The Night of Your Life

by Lydia Sharp

  Everything that happened on night one was real. Night one was the only one that stuck. The cosmos are back in motion, finally moving forward again, but not without a retrograde first. Why did it have to go all the way back to night one? The worst one. When Lucy chose to end our relationship.

  When I look up from my phone, I realize what road I’m on. This is where I was after I left the hospital on my way back home, trying to get there before my parents woke. I promised them I wouldn’t stay out all night. But instead of moving ahead, straight down the road that will take me home, I turn the car the rest of the way around and go back toward the hospital, speeding like I promised I wouldn’t. Like I know I shouldn’t. Like I might die if I don’t get there fast enough, because the black hole is in my chest again, and seeing Lucy is the only way to fill it.

  At the same time, I hope I don’t see her. If she’s still there, or was ever there, then night one really was my only reality.

  The night she broke off our friendship.

  The night we spent completely apart until everything fell completely apart.

  The night she never got a chance to tell me all the things she’d planned to tell me.

  The night we should have had our first kiss, but it never happened. It will never happen.

  The night of my biggest screwup. My worst fear.

  The night I lost her and couldn’t get her back. Over and over again.

  What if I still can’t?

  I’ve accepted that possibility, I have, but I didn’t think I’d be facing it again so quickly … I haven’t even had time to adjust to my new viewpoint yet. This is skin I’m not used to wearing.

  As I turn into the ER entrance, I think back, all the way to that party freshman year, and then think forward from there. The only thing I’ve wanted since meeting Lucy was to stay together in some way. For my benefit. I let that singular goal of our relationship control how I reacted to her last night. Even though things aren’t always the best between us, even though we’re like the gears of a broken machine, sometimes moving in sync and other times groaning under the pressure until we snap, then pop back into place, being with her was always better than being without.

  I still believe that. The problem is, she doesn’t. Not this version of Lucy on this night.

  Our breakup probably really was inevitable, then. No matter how unbelievable it seemed to Lucy on a different version of last night that she would ever push me away, it was going to happen eventually, because I may be her outlet for stress sometimes, but I’m also the one causing it. Lucy was right; she is rarely wrong. She needs a break from me. When she pushed me away, I just didn’t want to accept the truth. Instead of giving her the space she needed, instead of giving it any thought first, I went with my gut reaction like I always do and held on to her tighter. That didn’t solve a thing.

  The waiting room of the ER is empty now, the emergencies of the night before taken care of. I wish I could put a Band-Aid on our relationship and know it would be fine again with a little time and healing. But I don’t know if it will. Nothing right now is certain. Nothing ever is. Everything is temporary.

  The receptionist recognizes me, asking right away if I’m back to see Miss Bellini. Any lingering hope I had that Lucy wasn’t really here flickers out and dies like a candle at the end of its wick.

  “Is she sleeping?” I ask, my voice raspy and my throat raw like I’ve been crying. I did cry that first night. I might cry again. My eyes burn.

  “Probably,” the receptionist says.

  Be patient.

  “I—I don’t want to wake her, then. Can you just give me an update?”

  Everything is temporary.

  The receptionist checks her monitor, clacks a few keys, then says without looking at me, “She’s been stable all night. Should be checking out as soon as the morning charge nurse clears her. You’re welcome to wait.”

  We’ll be fine without each other.

  “No, that’s—” My throat catches. “That’s all I wanted to know. Thank you.”

  I grab a handful of tissues from the box on the reception desk and walk out, one thought hovering over me like a thundercloud about to let loose a flood.

  Sometimes the only solution to your problem is to take yourself out of the equation.

  “What’s your problem?”

  Shayla’s voice cuts to me from across the room. I blink, groan, and roll over in bed to find her staring at me from my bedroom doorway with her arms crossed.

  “You didn’t help with the horses this morning. You missed church. You missed lunch. You planning on sleeping the rest of your life?”

