To Whatever End

by Frydman, Lindsey

  “Are you sure?” Olivia grabs my hand, pulling it away from my body. “We can leave.”

  “Liv. I’m fine.” I widen my eyes, staring at her because this isn’t a big deal. Or at least it shouldn’t be. It’s simply a matter of timing that has my nerves jittering and jumping. “So, let’s see this statue that apparently looks like an angel.”

  Jack turns around and heads toward the back of the cemetery. Olivia stays still, holding my hand, worry pinching the lines on her face.

  “It’s fine,” I say with another fake smile. “I need a picture. Let’s go get one.”

  She nods, drops my hand, and turns to follow Jack. I swipe my camera bag from inside the car, then trail behind them, keeping my eyes trained on the ground in front of me. But there’s no avoiding the massive number of gravestones laid in neat rows across the grass. I know exactly where my parents are buried. Back left corner, side by side. The pressure in my chest decreases a little when I see we’re heading to the right, far away from where they lie six feet under.

  We end up only a few yards from the fence that backs the cemetery. Jack crosses his arms, looking back and forth between me and the tombstones in front of us. Olivia makes a low noise, but I don’t bother deciphering what it means.

  I stare at the statue in front of us. It must be at least nine feet tall. Solid, dark gray. The details of the sculpture are immaculate. It’s a woman with her palms pressed together like she’s praying. Her head and eyes face skyward, grief and melancholy etched into her expression. It’s…haunting.

  “Jack,” Olivia says in a low voice. “This is kinda creepy.”

  “No. You’re looking at it the wrong way. Just wait. In a few minutes when the sun drops a little more, she looks like an angel.”

  She mutters something back, but I’m not listening. I stare blankly at the figure in front of me, my whole body tingling from being surrounded by the dead. Photography is my escape. Death is my reality. Now the two are combining, leaving a bitter taste on my tongue and a sickly swirling sensation in my gut.

  I crouch down and pull my camera out to adjust the settings. The cemetery would be fine if not for my vision of Griffin. No big deal. No. Big. Deal. I tell myself over and over, hoping it will eventually stick. Hoping the hairs on the back of my neck will stop prickling, hoping my heart will stop pounding. Still, I can’t get my thoughts to stop spinning.

  Days, weeks, or months from now, Griffin will be dead.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, inhale a breath that does nothing to calm me, and then look up at the statue again.

  The sky is the color of a burned tangerine, growing brighter the higher up I look. From this angle, the statue’s sad and despairing face can hardly be seen. But the idea of a guardian angel watching over the dead makes me want to smash the thing into itsy bitsy pieces—like someone did to Griffin’s guitar. No one is watching over the dead. No one is watching over the living, either.

  Sighing internally, I turn my attention to the camera again to adjust the settings before taking a shot. Then I tweak the f-stop, making the background a bit hazier. Inspecting the next image, I find myself surprised. Jack was right. This statue does look like an angel. But not in the way I expected. Its carved stone features are dark, but still bright somehow. The orange sky melts into yellow and white, surrounding the agonized woman who no longer looks to be in any pain. I can’t see her face, and without that, she is an angel, more beautiful than any painting I’ve seen.

  Still crouched on the ground, I look to tell Jack that he was right and ask how he stumbled upon this thing. But my mouth stays open silently, because Jack and Olivia are a few yards away, immersed in a private conversation, talking low. Her arms are crossed. His uninjured arm is tight against his side. Her hair covers her expression, but I have full view of his. Whatever they’re chatting about isn’t friendly.

  I do my best to ignore them and give them the privacy they deserve.

  Snapping my mouth shut, I shift a few inches to the right, getting a better angle under the statue. Okay, time to take a scholarship-worthy photo, Quinn.

  My finger presses down on the button a few times. I shift in the uncomfortable position and take a few more. My knees start to ache, so I sit back on my butt, stretching my legs out along the dry, too-long grass. I set the camera on my lap and glance to the left again.

