The Accidentals(53)

“By removing your clothing. When you were still in shock.”

I open my mouth to defend him, but nothing comes out. Instead, two tears run down my face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Aurora says, yanking a napkin out of the dispenser. “That is really fucked up.”

“Everything about that time was effed up. Except…” The tears are running freely now. “Every awful thing that happened to me happened to him too. He was there all the time, and when she… He closed her eyes, Aurora.”

I grab all the napkins off my tray and press them to my face. I’d forgotten that last detail. In fact, since coming to Claiborne, I’ve successfully blocked every memory from those awful days.

But now it all comes rushing back—the nurse who turned off the heart monitor that was shrieking its alarm. Haze’s red-rimmed eyes as he leaned over my poor mother’s body, easing her eyes closed for the final time. The terrible moment when I finally let go of her hand.

And now I’m coming unglued in the dining hall. Seriously unglued. Every sob is followed by another.

Aurora passes me every napkin in the bunch. Eventually, I pull myself together. I’d done so much crying in the past few hours that I will probably have swollen eyes for a week.

“Okay,” my roommate says, passing me a glass of water. “So this guy was there for you at the end, and it was a really intense time.”

I nod sloppily. Brunch is over, and we’re the last two people in the room.

“But did you guys ever talk about it? Did he ever say, hey, I’d like to take our friendship in a new and exciting direction?”

I shake my head.

“But that’s wrong, sweetie. Even if he didn’t mean to take advantage of you. He did.”

“He was the only one I had,” I say in a shaky voice. “And I just threw him away.”

“I have a question. Where was your father when this was all going down?”

Ugh. “That’s a whole other story.” And I’m so sick of keeping it to myself. “I told you I didn’t live with him before. But what I should have added is that I’d never met him until my mother died.”

Aurora’s mouth falls open. “What? Why?”

“You’ll have to ask Frederick. Because I haven’t managed to.”

My roommate’s mouth is set in an angry line. “Rachel, you are surrounded by sombreros de culo. I want to maim them for you.”

“Sombreros de culo… Asshats?” I smiled through my tears. “You are a very good friend. And now I think you’re the only one I have. Since I threw my other one out this morning, after he rode a thousand miles on a bus to see me.”

“He just showed up?”

“Today’s his birthday,” I mutter. “I threw my best friend out on his birthday.”

“After he tried to sleep with you against your will.”

I drop my forehead into my hands. “I could have handled it better. I shouldn’t have let things go so far.”

“I don’t know, Rachel. Maybe men just don’t do it for you.”

I look up to find Aurora’s eyes smiling at me, and I laugh for the first time in a day. “Very funny.”

She drains her coffee. “In truth, I’m the worst example. I can’t sit here and tell you that saying no is easy. I let many things happen with my boyfriend that I did not want.”

“You did?”

She doesn’t quite meet my eyes when she nods. “Absolutamente. And never once was I happy about it afterwards. I know your morning was all kinds of stinky. But I promise, you would feel even worse if you just let it happen.”

“Was he…aggressive?” I feel a latent shiver for her.

“Not at all. But I said yes when I wanted to say no. Over and over again. And I felt terrible after! See? That’s not how it goes for you now.”

“You moved to another continent to say no?”

Aurora reaches over to squeeze my hand. “That’s right. Don’t do what I did.” She looks toward the dining hall’s exit door. “Jake saw this boy who visited you, didn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“The look he gave you. It was like the lasers in his video games. Deadly.”





Chapter Seventeen





Even when you’re sad, there’s homework.

I reread Anna Karenina and then write the best paper of my life. I hope so, anyway. One day in the library I find a shelf full of old Claiborne Prep yearbooks. My mom’s year—1997—slides off the shelf and into my willing hands.

In her senior picture, Mom is wearing a blouse with puffy sleeves and a big smile. I look so much like her that it takes my breath away.

I flip through every single page of that book looking for more photos of her. She’s not in any of the sports team photos, but I spot her in the debate team group.

And—this is the one that surprises me most—she appears in a group photo of two dozen people labeled, “Jazz Band and Vocal Quartet.” They’re not holding instruments, though. And she never told me she was in a musical group. If she sang, she would have said so during one of our million discussions about my school choir.

I put the book back on the shelf, knowing I’ll visit it again soon.