  Even though I’m physically exhausted from living seven nights of the same thing, six of which shouldn’t have existed—possibly didn’t?—and emotionally drained from giving up the one person I cherished more than anything in the world, I’m happy to be home, to have my little sister around to tease again. “Yes,” I say, smirking. “This is my life now. Professional sleeper. Don’t crush my dreams … literally.”

  She rolls her eyes, grumbles something, and disappears into the hallway.

  “Shay, wait! Come back.”

  Slowly, she reappears, a scowl twisting her mouth. “What.”

  “Don’t you wanna know what prom was like?”

  She considers this for too long before finally nodding, then sitting on the edge of my bed. I regale her with all the good stuff I can remember. The decorations. The fancy dresses, hair, and suits. The music. The magic.

  Shayla’s attention span is limited, though, even when talking about one of her favorite things, and she’s out of my room before I’ve finished. Okay, whatever, fine. She’ll have her own prom soon enough—and that thought brings a smile to my lips. She will get to have her own prom, because time will keep moving forward. Did it ever really stop?

  I’m still not sure. All those repeated nights definitely felt real at the time, but now … I don’t know … how could they have been? Did I only imagine what I thought prom would be like if I was there? Imagine all the details? The kisses? On night one, I never saw Lucy’s dress, only the straps that peeked out from under her hospital blanket, and her shoes under the chair. From that, did I imagine what she would have worn—something she picked out just for me? Imagine that she’s wanted to be something other than platonic with me this whole time? Because deep down I wanted her to that much. Even if I hadn’t totally understood my own feelings yet …

  Maybe it really was all just in my head. Maybe I blacked out from the stress of losing her, and that was my brain’s way of coping.

  My phone chimes with a text. I snatch it from my nightstand and blink until the screen comes into focus. Still Sunday. It’s going on three o’clock.

  Jenna: I’m sorry I smacked you like that last night. So much awful stuff happened at prom and it all built up and I shouldn’t have let it out on you. It’s too much to text. I’ll tell you all about it on Monday if you’re still okay with talking to me.

  Me: I’m sorry too. I should have been there. But a lot of awful stuff happened to me too. Talk to you about it tomorrow after you tell me how amazing you did on your math test

  Jenna:

  I don’t get a chance to put my phone down before another text comes through. So much for taking a day to myself to wallow in misery.

  Chaz: You there?

  Me: Here

  Chaz: What happened with you and Lucy at the hospital after I left last night? She won’t tell me.

  Strange. Lucy has no reason to be tight-lipped with Chaz. If she’s not telling him she ended our friendship …

  Me: Is she home now?

  Chaz: Yeah I just left her house.

  Me: She said nothing about me?

  Chaz: Not one word. She still mad?

  Me: I don’t know

  But I’m about to find out.

  As I approach Dead Man’s Curve on the way to Lucy’s house, everything that happened with Melody on night one comes rushing back. If night one is the one that s
tuck, the only one that was real, then I still have her as a friend. She ended the night by giving me her phone number. I haven’t tried contacting her yet, but there’s no reason I shouldn’t. If Lucy has ended us for good, a new friend to help me get through that loss, help fill the void a little, wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  When I reach the bottom of the curved incline, a cream-colored Volkswagen Beetle with a black convertible top is being dragged away by a tow truck. I pull up alongside the ditch and park, then take out my phone.

  Me: Hey Mel Just checking to make sure you were real …

  Mel: Hey hi! Yeah. LOL. I’m real. What you up to?

  Me: On my way to Lucy’s house. My friend I told you about. She had a—

  My finger hovers above the screen as all the bad memories steal my attention. I shouldn’t be referring to her as my friend anymore.

  Me: an accident last night at prom. And it was my fault. I need to apologize

  Mel: OMG what happened?

  Me: Long story. Will fill you in later. Anyway I saw the tow truck taking your bug and just wanted to let you know it’s all good

  Mel: Great! Thanks. But sorry about Lucy.

  Me: Me too. I better go. Sorry to cut it short

  Mel: It’s OK we can talk later.

