryan brought me here I expected it to be beat up inside, but the whole house seems updated, and both Ryan’s and Jude’s rooms are nice. Ryan’s is beige, but he has a lot of colorful posters of bands on his wall, and a wild, patterned bedspread. Jude’s room is done in gray and black and white. He has framed abstract art on every wall, almost all of which is somber and muted, but with a slash of bright color.

  To the left of the house’s entryway is an open living space, complete with leather furniture and the guys’ media stuff. But, when you step through into the dining room and adjoining kitchen, it’s like stumbling into a time warp. The furniture is a heavy oak set, with a massive hutch and a table that apparently could withstand a bombing. The wallpaper is faded, but you can still see the remnants of vines and flowers on it. You can’t quite make out the pattern on the hunter-green curtains until you step closer and see there are ducks on them. It all feels like a shrine to another era.

  Jude catches me checking out the ducks as he puts dinner on the table.

  “My mom picked those out for my uncle. It was a joke, but he kept them anyway.”

  This all seems so domestic, and I suddenly feel like an intruder who is standing on the outside peering in. I seem to be the only one who thinks so, so I sit down for tacos.

  “Slow down, man,” Jude says to Ryan, who has already consumed three helpings.

  I chuckle. “You should have seen him yesterday. He left me two pieces of pizza, and he ordered a large.”

  “With all those brothers, that can’t be a surprise to you,” Jude says.

  “Nope. One time, my brother Carson ate his entire birthday cake by himself in one sitting. He puked for two days.”

  Jude and I share a commiserating look, and I begin to hope that we might be able to smooth over our rough edges.

  It’s fun watching the boys’ routine—like a choreographed dance. When Jude gets up to get more water, he throws a soda at Ryan; when Ryan clears his plate, he grabs mine and Jude’s while Jude puts away dinner. It’s a comforting rhythm that I know they’ve established through years of being a family, and it makes me miss home. Of course, in our house, there was a lot more noise and movement. And fighting.

  After dinner, Ryan and I decide to watch a movie. Jude changes, then heads outside to play basketball.

  “Why don’t you watch with us?” I ask.

  He stares at me for a second until Ryan says, “Don’t b-be a shithead.” Finally, Jude saunters over and sits down.

  After a few minutes, I settle in and am able to focus on the movie. But then Ryan puts his arm around me and starts to twirl my hair around his finger. He winds one blond strand around and around. From the corner of my eye, I see Jude watching. He has the oddest expression on his face—not longing or jealousy, but almost like he’s studying a math equation and trying to come up with the answer.

  “D-did you get that new client you wanted?” Ryan asks, turning to Jude.

  “Signed, sealed, and delivered. Now, I have to figure out what the hell they sell. What would be even better is if they knew what they were selling. It’s some kind of coupon app.”

  “That’s w-why I stick to English, man. Reading, writing—all t-tangible.” Ryan turns to me. “I mean, not for Jude, because he doesn’t read.”

  “That can’t be true,” I say.

  Jude is lying back in his shorts and a T-shirt, more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. He is on his home turf now. The contours around his mouth are softer, his hair is scruffy and imperfect, and he seems younger.

  “Too busy. Plus, I hate novels. I have other interests.”

  “P-porn doesn’t count, perv,” Ryan says, and Jude breaks out in an honest-to-God belly laugh.

&nbs
p; My mind freezes him in that second—the way his head is tilted to the side, his eyes squinted, his mouth open. I’m greedy for the sight of him, so I keep him like that—memorizing every angle, every quirk. The third toe on his right foot that’s a bit longer. The faint, horseshoe-shaped scar on his knee. The curve of his left bicep and the straight line of his jaw. I’m overcome by the urge to cry, so I get up and head to the bathroom while the boys keep talking.

  I make it through the rest of the movie, white knuckled and edgy. When I tell Ryan I have an early morning and can’t stay, he walks me to the door and kisses me good night.

  “You s-sure I can’t change your mind?”

  I run my hand over his cheek and feel the stubble there. His eyes are expressive and kind, so I let myself focus on that for a moment. He kisses me, and I soak up the warmth and strength emanating from him as he wraps his arms around me. I almost give in.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jude is standing in my line of sight, too. He gives me a small wave and an even smaller smile, and then he’s gone.

  Ryan

  I hit “send” on my online application to SJSU’s teaching-credential program. It feels damn good, even if it means spending another two years at State. Chances are good I’ll be accepted, which means then I can teach. That probably wouldn’t sound exciting to most people, but it feels important to me—like I’ll be a real adult or something.

  I decide to celebrate by going to see Lizzie at work. Sometimes it feels like I can’t know enough about her, and certainly not fast enough. We’ve shared all the usual info that people who are together do—childhood stories, plans for the future. I know her favorite color is periwinkle blue and that she hates banana-flavored things. I also know more intimate things—the way she sounds when she comes, the laugh she uses when she doesn’t think something is all that funny. But today, I want to see her in her element.