Hearts, Strings, and Other Breakable Things

by Jacqueline Firkins

  “I have to go,” she said. “We can talk when I get back.”

  “Let me drive you,” he offered, still winded. “Then we don’t have to rush.”

  Edie peered over at his car. It struck her as uncomfortably compact. She was only prepared for a friendly goodbye, not several hours packed into tight quarters.

  “Not a good plan,” she said. “Really, we can just—”

  “How much?” Sebastian asked the driver, wrenching his wallet from his pocket and thrusting out a few twenties. “Sixty bucks enough?”

  “Get on.” The driver took the cash and tipped his chin toward the back of the bus. “Buy your return fare at the station. It’s cheaper than bribery.”

  Before Edie could process what was happening, let alone intervene, Sebastian leapt on board. He stumbled down the aisle and collapsed into a seat halfway toward the back. She exchanged a look with the driver. He shrugged and suggested she take a seat. Uncertain what else to do with the bus pulling out of the station and the rest of the passengers staring at her, Edie headed down the aisle.

  She stowed her bag and sat down next to Sebastian. While Mansfield sped past outside, she watched him catch his breath, still startled he was sitting there beside her. Despite his manic arrival, he seemed tired and worn out, thinner than when she’d last seen him. His clothes were badly wrinkled. His usually tidy wedge cut had grown shaggy. His eyes were underscored with subtle shadows. Edie’s guilt about ignoring his texts welled up again, reminding her how she’d been so wrapped up in her own wants and needs she’d neglected those of someone she truly cared about.

  “So, um, hi,” he stammered out at last.

  “Hi.” She fluttered a small wave, much like she had when she’d first seen him on his driveway back in April, doing yardwork while she tried not to blush.

  He nodded at her T-shirt. It said MARY SHELLEY’S BARBECUE and depicted a cartoon of the author holding a hot dog and a mug of beer.

  “That’s funny,” he said. “I can guess why she liked a good frank and stein.”

  “Most people don’t get it.” Edie eyed his plain gray oxford. “Yours is funny, too.”

  He laughed softly, just enough to coax his dimples out of hiding.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  Sebastian shrugged.

  “Rough month. I registered for fall writing classes. My stepdad’s furious. He’s still pushing me about the law degree, trying to make sure my future looks just like his.” He shook his head, sighing as if annoyed. “And you must’ve heard about . . . ?”

  “You and Claire?”

  He nodded while tracing the geometric print on the seat cushion.

  “I’m sorry,” Edie said. “I know you tried really hard to make it work.”

  “Too hard, apparently.”

  “Is that possible?” She considered the question. “I mean, if we knew precisely how hard trying something would be, we wouldn’t really be trying. We’d just be doing, which might be easier, but a lot less interesting.”

  Sebastian’s dimples reappeared.

  “I’ve lost score,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s not a quote.”

  “It is now.”

  They swapped a sweet but complicated smile, one that awakened a tiny butterfly in Edie’s belly. It tickled the base of her ribs and began working its way up toward the places where she kept the good stuff. As she let it flutter freely, doubtful she could ground it if she tried, Sebastian gripped the armrests and inched his shoulders toward his ears, all unhinged, awkward, and adorable.

  “Edie,” he said, her name gentle on his lips, his eyes sad and serious, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “Of course you didn’t. How could you? I didn’t say it.”

  “Yes, you did. I just didn’t hear it.” He smoothed out his hair, not like he knew it was messy, but like he still couldn’t figure out what to do with his hands. “You’ve always been the smart one.”

  “Guess that makes you the nice one.”

  They both laughed, sort of.

  “I’m not that nice. I just hijacked your trip,” Sebastian joked. “But I needed to apologize. In person. About being an idiot. I also . . . um, can I say something else?”

  Edie nodded, bracing herself. Sebastian settled his restless hands on his thighs, ticking and twitching until his eyes found their way to hers and stayed there.

