by Leah Scheier
It doesn’t hit me until the curtain falls back into place and the sound of his footsteps fade. Until this moment, I was like an amateur actress reciting my lines. My face was sad, I understood my motivation, and everything I said rang true.
But I was just going through the motions of a breakup, not really feeling it.
Until he walks away and it actually hits me.
Liam told me he loved me, and I broke up with him. It was the adult, responsible thing to do. I’m sure my mother would have approved my coolheaded choice. I’d picked the right path without getting too emotional. In her book, I’d get high marks for that decision.
Except that none of it counts. Because I wasn’t being coolheaded at all. I was simply cold. I’d shut down my heart, just as I’d been trained to do since I was little. When the person I loved was breaking in front of me, I wasn’t meant to feel scared or helpless or angry. I didn’t have my own pain. My job was to put out the fire—fast.
And that’s what I’d done. Liam’s feelings had gotten out of control, and I’d put them out. But in the process, I hadn’t noticed my own, didn’t feel the wrench of a broken heart, the sting of my loss. I was too busy doing the right thing; I was too worried about protecting his future to care that I’d just stabbed him. And underneath the neat bandage of an adult decision, I was bleeding too.
I wasn’t actually ready to let go of the hope. Liam was my hope for love, the excitement at the start of a new day. He was the jolt of a heartbeat, the space between a held breath, the spill of color in my cheeks. Each morning, I’d waited, counting minutes, for him to appear. I’d dreamed, pined, and overanalyzed. And then I’d spoken to him and discovered he was better in person than in my imagination. He challenged me, made me laugh at myself, even taught me to flirt—badly. And I’d danced like a giddy child after our first kiss. But that was all over now. I could exhale finally.
I didn’t want to though. I’d replaced hope with predictability, just as I’d always done. And for once, I hated my own good sense. It didn’t matter what the world thought or what the probabilities were. I wanted Liam back. I wanted to be breathless again.
But there’s no sound from the corridor, and the beeping sound of my heart on the monitor chirps out the same old rhythm. I stare up at the screen; the reading is steady and undisturbed: seventy beats per minute. Ethan would probably inform me my vitals are normal. He’d roll his eyes if I told him the monitor was wrong, that I believe my number should be zero and the line should be flat. It feels like something inside of me has flickered out, and I don’t understand how the rest of me is still ticking away. My heartbeat is a liar.
I want to sleep, let this dull ache fade a little. If I could drift off for a few minutes, maybe I could forget I’m miserable. Maybe when I wake up, Liam will be sitting next to me, just where he was a moment ago. I close my eyes and slowly count the beeps.
And then Hope bursts into the room, flinging aside the curtain that separates me from the rest of the ward, and rushes over to my bed. “Ethan told me you were awake,” she bursts out. “I was downstairs with your mom. The doctors are finally discharging her. She’s coming up to see you now.”
I have to brace myself for more visitors, it seems. But I can’t handle any more questions right now. I can’t explain any of these tubes and bandages to my mother. I’m supposed to be healthy and strong for her. But all I want to do is rip these machines off me and go running after Liam.
“What’s wrong, Rain?” I haven’t spoken yet, but she reads my eyes and puts her arms around me. “Did you just talk to Liam?”
I try to swallow against a rising sob. “I have to find a new lab partner,” I tell her. The words are totally inadequate, but my tears speak for me, and Hope holds me close as I cry on her shoulder.
“What happened?” she asks me.
I lift my head from the messy tear stain on her shirt. “I don’t know,” I tell her. “But I think I just made the stupidest smart decision in my life.”
“Oh. You broke up with him.” There’s no judgment in her voice, only the sad ring of a prediction that’s come true.
“We were going in different directions,” I explain desperately. She’s nodding like she understands, but I’m not actually trying to convince her. I’m trying to convince myself. “I had to break up with him, didn’t I?”
She doesn’t respond right away; her head is bowed over her hands, and I can’t see her expression. “It depends,” she says finally. “Did Liam make you happy?”
I know the answer, though I can’t bring myself to say it. But my eyes tell her what she needs to know.
“Then why not be happy, Rain?” she suggests quietly.
I shake my head. “Because I’m scared. I’m scared he’ll leave, and it will all fall apart. I’m scared I’ll end up hurting him.”
She pulls back a little and takes a deep breath. “Hold on. So you’re protecting Liam? By breaking up with him?” There’s a faint smile beneath her question.
I try to laugh, but it comes out like a strangled hiccup. “Well, when you put it like that—”
“Or are you just protecting yourself?” she asks me. “Because you’re scared.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re scared of losing control. Of letting someone unpredictable into your life.”
“That’s not true. I wanted to be with him! I wanted to try at least…” I protest. But I don’t bother to finish the thought. I don’t have to strength to argue anymore. How can I explain why I decided to break Liam’s heart and mine as a precaution against our future heartaches? It didn’t even make sense to me.
“Sometimes different parts of us want different things,” she says. “The question is, which part of yourself are you going to listen to?”
