You (You #1)(69)

I hate Ethan. I hate him for having Blythe. When we broke up, they should have broken up and I try to be normal. I ask him what’s up with them, but he feeds me bullshit: “We don’t want to rush into anything and we both value our independence, so we’re taking it nice and slow, you know?”

No, I don’t know because I don’t value my independence. I value your pussy. If I were in his Reeboks—divorced, coupon-hoarding, slow—I would have put a bullet in my head. These are the darkest days in the history of the world and I’m losing it. And as if that’s not enough, he is trying to learn Spanish from listening to Enrique Iglesias songs and he asks if he can put some on right now.

“Sure,” I say. I don’t care anymore. I’m so dead that I’m deaf.

“I don’t have to listen to it right now.” He panders. “Want me to play something else? I have a ton of playlists on here. I have club music and rock music and jazz music.”

“Ethan, it’s not ‘jazz music.’ It’s just ‘jazz.’?”

“Joe, you know so much about everything,” he says and he always finds a reason to smile. If I gave him a bloody nose he’d find a reason to thank me. “I feel like I’m learning more every day!”

I go downstairs and lock the door and check your e-mail. There is a lot of junk about school, some financial bickering with your parents, your dad is helping you “a little” and you’re pity-partying with Lynn and Chana about “the Januaries.” You are trying to keep busy, buying all kinds of shit online, putting it on Daddy’s credit card, then promising Daddy you’ll return it. There’s no way around it anymore. You are gone, shopping, and I peel the new skin off my burn and watch the pus ooze. I am not healing. I refuse to get over you. Then you write to Chana:

I am so sorry but I am not gonna be able to go to that show with you next week. It’s just, well, I miss Joe.

If I had a folding TV dinner tray I would hurl it at the window and pound my chest like a barbarian, like a thick-dicked alpha gorilla. Yes! You miss me! It’s true! You do! The countdown to the apocalypse is canceled and you miss me and I blow on my finger and I love life and C+C Music Factory and maybe Ethan really will learn Spanish and I read on:

I don’t know if it’s him per se or what we had. But I keep thinking about him and I keep almost calling and I am going to call if I don’t get out of here. So I am gonna go to Peach’s place in Little Compton and just kind of decompress.

And now I’m pacing because you love me so much you have to leave New York. It’s official. You are obsessed and you go on:

So, again, SO sorry to bail. But Peach says you are welcome to join if you want!

Chana’s response is epic and I love her and I love the world. She is succinct:

? Um, ok, Beck. You miss Joe so you’re running off to a deserted beach house in the dead of winter with Peach?

You: I need space.

Chana: Well, no offense but I don’t think of a Peach pit as “space.” See you when you’re back.

You miss me and you miss me and there’s an e-mail from Peach:

Beckalicious, you rule. I know you were on the verge of calling Joseph last night and I am SO PROUD OF YOU for not caving. You are so talented and you’re in school. Of course that has to come first. And Joseph above anyone would want you to do what’s best for you. Don’t be so hard on yourself, B. Anywho . . . we’re going to have a blast in LC. Oh. Before I forget, it turns out that most of the bedrooms are mid-renovation. I hate to do this but can you actually not invite C&L? Thanks!

Bedrooms are under construction but there is always room for one more. It’s vacation time! And before you can vacate you need to prepare! Everyone knows that! I bolt up the stairs and tell Ethan I’m going to the Gap.

“Don’t even look at anything in the front!” he advises. “Plow right on through to the back!”

“You’re a good man, Ethan,” I say and I mean it. “You’ll be speaking Spanish in no time!”

“Thanks, Joe! Or should I say . . . Gracias! And remember, it’s Tuesday!”

“I know,” I say. “All clearance items are forty percent off.”

“You know it, Joe!”

And I do. I can’t wait to get new things. I like old things but you like new things and maybe there’s something to be said for new things. You miss me and that’s new, and that’s good.





30


I’M back at the shop surrounded by newness, and maybe I’m more like you than I know because the new things are exciting, Beck. New bandages—clean!—new hat—wool!—new haircut—short!—and a new attitude—psyched! I let Ethan go home early and he said he was happy to see me in such high spirits. It’s only a matter of time before you reach out to me—you miss me—and I check your e-mail again because the news has been so good. Chana’s laying into you about your “LC” tweet:

Chana: “LC”? Beck, the only way you could sound like more of an asshole is if by “LC” you mean Lauren Conrad. You can’t call it “LC” if you’ve never been there. Which you haven’t, right?

You: Okay, you’re right. LC was a lame tweet. I just feel kind of off since Joe.

Chana: If you feel off, then you should be a grown-up and call him up and see him again. Running away with Princess Peach is literally the worst thing to do.