Love on the Brain(62)

I was never any of those things. Not by a long shot. But I think of Levi—impenetrable, cold, arrogant Levi, who turned out not to be impenetrable, cold, arrogant at all. Being so dramatically misunderstood doesn’t seem that unlikely.

“And you and Tim . . . You and I were always together, but in the end, you’d go home to Tim and I’d be alone, and there was this . . . thing that I was never part of.”

“Were you trying to . . . to punish me?”

“No! No, I was just trying to feel . . . more like you.” She rolls her eyes. “And because I’m a dumbass, I picked the worst part of you to do that. Fucking Tim.” She lets out a bubbly, moist laugh. “We never . . . It lasted a week between us. And I—I never liked him, you know it. I despised him. You were so much better than him, and everyone knew it. I knew it. He knew it, too. The moment I did it, while I was doing it—I thought of you the whole time. And not just because he was a lousy lay. I kept wondering if doing such an unspeakably bad thing would . . . elevate me, somehow. Make me more like you. God, I was messed up. I still am.” She wipes her tears with two fingers. There’s already more, flowing down. “I wanted to apologize. But you blocked my number, and I told myself I’d give you space and see you at Vanderbilt. Then the summer passed, and you weren’t there . . .” She shakes her head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, and I think about it every day, and—”

“I’m sorry, too.”

She gives me an incredulous look. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“I may not have fucked your fiancé, but I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you felt like you weren’t good enough. You were my best friend, but I always thought you were . . . invincible.”

We are quiet until she says, “This is in no way meant as self-congratulatory, but I’m glad you didn’t marry Tim. I’m glad you’re with Levi. He’s the kind of person you deserve.”

I don’t see the point in contradicting her. Not when I agree with everything she’s said, including things that aren’t quite true. So I nod and make to leave.

“Bee?” she calls.

I turn.

“Would you mind it if I texted you, once in a while?”

I should probably be thinking big thoughts about forgiveness, and punishment, and self-preservation. I should throw the question back at her and ask if she’d let me text her if our situations were reversed. I should reflect on this when my brain is not a mushy mess. But I forget all the “shoulds,” and tell her the first thing to cross my heart. “We could try.”

She nods, relieved.

Levi is outside the bathroom, a hulking mountain leaning against the wall. I don’t have to ask to know that he saw Annie come after me, and decided to follow in case I needed him. I don’t have to lie or reassure him that I’m fine even as I wipe my cheeks. I don’t have to explain anything.

I can just nod when he asks if I’m ready to go, and take his hand when he offers it.





16





SUBTHALAMIC NUCLEUS: INTERRUPTIONS



I WAKE UP from a four-hour stress-nap as Levi merges onto the interstate for the last stretch of the trip, and BLINK is instantly on my mind. “About the frequency trains, I wonder if we could take advantage of the magnetothermal—” Something splattered on the side of the road catches my eye. “What’s that?”

“Wow.” Levi’s tone is forcefully cheerful. “Check out that farm on the right!”

“But what’s that on the— Oh no.”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“Is it a dead raccoon?”

“No.”

“Yes, it was!” I start crying. Again. For the seventh time in forty-eight hours. You’d think my lacrimal ducts would have runneth over, but nope. “Poor baby.”

“You know what? It was a raccoon, but it had clearly died of old age.”

“What?”

“In that very spot. He died peacefully in his sleep, then someone ran him over. Nothing to be sad about.” I glare at him. At least I’m not crying anymore. “What were you saying about leveraging magnetothermal properties?”

“You’re full of shit.” I lift my legs, kick his forearm, and then lay my foot on the glove compartment. His eyes follow my every movement, linger briefly on my bare knees. “But thank you. For babysitting my feelings this weekend. For not letting me free-fall into a pit of despair. I promise I’m going to revert to adult status. Starting now.”

“Finally,” he deadpans.

I laugh. “For real—what did you tell Tim?”

“I said hi. Asked how he was.”

“Come on. You were speaking into his ear.”

“Just whispering sweet nothings.”

I snort. “Wouldn’t be surprising. You might be the only person in the lab he didn’t cheat on me with.” His long fingers grip the steering wheel and I instantly regret my words. “Hey, I was joking. I actually don’t care much anymore. Would I mind seeing Tim bent in two with a severe hemorrhoid attack? Nope. But neither would I go out of my way to stab him. Which I didn’t know before this weekend, and that’s . . . freeing.” Liberating, this almost-indifference. It makes me much happier than the resentment I harbored for years. And the conversation with Annie . . . I haven’t processed it yet, but maybe this weekend was less of a waste than I thought. Except that I’m low-key panicking about my job again. “Whatever you told Tim . . . thank you. It was nice to see him almost shit his pants.”