  Me: Yeah. Maybe tomorrow? Let me know when you have time

  Mel: Whenever But don’t keep Lucy waiting. Today is yours JJ don’t waste it. Go create your own fate.

  “Wait out here on the porch,” Nico says from inside the doorway to the Bellini house. “If she says you can come in, then okay. But I wouldn’t count on it.” He grins before shutting the door in my face, clearly enjoying the fact Lucy hates my guts right now. I expect that from him, but this time seeing it actually hurts, doesn’t just annoy me, because I deserve it.

  I sit on the porch swing and wait. It’s cooler today, with a chilly breeze that bites right through my thin T-shirt. The sun is hidden behind a patchwork quilt of gray clouds. It’s probably going to rain again. The mud in our horse paddock won’t even have a chance to fully dry first. Spring in Ohio can be pretty abysmal, but sometimes … it’s pretty, period, with blue skies and cheery birds and flowers blooming. Those are the days I cling to, the ones that give you a taste of summer, the ones that make the dreary days worth getting through.

  As long as time keeps moving forward, summer will eventually return.

  The front door opens and my heart stutters for a second, hoping it’s Lucy. But it’s not. It’s Signore Bellini, and his face is stern. Not the warm welcome I usually get from him.

  “JJ,” he says. “Why you here?”

  Simple question. But the answer isn’t.

  In another reality, Lucy confessed her feelings for me on the bluffs. In another reality, she wore that dress and we kissed, more than once. In another reality, I told her about the time loop, something she believes with every fiber of her being is impossible, and she helped me try to stop it. No one else would have, but she did. In another reality, we skipped prom for a Taco Bell dinner, just us, and we talked about things only we know of each other. In another reality, we danced to our song for the last time …

  Actually, the answer is simple. I’m here because she’s my best friend, and I love her.

  Whether we are friends, not-friends, or something-other-than-friends, I will always love her. In every version we lived the past seven nights, no matter what happened, I loved her, in this way or that. It was the only constant.

  I can’t tell her dad that, though. Not before I’ve had a chance to tell Lucy first. “I wanted to see how Lucy’s doing, after …”

  “She no good.” I open my mouth to ask what happened, but he raises a palm to stop me. “Physically, she is fine. Mentally, no good. Sad. Quiet. Isolating herself. Very upset.”

  “I don’t know what to do. Papà, what should I do?” My voice catches, almost cracking. My fear of losing her is trying to take control again. I won’t let it. I can’t let it win. I do exist without her; it’s just going to be hard. I force myself to breathe. To ignore my gut reaction of panic. To slow down and think before doing. I don’t always have to go with my gut. I don’t always have to improvise on the fly. Be patient.

  I start with, “What did she say when you told her I’m here?”

  “She did not say she want to see you, and she did not say she not want to see you. She say no words since you left last night.”

  No words. That’s what Chaz said, too. I thought he meant she wasn’t telling him just that one thing about us, but she’s not talking to anyone about anything.

  “You think you can help, I let you in,” Signore Bellini says. “You think you make it worse, go home. She need patience, like I tell you before. Can you give her that?”

  I nod. “I think so.” A few nights ago, I couldn’t. I didn’t. But now, I know I can try.

  “Va bene.” He jerks his head toward the door, a small smile touching his lips. “Muoversi, polpetto.”

  “Grazie.”

  Normally his nickname for me, polpetto, would make me smile right back. It literally means “meatball,” and somehow that’s a term of endearment. But my throat remains tight and my jaw remains clenched as I walk in, cross the living room, and head upstairs. This house is as familiar to me as my own, but today I feel like a stranger, aware that one wrong move will get me kicked out. Possibly forever.

  And if that happens, it’s Lucy’s choice. Whatever happens is her choice, not mine.

  Her bedroom door is open, but I knock on it anyway. “Can I come in?”

  She doesn’t answer, but I hear the mattress shift and then her feet padding across carpet right before I see her. For the past week, I’ve seen her in the same dress, the same makeup, the same hairstyle. Stunning, every time. Now, even though she’s in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, her face scrubbed rosy clean, her eyes puffy, and her hair wild … I smile at the sight of her. She’s a mess. This is the private version of Lucy that only a few have ever seen, and I’m one of those privileged few.