  “What you said to me at prom, well, I feel the same. I always have. I wanted to tell you a hundred times but I kept chickening out. I’m not proud of myself for that. I didn’t think I had a chance. You were always running away from me.” He paused as Edie grimaced, conceding the point. “And of course there was Claire. I care about her. She deserves a guy who treats her well. I wanted to be that guy. Reliable. Committed. I thought that if I didn’t say or do anything, then I wasn’t really cheating. But maybe I was, and maybe she knew it all along.” He rubbed the back of his neck, further rumpling his already twisted collar. “I kept telling myself you were just a friend, but when I saw Henry kiss you at prom, all I could think was, That should’ve been me.” He shifted toward the window. The sunlight caught his eyes, making them almost translucent, as though it were conspiring to lay bare every last secret. “I know I’ve made a total mess of things so I don’t expect you to say anything back. I just needed you to know.”

  Edie nodded as she let his confession settle, shoving aside a few of her less interesting quotes to make room in her collection. What good was a Velcro memory if it couldn’t hold on to a moment like this? Shakespeare, Brontë, Dumas, Eliot. Their words were so clever and insightful but none of them mattered as much as the ones being said between two ordinary people, sitting on a bus, face-to-face, perfectly imperfect.

  Edie loved that Sebastian loved her. She’d hoped for so long, but she was too raw from her breakup to leap into something new. Losing Henry hurt far more than she’d ever expected, leaving her uncertain what she felt for anyone. She had nothing to offer Sebastian right now. She needed some time on her own. Fortunately she’d have a few days to sort through everything, or at least to embrace the unsortable.

  She tipped her head onto Sebastian’s shoulder.

  “We can both take credit for the mess,” she said. “Guess that’s why I love music so much. It’s the only place the mess fits.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He linked his hand through hers and settled both on the armrest between them. “I think the mess fits pretty well right here too.”

  “Yeah.” She felt a smile build. “I guess it does.”

  With a full but conflicted heart, Edie held Sebastian’s hand all the way to Providence. Somewhere en route she told him about Henry, how she’d come to care about him, deeply, but how she’d hurt him, too. Sebastian listened, in turns sympathetic, apologetic, and curious to know what might happen next. He didn’t push, though. He’d always been good that way, giving her space to feel what she had to feel. As he’d once said to her, that was all she could do, really. There was no way around it.

  When the two of them settled into their most complicated silence yet, Edie realized she wasn’t living in the Age of Yes anymore. She wasn’t living in the age of anything. She was just living day by day, as full of uncertainties as ever. The only thing she knew for sure was that her old motto—Think it. Don’t say it—was a load of crap. It worked okay when dealing with annoying customers and persnickety aunts, but not when applied to close personal relationships. What would’ve happened if Edie’d told Sebastian how she felt weeks ago? What if he’d told her? It all seemed like such a waste of time. And yet, not.

  Falling in love was easy. Learning how to love required some bumps and bruises along the way. If love just happened, like Wednesday, then it wasn’t really love. It was a bit of giddiness she felt while watching cat videos and hiding behind other people’s words. It was the flutter of fantasy, the dizzy anticipation of steamy almosts and endless what-ifs. Real love took effort. It embraced the what-thens. It overcame a few not-s
o-great choices. It let a girl be awkward, bashful, sulky, and temperamental. It allowed for both laughter and tears. It even let a girl change her mind. And then change it back again.

  At the station in Providence, Sebastian bought a return ticket to Mansfield. Then he walked Edie to the dock for the bus to New York. She checked that she had everything she needed: phone, bag, brain, heart. She looked up at Sebastian, wondering if she should hug him, attempt to articulate something meaningful, or keep it simple and say goodbye. He was watching her in that way he had, like he was hanging on what she’d do or say next, like her words and actions were important, like she was important. It felt nice. It was also a big responsibility. Hearts were fragile things, prone to fractures, though they were surprisingly strong, too.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For telling me.”

  “Sorry it took me so long.”

  “Better at last than not at all.”

