I Know It's Over (25 page)

“Your ex-girlfriend,” she reminds me, her curly blond head tilting.

“Yeah, well, that’s the thing, she doesn’t feel like an ex.” I take a sip of hot chocolate, then hold the mug in front of me. “Have you heard anything about your mom?”

“Actually, yeah. My dad says she’s doing better.” She throws me a sideways glance. “He wants me to come home this weekend.”

“I thought you were going to stay here awhile.”

“I was. He deals with things better without me. When I’m there, he just gets worked up about me not being supportive.” Jillian’s cheeks tighten. “But I’m missing school and this is my last year before university.”

“Your mom must’ve been pretty unhappy before.” I shouldn’t push it, I know, but I can’t stop.

“Yeah.” Jillian’s face goes blank. “It’s chemical. There doesn’t have to be a reason for her to be unhappy. Anything can make her unhappy at any time if she’s off her medication.” Jillian sets her mug down next to the Clive Barker paperback and turns towards me. “Why’d you come here?”

I take another sip of hot chocolate. “I couldn’t handle school.” My hands are as cold as ever, even holding the warm mug, and I feel like I did that day in my dad’s car, but I don’t want to let go. “My ex-girlfriend is having an abortion today.” I angle away from Jillian and talk to the wall. “Nobody at school…I mean, I can’t talk to them…and she won’t let me be close to her anymore and—” I rush to my feet, knocking the coffee table along the way. “This is stupid. I’m sorry. You have your own stuff to worry about—you don’t want to hear this. I don’t even know you.”

Jillian stands up next to me. “Sit down,” she says. “It’s okay. I just don’t want to dredge up all this stuff about my mom. I talked to my dad for an hour yesterday night and…” She takes a heavy breath. “It’s hard, you know.” She touches my hand again and threads her fingers in between mine. “Sit down, okay?”

I sit down and she sits down next to me. I know she heard Gavin ask me about giving up hockey on New Year’s, but this time I explain it for real, along with the truth about hiding out at Nathan’s during the tournament. She tells me I should start playing again as soon as I can. She says she’s in this teen theater group at home and that it helps a lot, pretending she’s someone else. Maybe that’s my problem with hockey; I’m always me. I ask her more about the theater group and she says they did a production of
Grease
in the fall and that she got the lead.

“So you can sing?” I ask.

“Yeah, I love to sing,” she tells me. “When I was younger, I used to sing for everyone that came over to our house. I’d organize pretend contests and stuff with kids in my class and get their parents to be the judges. I was a real show-off, totally obnoxious.”

I smile and ask what her favorite song is.

“You mean to sing?” she asks.

“Yeah, sing a little.” I fold my arms and sink further into the couch, expecting her to protest. Instead she takes a sip of water, warns me that it’s corny, and launches into “Landslide.” She holds her head straight and sings sweet and sad, looking straight at me. I’d let her sing the entire song without stopping her, but she stops anyway, just after the chorus.

“You’re really good,” I say sincerely. “You probably already know that.”

Our bodies are so close they blend effortlessly together. We spent two hours spooned up together on New Year’s Eve so the nearness feels completely natural between us and somehow we drift down on the couch until we’re lying with our bodies wrapped tightly around each other. I can feel her heart beating against mine, racing, and I feel like crying, but I won’t let myself. I nuzzle my face in her neck and kiss it softly. We lie still. I don’t want to move and end the moment. I’m addicted to this and I shouldn’t even be here. My fingers brush across her cheek as I pull back to look at her.

But Jillian must be able to read my mind because she turns her face away and says, “You know it’s not going there with us. The timing’s all wrong.”

“I know,” I say. “Sorry.” I’m sorry for everything and I free all my limbs and feel the color drain out of my face.

“I wonder if we’d even like each other if we met under normal circumstances,” Jillian muses, sitting up and grabbing for her mug. “What would’ve happened at that party?”

“I’d still like you,” I tell her. “But I don’t know what would’ve happened.”

“I guess I probably wouldn’t have been at the party in the first place.”

“That’s true.” I guess I might have been—if Sasha and I weren’t together. There’s a whole alternate chain of events that could’ve happened to the three of us.

Jillian and I spend the next twenty minutes or so trying to talk about normal things, but I can feel both our problems trying to claw their way back to the surface, and then she says, “What’re you going to do after you leave?”