  Today she will get the me she should have had all along.

  She frowns at my smile. Glares, even. Then turns and sits on her bed in heated silence.

  I sit on the floor next to the bed.

  Her toes are still painted dark red, the same as her fingernails, remnants of a night she had planned out for a year that, in this reality, never happened. What was supposed to be the best night of our life never happened.

  And like Melody said, everything happens for a reason. So maybe the same is true of what was supposed to happen but didn’t.

  “Do you believe in fate, Lucy?”

  Her brows knit together, and her plump lips press into a firm line. She wants to ask me what I’m talking about, but she’s too stubborn to break her silent treatment. Her willpower wins, and she says nothing.

  “Okay, you don’t have to answer that,” I say. “I know the answer is no. And you know I don’t believe in it, either. Or at least you knew I didn’t, until today.”

  The curiosity burning through her has to be reaching blazing temps. But she stays quiet.

  “What I mean by fate right now specifically is, uh … when bad things happen, they might lead to better things that wouldn’t have happened if not for the bad. Does that make sense?”

  Her lip twibbles, and she offers a nod so slight I almost miss it.

  “When you told me what you told me last night … When you said—” I slouch and sigh, the memory of it like a physical weight and I’m shaking under the strain. It’s time to let it go.

  I sit up straighter, square my shoulders, and look her right in the eye. “You were right. We stress each other out. We always have. For almost four years, you’ve been my number one concern. For almost four years, I’ve been nothing but a person-shaped ball of stress around you, coiled up tense and ready to fend off any little thing that would possibly hurt you, and when I’m not around you, I’m constantly worried about what might happen to you that I won’t be there to help
you with. And even more so recently, knowing we’re going to be on opposite sides of the world soon. Lucy, I don’t want us to be apart. It’s my worst fear. Because I … I”—breathe—just say it—“I love you. I don’t mean platonic love. I mean romantic love.”

  Her big brown eyes widen bigger and rounder than I’ve ever seen them before. Nothing else on her moves, not even a twibble.

  “You were right about us stressing each other out,” I continue. “And I was wrong to deny it. You were right to break us up. And I was wrong to try to keep us together. But you were wrong, too, about us being no good for each other. I’m a better person now than I was before I met you. There are a lot of parts of me that still need fixing, though. I’m not perfect. I’m a work in progress.”

  “I’m not perfect, either,” she says quietly.

  She spoke. Maybe there’s hope for us yet, but I’m afraid to hope even a little.

  “And that’s why our relationship hasn’t been perfect,” I say. “We haven’t always been perfect friends to each other. But you know what? I don’t want perfect, Lucy, if it means I can’t have you. I want you. We’re both in pieces, in different ways. Sometimes those jagged edges don’t line up, and we grate on each other—okay, a lot of times—but when they do line up … it’s seamless. There’s no one else out there who fits together with me as well as you do.”

  She clutches the edge of the mattress and swallows hard, lips trembling.

  “If you think we shouldn’t be friends or anything else, and that we need time and space from each other, maybe forever, that’s your choice, and I will respect it. I’m not here to tell you what to do or try to change your mind. I just … wanted you to know the truth. That I worry because I love you, and because I love you, worrying isn’t a burden. It’s a privilege. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for a lot of things, but mostly I’m sorry for not telling you any of this when you needed to hear me say it. I was afraid of losing you. Mio cuore, mia anima, mia vita. I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it, and that scared me into holding on to you so tightly I smothered you. I’m sorry,” I repeat, realizing I’ve gone on too long. Time to wrap this up. “If I had another chance, I wouldn’t let my fear get between us. I would have said to you last night what I’m saying to you now—that it’s okay if we aren’t always together. We can be apart if you need us to be. But you and I both know there’s no such thing as second chances. So all I can say is I love you and I’m sorry.”