Everything, Somewhere

by David Kummer

  “Thank you,” she muttered after about fifteen seconds.

  “We going anywhere particular?” I asked, drumming on the steering wheel.

  Willow leaned back against the headrest, taking breaths so intently it unnerved me. Then she said curtly, “McDonald’s okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I made the necessary turns and drove back toward Little Rush. Willow adjusted the dial on the radio, where my phone played through the Bluetooth. Something by the National at the moment, a melancholy and rambling song. I offered her my phone, a chance to switch the music, but she declined.

  “This is fine,” she said. Her breathing had almost returned to normal.

  She reached for the floorboards and then picked up a plain white bag I hadn’t noticed before. Out of it, she pulled one of the “holy donuts” that people around here were so obsessed with. They just made me feel sick. Nevertheless, she bit into it and closed her eyes. The relief washing over her confused me and amused me. People looked for and found comfort in the oddest of places.

  We’re all just looking.

  On the way back into town, we passed by Mason’s neighborhood. I glanced in that direction, out of a general curiosity more than anything. I saw Willow do the same, only she craned her neck as if searching for something specific. When she noticed me watching, she straightened back in her seat and stared ahead.

  “So… you okay?” I finally asked. I turned onto the four-lane road cutting through the center of town. McDonald’s waited about three miles away, and I wanted some kind of answer before I sat down with her.

  “Mason… stabbed that Blough kid.”

  “What!” I almost pressed on the brakes, and for a moment the truck swerved dangerously into the other lane. I readjusted and tried to ask more, but my mind blanked. Mason stabbing somebody? What the hell caused that? He’d definitely been more aggressive lately, but that was… out of his usual character. I hadn’t known he even owned a knife. Rich kids didn’t usually carry those around.

  “Blough shoved me. Mason had a pocket knife and stabbed him in the shoulder. Blough called the cops, Mason ran off. I went and hid until you came.” She recited this like some English class assignment, zero emotion.

  “Oh my god. Are you okay? Is he?”

  I tried to focus on the road ahead of me. The last thing we both needed today was a car accident. It proved difficult, though, and I nearly ran a red light before Willow snapped at me to slow down. Once that crisis had been averted, we sat idling in silence, the truck stationery. We stared at the bright red orb, neither willing to speak.

  “He hasn’t called,” she said. I could hear her voice falter, the threat of more crying, perhaps. “And I just… I’m so scared, Hudson.”

  I wanted to reach out and put an arm around her. Or at least grab her hand, promise her things would be okay. But I didn’t. It wasn’t that I felt uncomfortable, because I didn’t. I’d always thought of her as my friend, not my best friend’s girlfriend. And yet, I held back from that show of support.

  The truck rattled to a stop in the McDonald’s parking lot. It was nearly ten, and they would close in two hours. I didn’t feel particularly hungry, and Willow, with her bag of donuts, couldn’t have been either. But sitting in a truck outside of McDonald’s felt even more pitiful than going in. Begrudgingly and together, we opened our doors and stepped out into the humid air.

  I held the restaurant door open for her. Willow shuffled through, head bowed, cradling the white bag in her arms like a child. I didn’t think the workers would tell her she couldn’t bring it in, but then again, I wouldn’t have been surprised. She made a bee-line for a booth near the rear of the dining room. I approached the counter, quickly ordered two large drinks, and then left.

  “Don’t let me see her eating no outside food,” the cashier warned as I turned away.

  I didn’t bother responding.

  When I approached the booth, I found Willow slumped against the dark window, staring outside. Her features, reflected on the glass, were so dismayed that I felt my heart sink. She hadn’t specified how badly injured Blough had been. From the way she’d been acting, I almost expected he would end up in the ICU or something equally serious. That wouldn’t be good, not for anyone. I didn’t know what cops did to teenagers who stabbed their peers, and I didn’t want to speculate.

  “What do you want?” I asked, holding up the large drink to show her what I meant.

  “Hudson, I’m pregnant.” She turned to face me slowly, pale and terrified, like she’d seen a ghost out there in the vacant parking spaces. “I am.”

