Hearts, Strings, and Other Breakable Things

by Jacqueline Firkins

  “In other words, you’re still hoping that other guy comes around?”

  Edie sighed. The moment had passed. The music had ended. The glorious, languid, just-the-right-size feeling she’d been wallowing in vanished, erased by the intrusion of annoying realities.

  “I’m over it,” she said. “Mostly.” She got up and took the guitar from Henry. It was time to head inside. Henry had been the perfect diversion from everything that was stressing her out, but the conversation had soured, turning to the absolute last topic she wanted to discuss. Why couldn’t they just end their afternoon with a song and a smile?

  Henry casually reclined as if he was in no hurry to leave.

  “If it’s any help,” he said, “they’ve been fighting like crazy lately.”

  A little flutter of hope tickled Edie’s belly, followed quickly by a rush of self-loathing for hanging so pathetically on anything that fed her fantasy.

  “I don’t need to know that,” she said.

  “I could do some reconnaissance for you.”

  At the suggestion, something snapped inside Edie. She planted herself in front of Henry, scowling hard enough to wilt the roses.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “What do you mean?” He blinked up at her, all innocence and confusion.

  “One minute you’re singing me this amazing song and asking me to break my heart over you. The next, you’re offering to help me get another guy, one you’ve repeatedly told me not to hold out for.”

  “Maybe I just want to see you happy.”

  Edie opened her mouth, ready to spout a whole slew of denials. Henry wasn’t an altruist. He only wanted to make himself  happy. He was collecting conquests, scheming to win her over by any means possible so he could add one more broken heart to his growing list. Then again, what if, just this once, he wasn’t tossing out another sweet but hollow phrase, presuming it was what she wanted to hear? What if he really meant it?

  “Henry? Have you ever been friends with a girl?”

  He considered for a moment, running a thumb along the back of the bench.

  “I guess not.”

  “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

  Chapter Twenty

  * * *

  In the days that followed the commencement of Edie’s unlikely friendship with Henry, she started her job and caught up on her homework. She also wrote three more discardable essays: one about Catherine the Great, one about Catherine de’ Medici, and one about a woman named Catherine who busked by the Burger Barn back in Ithaca. Meanwhile, Julia was glum. Maria was aloof. Claire was polite but terse. She avoided Edie in the halls. She switched seats in any classes where she was previously only a desk away. She used the lunch hour to gloat about Sebastian: their amazing night last Saturday, the romantic getaway they planned after graduation, and the condo she was going to help him furnish in New York, where they’d be all cozy together on weekends. The girls cooed and sighed, goading her on, but Edie suspected Claire’s stories weren’t just an attempt to share her joy or entertain her friends. She was staking her claim.

  Without kissing anyone, Edie had managed to upset three girls. This might’ve given her good reason to steer clear of both Sebastian and Henry for a while, but it had the opposite effect. Edie felt even more isolated and therefore even more desperate for a friend. At that particular juncture, only two people were volunteering for the position.

  Thus Edie found herself on Friday afternoon in Sebastian’s bedroom, scanning his shelves for books to borrow while he sat cross-legged on his bed in a loose pair of linen shorts and a Yale T-shirt Tom had given him before getting expelled. The room was large but bland, with simple, modern furniture and an almost oppressive amount of navy blue. Neatly organized bookshelves lined one wall while a trio of sailboat photos hung above the bed on the other side of the room. When asked, Sebastian confessed that his mom hung the photos about five years ago. She thought he was into sailing because he had a toy boat as a kid. He didn’t want to disappoint her so he left the pictures up. Sensing a theme in his life, Edie dropped the subject there.

  They continued to chat while Edie picked out a few books. Sebastian noted that he and his parents had been looking at condos near Washington Square. Edie talked about how much she enjoyed her new job. She pulled out an old hardback copy of Adam Bede and stared at the cover, wondering why the title was jarring her. Then she remembered it was the George Eliot novel she’d quoted on her first day back in Mansfield. As she removed it from the shelf, ready to ask Sebastian about it, a chunk of papers slipped out with the book, folded in half and stapled together. She unfolded it and read the front page: The Safety of Boxes, by Sebastian Summers. In the top corner was a handwritten note that said, Submit this, followed by a few lines of illegible scribbles and an A+.

