Holding Up the Universe(71)

Top 2 Things I Miss About Libby


by Jack Masselin




The way I feel when I’m with her. Like I just swallowed the sun and it’s shooting out of every pore.

Everything.





FOUR DAYS LATER




* * *





I’m due at Kam’s house around nine. Caroline will be there. Everyone will be there. I don’t want to see everyone—or anyone, actually—but this is the way it has to be. I’m Jack Masselin, after all. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.

I take a shower, pull on my clothes, shake out my hair. I grab the car keys, and I’m almost out of there when my dad (thick eyebrows, pale skin, Masselin’s shirt) comes chasing after me.

“Hey, Jack, can we talk to you a minute?”

I think of every excuse—I’ve got a date and I’m already running late (true), I think the car’s on fire (hopefully not true), I don’t want to talk to you (true true true). “Sure thing, Daddy-o. What’s up? But make it quick. The ladies don’t like to be kept waiting.” I almost add, As you know.

“This is serious, buddy.”

Marcus, Dusty, and I sit on the couch side by side. Mom is opposite us on the ottoman that’s the size of a small boat. She leans forward, hands on her knees as if she might leap up at any minute.

Dad clears his throat. “Your mom and I love each other very much. And we love you. The three of you are our life, and we’d never do anything to hurt you.” He goes on like this for a while, all about how much he loves us and how he’s lucky to have such a great, supportive family, how we were all there for him when he was sick, and he can never tell us what that means to him.

Meanwhile, Marcus, Dusty, and I are all looking at Mom because she’s the one who tells it like it is. But she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even look at us. She’s staring at some point just past our father, who is still talking.

Finally, Dusty raises his hand and goes, “Are you getting divorced?”

Dad’s face crumples, and I can’t look. Now no one’s saying anything, and finally, in this very quiet voice, Mom says, “Your father and I think it’s best to separate for a little while. We need to work on some things in our marriage, but those issues have nothing to do with you.”

The conversation doesn’t end there. Dusty has questions, and Marcus wants to know what this means for us, like, where will we live and can we still go to college?

Meanwhile, I’m here on the outside—always on the outside, even as the world crumbles around me—face pressed to the glass that divides us, looking in.





We’re on our way to pick up Iris, and Jayvee is driving because she’s the only one with a license. Bailey and I sit in back. Bailey says, “Dave Kaminski’s having a party. I promised I’d stop by, just for a minute.”

Jayvee catches my eye in the mirror. “Libbs? It’s kind of up to you.”

Bailey says, “Jack won’t be there.”

I say, “How do you know?”

“He doesn’t really go to parties.”

We roll up in front of Iris’s house, but Iris is nowhere to be seen. Jayvee shoots her a text, and we sit there. When she still doesn’t appear, Jayvee swears under her breath. “I’ll be back.” She leaves the engine running and goes marching up the walk.

“Libbs?” Bailey is peering at me, eyebrows raised like banners, mouth in a half-smile, eyes wide and shining.

“Okay.”

Because I mean, why not? What do I have to lose?

And then, because I don’t have anything to lose, I say, “Why didn’t you stick up for me when I was bullied? Back in fifth grade. When Moses Hunt started banning me from the playground. Why didn’t you do something or at least come talk to me? I stood there every day, too terrified to set one foot on the playground, and you never once came over to talk to me.”

I say it matter-of-factly. I’m not emotional. I’m not upset. I just genuinely want to know. At first, I’m not sure she hears me. But then her eyebrows sink back into place and her half-smile disappears and her eyes go cloudy.

“I don’t know, Libbs. I think I told myself we were friends, but not best friends, and that you seemed like you were okay. You’re still like that. You get letters from some horrible person, and you brush it off. Jack tells you he can’t go out with you anymore, and you’re ‘fine.’ ”

“But it was a big deal back then, and it was kind of obvious, but no one did anything.”

“And I felt awful because I didn’t, and then one day you were gone. You didn’t come back.”

“Is that why you’re so nice to me now?”

“It’s why I came up and said hi to you on the first day of school, but it’s not why I’m nice to you. I’m nice because I like you. I’m just really, really, really sorry I wasn’t a good friend then.”

And it doesn’t change anything, but it’s enough.

“I could have been a better friend too. I could have talked to you. I could have told you how I was feeling.” And then she hugs me, and I inhale her hair, which tastes like rainbows and peach pie, exactly how you think Bailey Bishop’s hair would taste.