Seven Ways We Lie(52)

Yeah. (pause.) Why’d you call?

shouldn’t say it. i miss you. i miss you.

(pause.) You’re drinking.

sorry, ’m not sorry.

Oh, June.

what?

(pause.) Don’t drive anywhere.

david, i never got to say. i roll over. i know you did what you did for a reason, of course, i know—

Yeah—

i barrel over him. (are my words coming out as words? i feel them keeling. reeling. falling.) i can’t see them turn you into—i can’t see people judge you for my decisions—

he sighs. They wouldn’t, is the thing. They’d judge me for mine.

and i know, i know, i’ve read every argument, i’ve read every article, but at the end of the day, i feel like—david, i’m perfectly capable of thinking for myself—

I know you are, but it’s—

at last it spills out: and i chose you, too. you never pushed me, and i still chose you every day, every time i took a breath. maybe you’re a bad choice, but you’re still mine. mine.

June, that’s not how it—

i need you. (i need you safe, of all the things to risk it couldn’t be you don’t you see?)

the dark is a balm on my forehead his silence a fire.

and his voice comes back a scratch, a stress: Please don’t say that to me. It hurts to hear.

david, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry, take me back, please, don’t leave me like this. i love you. say you still want me, say you— Juniper, you don’t sound like yourself. You’re scaring me. Do you have water? Are other people there?

david . . .

teeth in my lip, a bloody taste again. urgency gets its wiry fingers around my throat, (i need to know i have you, you’re the only thing and the only one) i’m sitting up and the world is toppling head over heels come see me. i want to see you. right now.

I can’t.

please.

i wait for it— (my goddamned head—)

and then—

not his reply.

knock. knock. knock.


he says, Is someone there?

no—

(have to lock the door. lock everything out so i can have this one

safe place)

i stand too fast, head spinning throat stretching

clogging

retching

Juniper! Juniper?

(the knocking still . . . )

trying to move, trying for the door— the bottle’s crashing to the carpet (where have my feet gone?)

i’m up i’m grappling for the doorknob in the dark i’m a chaos

i’m

(click there’s the lock) slamming into the floor

did i get my answer?

wake up, juniper—

(somewhere i hear his voice

he’s yelling for me

what a lullaby lull

a

bye

bye

)





BY 11:45, THE HOUSE LIGHTS ARE OFF, SOMEONE HAS rolled the volume up on Juniper’s massive speaker system, and an honest-to-God mosh pit has clustered in the center of the so-called entertainment room, which has hardwood floors so slick, I’ve witnessed five falls in the last ten minutes. The sight makes me think it’s time to call it a night.

Deep in the knot of people, five or six voices yell a protest at once—I make out the words Party foul!—and the tangle unfurls, revealing a massive beer spill glazed and foaming across the floor. Yep, I’m done, I think. But as I turn for the door, my shoulder knocks into Olivia, and my exit strategy vanishes. On impact, a gym bag slips from her shoulder and hits the floor, and a bottle of contact fluid rolls out.

“Shit, my bad,” I say, crouching to grab her stuff, and she grins, saying, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” My cheeks turn hot. I hand her the bag and mumble, “You, um. Uh. You staying the night?” and she says, “Yep. Forgot my stuff, so my sister brought it.” I look around, expecting Kat Scott to spring out of nowhere, but Olivia adds, “She’s not staying. She’s in the bathroom, and then she’s gonna go.” Her eyes fix behind me on the dance floor. “Also, dude, that looks like maybe the worst thing ever,” and I say, “It really, really is.”

She grimaces. “God, I’ve got to find Juniper. Her parents are seeing some show in Kansas City for their anniversary, but they’re supposed to get home at one-ish. I told her she was going to have a nightmare time getting people to leave at midnight.”

“I saw Juniper talking to Valentine Simmons over in the, uh, kitchen area.”

“Ah, yes, the kitchen wing and suite,” Olivia says, sounding relieved. “When’d you see her?” The music pumps louder, and she takes a step toward me, knocking my train of thought off the rails. In the darkness, one side of her face is painted in shadows, the other side lit up by the flashing white-blue of the TV. Her bright eyes mirror the flickering screen.

I force myself not to stare. “Maybe half an hour ago?”

“Shit,” she says. “Okay, well, I should start getting people out.”

Then Dan Silverstein walks through the threshold, red cup in hand, and when he looks over and sees us, a grin props up his round cheeks. My heart sinks as he heads our way, calling over the music, “Matt, you know Olivia?” and I’m like, “Yeah, we, uh, we have a class together.”