“Mariah, stop it,” I say, barely able to utter the words past the lump in my throat.
“You don’t owe me an explanation. You don’t owe me an excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.”
She pulls her hair to the top of her head, letting a tendril fall to her right temple. I want to tuck it behind her ear, kiss her just below the lobe, and feel her lean against me. But I can’t. Ever again.
“I think, um …” I say, clearing my throat. “I think things were getting too complicated.”
The stinging in my eyes appears for the first time since my parents funeral as I realize the death of my dreams. I’ve fought so hard never to find her, although I didn’t know she was the one I was trying to run from.
I’ve used dating apps, blown off calls, purposefully ended communication with women, done everything I could to never get to this point in a relationship. And here she sits, at the very apex without me ever having seen it coming. I was head over heels for this crazy girl before I even realized what love felt like. Now I have to break my own heart so that I won’t ever have to break hers.
God, I love you, I want to tell her. I’m so sorry it has to be this way.
“Yeah,” she says, her voice raw. “Complicated. That’s true.”
The air around us twists and turns, seeping through the entangled lies we’re both telling. She steps to the left. I step to the right. She looks at me. I look away. I look at her and she turns to the sink and becomes fascinated with a dishrag.
“I have some things to do …” Her voice trails off and she doesn’t even try to finish the sentence.
Still, I can’t go. “Mariah …”
“Lance.” She clears her throat and turns back around. Her shoulders are back. Her eyes clouded with tears. Her face more beautiful than I’ve ever seen it. “Please go.”
My voice shouts inside me, tries to be heard outside my head. My mouth moves, but I don’t know what I say, only that she nods and looks down as she walks around me.
I find myself following her to the front door and stepping through it as she opens it. I’m on the porch, the cool night air whipping at my skin when I get myself together enough to realize … this is it.
“If you need anything—” I start, but she cuts me off.
“I know where to find you. Goodnight, Lance.”
And the door shuts.
Twenty-Nine
Mariah
“Thank you, Joe,” I say. The maintenance man puts the few tools he needed for this task back in his little metal container. “I’m sure installing a lock on my door at six in the morning wasn’t your idea of an emergency, but I really do appreciate it.”
“It was this or go clean out a toilet in the boys’ bathroom,” he chuckles.
“Glad I could help you.”
He tips a beat-up Dodgers cap, before moseying out of the library. I round my desk and try the lock. It snaps with the crispness of not having been used before.
It breaks my heart.
I just stare at the brass latch, like somehow if I look at it long enough, everything will be different.
I won’t get on the app. I won’t humor Lance when he comes in here every afternoon. I won’t cry.
I lie to myself over and over again, making promises I know I’m going to turn around and break.
The sun hovers at the horizon, rays of orange sunshine spraying up from the tree line across the soccer fields. All night I lay in my bed and wondered how I’d feel when the sun came up. Daylight has a way of making prospects look different. Somehow it didn’t seem like the sun, moon, or stars would make the words Lance spoke last night seem any better.
Tears dot the corners of my eyes as I look at the corner of my desk. The absence of baked goods just drives home the certainty that my life isn’t the same. The pang in my chest is a guarantee that I will never rebound. Not fully.
I dated Eric for years. I thought I would marry the guy. He ended up marrying my sister, which was the most painful experience I’ve ever been through and it doesn’t hold a candle to this.
Eric said he loved me and that felt good. It was nice having a companion, someone to build something with. I would tell him I loved him all the time, so much so that it would annoy him. I thought it was a habit back then, but now I think maybe I needed to hear it out loud. I needed to remind myself, which is how I know I didn’t really love him.
I’ve never said out loud that I’m in love with Lance. I never needed to. He’s my first thought when I wake up and what I’m smiling about when my eyes shut at night. He’s who I consider when I’m baking brownies and the person I want to tell when my sister decides to finally call me. It’s Lance I wait for at lunchtime and who I’m reminded of when I hear a song on the radio.
I never knew this definition of love. It’s not a thing, a word, a piece of paper, or a joint bank account. It’s not a last name or a mortgage.
It’s a tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach when you hear their name. It’s a grin stretched so hard across your face when you get a whiff of their cologne. It’s the touch of his hand when you need it most, a silly laugh when you’re ready to cry. It’s standing up for you when you feel weak and letting you fall when you can no longer be strong.
You don’t love because you’re required to, like my mother does with me. You don’t love out of guilt, like Chrissy. You don’t love because it’s the right thing to do and what’s expected of you, like Eric. Love is a choice. It’s a connection with someone else that can’t be explained, a relationship with someone who both helps you feel your best and reciprocates the good you have to give.
I love Lance Gibson and locking him out of my heart will be the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There’s a vacancy in my chest, an ache that hurts just as much mentally as it does physically. How he managed to dig his way in my psyche despite my best efforts to keep him out, I’ll never know. Why I was stupid enough to let my guard down—I’ll never know that either.