  I plopped down in the seat across from her, trying not to gape. Our eyes met and her lip quivered. So many questions bombarded me. How long had she known? How far along was she? When was the baby due, would they want to know the gender, what did their parents think? So many more, everything rushing around. My brain, suddenly a tornado, picking up loose objects and throwing them against the interior of my skull.

  “You are?” I felt myself breaking out in a ridiculous grin, the kind of toothy nonsense that scared people away. But I couldn’t help it. “Oh my god, Willow. That’s… that’s…” I reached a hand across the table and grasped one of hers. “That’s so amazing!”

  She looked up at me, chin still lowered. I noticed a flickering happiness, like a lightbulb that’s almost gone out. I squeezed her hand tighter, but with no response. Then again, this time a little harder. She obliged and rotated her own until our fingers were entwined.

  “I’m so happy for you two,” I went on, pressing the point. “I’ll do anything to help. Honestly. If you need… a babysitter or a… a cooked meal or—”

  “Hudson, shhh.” She placed her other hand on mine and rubbed the back of it. “You’re sweet, but it’s okay.”

  I refused to let it drop and leaned closer to her. “Willow, I’m serious. I’ll do anything. This is just… just so good. It’s amazing. God, you’re gonna be a perfect mom. You know that?”

  Her eyes started to well up. She released one hand and used it to cover her mouth, mumbling through her fingers, “A mom. Oh my god.”

  I felt something in my own eyes, almost like tears, or the threat of them. I stood up from the table, and she cocked her head. Then I sidled into the booth next to her, still grinning like an idiot. Everything felt so right. I had clarity like never before.

  “You’re gonna be perfect. All three of you.” I threw my arms around her then, embracing her tighter than I had anyone in a long time. Willow buried her head in the crook of my shoulder and cried silently. Her entire weight pressed against me. I stroked the back of her head and caught my own reflection in the window beside her. Genuine tears trickling down my face.

  In the face of my own nihilism, something worth living for. In the wasteland of this little town, a beautiful event. Something unmatched by anything out there. Only here, in Little Rush, could I find such a friend, an amazing couple that would form an even better family. With Willow in my arms, I had no doubts. They’d be okay. They really would.

  “Don’t give up on him,” I heard myself whisper, barely a voice. “Him and you… you may not be perfect right now, but you’re good together.”

  “I know we are,” she mumbled into my shirt. It stuck to my chest in one area, soaked with her tears.

  “You two are gonna be such good parents,” I assured her once again. “Just don’t give up on Mason, please.”

  Maybe I begged her to stay with him because I didn’t think I could. The rift between us had grown to its widest point. He didn’t want to speak or even see me. At least, if Willow stuck around for him, I knew deep down they’d end up okay. They’d get along without me. Mason had found his lifelong partner. They had a kid on the way. Wherever they ended up, even if I only saw him in passing, these two would live complete and meaningful lives. What could be more meaningful, after all, than a baby?

  She pulled back for a moment and reached for a donut. The bag had slipped under the table. She extracte
d two and handed one to me, which I took despite my distaste for them. We ate them together, in the McDonald’s booth, with our backs to the cashier. The entire restaurant empty around us. Sitting close enough that our legs were touching, her hand resting on my knee, I felt more connected with someone than I ever had. To be here, alone, in such an intimate, platonic friendship… I’d never experienced that before. Never thought it was even possible.

  “I want you to know…” Willow held up a finger and swallowed the food in her mouth. Then she went on, “Hudson, I want you to know we all love you.”

  “Thank—”

  “No, I mean it.”

  Willow turned in her seat and grabbed my shirt aggressively. I felt scared more than anything. She’d really punch me if she wanted.

  “Hudson, we all love you. I love you. And even Mason. No, he really does, shut up. And I…” A moment’s silence. Then she shrugged and kissed me on the cheek, blushing as she pulled away. “Don’t give up on yourself, either. Okay?”