  Jack and Olivia are still in the same position, still arguing. She takes a small step back, shakes her head, sending her dangly earrings bouncing around her shoulders. He follows her movement, stepping forward and grabbing her elbow, giving it a tug. Olivia jerks back, but he doesn’t let go. She doesn’t move backward anymore.

  I tuck hair behind my ear, my chest tightening from their unknown conflict. Should I say something? Couples fight. Totally normal. But he shouldn’t be grabbing her, and isn’t it too early in their relationship for a serious argument? Why now, here at the cemetery? Only minutes ago, the two of them were in the car, smiling, chatting, and holding hands.

  For a moment, I look at the statue, then back at my best friend. I don’t like the way he’s gripping her elbow when she obviously tried pulling away.

  “Hey, Liv,” I say casually. “I want your opinion on this angle.” I’ve never asked her for photography advice before because she honestly has none to give, but I’m giving her an out, since Jack clearly won’t. She might like dramatics more than me, but even she can’t want to be trapped in that conflict.

  Her head whips my way. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”

  I ensure my lips pull upward while I watch her and briefly slide my gaze toward Jack. He drops the hold he has on her, and she ambles toward me. Her lips are a flat line, her brows pinched, eyes wide.

  “Do you think this side of the statue is cooler than the left?” I ask, motioning for her to sit next to me.

  “Uh…” Olivia lowers herself to the ground, giving me a funny look before glancing upward. “The statue faces straight forward, so both sides are the same, aren’t they?”

  “Well, no.” I don’t bother explaining the differences. Yes, the statue is facing forward, but both sides aren’t the same. Her head is angled to the right. One arm is higher than the other. The elegant dress she wears doesn’t flow exactly the same from any angle. I didn’t expect Olivia to notice those things. I needed Jack to believe only that I honestly wanted her opinion. I so don’t want to be caught up in the middle of a couple’s argument.

  Olivia pulls on a curl, sighing. “It is really pretty, though.”

  I nod, picking up my camera again to take more images. Jack walked over toward us when Olivia did, so I can’t say anything about the way he grabbed her. Can’t ask her if that’s normal Jack behavior. Later, when we’re alone, I’m going to find out all the details of their relationship—including why they left me to argue. Jack seems like a good guy who really cares about my best friend. I don’t want to be wrong about him, but I am definitely bringing this up with him later, when Olivia isn’t around.

  I have enough to worry about with Griffin and his effed-up fate. Then there’s the stalker who’s after me for unclear reasons. I don’t need to be worrying about Olivia and Jack, too. Someone deserves that happy ending.

  My phone buzzes with a text. I pull it out, expecting it to be from Grandma Ruth. My heart does a small flip when I see his name.

  Griffin: I’ve been craving Timbits for days now. Feel like going to Tim Horton’s with me?

  My pulsing heart reminds me just how much I miss Griffin. I hated how our relationship disintegrated into confusing feelings. I hated the silence. I don’t want him to love me, but damn, I’d really love to be his friend. Maybe that could be enough, enough to change his future and enough to keep me there with him.

  Me: Give me like an hour? I’ll meet you at your place.

  Chapter Twenty

  About an hour later, Griffin takes us toward the closest source of Timbits. The dri
ve is extremely quiet for the first half of the trip. I’m afraid to open my mouth, ask the wrong questions, then have him clam up on me. But I hate this, being on edge all the time.

  “I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I say, breaking the silence. “I’ll do whatever I can to make things right.”

  Griffin sighs. “I’m not mad. I already admitted I was jealous. Is that not enough for you? I’m still falling—” He stops abruptly, as if he’s about to spill a CIA secret. He inhales, shakes his head, nearly in defeat. “I’m falling for you, Quinn. You’re brilliant and beautiful, and you’re the best kind of person to laugh with. I…I don’t want to lose you.” He looks away, like maybe he’s embarrassed himself. I wrap my fingers around his and give him a warm smile.

  “You have no idea how much you mean to me,” I say softly.

  We didn’t wait long for our doughnuts and coffee before sitting down. He sends me a small smile.

  After we each eat a few delicious sugary balls of fried dough, Griffin’s eyes pinch together, and he does that only when he’s concerned about something.

