by Ann Aguirre
“Love isn’t a panacea,” Ty said wearily. “Or a magic pill. Diana loved me, too. But she didn’t stay, and I won’t put Sam through it again.”
“I’m not her,” I answered. “You won’t even give me a chance!”
“Can you honestly say you’re ready to move in and be with me, be Sam’s mom and live happily ever after? You’ve spent enough time with him to know exactly what that means.”
I’m twenty-one years old. I can’t, I’m not. That was my first, instinctive thought. And Ty read it in my face, in the slump of my shoulders. A light in him guttered and died.
I stopped fighting then because he was right after all, damn him. I would probably never forgive him for it. “So this is it. How does it end?”
“Like this.” Stepping close, he swiped his thumbs across my eyes, dusting away the tears, then he pressed his lips to my eyelids, one at a time. I raised my face, showing him everything one last time. Ty kissed me softly, honey and salt, hello and goodbye, and all the words we would never whisper again, holed up in bed on a snowy afternoon. He ran fingers through my hair with an awful finality. My breath came out so loud it was almost a sob.
“No regrets. You are a hundred times more wonderful than I deserve.”
This hurt so much; it made me angry. I had no experience having my heart torn from my chest, and he was being so very kind about it. His kindness made me cruel. “My mom said I could do better.”
Ty held my look steadily. “You can. Goodbye, Nadia.”
“Bye, Daniel.” I was even colder than I’d dreamed I could be. That was never what I called him, only what she did. And then I left, like her, because he made me.
AFTER THE AFTER
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Completely numb, I stumbled into the apartment. Max took one look at me and leaped off the couch. He was at my side in an instant, arm around my shoulders. I couldn’t breathe for choking back the tears. My breath came in sharp bursts, bordering on hyperventilation.
He sat me down, rubbing my back. “Okay. Okay.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I collapsed on him, and Max didn’t say anything else for a long time. Finally, he offered, “This might sound stupid, but I’ve been writing down the things I like about Lauren. I’m not sure it’s helping me get over her exactly, but...it is helping. Maybe you can try something like that.”
“Maybe.”
I loved that he wasn’t asking me to explain. For over an hour, we just sat together, holding hands. I didn’t cry; I couldn’t. When I heard Angus coming up the stairs, his tread too heavy to be Lauren, I retreated to my bedroom and closed the door. Always, I had plans and goals; I focused on what had to be done and worked through it. This situation was no different.
So I got out a clean notebook and started writing. I set down how I felt in this moment, and then I wrote about meeting Ty. Maybe I’d save the journal and read it later, once the memories weren’t so fresh. This way, I can keep them with me. Or hell, maybe I’d burn it. For now, the important thing was to finish.
I wrote until 3:00 a.m. and only stopped because Lauren came to bed then. I pretended to be asleep, and she didn’t bother me. There was a new distance between us, not because I didn’t care to share my pain, but because she’d chosen not to talk about hers. I fell asleep with the knife of losing Sam and Ty still in my chest, and it hurt to breathe.
Friday morning, I went to my practicum meeting, where I apologized profusely. Ms. Roberts was about ten years older than Ms. Parker had been, and she seemed more maternal, peering at me in concern. “People often get sick around the holidays,” she said, dismissing my worries with an easy wave. “And I can definitely see that you’ve been ill. Mind that you don’t let yourself get too rundown.”
“I won’t,” I promised.
The rules and expectations were more or less the same, and I left feeling like she’d give me a fair trial. See, Ty. I didn’t wreck anything. Outside the school, I sat in my car for at least five minutes, resting my head on the steering wheel. I skipped lunch and went home to change into my work uniform. I got to Rainbow Academy, knowing each day I spent with Sam would open the wound all over again, and I couldn’t let him see even a shadow of my pain.
In class I must’ve done a good job because he never gave me that big-eyed, worried look. He chattered and hugged me like always while I fought to keep the damage in check. It’ll get easier, I told myself. It has to.