I have no idea how to answer her, but I don’t even get the chance to think about it. It’s almost eerie the way my mother’s voice echoes through the hallway just as Hope finishes the question. I sit up and quickly wipe away my tears.
“Are you okay?” Hope asks. She reaches out to grab my hand. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t deal with my mom right now,” I whisper hoarsely. “Can you tell her that I’m asleep? Please.”
She nods and doesn’t let go of me.
“She’s going to ask me why I’ve been so irresponsible,” I explain. I need Hope to understand why I’m turning away my mother. “She’s going to blame Liam, and then judge me, judge him, judge us—” My voice breaks. “And she’s not going to say it, but I know that my three adjectives are stupid, stupid, and stupid, and I don’t want to see that in her eyes.” I can sense Hope staring at me as I bury myself beneath the mess of bedsheets and tubes. “I just went through surgery,” I babble. “It’s not wrong to sleep after surgery. Tell her that. Tell her that I wanted to see her but that Dad was here when I woke up. I didn’t choose him. He was here already!”
“Okay, Rain, calm down—”
“No! I know what my mom’s thinking. And I don’t want to be here when she comes in and starts thinking at me—”
“Rain, you’re hurting me,” she gasps. I realize I’m squeezing her hand; the plastic knob on the IV is digging into her skin.
“What am I thinking?” My mother is standing at the entrance, just beyond the curtain. It’s too late to drop my head and pretend I’m asleep. Hope falls back a little as Mom approaches, but I don’t release her hand.
“What am I thinking?” she repeats as she settles in the chair next to my bed. Her face has filled out a little since I’ve last seen her. “Why are you freaking out at your friend? None of this is her fault.”
“No, I know, it’s mine. I really screwed up. I’m sorry.” But my apology is edged with defiance, not regret.
“I was referring to that boyfriend of yours. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree with that family.”
“Don’t t
alk about him like that!” I snap. “He didn’t mean for any of this to happen. And I’m the one who just hurt him!”
“Never mind,” Mom replies. “We’ll discuss things when you’re feeling stronger. Your doctors say that you’ll probably be ready to go home by the end of the week. And I’ll be able to take care of you.” There’s no trace of judgment in her tone anymore, just quiet concern and love.
“Okay…” The fight begins to drain from me, and I relax my grip on Hope’s fingers. “I’m glad you’re coming home. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too. I’m really looking forward to things getting back to normal.”
“Me too.”
“Your father will be returning home on the next flight out. I’ve thanked him for bringing you to the hospital.”
Her tone suggests no thanking actually occurred and Dad was being dismissed from our lives now that Mom was strong enough to stand.
“I want to see him,” I say.
“That’s fine. He’s downstairs. I’ll tell him to come up before he leaves.”
“No. I mean, I want to see him when he comes to Montana. And I want to visit him in DC.”
She stares at me for a moment, then, as I tighten my grip on poor Hope’s hand, she seems to reconsider. “Your father’s always had the right to visit you.”
“I want to fly to DC and stay at his house for spring break,” I continue doggedly. “So does Ethan.”
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue. “That has always been your choice to make.”
“And I want you to stop judging me for that choice.”
“Excuse me?”
“You know what I mean.”
“You want me to stop thinking? Or you want to tell me what to think?”
“Neither. I just want the right to love you both.”
“Rain, I never told you that you couldn’t—”
“That’s all I want to say,” I tell her. I point to the heavy dressing on my belly. “I have to get some sleep now. My surgery is hurting me.”
The last bit isn’t exactly true, but it’s close enough. I am hurting, but it’s the kind of hurt there are no bandages for. I want to shut my eyes and hold on to Hope’s hand forever.
When I open my eyes again, my mother is gone, but Hope is still sitting next to me on the bed.
“How long have I been out?”
“A few hours.”
“Did I yell at my mom?”
“You made your point,” she assures me. “You also amputated my fingers.”
I glance at her puffy hand. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Part of the job description.”
I smile. “Then you should have fired me by now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean that you’ve been my best friend through everything. And I’ve been just the opposite.”
She laughs and squeezes my arm. “What is this? Rain’s hospital confession? You’re not dying, okay? And we’re fine. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”
“No, I do. You watched me screw up over and over with Liam. And you were still there for me. Like a real friend.”
“Okay—”
“And I watched you build a relationship with Ethan. And what did I do?”
She doesn’t reply, but her silence is answer enough.
“And it isn’t because I was scared that you would hurt my brother,” I persist. “I trust you more than that.”
“Come on, Rain. You don’t have to do this. I’m not upset.”
“You should be. I tried to keep you away from him. I talked about you behind your back. I overanalyzed your feelings for Ethan. Even when, deep down, I knew you were for real, when I could see that you really cared about him.”
“I’m over it. It’s fine. I knew you meant well.”
“No, I didn’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I didn’t want your relationship to work. I was…I was actually jealous of you two.”