Taking my seat, I sort through emails from the staff. The list of books they requested is enough to distract me for a few minutes, at least until there’s a knock on the door.
My heart beats me to the doorway and falls as spectacularly as my spirits when it’s Tish who’s looking back at me.
“Don’t look so happy to see me,” she chirps, sauntering in. “Why you here so early?”
“Lots of emails,” I say, nodding towards my computer. “What about you?”
“Science projects.” She makes a face. “I’ve seen every possible experiment in my teaching career. I get that it’s not about me, it’s about the kids, but is it wrong for me to just give them all the solutions and take a field trip instead?”
I try to smile. I really, truly do.
“Did you run over a puppy this morning?” she asks.
“No. Why would you ask me that?”
“Because the look on your face is the one I’d wear if I had.”
“Yeah. About that …”
“What happened? And why are there no browniessss …” Her eyes go wide. “Oh.”
Sighing, I find a spot on the opposite wall. “That about sums it up.”
“Okay, I knew you were all flirty with each other. But was it more than that?”
Yeah. No?
Dragging my gaze to hers, I just shrug.
“Do I need to make his life hell?” she asks. “’Cause I can. I have connections. I can even get him on Homecoming Committee and that’s just about equivalent to ordering him into the pit of Hades.”
“Don’t do that,” I sigh again. “It’s fine. We had a little fling. I guess. I don’t know but it’s over now so let’s try to be as normal as possible.”
She sits where the cupcakes usually go. “Either he’s a terrible lay, which I’m inclined to toss out based on looks alone, or he’s a dick. I feel like that’s probably not true either.”
“Guess you’re as confused as I am.”
“You honestly don’t know what happene
d?”
I mull this over for the eighty-ninth time. At least it’s a little numb now, a little gift from above that I expect to wane by the time I leave school today. Or, more likely, as soon as I see him.
“I know this,” I offer. “I knew better than to do this with a guy like him. In his defense, he never treated me badly. In mine, he made it way too easy.”
My lashes flutter in a desperate attempt to hide the tears that surge at my lash line. I can’t look at Tish. I can’t look at the computer. I just sit like a bump on a log, saying a quiet prayer that I can manage myself like the grown woman I am.
“Honey, it would be easy for anyone to lose themselves in that man.” She gets situated on my desktop. “And he’s so cute with you. I’ve seen it myself.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel so cute this morning.”
“I bet not,” she frowns. “I have a meeting with Principal Kelly in ten. I might just suggest Mr. Gibson to help with the floats for the parade.”
“You do that.”
“I will.” She lifts up, the wood creaking as she moves. “I’m here if you need me, Mariah.”
“Thanks.”
I wait for her to leave, until I hear the main library doors shut, before shutting the door to my office and crying my eyes out.
Lance
My pen hits the desk.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
It’s been the longest morning of all time, partly because I didn’t even make it to bed last night, let alone sleep. Partly because I know she’s just a floor above me and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Around four o’clock this morning, I was in my car, engine started, a spiel sitting on the tip of my tongue. I sat there for fifteen minutes, trying to talk myself out of going to her house and just spilling my guts.
I brought my lunch in a little brown bag, figuring I could keep myself busy and not be tempted to go to the library. No such luck. I look at the clock, watching each minute click by. With each number that rolls over, my heart gets a little crazier. With each second that ticks, my feet become a little more desperate to move. Not until ten minutes after the normal time I head upstairs do I spy a book that doesn’t belong to me on the table under the window.
Jumping up so fast I crack my knee on the desk, I hold it in my hands like a prize. Stamped on the bottom of the title page is LINTON UNION HIGH SCHOOL. Bingo.
I take the stairs two at a time, berating myself for wasting time by thinking I was capable of not coming up here. We’re still friends. This is what we do. It would be abnormal if I didn’t go check on her today. I’d be a dick not to make sure she’s okay.
The main library doors swing open. I’m across the burgundy carpet in half the time it usually takes.
How I’ll keep my hands off her, how I won’t just break down and end this insanity is beyond me, but it’s a risk I have to take.
Her door is closed as I approach, which isn’t unusual. The little apple cutout that hangs near the window is cockeyed and I make a note to fix it for her when I leave. Grabbing the handle, I push forward and take a step with it … and run right into the wood.
I flick the handle again.
It’s locked.
Glancing over my shoulder, I confirm I’m alone. I test the handle again, peeking in the blinds to see if I can see her. It takes three different angles to confirm: she’s gone.
My back hits the wall, a poster of the new hit young adult novel comes unattached on the top and falls partially to the floor.
This must be what it feels like to have your heart sliced into little pieces and fed to you. The tinge of bitterness in my mouth is enough to make my stomach recoil.
I asked for this. Every motherfucking day I walked up those stairs in the afternoon to see her, I asked for this. I knew. Deep down, I knew I was getting too close to the edge of not just being acquaintances before I found out she was Nerdy Nurse. Back then, what feels like forever ago, I’d wonder on the weekends what she was doing or if she’d like the book I was reading. We’re friends, I thought, even though I knew where I was headed wasn’t a place you go with a friend.