That weekend, I holed up in my room and wrote more, until I came to the stopping point, our breaking point, and it was like a key turned in the lock, setting me free. I could breathe again because I had all the things I loved about Ty committed to ink and paper. The hurt dulled from dreadful-unbearable to the low throb of a broken bone, properly set. In my demented rush to finish the draft, I’d only thought of getting it out, like I was lancing a wound, and I’d pictured myself possibly burning it all, like an effigy, a symbolic cleansing.
But now, as I touched the pages, I couldn’t bear to imagine seeing everything I adored about Ty going up in sparks and ashes, only embers against the night sky. No, I’d keep it, instead. Someday, I’d want these words, needing to remember how these moments felt, before life went flat and quiet, and I learned to live without my heart. As I got back to my normal life—life without Ty—occasionally the pain flared.
Like two weeks later when Sam announced, “Daddy’s sad.”
“Oh?” It took every ounce of self-control to ask the question casually.
“Yeah. He draws your face a lot.”
My insides squeezed, and mumbling to the lead teacher, I excused myself. In the bathroom, I crouched inside a stall and cried until I saw stars. The wound widened, but I breathed through it. I put cold water on my eyes, and when I went back to Mrs. Trent’s room, I was an iceberg.
Though I tried not to let on, Sam picked up on my mood. He tried to climb on my lap, and I couldn’t let him. I told myself it was because I had work to do, but he must’ve sensed my reservations. His face crumpled when I set him down, big brown eyes swimming in tears.
He clenched two small fists, and he kicked me in the shins.
“You’re mean! And I hate you!”
“What’s wrong?” Mrs. Trent came over, kneeling down to study him in concern because this behavior wasn’t like Sam.
Shit. This was exactly what Ty wanted to avoid.
“He wanted to look at a book together, but I have to clean up first.” It sounded plausible, and Mrs. Trent glanced at Sam, brows raised. Guilt stung me.
“That’s not why. You don’t like me anymore. You haven’t told me a dinosaur joke in forever and you never smile.”
Get it together. You can’t let the breakup affect how you treat Sam. He deserves better.
“That’s not true. I’m sorry if it seems like I’ve been cranky lately. Give me five minutes and I’ll read to you, okay?”
Sniffling, he nodded, watching with worried eyes while I picked up toys. Once I finished, Sam climbed into my lap, and I did the voices for his favorite story. When I finished, he hugged me around the neck; I resolved not to let my misery impact him ever again. In the days that followed, I worked. I studied. I did everything I was supposed to, tiptoeing around the hole inside me. Some nights, I dreamed of Ty. It was never profound, just those little things, like him opening the car door or framing my face in his hands, and I always woke with my face wet with tears. I don’t know how to be brokenhearted. I wish you hadn’t taught me. A few times a month, I saw them coming and going, father and son, twin copper heads shining in the sun. Their circle was complete without me. I turned away from the window; I never went out on the balcony anymore, and not because it was too cold. Probably it was a good thing Ty had never hung out here in the apartment with me. I’d have to move.
Toward the end of January, my roommates threw a small party. Courtney and Emily came, and a new guy Angus was dating, Del Webber. He was cuter than the ex-boyfriend, J-Rod, African American instead of Puerto Rican, plus sweeter and k
inder, too. Luckily, it wasn’t the kind of bash we hosted for Lauren, just a few close friends, plus beer and pizza in honor of my birthday. There was cake, one Lauren and Angus baked. They lit candles and sang to me, and I could only wonder, Does Ty know? Is he listening for my steps? Or has he stopped?
Objectively, the night was a success. I had fun. I opened presents. Afterward, I thought, So I’m twenty-two. Lauren was oddly quiet after everyone left, and I decided I’d had enough. Leaving cleanup to the guys, I said, “You and me. Now.”
A small sigh slipped out, but she nodded and said inexplicably, “This is what I was waiting for, anyway.”
In our room, I shut the door, sat down on my bed and folded my arms expectantly. There was most definitely something on her mind, but I couldn’t imagine what. “Well?”