  We spent another twenty minutes in that booth. I thought back on my conversation with Bruce that day, all the stories he’d told, the photograph he’d shown me. It felt good, felt right, to be in this place. Just Willow and I, the only ones in an empty McDonald’s. A thing of mundane beauty.

  Sitting in that restaurant, neither of us spoke, neither of us suggested leaving. I couldn’t help but feel ashamed, because the longer we sat there the more I realized how awful I’d been. Mason had certainly been a dick, but I had as well. Overly angry, self-centered, full of vitriol. Everything I accused him of, I’d managed to emulate. Not that I said this out loud. It was just a deep realization, an aching regret.

  The hour wore on. We waited for a sign or somebody to kick us out. The time dragged by, as it always did in Little Rush, only now I tried to savor it.

  We’re all just waiting.

  13

  Willow

  The week after the fair might’ve been the hardest I’d ever gone through. Even after the brief rendezvous with Hudson and our intimate McDonald’s experience, that night didn’t pass easily. Mason never got in contact, not until the early hours of that next morning. I spent the entire time lying awake in bed, hands over my eyes or against my stomach. Just staring. The ceiling my only company.

  He could be in jail right now, I told myself. I didn’t want to think about that stuff, but the harder I tried, the worse it went. I gave in, after a while, and tasted all of my darkest fears, let them wrap around me like a constricting snake. Did any of it matter anymore? Any of the college classes I’d taken, the fight we had about moving away, all the plans I made for myself. All of that anxiety, as real as it was, took a backseat to this. Me, probably pregnant. Mason, probably in jail. What a way to start this next chapter of our lives.

  Despite the lengthy hours in bed, my mind racing at the speed of light, I couldn’t figure out what I truly felt. I didn’t know, when the sun rose that morning and I met its glare with puffy eyes, if I blamed Mason for what happened. If I hated him for stabbing Blough. Just like I didn’t know if I hated him for getting me pregnant. If he hated himself. So much hate in my life, just then, so much absolute bleakness. Is this what Hudson thinks of daily? I asked myself in the quiet of my bedroom.

  I had no doubt anymore that those texts he sent me were real. That side of him, living in a dark and twisted reality, was the more honest one. Our best friend in the world, drowning right beside our boat… Maybe even under it. But the mystery of Hudson, the complexities of his moody and brooding behavior, would have to wait.

  Mason called me that next morning around five o’clock. When I picked up the phone, voice scratchy and broken from lack of use, he said he was surprised I’d still been awake. Without any hint of amusement, I simply asked the question that had been cutting into my mind for hours on end. No chit-chat, no jokes, not even a “I love you, are you okay?” None of that mattered to me. I just wanted to know what had happened.

  “I’m so sorry for leaving you,” he started by saying.

  “Save it,” I interrupted, not masking the fire in my voice. “Just tell me what happened. You think I’m… I’m not used to you leaving me? You’ve been a real asshole for weeks now, Mason. Tell me what happened, okay? And then I’ll… I’ll decide.”

  His words didn’t come for a minute, at least, but I knew exactly why he’d paused. Even saying it myself, I’d been shocked at the words leaving my mouth. A decision, I told him, but on what? Whether to stay together? Whether to run away somewhere else, forget about this whole town? Mason wanted to stay; I needed to go. He wanted to be this tough guy, do the cool kid things, act like he didn’t care; I needed somebody who wouldn’t and who did.

  So, yes, when they choked their way out of me and into the phone, I knew the words were true. He had been awful. Obnoxious, self-centered, indifferent. Not just to me, but to Hudson. If nothing else, our conversation at McDonald’s last night made that extremely clear. I knew both Hudson and I weren’t completely free of blame, but right now, I wanted Mason to know how I felt. That I had seriously considered dumping him that morning. What kind of person stabs somebody, even in self-defense, and leaves their girlfriend to deal with the mess? Their pregnant girlfriend? What a… a fucking coward.