  “What’s this?” Edie returned the book and held up the paper.

  Sebastian pressed his long legs against his chest, crossing and uncrossing his ankles as if he didn’t quite know how to make all his pieces fit together.

  “A short story I wrote for class,” he admitted. “I guess my teacher liked it. She thinks I should submit it to a literary magazine, but I don’t know. My parents would be really hurt if they knew other people were reading about our family.”

  “What’s it about?” She forced herself not to peek past the cover page.

  Sebastian ran his full gamut of tics and twitches, scratching his neck, tugging at his collar, smoothing his hair. Edie was about to apologize for prying when he spoke up.

  “It’s about that day in June. When we hid in my dad’s old wardrobe.”

  Edie closed her eyes as the memories swept in: two kids cramped in a cabinet, knees to noses, drawing lampposts and lions on old wood, their wool scarves wrapped around their necks in the middle of summer, certain that if they waited long enough, Mr. Tumnus would take them to a land of endless winter. Playing Narnia had been one of their favorite games, a way to escape into their combined imaginations. Then, one day, when the house was filled with people in black suits and black dresses, whispering their sorrys and sympathies as if saying the words any louder would shatter the listeners, the wardrobe became more than a game. It turned into a refuge where an eight-year-old boy could hide his tears while a seven-year-old girl wrapped her gangly arms around his bobbing shoulders and they shared one of their first silences.

  “I remember that day.” A lump rose in Edie’s throat, making her breath jagged.

  “I begged my mom to keep the wardrobe but she said there was no point holding on to broken things.”

  Edie wrapped a hand around her locket, brushing the loose hinge with the side of her thumb.

  “I kinda like broken things,” she said.

  “Yeah. Me too.” Sebastian rubbed at a worn corner on his bedside table, his eyes downcast and his expression unsettled. After a long moment, he looked up and met Edie’s eyes. “I don’t know how I would’ve pulled through that summer without you. How did you always know exactly what I needed when I needed it?”

  “Did I?” Edie’s voice cracked, as though her body were expanding to make more room for all her emotions.

  “You were the best friend a boy could ask for.”

  They shared a smile as they added another complicated silence to their expanding repertoire, full of mutual awareness that life was sometimes difficult, often unfair, always imperfect, and best when shared with someone who loved you. As all the things that didn’t need to be said gradually settled, Edie glanced at Sebastian’s story, saddened to think his teacher might be the only one to ever read it.

  “Will you ever let me read some of your writing?” she asked.

  “I guess so. If you let me hear one of your songs.”

  Edie lit up at the idea. Now that she was playing again, she had so many songs she wanted to share with him, not the love songs but the ones about empty spaces, unexpected losses, and unspoken goodbyes, the sort of songs Sebastian would understand. He wouldn’t tell her she w
as being melodramatic, sentimental, or temperamental. He knew how it felt to redefine words like home, family, and us.

  “Promise?” she asked.

  “Yeah, just, um, maybe not today? And maybe not that story?” Sebastian tipped his chin toward the papers, biting back what Edie finally realized might be tears.

  She wedged the story in with the books.

  “Okay,” she said. “Whenever you have something you want to share.”

  * * *

  Edie and Sebastian settled into an easy camaraderie for the rest of the afternoon, thanks largely to Edie’s proposal that they escape their deep thoughts by busying themselves with an activity. Sebastian suggested swimming or shooting hoops while Edie tossed out a few ideas that didn’t involve bare skin or the risk of physical contact. After an increasingly silly brainstorming session, they decided to try baking. Neither of them had much experience, but at least the task got them out of the bedroom.

  Over the next couple hours they burned three batches of chocolate chip cookies while they lost themselves in an animated discussion about the courses they wanted to take next year, the bands they were each listening to, and the ending to Villette, which had left them both reeling. The only topic they completely avoided was their love lives. Edie of course had lied about hers and hoped she’d never have to admit it. She wasn’t sure about Sebastian’s motives for avoiding the topic, but she didn’t question them for long. Less Claire was all good.

