Hearts, Strings, and Other Breakable Things

by Jacqueline Firkins

  “We broke up.” Her voice caught on the words. They were too new, too unreal.

  Julia gasped, all shock and awe. Maria went still.

  “You saw the texts?” She eyed Edie sideways.

  Julia spun on her, prodding her arm with a pointed finger.

  “I knew it!” she crowed. “You were totally sexting him! Even after you swore you were ‘so committed’ to Rupert!”

  For once, Maria didn’t snap back. Instead she started chewing a fingernail. Edie stared, rapt. Maria never chewed on her nails. They were sacred territory.

  “We didn’t do anything,” Maria barked. “Henry didn’t even text back. I mean, he did, but not, like, in a sexy way.” Her eyes darted around the car as her lips pursed and she got all jittery. Her anxious energy was so out of character, Edie and Julia could only watch and wait as though something was about to blow. “Okay, fine. You need me to say it? I’ll say it. He liked you, okay? Like”—she cringed and set a hand to her gut—“better than me.”

  Edie almost laughed as she exchanged a look with Julia, one in which they silently acknowledged that Maria’s hard-wrought admission was the closest thing Edie’d get to an apology. Edie didn’t push the matter. Maria had been punished enough already. She’d lost Rupert’s steady adoration, her dream wedding, her beloved spaniels, and the illusion that a perfect life would simply fall into her lap while she was out pursuing passionate kisses. Edie didn’t need to heap guilt on top of all that. After all, Henry was just a guy. Maria was family.

  “I’ll forgive you,” Edie said. “On one condition.”

  Maria folded her arms and scowled, awaiting her sentence with full indignation.

  “I need to raise some money,” Edie told her. “You are going to help.”

  * * *

  The following morning, Edie asked Sebastian to meet her by the fence. He was peeling away paint when she spotted him. His hair was damp from showering. He was wearing rumpled linen shorts and an NYU T-shirt. She wore a pale blue cotton sundress Maria had offloaded to her a couple weeks ago. It wasn’t her usual style, but she liked the way it made her think of laundry lines, summer breezes, and tidal pool eyes. Her style was a work in progress anyway, just like the rest of her.

  “Hi,” he said, shifting and shuffling.

  “Hi,” she said, surprisingly steady.

  They exchanged a nervous smile. Before an uncomfortable silence could set in, Edie took a deep breath and began.

  “I thought about what you said on the bus. And about what I said on the dance floor.” She paused, steeling herself. “I still feel that way.”

  Sebastian stepped forward, his lips parting, but she halted him with an outstretched hand. She’d rehearsed her speech all night. She was determined to get through it.

  “I’m also pretty confused right now,” she continued. “A lot’s happened really fast. I’ve hurt people I care about. I’ve made a lot of bad assumptions. I’ve focused on the wrong things. I need some time to let it all settle. I think you do too.”

  Sebastian nodded. He slipped his hands into his pockets, inching his bony shoulders up as his toe nudged the edge of his driveway and his eyes trailed downward.

  Edie exhaled slowly, gathering resolve.

  “Here’s what I propose. We give ourselves a month to see who we are with each other for real. No more lies. No more hiding, withholding, or running away. Then, if we still like each other, we try again. Blank slate. Blank page. Fresh start.”

  He studied her, his face twitching away with the unmasked awkwardness Edie had always loved about him, namely because it was so much like her own.

  “Thirty days of truth, huh?” he asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s not going to be easy.”

  “I know.”

  He stepped up to the fence, squared his shoulders, and planted his feet.

  “I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in becoming a lawyer,” he announced.

  Edie scooted forward on the gravel path, mirroring his stance.

  “I cry over pet rescue videos. A lot.”

  “I hate my bedroom. It feels like a rented office space.”

  “Eating Norah’s kale salad is like chewing on used Band-Aids.”

  “My forehead’s too big.”

  “My chin’s too small.”