  He nodded as his features flickered and a dozen emotions passed through his eyes, reminding her of their ridiculous poker game and how terribly he’d played, how everything he thought or felt invariably showed up on his face. She’d always loved that about him, whether he was grinning giddily about an ice cream cone or weeping softly in a wardrobe. He felt things deeply and he shared those feelings with her, leaving himself raw and vulnerable, trusting in her care. All those little connections added up over time, weaving themselves into a string, one that would remain around her heart forever, no matter how hard she tried to break it, unknot it, or pretend it wasn’t there.

  “Are you going to be okay?” he asked.

  “I think so. Eventually. You?”

  His shoulders rose as his chin shifted, halfway between a nod and a head shake.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Once I figure out what I’m aiming for. I got so used to being what other people wanted me to be. You’re the only one who ever liked me as I am.”

  Edie set a hand to her chest where his words hit home, nestled beneath a locket where she could shut them away until she needed them. You’re the only one.

  The driver announced last call for boarding. Sebastian shifted as though he was about to step forward but he changed his mind. He rooted himself in place, or at least he tried to, unable as always to stand still. Edie gripped her messenger bag with both hands. One hand alone couldn’t manage the weight, not when two hands were desperate to straighten a collar, brush a cheek, or lace themselves slowly into another hand and stay there forever. Maybe one day she could do just that. One day. Not this day.

  “See you soon?” she asked.

  “I like the sound of that.”

  They swapped a semi-smile, subtle but sincere.

  “You’ll be all right,” Edie said. “Just keep writing. If that fails to bring you joy, look for green Pixy Stix in the trees.”

  She placed a tiny kiss on his cheek. Then she boarded the bus and left.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  * * *

  The Burger Barn was exactly like Edie remembered it, with its bright red roof, white trim, and plastic hay bales, as though a herd of cows were just hanging out inside, waiting to be turned into lunch. Edie found the manager on duty, who informed her that Shonda was cleaning the restrooms. She pushed open the door to see her friend bent over the counter, scrubbing away the congealed runoff from the soap dispenser. Her two-tone braids were twisted in a loop at the nape of her neck. Her blue polyester pants were rolled up at the hems to accommodate her short stature.

  “Restroom’s closed for cleaning,” she said without looking up.

  “Then let me help,” Edie offered.

  Shonda spun around, flashing Edie the look she’d been dreading: pure hatred.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I came to apologize. And to ask if there was anything I could do to—”

  “To clean up the shit you left behind? Sure. Grab a plunger. Middle stall.” Shonda returned her attention to the counter, jabbing away like she was trying to sand off the laminate coating.

  Edie set down her bag and headed into the stall, plunger in hand, the task all too familiar.

  “So, how are you?” She grimaced as she worked the plunger like a butter churner.

  “Broke, bored, and picking hair out of a drain in Hell-burbia. Meanwhile, my ex–best friend is in the land of croquet and caviar trying to figure out which hot guy she wants to give her V-card to.” She cut Edie a sharp glance. “How do you think I am?”

  Edie braced herself against the stall divider and shoved downward with all her strength.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. The words felt painfully insufficient, eroded by overuse, but she didn’t know what else to say. “I was just trying to make you laugh. It’s what I do. It’s what we do. I don’t know how to be me without you.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you kissed my boyfriend.”

  “You’re right. I should have.” Edie yanked upward until the pressure gave way and the clog released with a nauseating slurping noise. “So you guys split?”

  Shonda unzipped a large sac of bright pink soap powder.

  “Turns out you weren’t the only other girl he kissed that week.” She began filling the dispenser. “I feel pretty stupid about all of it.”

  “I’m the stupid one. I hurt the person I cared about most, just so I could feel liked by a guy I didn’t care about at all.” Edie stashed the plunger under the counter. She gathered a few strewn paper towels and tossed them out. Then she waited while Shonda set down the soap and finally turned to face her. “Is there anything I can do, anything at all, to earn your trust again? I just . . . I can’t picture my life without you in it.”

  “So you have someone to crow to when you finally go all the way?”