Allowing my head to fall against the wall, a sense of hopelessness envelops me. This is all too new to process. Do people survive this?
I look at the door, the cool drywall at my back only adding to the frigidity of the moment. There’s nothing warm about this moment, nothing warm about my life.
Everything I used to enjoy all seems lackluster now as I consider going back to the way things were before. I could pull out the app, make some arrangements for the weekend, humor myself until work is over. But … why?
My body trembles with a shiver. It’s not the external cold that’s causing me to move; it’s the thought of never being with Mariah again that makes me feel like I’m freezing.
This can’t be it. This can’t be where our story ends, our jokes stop, our lunches completely halt because I was stupid enough to fall in love.
No. Fuck that.
This can’t be it. There has to be a way around it.
Do I wait? Do I pick the lock and wait inside her office? Do I call the main office and have her paged?
It all seems logical, completely rational, and I’m one step from picking the lock when the library doors open.
My hand goes into the air to tell her not to turn around when I realize it’s Ollie. He sees me and stutter-steps, a puzzled look on his ruddy cheeks.
“You okay, Mr. Gibson?”
“Yeah. Fine. Just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all.”
“I can come back later …” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the doors. “It’s no problem.”
“No, no,” I sigh. “It’s fine, Ollie. What can I do for you?”
His grin could light up the entire city. “I wanted to say thank you to you and Ms. Malarkey. I’m going to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. Ms. Holden was impressed.”
“I’m happy for you.”
“Me too.”
Pulling my head out of my ass, I remember I’m a professional and an educator. Also, that I have news for my favorite student. “I have something to tell you too.”
“Okay,” he says.
“I talked to my brothers and it turns out they have rooms available. Maybe even some jobs, if you’re interested.”
His eyes match the sparkle of his smile. “You’re serious?”
“As a heart attack.” And as I am about Mariah. I glance towards the doors again, wondering if she went home sick or something. Her car was here when I got in at seven, hoping it was early enough to run into her in the parking lot.
“Well,” Ollie says, pressing his lips together in thought. “I might take you up on that. I, um, this is really weird and all, but I stayed at Brandon’s last night. His parents are really cool and, um, I’m not sure if anything will come out of it or if they meant it, but they used to have foster kids. They know how the system works and said maybe they could help me work some stuff out for college or something. At least put me in contact with the right people.”
For the first time in a couple of days, I feel hope. “Ollie,” I say, my voice rough, “that’s seriously great.”
“It is. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I think maybe …” He smiles again. “So, thank you, Mr. Gibson.”
“Anytime, Ollie. And my offer stands. No pressure,” I say, holding my hands up. “But if you need anything, come to me.”
“Will do.” He turns and heads back to the door, pausing before he shoves them open. “And Mr. Gibson?”
“Yeah?”
“You and Ms. Malarkey will be great parents some day.”
“Oh, Ollie,” I say, my throat raw. “That’s not, you know, probably in the cards.”
He sends me a knowing look, one only a kid like him can decipher. With a small nod of his head, he sighs. “I thought I’d never find people who gave a shit about me—sorry for the language,” he adds. “I used to go to
people’s houses and try to be what I thought they wanted to see thinking that would make them accept me.” He takes a step back my way, his voice growing stronger. “There was a family that was super religious once. I read the Bible every night. I can almost quote it for you,” he chuckles.
“That’s not entirely a bad thing,” I laugh.
“I guess not. But there was another family who thought they were mobsters and I promptly wiped all that religious stuff from my brain and filled it with … a lot of things a kid should never know.” His lips turn down. “You and Ms. Malarkey make me feel good just for being me, you know?”
“You’re a great kid, Ollie. You just do you.”
He tilts his head to the side. “You just do you too, Mr. Gibson. It’s all you can do.”
I’m left standing, poring over his curious words, as he exits the room.
Thirty
Mariah
“Thank you.” I take the change, three dollars and thirty-three cents, and want to toss the cashier a penny back just to get away from all the threes.
It’s been three days since I talked to Lance. Each day gets a little easier and a little harder.
I’m not the same person I was when I logged onto the app for the first time and found History Hunk in my matches. Even though he doesn’t want me the way I want him, as someone I’d like to test out forever with, I feel confident that someone great will someday. That my love of books and desire to curl away from the population isn’t a complete turnoff. My pooched belly isn’t as horrendous as I’ve believed my whole life. How could I believe that when Lance Gibson has kissed every inch of it?
But it’s more than that. It’s something deep inside me that knows I can handle shit. I can handle life. I can handle my mom and Chrissy. I can call the shots with them for the first time in my life with no hunkering down and no caving to their wants or exploding with rage. Lance not wanting me is not breaking me—bending me until the point I can hear the straps creaking, but not breaking. Maybe he doesn’t love me, but I do. I love me again. I’ll always be thankful that he showed me how.
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