She doesn’t answer right away; her bruised fingers play with the corner of the bed rail, plucking and pulling at an errant piece of tape. “I knew you were jealous,” she says finally.
“You did?”
“Yeah, of course,” she sighs. “We all knew that.”
“We? Who’s we?”
“Ethan and I. Your parents. Even Liam.”
“But—”
“Look, none of us blamed you. You just needed time to adjust. Your brother used to be the center of your world. And then one day he wasn’t. That must have been hard to accept.”
I stare at her silently.
“He was talking to me,” she continues. “And shutting you out. He’d never shut you out before.”
“Yeah.” I’m silently grateful she’s explaining my own feelings to me. In her words, they don’t seem as monstrously selfish.
“If I were you, I might have hated me too,” she admits. “At least at first.”
“I didn’t—”
“So I kept away for a bit. To give you time to reconnect with Ethan and, maybe, in the process, to forgive me a little.”
I shake my head. “Hope, you’re not just the better friend. You’re a better psychologist too. Better than me, anyway.”
She laughs and pats my hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to take that from you too. That’s still your thing.”
“No. No it isn’t. I don’t think it ever was.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it turns out that I don’t really want to analyze people’s feelings for a living. I’m actually not that good at it. Even with Ethan. I thought that I knew what I was doing, but I just ended up pushing him away. And I pushed you away too. I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s because of you that I’m so happy.”
“What do you mean?”
She smiles shyly. “I have you to thank for the Secret Rule. It’s brilliant, you know.”
I feel a brief sting of resentment as my stomach knots up. That isn’t yours, I want to tell her. Ethan and I invented that when we were little. The Rule only applies to us.
“Ethan told you about that?” I ask in a tight voice.
“He did. And I thought it was beautiful.”
“Oh.”
Thankfully, she’s staring out of the window so she doesn’t observe my expression when I answer her. I imagine it isn’t pretty. Stop it, I tell myself. This is a good thing. Ethan is communicating with his girlfriend. And you made that possible.
“I said the phrase once just to see his reaction,” she muses. “Secret Rule. He looked confused at first, but then he replied immediately, like it was part of a script. ‘What can I do?’ I didn’t understand, so I asked him what he meant.”
“He was asking ‘What can I do to make you happy?’” I conclude softly.
“Yes,” she says. “It was so sweet. Like an algorithm for showing love.”
I nod. “It was how I taught Ethan to ask for help. And how I told him when I needed him. He couldn’t read my emotions, and I couldn’t always sense when something was hurting him. The Secret Rule was our private code. We were only allowed to use it once a day. So whenever one of us invoked it, the other knew to pay attention.”
“Well, I think everyone should use the Secret Rule. It’s an amazing idea.”
I laugh shortly. “Most people just tell each other what they need.”
“No, they really don’t,” she says. “Most people are afraid to be that honest.”
There’s a rustle of activity outside, and a moment later, Marcus and Kathy push the curtain aside and slink into the room. They seem embarrassed when they see my IV and plastic hardware. Kathy takes a step back into the hallway. “We weren’t sure if you were okay to have more visitors,” she whispers. “Your mom said you were pret
ty tired.”
“But I thought we should have a peek anyway,” Marcus adds.
“It’s fine,” I reply. “I’ve really missed you guys.”
“Well, we’ve missed us too,” he says, smiling at Kathy. “It’s been a while.”
They pull up two chairs next to Hope and exchange anxious looks. Kathy peers at the nasty bottle of murk hanging from the bed rail and Marcus pretends to study the beeping monitor behind me. They’re not the Octopus anymore, I note. But Kathy looks happy. And Marcus seems at peace.
“Are you two okay?” I inquire after an awkward silence.
“Are we okay?” Marcus echoes. “You’re the one with all the holes and tape and shit.”
“We’re getting there,” Kathy assures me. “Still figuring out this new friendship thing.”
“Friendship is cool,” Marcus chimes in.
His ex-girlfriend shoots him a dirty look.
“It’s going to take time,” he adds.
Hope glances between the two of them. “Maybe we should let Rain sleep.”
They rise reluctantly, and as he turns to go, Marcus reaches out and pushes a button on my monitor. It makes a squeaking noise, and Kathy roughly pulls him back. “What are you doing? Are you trying to kill her?”
“I just wanted to see what it did!”
“All right, guys, take the crazy outside!” Hope commands. “Rain needs some rest.”
I do need a break, and it’s a relief when they finally wave goodbye and leave the room. So much has happened since I woke up in the hospital. I finally confronted my mother, I broke up with Liam, I learned that Ethan saved my life, and most unexpectedly, I found out a tiny life inside of me had almost killed me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about any of that. Would others grieve for it? Is it strange that I’m just relieved that it’s all over, that it was never meant to be?
I could try to force myself to feel something, to shed a few tears. But I’ve been borrowing other people’s pain my whole life. Now I just want to mourn the death of what I thought were my dreams. And so, I bury my face in my starched white pillow and let myself cry—for losing Liam and for the love I’d drowned before it could take its first breath.