  “No.” Heat crept up Edie’s neck and burned the tips of her ears. “I wouldn’t, I mean I already . . .” She trailed off as she caught a glimpse of her beet-red face in the mirror, every last freckle blazing.

  Shonda’s eyes widened behind her funky new glasses.

  “You dirty slut.” She shook her head as if appalled.

  “Not that dirty,” Edie argued.

  “Dirty. Adjective. One, defiled. Two, needs cleaning.” Without warning, Shonda reached into the bag of soap powder and flung a handful at Edie.

  Edie stood there, stunned, as the pink powder trickled off her forehead and down her chest. When she caught the laughter in Shonda’s eyes and realized she was only teasing, Edie grabbed the sponge and pitched it at Shonda’s head. Shonda dodged as the sponge spun past her, spraying her face with soapy water and sticking to the wall for a second before splatting to the floor.

  “You did not just—” Shonda started.

  “Oh, yes, I did,” Edie boasted, already reaching toward the sink.

  Within seconds, a full-scale war erupted. Soap powder flew everywhere. The garbage bin toppled onto its side, spilling wadded paper towels across the floor. Shonda poured an entire bottle of glass cleaner over Edie’s head. Edie drenched Shonda with a well-directed spray from the faucet. As the girls faced off, one with a plunger, the other with the toilet brush, both of them soaked, someone started pushing open the door. Shonda backed against it and held it shut.

  “Closed for cleaning!” the girls shouted in unison. They waited for a few seconds, frozen in place, until footsteps retreated. Then they burst into hysterics.

  When they finally stopped laughing, Edie threw her arms around Shonda’s soaked and sudsy shoulders. She hugged her so hard, bubbles formed between their chests.

  “Shonda West, you’re the smartest, bravest, funniest, most awesome person I know,” she said. “I love you.”

  “You’re a disaster.” Shonda plucked bits of soggy paper towel from Edie’s hair. “And you owe me some serious payback, but I love you, too.”

  There it was, like a pair of ruby-red slippers. What Edie’d been looking for all along: the kind of love that was big enough to leave space not just for fun, but for failure and forgive
ness, too.

  * * *

  Edie spent the night at Shonda’s house. They rolled out sleeping bags in the den but they didn’t sleep. They stayed up all night talking. After a fair share of teasing about Edie’s romantic misadventures as narrated through almost three months of lexicography, Shonda related her most essential news. On the upside, she’d graduated with honors, third in her class. She’d ditched James and vowed to only date boys with bicycles or bus passes. She’d kept up her drum lessons and begun playing with a local band on weekends. On the downside, Shonda’s mom had lost her job, forcing her to dig into Shonda’s college fund to support the family.

  “Guess that means you can’t come to Boston with me in the fall,” Edie said, trying not to sound totally crushed.

  “Not unless you have a load of cash to spare, but I can visit. I’ll also take a closer look at that scholarship list. Maybe I can join you next year.”

  “Fingers crossed?” Edie held up a pinky.

  Shonda linked her finger with Edie’s.

  “Everything crossed.” She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose and settled back against the sofa. “Now, about this boy next door . . .”

  * * *

  Edie’s cousins picked her up from the station on Monday. Julia was in the shotgun seat, scrolling through her phone. Maria was fixing her lipstick in the rearview mirror. Edie clambered into the back, much like the last time she’d been picked up after a bus ride, though this time she hadn’t arrived with a stringless guitar and a friendless heart.

  “Thanks for coming to get me,” Edie said.

  “We were shopping anyway.” Maria nodded at a cluster of bags on the back seat. “Though I don’t understand why Henry couldn’t get you. I thought you guys would be all over each other after three whole days apart. For two people who can’t keep their hands to themselves, that’s, like, practically puritanical.”

  Edie avoided Maria’s eyes while she fastened her seatbelt. She didn’t want to get into the whole Henry mess with her cousins, but as she looked up and realized they were both waiting for a response, she decided there was no point delaying the inevitable.