  As Edie scrubbed the encrusted cookie pan and Sebastian threw away the evidence of their mutual distraction, she smiled to herself. She might not be as “over” her crush as she’d claimed to Henry last weekend, but she’d made some strides in building a friendship. Not just any friendship. One that really mattered. Maybe Edie’d finally learned her lesson about unavailable guys. Maybe an afternoon with Henry had provided the diversion she needed. Maybe the repeated blare of the smoke alarm prohibited a romantic mood. However the change had transpired, things were finally good between her and Sebastian, culinary catastrophe notwithstanding.

  When Edie was ready to head home for dinner, Sebastian walked her to the door. He paused in the foyer while she stepped onto the front stoop, carefully balancing a small stack of borrowed books. The two of them faced each other, both shifting awkwardly as per habit, but without the tension that’d plagued so many of their interactions. He no longer seemed racked by an internal dilemma. She no longer felt preoccupied with what she couldn’t have. There was no fence between them.

  “Got a quote before you go?” he asked. “Something from our pal C. S. Lewis?”

  “I read those books a long time ago.”

  “C’mon. Show off that Velcro memory.”

  Edie took a moment to consider Sebastian’s unread story, his secret longing to be more like the kid he once was, and his incongruity within a house filled with too few broken things. Then she thought through all her favorite phrases about frigates, forests, fawns, and fantasy, seeking a quote that might resonate not to a child, but to a guy who hadn’t yet realized that his imagination was something to use, not something to hide.

  “‘One day,’” she said, “‘you will be old enough to start reading fairytales again.’”

  A smile spread across Sebastian’s face, slowly, sweetly, sadly.

  “You’re amazing.”

  “I’m a freak of nature.”

  “Guess the score’s four to two now.”

  Seizing the moment to prompt a little honesty, Edie took a bracing breath and forced herself to meet Sebastian’s beautiful, blue, nice-guy eyes, nestled perfectly above softly slanted cheekbones and a pair of almost-dimples.

  “We don’t need to keep score anymore,” she said. “Especially when you can quote yourself.”

  He leaned against the door frame and combed a hand through his hair, maybe because it was messy and maybe just because.

  “I had a feeling you’d figure it out,” he said.

  “I Googled it. When I typed I envy my words once spoken, all I got was a bunch of definitions for ‘envy.’” She adjusted her armload of books but she kept her eyes on his. “I liked what you said.”

  “Really?” he asked as if astonished.

  “Of course,” she said as if astonished he was astonished.

  His dimples lost their almost-ness as his eyes began to sparkle. Edie felt a little surge of joy, knowing she helped put that sparkle there. God, she was glad she wasn’t trying to avoid him anymore. They were good as friends. They spoke the same language. They could cheer each other on among a sea of people who didn’t understand them.

  Sebastian set his hand on the doorknob. Edie took his gesture as her cue to leave, grateful she didn’t need to stammer out an excuse about things in things. As she said goodbye and headed down the front steps, he called after her.

  “We should do this again sometime.”

  She spun around, eyeing him uncertainly.

  “The Toll House gods would argue otherwise.”

  “Not the baking,” he clarified through a laugh. “Just, you know, hanging out.”

  “Sure. Great. Anytime.”

  “Tomorrow evening?” He watched her in that way he had, as if his questions were bigger than they sounded and her answers held weight.

  Edie mentally ran through her Saturday agenda: write her umpteenth useless scholarship essay, study for her calculus test, start reading another dense novel, watch a few cat videos. None of it sounded half as nice as spending more time with Sebastian. Was it weird to hang out two days in a row? Did it matter?

  “Okay,” she said.

  He beamed at her so brightly he almost fluttered a butterfly in her belly. Then his smile dropped away, replaced by an embarrassed grimace.

  “Sorry. I forgot.” He knotted a fist in his hair. “I promised Claire . . .”