She curled up on the floor beside my bed and rested her chin on the edge of the mattress, a pose familiar since high school. “We talked a little before about how I’m not sure PoliSci is right for me.”
“I remember. Did you decide to change your major?”
Lauren shook her head. “It’s not that. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I’m going home.”
“What?” That didn’t even make sense.
“You wanted so bad for us to go to college together, and when we were eighteen, I wanted it, too. But I hate Michigan. I miss Sharon—never thought I’d say that—and I miss my mom.” From her expression, this wasn’t homesickness talking, something most people got over freshman year. “I tried so hard to make this work, but...this is your dream, not mine, Nadia. I didn’t want to let you down, but I just can’t pretend anymore.”
“So what’re you going to do?” Somehow I didn’t yell at her or make this about breaking a childhood pact. I had to be better, stronger, than that. Somehow. Even though most of me was screaming that I couldn’t give up Lauren so soon after Ty.
It’s too much. This can’t be happening.
“I already lost my scholarship,” she said softly, not looking at me. “I tried to prepare you when I said I didn’t do well at midterms. I did not, in fact, make it up at finals. So...Mom can’t afford tuition now, and I’ll be withdrawing before the cutoff date. I’m going home in four days.” She didn’t sound sad, though. It was more like there was a smile hidden like a sunrise at the back of her throat, and she was just waiting for me to say it was okay, so she could let herself feel the happiness and relief.
I managed to say, “Shit. When I said one day, I’ll wake up sad as hell because you’re not here, I didn’t realize it would be so soon.”
She let out a choky laugh, the smile finally cracking the solemnity of her face, but tears sparkled in her eyes, too. “Yeah, that caught me off guard. It’s why I cried that night. I knew this day was coming.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you’d have tried to talk me out of it by suggesting another major or making some other change that didn’t involve leaving Michigan.”
“You’re probably right,” I admitted. “Is this why you shot Max down?”
Lauren shook her head. “He’s just not for me. I like him as a friend, but I want even more to go home.”
“I can understand that.” Okay, not really. Sure, I missed my parents and Rob, but as for Sharon, Nebraska? No. I didn’t want to live there again.
“Maybe you should come with me. You need to stop thinking about Mr. Hot Ginger, anyway. If he’s not smart enough to see what he has in you, then he needs a kick in the nuts.” That was 100 percent friend loyalty talking.
“Nothing he said was wrong. That’s part of why it’s so painful.”
“If you say so. I talked to Courtney, and she wants to move out of the dorms. Her roommate is constantly smoking in the room and hiding her stash in Courtney’s stuff. She’s to the point that she’s afraid of getting arrested. Unless you object, I plan to sublet my half of the room to her for spring semester. I won’t leave you guys hanging on the rent.”
“Courtney’s fine. I mean, she’s not you, but we can manage.”
“I’m so glad you don’t hate me. I thought you’d freak and remind me how we promised to be in caps and gowns at the end of college, facing the future together.”
Since I’d considered doing exactly that, she was proving how well she knew me. Fresh tears stung my eyes, and my voice was thick when I pretended how much I’d changed. “That was a really long time ago, LB. We were, what, fourteen? People change.”
They did, and I didn’t want them to. Sometimes, when things were perfect, I wanted them to remain exactly the same. But life wasn’t static. It went on.
I’m losing my best friend.
It was hard not to feel that way, even though Lauren was talking about how we’d Skype, email and see each other when I came home in the summer. Six months, when we hadn’t been apart for more than a couple of days since we were eighteen and hopelessly lost on campus, that first week. I nodded in the right places, but she was clouding over, probably because I had the worst poker face in the world. Thanks to Ty, I knew that, but I couldn’t fix it.
“Nadia, don’t cry, or you’ll get me going.”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, but it didn’t help. With a choky sob, Lauren climbed onto my bed, cursing quietly. “See, this is exactly how I didn’t want it to go.”