  “I really want to kiss you right now.”

  Edie skipped a breath, caught completely off-guard. She hadn’t realized how close Sebastian was, just inches away, on the other side of a picket fence, a painted-over memory, and slightly fewer unspoken feelings than once stood between them.

  “Full honesty,” he reminded her, a glimmer in his eye, a dimple in his cheek.

  “One month?”

  “Deal.”

  He held out his hand to shake. Edie took it. And there began the Age of Truth.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  * * *

  Month

  noun

  A clergyman with a lisp.

  A sound made when attempting to speak through a mouthful of peanut butter.

  A span of thirty-one days you pack with as much activity as possible so you stop obsessing about the fact that you could’ve kissed him already!!!!!!

  Throughout the month of July, Shonda renewed her correspondence with Edie, gradually building up the lexicon with entries of her own. She made a few digs at Edie’s supposed taste for unavailable guys, but she softened as the weeks passed, sharing stories about band practice, a cute guy she met at the movie theater, and the rich bitches who were still sticking gum under tables at the Burger Barn.

  Henry moved back to Boston. Despite Edie’s best efforts to simply let him go, she found herself peeking at his social media pages. Within a matter of days, he was posting pics out partying with a group of friends and a string of beautiful girls. He looked like he was having the time of his life, though Edie knew from experience that looking happy and feeling happy were two different things. Henry lived in the moment. His wounds healed quickly but he carried as many scars as the next person, as evidenced by the fact that he seemed to have developed a new taste for vodka-cranberry drinks.

  Julia left Mansfield to take an intensive language course in Paris. She departed in a plum-colored blouse, her first attempt to wear purple despite not being a winter. She’d required considerable persuading to dress outside her season, but Edie hoped the blouse would be a step toward a more confident Julia, one who read beauty blogs for entertainment, not as if they were textbooks for a test she thought she was failing.

  The day after Julia left, Edie sat Bert and Norah down to ask for their help covering her academic expenses. Norah was hesitant. She didn’t want to just “throw away money,” but her interest was piqued when Edie revealed that she got into Yale. Bert took the opportunity to praise Norah’s careful guidance and its instrumental impact on their once-unfortunate niece. The neighbors would be sure to remark on it in months to come. Edie humbly confessed that she’d declined her admission. Before she could explain why or what she actually planned for the fall, Norah and Bert began brainstorming ways of helping Edie reverse her decision, rattling off names of people who knew people. Uncertain her relatives understood the extent of the loans she’d require for Yale, or that they’d be equally as enthusiastic about UMB, Edie agreed to ask Sebastian’s stepdad for help with a chicken sacrifice (a.k.a. a conversation with his golf buddies). After a lengthy negotiation, Bert and Norah agreed to contribute ten thousand a year to Edie’s education, even if she couldn’t reverse her Yale decision.

  As penance for attempting to seduce Edie’s boyfriend, Maria rallied to help fundraise the rest of Edie’s targeted amount. Together the girls sorted through the barely worn designer clothes, shoes, and accessories Maria had no intention of wearing again. Maria modeled each item. Edie listed them on eBay. While Maria initially approached the task begrudgingly, she eventually got so into the whole listing process she started researching a degree in fashion merchandising, a career
she hoped would eventually help her buy her own summer house.

  When they’d finally listed the last item for sale, Edie opened the drawer of the dressing table and took out her prom necklace. Maria shoved her laptop aside and leapt up from the bed.

  “You can’t,” she commanded.

  “It could bring in a lot of money.” Edie ran a hand over the stones, making the facets twinkle in the lamplight.

  Without warning Maria snatched up the box and slammed it shut.

  “Some things are more important than money,” she said.

  Edie gaped, barely holding back a laugh. This from the girl who needed separate houses for each season. Maria was right, though. The necklace was a token from a beautiful night with a beautiful boy, full of fairytale fantasy and amazing kisses. That was a good memory. That was a hold-on-to-it-forever memory.

