The Art of Losing(55)

“Yeah, it was . . . unexpected,” I said. “But I’m glad he did.”

She looked at me for a second, weighing what she was about to say. “You know, you don’t have to be a nun just because you broke up with Mike.” Apparently, she’d decided on bluntness instead of tact.

I did know that. But I had reasons. “I’d rather have Raf as a friend than an ex-boyfriend,” I said. “And with the way I’ve been feeling lately—full of anger and bitterness—I’d just drive him away. Or he’d start drinking again. Or he’d cheat on me.”

Understanding dawned on Cassidy’s face.

“It’s just . . .” I squirmed a bit. Cassidy wasn’t going to like what I was going to say. “I’m going to see Mike in rehab tomorrow, and I’m really not handling the anxiety very well. Making out with Raf was just one way to avoid thinking about it.”

Cassidy threw her hands up. “Whoa, slow down,” she said. “You’re going to see Mike. In rehab.”

I nodded. “His mom called. She said he needed to make amends.”

“She really did that,” Cassidy grumbled. “Unbelievable.”

I reached across the table for her hand, and she reluctantly put it in mine. “Please, Cass, I need your support right now, okay? I know you hate him, I hate him, everyone hates him, but what if making amends with me is what he needs to keep from drinking?”

“You’d think almost killing your sister would do that.”

“Yeah, you would. But I need to be sure that he remembers that almost killing Audrey wasn’t the only thing that he did wrong while he was drinking. He needs to make amends for a lot more than just that. And I think maybe I need to hear him say it.”

“Okay,” she said with a sigh. “But if you’re going into the lion’s den tomorrow, the least I can do is pay for breakfast.”

I gave her hand another squeeze before she went to the cashier’s station to pay.

I knew I was putting myself in a position to be disappointed, but I wanted to believe Mike could be better. I always had. But giving him the chance to let me down again had my palms sweating.

Still, there was an upside. Raf was right. The uncertainty made me want to do something that I could control. It made me want to confront Audrey about what she and Mike had done to me. I might not get what I wanted from Mike, but I could at least finally get the satisfaction of an apology from my sister.

Her new room was a smaller space than the Neuro ICU room had been, but Mom, Dad, and I all fit. There wasn’t nearly as much room for Dad to pace, though.

Audrey was still weak and not moving much, though she could scoot herself into a wheelchair to go to the bathroom now at least. She was sitting up and alert when I walked in. Her eyes brightened when she saw me, clearly grateful for saving her from being alone with Mom and Dad. Currently, they were arguing in the corner over whether they should insist on a different room. She wouldn’t be so happy once she knew why I was separating her from them, though.

“Hey,” I said, “could I take Audy on a roll through the place?”

Mom’s first thought was no; I could see it on her face. But she managed not to say it out loud. Instead, she and Dad went to the nurses’ station to ask them if we could borrow a wheelchair. It wasn’t fair to make Audrey go through all that, but I needed privacy. And in addition to some lukewarm pancakes and fake maple syrup, I had some news that was going to upend her life.

I hung the take-out bag from one of the handles of the wheelchair and pushed Audrey out the door. Behind us, Mom and Dad stood in the empty room. They looked forlorn, like they hadn’t been picked for dodgeball.

“We’ll be fine!” I called back over my shoulder. “Back in twenty minutes, I promise.”

I wheeled Audrey to the courtyard outside. It wasn’t big, but the pathways were wide, and there was room next to a bench where I could park her and sit, which I did. I pulled out the pancakes and opened the container for her. Because Audrey didn’t always have complete control over her motor functions yet, I cut up the pancakes and speared a few bite-size pieces on a fork. Then I placed the fork between her fingers so she could dip it into the puddle of syrup and eat.

“This is good,” she said around her first bite. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, anything’s good when you’ve barely eaten any solid food for weeks.”

I smiled, but my stomach roiled. I’d brought her here to tell her about Mike. To tell her what she’d done. To unburden myself at last. But as I watched her struggle to eat, I realized that her life was never going to be the same. Audrey would heal, yes, but she was going to pay for her mistake every single day for the rest of her life, whether she knew why or not. Why would I want to add to that pain? Neither one of us would feel better.

Instead, I reached into the bag and pulled out a packet of butter. I peeled back the foil for her and instructed her to dip it in there first, then the syrup, before taking a bite. She needed the extra calories, and she deserved the extra flavor, but Audrey’s smile was enough of a reward.





Almost Two Years Ago



In September of our sophomore year, one of Mike’s friends had a party. Someone brought a bottle of rum from their parents’ liquor cabinet, and though I had never seen him drink before, Mike volunteered to play bartender. His concoctions turned out to just be rum and Coke, but because he was in charge of the pouring, he served himself a little more rum than he did anyone else.