I Liked My Life(16)

Paige offered to come as my bodyguard, but I passed, knowing she meant it literally. Mrs. Anderson would have been escorted out by now. That’s why my mom loved Paige. Tonight she showed up just before I left with a boutonniere for John, which I flaked on getting, and two condoms. I have no plans to put out tonight, but it was the first time I’ve laughed since Good Friday. It was something my mom would do. No awkward conversation necessary, a simple gesture that said it all.

I scan the room. Preprom is nothing more than a parade of mothers showing off how close they are with their daughters. The fussing, the makeup, the pictures, it’s all a performance, and tonight gossiping about my dysfunctional family is the main act. I hear them, the way I do at school: It’s so sad.… I heard Madeline was a big drinker.… I always thought she seemed so happy.… Look at poor Eve.… My God, how selfish do you have to be to kill yourself when you have a child? I want to scream between camera flashes that losing my mother did not make me deaf.

Someone snaps the back of my strapless bra. I spin around to find Katy, who social-climbed all year to get invited to this stupid party, giving me air-kisses like she’s some sort of movie star. “I’m so glad you came tonight,” she gushes. “There’s no good excuse to miss prom.”

“Hmm,” I reply, pretending to think about it. “I think my excuse would’ve been pretty fucking good.” She wipes the fake smile off her face and leaves me alone. It’s the first hint she’s taken all year.

I can’t face another conversation like that, so I wait until no one is looking and truck upstairs to lock myself in the master bathroom. It reeks of hair spray and perfume, but I’d hole up in a Porta Potty right now if that’s what it took to be alone.

I sit on the toilet lid and stare at the ceiling. Sounds from the party mush together and become easy to ignore. Why didn’t she leave a note? After the funeral I checked the mail every day, certain she sent a letter explaining it wasn’t my fault and offering loving advice on how to move on. Suicide really is the ultimate fuck-you.

On the morning of the day she jumped, she told me to prepare myself because it was going to be a crazy Easter weekend. I assumed she meant no one would get much sleep since Aunt Meg, Uncle Dan, and Lucy were staying at the house. Now I see it was a big joke. She must have felt powerful knowing she’d be dead before bedtime and we’d be left to realize how much she really mattered.

There’s a knock at the door. “Eve, open up. It’s John.”

I turn the lock. He lets himself in and sits on the vanity, taking a swig of the mini vodka I left on the counter. For a second I remember what it’s like to be normal. Sneaking away for a quick drink with your cool boyfriend is ordinary. But I’m not here for a flirt-filled drink, I’m here to chug as much as I can without puking because my tragic life is being advertised like a Super Bowl commercial downstairs.

“I guess you’re not into the whole prom thing this year,” he says. I nod. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah.” I run a finger under each eye to catch the tears before my eyeliner does. If John weren’t here, I’d let them slide into my mouth. I’ve come to enjoy their salty taste.

“It’s good to see you cry,” he says. “You’re supposed to be sad.”

Hopefully he isn’t saying that to be nice, because his words unlock a full sob. I am so completely alone. I run through all the life moments that are ruined. The prom is nothing. What about graduation? My wedding day? When I have children of my own?

John hops down for a hug but I push back. I find no comfort in physical touch. Everything feels fake.

“I’m so pissed.” I want to yell it, but I don’t want anyone to hear, so it comes out as an angry whisper. “I can’t take this shit. Seeing everyone here, joking, getting dressed up like it matters.”

“I know—”

I stumble backwards. “No. No. No one knows. That’s the whole thing. Freaking Lindsey asked if I thought she and Noel had a chance at winning Junior Court. I looked at her, like, does she honestly think I give a rat’s ass? She can be the damn princess or whatever you even call it.”

I’m wicked drunk. We both are. John sensed I’d be a bummer date and tucked a flask into the back suspenders of his rented tuxedo. It’s already empty. “Let’s get through this and we’ll bail on the dance,” he suggests.

I look in the mirror at my swollen eyes, puffy cheeks, and running makeup. There’s no way I can go back out there. “I want—” I pause to think what it is I want. “—to go home.” It’s a lie, but I can’t stay here, clearly, and I can’t think of anyplace else.

“Let’s leave together,” John says. “We can go to my house. My parents are at a wedding tonight.” He reaches for my hand. I stare at it. I once heard my dad describe this guy he worked with as airspace. When I asked what he meant he said, “He’s nothing to me. He’s not good. He’s not bad. He’s just there.” That’s how I feel about John now. Before Mom died, dating him was everything. We claimed we loved each other. Now he’s airspace. But he can get me out of this hellhole, so I take his hand. We walk out of the bathroom, across the foyer, and out the front door without anyone noticing.

A prison break.

Brady

“Brady Starling?”