  “You’re interesting and smart,” he starts with a grin. “You can dish it out as much as anyone else. You laugh at my jokes, even though a lot of them are stupid. You’re curious and kind—from what I can tell. You make my heart take a different rhythm.”

  To nearly every girl in existence, this would be a dream come true. It would be for me, too, if I wasn’t trying to keep him from falling in love with me. If I were a normal, non-cursed girl, life would be brilliant now.

  But everything’s a struggle and an unstable showcase of normal.

  “Griffin…” I fidget in my seat. “I can’t let this friendship turn into anything more. It’ll get messy. I only want you to be happy.” The words sound cliché once I’ve said them, but I do mean them.

  His eyes darken, lips turned downward. “You obviously make me happy. I don’t see what the problem is.”

  “I just want to be friends. For now. Can we do that, please?” I beg.

  “Friends.” He makes a throaty noise. “I don’t want to be your friend, Quinn. I want…” He leans in a little closer and whispers, “I want to have you all to myself. I know it’s selfish, but I can’t deny the truth. Something tells me you can’t deny the truth, either.”

  “There are so many things going on, I…don’t want to dismiss you. But you’re in potential danger if you’re around me.”

  “You’re also in danger.” Griffin narrows his eye.

  “I…” Flipping damn. “I can’t put you in danger if I can avoid it.”

  “Doesn’t it matter that I care about you?”

  “It just doesn’t change anything.”

  There’s a long, uncomfortable silence as he stares at me. Then he shakes his head and says, “You’re a terrible liar.” There’s no warmth in his statement. There’s no warmth in his eyes.

  My heart fractures, causing a painful sensation inside my chest. This is the last thing I want—to walk away from Griffin. To lie to him. I wasn’t the only one wanting this to be something other than friendship. I could tell him that last part, couldn’t I?

  “I don’t want to be friends,” I blurt, my pulse racing. “I mean not only friends. Please believe that if I could explain, I would. But after this situation resolves, maybe we could…try again?” I nearly cringe at my pathetic offer. Who am I to expect him to wait?

  Griffin’s features soften. He licks his lips and shoves a hand through his hair. “So you don’t want to see me anymore, no hanging out getting Timbits?”

  “No, I do want to see you.” My tongue feels like sandpaper despite the water I’ve been drinking. “I just need things to be…slower. If I can figure out what’s going on with me, this could work. Eventually.” I’m not sure how much of that I believe, but I wish for it to be true.

  We finish the remainder of the doughnut holes in silence. By the time we get into his car, I’m brokenhearted and flushed with anxiety. There’s no way he’s going to want to “hang out” with me as a friend. I’m sure I look shady as hell, hiding secrets and telling half-truths.

  My phone beeps with a new text message.

  Olivia: Remember, tomorrow, the theme is black and white. Trust me, Jack’s roommate’s ideas were soo much worse. No need to bring anything—other than that hot boyfriend of yours!

  “Shit,” I mumble when we pull into the parking lot.

  “What?” Griffin says.

  “I completely forgot I promised Olivia that we’d show up to this party Jack is throwing for his roommate’s birthday. It’s tomorrow night, and it’s a themed party, it’s—never mind, it’s not that important, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go.”

  Griffin turns off the ignition. “Do you not want me to go?”

  “No, no. That’s not what I mean.” My response is automatic. “I just figured after the conversation we had, you wouldn’t be interested in seeing me at all.”

  “I don’t want to never see you again. I like you. I enjoy your company. I understand going through things you can’t always explain. Just as long as these ‘things’ don’t involve kissing another guy.” He grins to show he’s joking, but his eyes look uncertain.

  “Trust me, there’s no other guy. You’re the only guy I want to see.”

  “But only as friends?”

  I frown. “Sorry, I’m kind of being an ass.”

  He waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. I think my heart can handle it.” He gets out of the car, and I do the same. “What time is this party tomorrow?” he asks.

  Once I meet him in the front of his car, I try to contain the excitement bubbling in my chest. “You really want to go?”

