We Were Never Here(33)

“I’ll stay at my grandparents’, don’t worry.” They lived in Brookfield, a suburb twenty minutes inland.

“Did you want to stay here?”

“Hmm, as tempting as your miniature sofa and leaky air mattress are…”

I followed her into the kitchen. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. I know your grandparents are…difficult.”

“Thanks! Yeah, we’ll see.” She helped herself to a glass of water.

“How long will you be in town?” I smiled and tried again: “How long do I get with you?”

“I’ll tell you the whole story once my brain turns on. Ugh, I’m so happy to be home. Spring is so nice here—after a real winter, not like Australia.”

I gawped at her for a moment. “I can’t believe it, Kristen! You’re like a mirage.” I wiped my palm across the air in front of me.

“I know.” She giggled. “And you probably have a ton going on and I don’t want you to clear your schedule for me or anything. I just really wanted to surprise you. There are so few genuine surprises in life these days, you know?”

I blinked at her. Was she serious? I considered two dead bodies quite surprising. The kind of shock that made me hope the rest of my days would unfold without my encountering the unexpected. Still, my chest gushed with how glad I was to see her.

“Real talk, Kristen. I was in a bad place after Cambodia last year. How are you doing?”

She gazed out the window. “I think I’m better at compartmentalizing than you. Since I went through some shit growing up.”

I nodded. Her parents, dead in a house fire—orphaning her like Bruce Wayne. Pity and guilt mingled and rose through my throat. “God, I’m so happy to see you, Kristen. All I’ve wanted this last week is to have you here, to be able to talk about everything you went through.”

    “Aww, babe! Hey, do you have any coffee?”

“I can make some.” I stood and yanked a spoon from a drawer. Our rhythm was all off, Kristen batting away my attempts at real talk like a ninja. I pitched a few scoops of coffee into the machine. “I can’t believe you spent all that time on planes again just a week later. I’m not sure I ever want to travel again.”

“Well, sixteen-hour flights are the norm for me these days.”

I focused on clicking the carafe into place. My movements felt choreographed, like stage directions: She clatters around, making coffee. “You don’t have to be okay, you know,” I said. “What happened in Cambodia, it—it ripped me open, it left me confused and scared and raw. I couldn’t…well, I don’t have to tell you what a mess I was.”

She watched me, nodding sympathetically. This was all wrong; she shouldn’t have to comfort me. She was here, right in front of me—the exact thing I’d been wishing for since I got home. But I didn’t feel better. With a pang, I wondered if the distance between Kristen and me had been a blessing: a long and narrow but viable path toward healing. Now I felt myself sliding the opposite way like someone dragged by the heels.

“But you got through it,” she said. “And I will too. Especially now that we’re together again.” She smiled wide and then stifled a yawn.

“I’m glad you’re doing well. But you must be exhausted.” I glanced at the clock on the microwave—Aaron and I were meeting for brunch in less than an hour. “I can’t wait to catch up, but I also don’t want to keep you from sleeping.”

We were good at this—navigating each other’s bodily needs while in foreign lands, deprived of our usual routines. But she shook her head: “Seeing you is giving me a second wind. Are you up to anything right now?”

“Well, I actually have brunch plans. But we can hang out after?” So much brightness in my voice, sparkly and citrus.

“With who, Aaron?”

“Actually, yeah. I think things are going…really well.” For once, I knew what I wanted: to end this awkward reunion, to smile and feel good with Aaron, and then to try again with Kristen later, when she’d caught up on sleep, when things between us weren’t so…off. But then I made a stupid gamble, because I figured there was no way, no way she’d want to go out in public after a sixteen-hour flight and a four-hour flight and a bus ride and an Uber: “Want to join us for brunch?”

    “I’m going to take a ninety-second shower,” she replied, already rising from her seat, “and then I’m yours.”



* * *



—

On the drive to the restaurant, Kristen was relaxed and chatty, jabbering about the flight, her creepy Uber driver, how her grandparents had been weird about her impromptu visit since they were trying to turn her bedroom into a workout studio and had already shunted all her things to their cabin Up North. I tried to listen, but my mind raced: Sure, Kristen had always been energetic, eager to hang out, and quick to get over things, but…but wasn’t this behavior bordering on sociopathic?

Or was it all an act and she was doing even worse than I’d let myself imagine? I should’ve felt relieved that she seemed so unperturbed, but instead I felt trapped. Her joviality baffled me—like we hadn’t buried a body a week ago, like it was all in my head. I felt weak, broken in comparison. Why was she so goddamn cavalier?