You Know Me Well(31)

“But do those have to be two different things?” I ask, barely keeping the sob from engulfing my voice.

“In our case, yes.”

This is so much worse than I feared it would be.

We sit there for a minute or two. I have nothing left to say. He has nothing left to say.

Finally, it’s Ryan who breaks the silence.

“Look, I saw you dancing on that bar. And I read about your adventures on Saturday night. Man, that made me jealous. But I’m glad for it, because it shows that you’re going to have plenty of opportunities—you’re going to find someone as awesome as you, and I’m really hoping that when you do, you’ll tell me all about it. Because that’s what best friends do. And even though right now it’s so totally awkward, I know it’ll pass, and I know it’ll be fine, and I know we’ll get through this. Okay?”

I don’t want someone else. I want you, I think. Even now.

But I’m back to keeping it inside. Before it was because I feared it wouldn’t work. Now it’s because I know it won’t work.

I can’t tell him it’s all okay, either. I can’t lie like that.

I just look at him and think all of the old things one more time.

You are so beautiful.

I understand you.

You understand me.

I know you well.

We’re in this together.

We can be together.

We can cut through all the bullshit, and what we’ll find underneath is love.

I know I should let go of all of these things—but you can’t let go of something that’s inside you. You’re not holding it like that.

You are not good enough, Mark.

You will never be good enough.

How could you ever expect him to see you that way?

He was using you, and now he’s done.

You were just a substitute until he found someone better.

And now he’s found someone better.

Ryan stands up. Goes to his bookcase. Straightens something on the shelf.

“I’m sorry for dragging you back here. And for thinking it was a good idea to invite you to Taylor’s party. I’m going to leave it up to you whether you want me to tell you about it or not. I’ll understand if you don’t want me to. I don’t have to talk about him at all to you. Whatever it takes for us to get through this.”

It would help if he were acting like more of an asshole. It would help if he would say the absolute wrong thing. That way I could storm out. It’s too hard to just leave.

But he has a party to get to, and I have nothing left to say out loud. So I stand up. I find my breath. I force myself to meet his eye.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him. And then, because I know I will hate myself for it, I add, “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he replies.

We’re just so helpless.

I open the door. I decide not to look back.

“And, Mark?”

I look back.

“I would fight for you, too,” he says. “I hope you know that.”

I can’t. I just can’t.

I run away before I lose myself completely.





TUESDAY





12

Kate

I wake suddenly—warm summer light through my window—and check my phone.

Nothing.

Which is so strange, because Mark said he would text no matter what. Whether it was good news or bad news, I love you or I love you not.

So?? I write now, and then I carry the phone with me down the hall, set it on the edge of the sink. As I shower, I keep waiting for it to buzz. Maybe the water is too loud, or maybe, while I’m standing under it and thinking of kissing Violet, I am too swept up in the memory to listen closely. But when I draw the curtain and check again, he still hasn’t answered.

I worry while drying my hair. I worry while applying mascara. I worry as I raise the tube of lipstick to my lips, but then I rethink the lipstick altogether. Violet and I are going to see each other again tonight, and I don’t want to have to think about red smearing on my face or getting on her perfect mouth.

I don’t want to think about anything.

When she kisses me, I will lose myself in it.

I keep my phone on my lap as I drive to school, a rare violation of the no-phones-in-the-front-seat rule that my parents set for themselves and for me. The three of us are prone to distraction and lost causes when it comes to patience. It’s better not to tempt us. But the drive is textless, and as I park I decide that the night must have gone well for Mark.

Because if he is anything like Lehna or June or Uma, he wouldn’t necessarily text me if he was deliriously happy, but he would absolutely text me if he was crushed. He would send me novels via text. Multivolume collections of sad poetry. I would be up all night typing Oh no! and So tragic! and Want me to come over?

The more I think about it I realize that not only did Mark’s night go well, it must have gone really well. Like, stayed-up-all-night-together well. Passionate, how-could-I-not-have-realized-before well. Maybe they forgot to set their alarms and Ryan’s parents discovered them this morning in a state of undressed togetherness and they are both being lectured to at this very moment. Or maybe that already happened late last night and now they are grounded and their phones have been confiscated, which explains why Mark hasn’t texted me.