The Art of Losing(48)

“Harley?” Ms. Baker said from the other end of the line. “Are you still there?”

“Yes. I’ll go. Text me the address, please.”

I hung up before I could second-guess myself.

By the next afternoon, I was pacing the house anxiously, as much of a wreck as I’d been waiting for news about Audrey. I’d been up all night thinking about what I could say to Mike, what he’d say to me, how to keep my shit together in front of his mom and the other people at the rehab center. I was furious with myself for agreeing to go.

With Mom and Dad gone—first to the hospital, then to a dinner with friends—lonely hours stretched in front of me. I could only binge-watch TV shows for so long. And even though I could have gone to the coffee shop and talked to Cassidy, what I really wanted was to talk to Raf.

By six o’clock, I’d run out of excuses. I felt as if I were about to explode, so I finally caved and texted Raf, asking him to meet me outside.

I sat on the garden wall between my house and his, knowing that he’d see me on his way over. I heard the basement door open. Floyd trotted into the shadow of the house next door. Raf appeared and Floyd followed, his tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“Hey,” Raf said, sitting down. He lit a cigarette and handed it to me before lighting one for himself. As I took a drag, I tried not to focus on the fact that his lips had touched the filter mere seconds before mine. It’s not like a kiss, I reminded myself. Clearly, I had spent way too much time watching movies in Audrey’s hospital room. They were turning me into a romantic.

“Hey, yourself,” I said. I took a drag. Floyd ambled away, but I whistled to get him to come to me so I could stroke his soft ears between my fingers.

“So . . . I’m glad you texted. It’s been a while.” Raf leaned forward to pet Floyd along with me. It was easier than looking at each other.

“Yeah, sorry.” After I exhaled, I held the cigarette without smoking it. It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d wanted it to be. Or as appealing.

“You’ve been busy, right?”

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. Was he being serious, or did he know I was holding back? And when did he get his hair cut? Because it looked nice.

“Well, Audrey woke up,” I said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “You told me, remember?”

“Right,” I said. “And I have a new job, working at The Flakey Pastry.”

“You told me that, too.” He sounded impatient.

What could I say? That I had finally allowed myself to text him so I could talk to him about going to see Mike in rehab, but that now that he was in front of me, I didn’t want to bring it up? That I didn’t want to talk about my ex-boyfriend when I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Raf?

If Audrey were here, she could give me advice. And right now those movies were of no help. I was too unsure of my own feelings. Maybe my attraction to him was just a reaction to my anger at Mike. Maybe it was a reaction to Raf’s rejection of me when we were kids. Maybe it was the fear of putting my heart in the hands of someone else who could crush it and blame it on alcohol.

“My mom said Audrey’s going to be moved to a rehab facility soon,” Raf said, filling the silence between us.

I nodded.

“How does she feel about that?”

I took a moment before answering. “She still isn’t talking much,” I said finally. “Her memory of the last year is gone, you know, and I think it’s freaking her out.”

“Wow. Yeah, I can imagine how that would feel. But she is talking?”

“A little bit. Some words are still hard for her to remember. Doesn’t seem to stop her from trying, though. She just deals with the struggle. Way better than I would.”

Raf smiled a little. “That sounds like Audrey. Jump in; worry later.”

“Yep, that’s her,” I said. I stubbed out my half-smoked cigarette in the grass. “It’ll be interesting to see what happens when they let her start trying to walk.”

“When will that happen?” Raf put out his cigarette and reached out to take the butt from my hand, like we’d been smoking side by side for years instead of a handful of times. He didn’t comment on how I’d wasted it.

“This week. She’s been asking about it, apparently.”

I regretted the “apparently” as soon as it was out of my mouth. Raf’s head tilted and he turned his body toward mine. I felt his gaze but couldn’t meet it. He waited for thirty seconds or so, maybe to see if I would keep talking. I remained quiet.

“You haven’t been going to see her,” he said. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an accusation, either. “Why?”

I shrugged, trying to curl inward. To avoid his questions.

“Why is it that you don’t seem happier that Audrey is awake?” he pushed. “You spent more time with her when she was in a coma.”

“You sound like my mother,” I grumbled.

“Are you denying it?”

“No, but I find it creepy that you know where I’ve been.”

“Stop trying to turn this back on me,” he shot back. Now he sounded irritated.

I stared down at the grass. I was irritated myself. “Maybe it’s none of your business,” I said. I could hear the bitter edge in my voice.