  Edie forced a stiff smile, thankful for his ambiguity. The less she knew about his relationship with Claire, the better. Her crush had diminished that week, but envy was a wily opponent, prone to stealth attacks. She was about to assure Sebastian they could hang out another time, but he spoke up first.

  “Claire and I talked about doing a game night. You up for that?”

  “Um, maybe?” Edie wasn’t sure she was ready to hang out with both Sebastian and Claire, especially after Claire had been so prickly at school. Should she fake a flu or invent a prior commitment? Or was being around Sebastian’s girlfriend the next step in cementing their friendship?

  “We’d need a fourth.” His gaze drifted upward while he drummed his fingers against his lips. “Know anyone who likes to play games?”

  Edie almost laughed. Despite all the unanswerable questions swimming through her brain lately, this last one was easy.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I know someone who loves to play games.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  * * *

  Edie opened the front door to find Henry leaning against the nearest column of the portico. While she’d thrown on her cutoffs and a thrifted tee that declared, CECI N’EST PAS UNE T-SHIRT, he wore a sleek black dress shirt and a pair of dark jeans that sat low on his hips. His arms were folded. His posture was relaxed but confident. His familiar smirk was already in place.

  “Thanks for coming over,” she said.

  “Are you kidding? Eat Your Heart Out is one of my favorites.”

  Edie shot him a glare.

  “Poker only,” she reminded him. They’d covered this via text when she reached out to see if he was free tonight. Apparently they hadn’t covered it enough.

  “We can’t play a little dirty?” he begged. “You’ll lean your head on my shoulder and gaze at me adoringly. I’ll whisper nonsense into your ear. Summers will seethe with jealousy.” Henry’s smirk deepened.

  So did Edie’s glare.

  “Henry—” she started.

  “Okay. Okay.” He held up his palms in surrender. “But we can at least kick their asses at poker, right?”

  “As long as you don’t cheat.”

>   “Cheating’s not my style. I prefer to earn my victory.” He gave her a cheeky look that indicated he meant more than he said. Then he held out his elbow.

  Edie ignored both the look and the elbow as she set off toward the Summerses’ house with Henry sauntering along by her side. Claire and Sebastian were setting up a card table on the back patio. Claire was holding up a corner, looking perfect as always in a cute eyelet mini-dress and with a thick black braid draped over one shoulder. Sebastian was in his usual slightly rumpled linens, crouched down and extending a table leg. He paused as he spotted Edie and Henry.

  “Oh, hey, Henry.” He scratched his forehead, twitching and befuddled. “Right. You meant . . . huh. Okay.”

  “I’m so glad we’re doing this,” Claire eagerly put in as if to compensate for Sebastian’s mangled greeting. “I haven’t played poker in ages. Though if I know Henry, competition will be stiff.” Despite her iciness all week at school, Claire was back to her usual cheerful, chatty, and charming self. If she had any lingering resentments, she was masking them well. “I hear you two have been playing guitar together.”

  Sebastian’s eyes darted to Edie’s. Guilt rippled through her as she recalled his request to play together and her abrupt dismissal of the idea.

  “We played a little,” she hedged. “To test my new strings.”

  “Right. The strings.” Claire smirked at her brother. “That was sweet of him, wasn’t it?”

  In the next second, all eyes were on Edie. Claire’s were amused. Sebastian’s were curious. Henry’s didn’t even hint at modesty. He simply stood by, waiting for his due praise. Edie forced back an eyeroll as she evaded the question by inquiring about refreshments. Her opinion of Henry’s “sweetness” was none of Claire’s business, or Sebastian’s, or even Henry’s. Frankly, she hadn’t figured it out for herself yet.

  While Sebastian headed inside to forage for food and drinks, Edie gathered chairs, Henry distributed chips, and Claire shuffled the cards. Conversation between the two girls might’ve quickly grown tense, but Henry provided the perfect buffer, gently teasing his sister or directing the conversation to stay on innocuous topics like the new Jupiter’s Grind album they’d all been listening to. Edie had to hand it to him. Whether or not he was sweet, he was remarkable at reading a room—or a backyard—and adjusting his behavior accordingly.