  Mason told me then what happened the day before. He explained that he’d been seriously unnerved by my news about the baby. This I’d already guessed. But he didn’t stop there. He said that when Blough had shoved me, he saw it as an attack on me and our child. He thought about everything built up between Blough and himself, the arguments, the schoolyard fights, that beating he’d taken at the party. In that moment, with the pocketknife weighing against his leg, he decided that enough was enough. It only made sense in his mind. To lash out in that way, to attack. Only once the blade had slipped in and out of the muscle did he realize his mistake. And flee.

  He drove around for a few hours, Mason told me, and thought about calling Hudson. Apologizing, even begging. Something held his tongue, though, and he didn’t understand until hours later that he still felt legitimate anger toward his distant friend. Hudson, with his bipolar mood swings and his sudden friendship with Bruce Michaels. Hudson, well-respected and never attacked for being “a rich boy.” So many things, he realized, that Hudson possessed. And he wanted them.

  “I’d trade places in a heartbeat,” Mason had said, almost sending me over the edge again.

  “And what about me?” I interjected, trying to maintain composure. I’d crawled to the floor and now lay next to my bed, face pressed in the carpet. I pushed my forehead so hard that it burnt a little. Eyes closed, heart thumping against the floor, I waited for his answer.

  “You think people don’t hate me because of you?” He groaned, and there was an awful, staticky sound as he moved around. I still didn’t know where he’d gone. “Everybody does. They all want you.”

  This didn’t strike me as a compliment, and it hadn’t been one. I didn’t think painting me as a burden really helped his case. I’d only ever been good, or tried to be. I thought of myself as an excellent girlfriend, actually. Definitely above average. That might bring criticisms or even disapproving glances from other boys, but it should be a net positive to him.

  Mason went on, saying that he’d returned home a little after midnight to find his parents waiting in the living room. Both his parents had dark bags under their eyes and weren’t relieved by his sudden appearance. They addressed him, stern but gentle, and explained that Blough’s parents weren’t going to file charges.

  “But why?” I asked, my tone still short. “You… stabbed him?”

  “Those kids videotaping,” Mason said, “one of them posted the whole damn thing on Snapchat. A bunch of others took it and shared on Instagram. It shows… everything. The boys pushing you against the wall, holding you down. And so I… well, it makes Blough look awful.”

  “And you like some hero,” I finished for him.

  “Well… yeah.”

  He finished by
stating that his parents were concerned, but not overly angry, and that in the end, everything had turned out fine. Only instead of comforting my fears, this made me even angrier. Fantastic, things were good for him. I still felt like absolute shit. I was now the girlfriend to this great hero. A real damsel-in-distress. I just wanted to scream at him. But I held back.

  With his story concluded, Mason waited for my response.

  I held back tears, which had returned in full force. Just when I thought the well had dried. And out of a boiling rage came meek words, a broken question. “Do you understand how… how much you’ve hurt me?”

  This was about more than the knife incident. This was about the child inside of me. The weeks I’d spent alone, dealing with this on my own, struggling with the weight of parenthood. so much more than just the ruined fair trip.

  Mason answered with the shaky, lip-biting tone I’d only heard a few times. The kind of voice that tells you somebody is on the edge of crying themselves, even a complete breakdown. “I’m so sorry, baby. I am.”

  “Mason…” Then I said it. I went for it. Laying on my floor, an elbow covering my face. “I need to think about it. Goodnight.”

  And I did think. Goodnight, at five in the morning, served more as a goodbye than anything. I didn’t leave my room until noon, but I also didn’t sleep. Just more of the mindless reclining that had gotten me to that point. I texted Hudson, just updating him that Mason wouldn’t go to jail or anything. He never answered. Apparently, the beef between them hadn’t been fully squashed. Even still, I knew he’d want the assurance.

  Mason and I texted sparingly over the course of that first day. Nothing important, just words for words’ sake. At around eight o’clock that night, after maybe twenty texts combined through the entire day, I said that I was going to bed and would talk in the morning. This lie passed easily, because neither of us wanted to continue the excruciating pretenses anymore. Acting like nothing had changed, with full awareness that it would never be the same.