We held on to each other and cried, and for me, it was a farewell to childhood, admitting that sometimes, no matter how much you wanted something, it would never, ever come true. She petted my hair and we stayed up superlate, talking about old friends, people we hadn’t seen in years and in some cases, would never see again. When the light cracked in through our windows, I heard the closing of a door. It was probably Max leaving for work, but for me, it was symbolic, and Lauren felt it, too.
She got up then and retreated to her own bed. “I don’t have anything to do, except pack, so I’m going to sleep.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you want a going-away party?”
“Nah. That’s why I waited for your birthday, two birds, one stone.” There was a calm about her that had been missing for months; I’d been too wrapped up in my own shit to notice.
“How are you getting home?”
“Angus bought me a plane ticket. I said I’ll pay him back when I get my last check, but you know how he is. Courtney’s buying my furniture, so I just have my clothes. I was wondering if I could borrow your big suitcase.”
“Help yourself. I won’t need it.” Quietly, I processed the implications of that; Angus knew before I did.
In the abstract, that probably meant I mattered more, or that she didn’t want to ruin my birthday, but I could focus only on the fact that she’d waited until four days before she left. Basically until she had no choice at all. There was an invisible lump in my chest as I got in the shower. Since it was the weekend, I didn’t have to work, but I couldn’t be at home.
Normally, at a time like this, I’d text Ty or call him, so I could hear his voice when he said my name, and that gorgeous, syrupy warmth would spill through me, smoothing over the bad patches. That wasn’t an option anymore. So I dried my hair and dressed, like I had somewhere to be. Lauren was asleep or pretending. I didn’t feel like talking to Angus, either, so I got my keys and went downstairs.
Of course, since this was the worst I’d looked since the breakup that wasn’t really one at all, technically, I met Sam and Ty going out at the same time. They were dressed for the weather, Sam’s eyes bright above his scarf. Ty was back to looking pale and miserable, pretty much exactly how I felt. For Sam’s sake, I mumbled a greeting and rushed past to my car, pretending I was in a hurry, except there was nowhere in the world for me. Ty lifted a hand and then dropped it, probably knowing there was nothing he could say.
Yes, there’s something wrong. No, it’s none of your business. You want it that way.
The sidewalk was slick with icy patches, graying snow melting atop dead grass. I fumbled my keys then dropped them. W
ith a sigh, I knelt and scrabbled for them in the cold, starting when someone touched my shoulder. Not Ty. It would never be Ty. Pain flowered fresh and sharp, exploding in my chest like a scream.
Max stood behind me, one hand in his pocket, and I could see his fingers clenching into a fist and then relaxing, a helpless, pained gesture that told me everything. “Angus told me about Lauren.”
I nodded as he pulled me up.
“Come on, Conrad. Let’s get some breakfast.”
Though I’d rarely been on the back of his bike, I followed him over and put on the helmet. Sam was waving at me from the backseat of Ty’s Focus, and I raised my hand, showing him everything was fine. You’re a good kid. Max swung on and glanced at me expectantly. With a spurt of defiance, I swung onto the back and wrapped my arms around his waist. I wasn’t trying to make Ty jealous because it wasn’t like that with Max and me, and it never would be.
Max zoomed out of the parking lot, leaving the complex behind. Breakfast didn’t sound very good at the moment, and as if he sensed how I felt, he headed for the highway. It was incredibly cold, but the rushing wind drove out the pain, leaving only numbness, and it was a welcome relief. For an hour, there was only Max’s back and the hiss of the road, roar of the tires and rumble of the engine.
By the time he stopped, my fingers were locked into icicles at his waist. Gently he pried me loose, and we stumbled into a truck stop. We had to be close to Ann Arbor, though I’d lost track of the direction. Shivering, I slid into a booth across from him and he ordered us both coffee to start. I studied the menu, knowing I had to eat, not wanting to. But I wouldn’t be a damsel who pined, so I got waffles.
“I never understood the bike until now.”
“It’s freedom,” he said simply. “I’ve had it since I was fifteen, and whenever shit got unbearable at home, I’d take off.”
Cupping my hands around my mug, I observed, “Running doesn’t solve anything.”