  She slipped the necklace into the drawer, nestling it next to her songbook, her dad’s napkin note, her Yale acceptance letter, and her carefully folded blue silk sash.

  While everything else was going on, Edie and Sebastian rebuilt their friendship. They shared ice cream, went swimming, practiced guitar, exchanged books, and tried with no success whatsoever not to flirt. In mid-July, he drove her to the open mic night in Brockton, where she performed a short set that included a sweetly sincere love song called “Too Many Fences Between Us.” She didn’t hide who it was about.

  With Edie’s encouragement, Sebastian started submitting his work to literary magazines. Eventually one of his short stories found a home in a small online publication. His parents were so proud, they even backed off about the law degree, though they continued instructing him to “make a fall-back plan.”

  At the end of the month, Edie finally received notification about her scholarship application. As it turned out, Alexandre Dumas had it wrong. “Wait and Hope” wasn’t the epitome of human wisdom. It was the dumbest philosophy ever.

  She collapsed on her bed and took out her phone.

  Bureaucracy

  noun

  A method of policy-making dictated by strict adherence to fixed rules.

  A system of government in which people are ruled by their furniture.

  When you submit thirty-seven essays for a scholarship competition and all you get in return is a stupid form letter.

  Edie was disappointed but she wasn’t totally surprised. She was a songwriter, not an essayist, and she couldn’t expect everything she did in life to pan out perfectly. She’d tried. She’d failed. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. While all the work she’d poured into the competition might’ve seemed like a waste of time, she knew now that failure was a midpoint, not an endpoint. She’d use it to propel her onward. With her prior savings, her continuing wages from the tutoring center and online guitar lessons, Bert and Norah’s generous contribution, and the anticipated income from the eBay sales, Edie was confident she’d be exactly where she wanted in the fall.

  As she glared at her form letter, willing it to disintegrate before her eyes, her phone pinged, filling the screen with a photo of a bright green tongue, followed by a text.

  Sebastian: Frog kisser?

  Edie laughed as she propped herself higher on the bed.

  Edie: How did you find them?

  Sebastian: How do you think?

  Edie: Hunting for birds’ nests?

  Sebastian: Fulfilling a promise

  Edie stared at her screen, confused, until her phone pinged again.

  Sebastian: There’s a thing in the thing

  Edie thought back to the last promise she remembered Sebastian making: a story in exchange for a song. As the memory sharpened and as Edie realized there was only one way Sebastian could’ve found the Pixy Stix, she threw on her sneakers and ran into the garden. Within minutes she was straddling the branch with the Mylar ribbons, the rusty compass, and a dozen other mementos of her childhood. Nailed to the trunk was a large zip-top bag containing a thick stack of printed pages. Edie tore open the bag and pulled out a two-hundred-page manuscript. Too excited to waste a single second, she settled herself against the trunk and began to read.

  Sebastian’s story was about two kids trying to save their kidnapped parents from evil pixies who’d developed a machine for turning fathers into money and mothers into blueberry-banana pancakes. The book was funny. It was sad. It was beautiful. It laid bare the loneliness Sebastian had felt since his dad died, and his struggle to find happiness without blindly succumbing to the expectations of others. It also depicted a close friendship between a boy and girl who could read each other’s minds whenever the world around them went silent. Every word was honest, thoughtful, and packed with meaning.

  Four hours after finding the book, when the sun had all but set, Edie read the final page and slipped the manuscript into the bag. For several minutes, she let the words sink into her brain, where they joined her collection. Then she left her perch to go knock on the Summerses’ door. She waited, anxious and impatient, pressing the manuscript against her pounding chest, squishing her locket between Sebastian’s words and her heart.

  Mr. Hayes answered and called for Sebastian. Then he turned toward Edie, his arms folded, his expression stern, and his posture ramrod straight, making him look like he was guarding the house from intruders.

  “Your aunt said you wanted to talk about Yale. Med school or law school?”