  Griffin shrugs, tucking his hands into his jeans pocket. “You did say I should have more friends. Parties are the best way to find potential friends. Besides, I don’t have anything else to do. Oh, and you better not tell anyone this, but…I love a themed anything.”

  I laugh, and then I’m suddenly consumed with the desire to kiss his full, smiling lips. It hits me out of nowhere. Boy, I wish I didn’t have to push him away. Was inviting him to the party even a good idea? It just causes more torture—for me and for him.

  Flipping hell, I’m selfish.

  Well, at least this isn’t a couples party, so we can go together and then mingle separately. It would be good for Griffin to make new friends. I’m sure I can avoid him for most of the night. After the party, maybe it’ll be easier to stay away from each other.

  “The party is at seven. About ten minutes away.”

  “Do you want me to pick you up?” he asks.

  I say yes before I can tell my brain that no would be the better answer. We could just meet up there—that’s more of what a friend would do, right?

  Griffin turns toward his apartment. “So I’ll pick you up at seven thirty? We’ll be fashionably late.” He grins over his shoulder at me.

  “Sure,” I say through the lump in my throat.

  I watch Griffin enter his place before opening the door to my own. My heart is still racing, and now my palms are sweaty. My subconscious knew even mentioning the party would lead to a potential disaster. What we need is space. What I need is for Griffin to not fall in love with me.

  My heart aches at my own thoughts because the truth is… I want Griffin to fall in love with me.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The next day, I wake with regret roiling in my stomach. I made a mistake. I let my heart give Griffin the chance to come to the party with me. I honestly expected a no thanks after the whole “I want to be your friend” bit. Guess I should’ve just not mentioned it. Then I could’ve made up an excuse to Olivia that Griffin wouldn’t be coming.

  Way to go, smart one.

  As I get ready for the black-and-white themed party, trying to keep a positive mind, I search for something epic to wea
r. Nothing I own is close to epic, so I open a box that hasn’t been touched in years. Nostalgia quickly has me in its grip. This is a box of my mother’s belongings. Some of them, anyway. The items I wanted to keep for myself, hoping one day I’d grow big enough to wear the clothes. Tears prickle my eyes. I blame the trip to the cemetery and the reminder of my parents. So in a way, I blame Jack.

  Sitting in front of the giant box, I’m surrounded with clutter. Well, it looks like clutter, but it’s actually priceless pieces of my history. A small silver photo book with pictures of me with Mom and Dad. A handful of Mom’s favorite romance novels. A mildly grass-stained ball from the year Dad convinced me to play T-ball. Mickey Mouse ears that I have no memory of ever wearing.

  The longer I sit on the floor and reminisce, the heavier my heart grows. The box still smells faintly of the way my childhood house smelled. Or maybe that’s just my brain making things up.

  I pull out a black dress that belonged to Mom. It droops off one shoulder and frames my waist and hits in a flattering way. I grin at my reflection. The material is soft, and I feel elegant wearing it. I saw Mom wear it only once, for a wedding she and Dad went to.

  After taking a little extra time on my hair and makeup, I meet up with Griffin outside, in between our apartments.

  “Wow.” He says it so softly, I wonder if he even meant to say it out loud. “You look…amazing.”

  “Thank you,” I try a little curtsy, hoping to be funny, but it actually feels like flirting. I clear my throat. “It was my mom’s dress. It looked better on her.”

  “I doubt it.”

  My face heats in the fading sunlight. “I’m glad you went with black, too. I don’t think white pants or a white jacket would work for you.”

  He raises a brow, moving closer, sticking his hands into his pockets. “You don’t think I can pull off white?”

  “Honestly? No.” In my vision, he dies wearing a white shirt. “But you do look handsome in all black.”

  He grins and holds out his elbow for me. Panic and uncertainty pulse through my veins as I wrap my hand into the crook of his arm. This wasn’t supposed to be a date. It’s too intimate to not look like a date. Anxiety thrums under my skin while frustration knots itself in my gut. Frustration at not being able to keep my distance from Griffin. After tonight, no more.