“Go home.”

“And then?”

“Wait for her call.” My watch reads twenty-one minutes after two. It may have already happened. I hope so. My head drops into my hands and I remind myself that it’s for the best. Was I going to take this kid to the park, hang around at the bottom of the slide, and promise to be around forever?

“I should go,” I announce.

“No hurry,” Jillian says. “No one will be home for at least an hour.”

She means Keelor and his brother. They’ll be the first ones back and I shouldn’t be around then. Make that another reason I shouldn’t be here.

“I should go anyway.” I stand up and move slowly towards the door, waiting for her to follow me. “I’m sorry about before.” I turn and look into her eyes.

“It’s better this way,” Jillian says. “I think you know that.”

I do. My arms hang by my sides, feeling empty. “Can I hug you goodbye? This is probably the last time I’ll see you.”

“Sure.” Jillian’s eyes are sparkling, like I didn’t need to ask in the first place. She takes a couple steps towards me and wraps her arms around my back. I hold her too.

“You never know, we might run into each other again sometime,” she says.

I let go and nod. It’s one of those things that’ll never happen, but she’s right, it’s better this way. Whatever’s between us is untouched. This is what pure feels like before you ruin it.

twenty

Nathan calls at
four o’clock. He didn’t know I was cutting art and wants to make sure I’m okay. I could tell him about Penny, the girl in the park, and how I found myself wandering over to Keelor’s house to see Jillian, but it’ll wait. Explaining myself is exhausting these days and besides, that’s all background. He knows Sasha is having the abortion today; he knows how I’m feeling. He always knows.

“I don’t know if I’m coming in tomorrow,” I tell him. “I want to see her.”

“I thought her folks wouldn’t let you.”

“Yeah,” I admit. “That’s the deal.”

“She said she’d be back at school on Monday,” he reminds me, and I try to wait for her call, I do. I sit up late Wednesday night, repeatedly checking my IM and e-mail. Someone would let me know if anything went wrong, but I have to hear her voice—to be sure—and early the next morning I cave in and text her, asking her to call me.

I lay low until Mom leaves and then tell Holland I’m cutting classes. She’s not in the least surprised and she doesn’t ask why—she already knows I won’t tell her.

I take the cordless and my cell into the bathroom with me and jump in the shower for five minutes. My body already feels different from not playing hockey for the past week and a half—lazy from lack of use. Outside of summers this is the longest I’ve been off the ice since I sprained my ankle two years ago. The sprains can be worse than the breaks sometimes and my right ankle is still weaker than my left.

The smallest thing can change you.

I towel off and park myself in front of the TV. Maybe Sasha won’t check her cell today; then she’ll think I’m at school and the whole day will pass before she calls. But I give it a while longer. I don’t want to wake her if she’s sleeping.

An hour and a half goes by like that—me watching music videos on the couch and the phones not making a sound. I go upstairs and check messages again. There’s spam preapproving me for a fixed-rate mortgage, advertising 75 percent off printer ink, and trying to interest me in penis enlargement patches. I delete them and wait until exactly 10:46. Then I break and dial Sasha’s cell phone. Mrs. Jasinski answers on the second ring and I’m so stunned to hear her voice on Sasha’s phone that I freeze.

“Hello?” Mrs. Jasinski repeats. “Is anyone there?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s me, Nick.”

“Hello, Nick.” Her voice is formal and stiff, like I’m trying to sell her windows that she doesn’t need.

“Can I speak to Sasha?” I ask. “I haven’t heard from her yet and I want to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing well.” Mrs. Jasinski’s tone sharpens. “I don’t want you to call here anymore, Nick. I know you two will see each other at school, but it’d be better if you kept your distance. For her sake, you understand?”

“I just want to make sure she’s all right,” I repeat. “I still care about her.” It’s more than I want to say, but I don’t stop there. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I know she’s special.”

“Yes, she is,” Mrs. Jasinski agrees. “I’ll take good care of her. Don’t worry about that.”

The phone goes dead in my hand. At first I think Sasha will call me anyway; she knows I need to hear from her. But hours go by and then it’s afternoon. Monday is over three days away. It’s the future, a day that may never in reality arrive.