  “I’m planning to study music, actually.”

  “Hmm.” His brow furrowed further, etching his scowl into his face.

  Sebastian came to the door before they could discuss the matter further. Mr. Hayes excused himself while Sebastian stepped onto the front stoop. As he shut the door behind him, his eyes darted to the manuscript in Edie’s arms.

  “I read it,” she said. “Every word.”

  He cringed as though preparing for the worst.

  “It’s amazing,” she gushed. “Can I keep it? So I can brag about knowing you before you were famous?”

  He laughed softly as his cheeks reddened.

  “I don’t know about ‘famous,’ but of course you can keep it. It’s yours.” He scratched at his neck, shifting backwards on the small brick doorstep that just managed to fit two people, a fairytale, and one final almost. “I wasn’t sure about the pancake idea. My mom used to make them and I thought a few silly details might balance the anticapitalist themes, which are probably way too heavy for kids so I should just—”

  “I love you.” The words leapt from Edie’s throat as if they couldn’t possibly stay inside any longer. “I’m in love with you.”

  Sebastian froze, his mouth ajar, his hand still cupping the back of his neck.

  “I know it’s not the thirty-first yet,” she continued. “And we made a deal, but I thought you should know, in case there was any question about the matter.” She paused, unsure where to go from there. “So, there it is.” She rose up on her toes as her voice grew unnaturally high-pitched. “‘The whole delightful and astonishing truth.’”

  When Sebastian didn’t say anything, Edie started to panic. She shouldn’t have told him. She should’ve waited. Waiting was her idea, after all. As she scrambled for something else to say, he stepped forward and slipped a hand behind her waist, drawing her against him. He took the manuscript from her hands and flung it into the yard.

  “Thank god,” he said. And then he kissed her.

  Edie threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She kissed him for being nice and being smart, for words written, spoken, and sung, for complicated silences, painful earnestness, unsettled smiles, and hard choices, for not knowing who was supporting whom, for the heart hanging from her neck and the one bursting from her chest, and for all the contradictory feelings that didn’t fit into tiny tokens. She kissed him for forgiveness. She kissed him for longing. She kissed him for love. It wasn’t her first kiss but it was her best kiss, complicated and beautiful in ways she couldn’t possibly define, though she knew better than to try.

  “Jane Austen,�
� she said between kisses. “‘The whole delightful and astonishing truth.’ I was quoting Jane Austen.”

  “Stop knowing stuff and kiss me again.”

  Epilogue

  * * *

  Edie grunted as she flung her duffel bag onto the bare mattress. The dorm room was small, just big enough for a bunk bed, two desks, and two dressers. The cheap, laminated furniture was chipped, the cinderblock walls were dingy, the linoleum floor was scuffed, and the overhead fluorescent light fixture was missing its plastic cover. But it was home. Her home. Hers and—

  “It smells like three-day-old pizza in here.” Shonda wrinkled her nose as she rolled her suitcase through the door. “Did someone hide a salami in our ceiling?”

  “We’ll pick up some incense when we go buy sheets and things.” Edie set her guitar in the corner as she peered out the window. In the courtyard below, dozens of other freshmen were unloading cars, hugging parents, and making new friends. “The RA also said the bookstore carries those plug-in air fresheners.”

  Shonda joined Edie by the window, slipping an arm around her waist.

  “I’ll pay you back, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re really sure about all this?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The eBay sales had brought in more than Edie could’ve hoped for, and although Mr. Hayes had assured her Yale would still be open to her admission, she had other plans. With some help from the UMB financial aid office, Shonda and Edie carefully worked out a way to afford their first year with a few small loans and their combined contributions. At first Shonda had refused to accept the money, but Edie argued against every denial, wearing her friend down with sheer persistence until she agreed to come. Despite the dreams Edie’d once harbored about Yale, she no longer cared that much where she spent her time. She did care who she spent it with.