I’m crazier now than I’ve ever been. It doesn’t matter what her mother says. I understand it, but I won’t listen. I shove my cell into my back pocket, slip my shoes and coat on, and walk over to Sasha’s house. The house looks lonely without its Christmas decorations. Christmas Eve seems almost as long ago as last summer.

I walk slowly up to the Jasinski doorstep and ring the bell. Mrs. Jasinski’s face falls as she opens the door. “Nick, you shouldn’t be here,” she says, the lines between her eyes jumping to attention. “I thought we had an understanding. This isn’t what Sasha needs.”

“I’m sorry.” I bow my head, but I’m not going anywhere. “I need to see her.”

“So I’m going to have a problem with you.” Mrs. Jasinski pulls the belt on her cardigan tight around her waist and focuses an uncompromising stare in my direction.

“No, but…” I pinch the outside seams of my jeans. “Will you at least ask her if she wants to see me? Please.” My voice is getting thick. I can’t have this conversation with her mother much longer, but my feet are frozen to the spot.

“I don’t want this to be harder than it is.” Mrs. Jasinski tips her head. “Do you understand, Nick?” It’s a plea and I do understand, but I can’t move.

“Please,” I say hoarsely. “Just ask her.”

We can both hear the gravel in my voice and I squint into the open doorway, pleading silently back. The moment seems endless. I can’t talk and she won’t speak. I let go of my jeans and watch Mrs. Jasinski purse her lips. “I’ll ask her,” she says at last. “Wait here.”

She closes the door in my face and for a minute I think that’s it, I’ve blown my chance. Then she reappears and ushers me inside with an aggravated whisper: “Sasha’s in her room.”

Mrs. Jasinski lets me brush past her in the hallway. I can feel her staring at the back of my head as I walk on. Sasha’s door is closed and I open it and slip inside her room. Under my coat my sweater is sticking to my back and I wipe my hands swiftly on my jeans in case they’re damp too.

Sasha’s sitting on the bed in dark green sweatpants and a long-sleeve top, her back resting against the pillow that’s propped up against the wall. Her hair’s flat and she has dark circles under her eyes, but other than that she looks all right. She’s facing the TV, which is a new addition to the room, and her eyes leap over to me as I take a step towards her.

“Hi,” I say quietly. “I called earlier, but you were asleep.”

“Yeah, Mom told me. I was going to call you later.”

“I won’t stay long.” I stand in front of her dresser, my throat filling up with sand. “I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m okay.” She fiddles with her sleeve. “Crampy.”

Then I notice a bottle of Tylenol on the bedside table next to a tall glass of what looks like cranberry juice and her ragged old teddy bear. I lean back against the dresser, my fingers curving around its edge, and lower my head.

“Nick, don’t,” Sasha commands.

“I’m not.” I choke on the words. “I’m glad you’re all right.” I swallow sharply, determined to make this okay, but when I look up, tears are sliding down Sasha’s cheeks. My eyes open up. Tears run hot down my face. I suck at being steel.

“Was it bad?” I croak.

Sasha wipes her face, but the tears keep coming. “I was just scared.” She looks into my eyes; I wish she wouldn’t. “I never thought I’d be somebody who did this. Sometimes it didn’t even seem real but not yesterday.” Sasha’s fingers dig into her hair. Her chest quivers as her voice breaks. “The worst part is I’m glad it’s over.”

I sit down on the bed next to her. I’m sniffling and wet all over and I struggle out of my coat and throw it on the floor. “You were right,” I whisper. “We’re not ready to have a kid.”

“I know.” She squeezes her eyes shut and I stroke her hair. She blinks at me and folds her hand inside mine. I wrap my arms carefully around her and she buries her face in my shoulder.

Neither of us says anything for a long time. My insides howl, my eyes burn, and Sasha keeps shaking silently against me. I kick off my shoes and pull my legs up onto the bed. Sasha moves over to make room. We lie with our heads on her pillow until I’m numb. I think the tangled weed inside me is dead or maybe I just don’t know how to feel anything anymore.

“I could come back to school tomorrow,” Sasha says, her face inches from mine. “But I think I’ll wait until Monday.” She sweeps a strand of hair out of her eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

“When do you have to go back to the doctor?” My voice is calmer now.

“In about two weeks. Just to check things out.”

I nod with my eyes. “Is your dad still mad?”