I Know It's Over (26 page)

“Not really.” Sasha sighs and sucks in her cheeks. “I don’t think he knows what to say to me anymore.” She points at the TV. “He bought that for me a few days ago. He said he was going to get one for my birthday but that I might as well have it now.”

We lie there blinking and trying to catch our breath. “My mom’s been great,” Sasha adds quietly. “She took the day off to be with me. I know she told you that she didn’t want me to see you today.”

“Yeah. She hung up on me too, but I couldn’t wait.” I hold the air inside my lungs for a while and then let it go. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you and what was happening. I cut class yesterday. I couldn’t do anything.”

Sasha’s gaze clings to mine. The corners of her lips drop and she reaches out to touch my face. I’m still numb, but somehow I can feel that and it occurs to me that we’ll never be this close again. My skin goes warm where her fingers were, but I’m too drained to be any sadder.

“Can you stay awhile?” she asks.

It’s like she can read every single thing I’m thinking just by looking at me. How long does it take a connection like that to dissolve? Part of me hopes it takes a long, long time. The other part wants to stay numb. I’m a work in progress and the Nick of the moment opens his mouth and says, “As long as you want—or until your mom kicks me out.”

Sasha almost smiles. “She wouldn’t do that—she knows I want you here.”

We snuggle up on the bed and watch a soap opera neither of us follows. To tell the truth, I’m not even watching. I’m just breathing next to Sasha, recovering. After the show’s over, she sits up, picks up her cranberry juice, and drains the glass.

“You want some more?” I ask.

“Thanks.” She hands me the empty glass. “There’s loads of stuff in the refrigerator. Grab something for yourself too.”

I pad into the Jasinski kitchen and swing open the refrigerator. It’s well stocked with juices, soft drinks, and three different varieties of milk. I refill Sasha’s cranberry juice and take a can of 7-Up for myself. That round table is by the wall, just like the last time I had dinner here. A package of Peter’s crayons is lying on top of it. Lime green is halfway out of the box. It’s his favorite color. His coloring books are full of people with lime green faces. Some things haven’t changed.

Mrs. Jasinski appears in the kitchen before I can make a clean getaway. She stands in front of the closed refrigerator and says, “Is she all right?”

It’s funny, I spent the past few weeks thinking I was the last person who’d be able to answer that question correctly. Now, for once, I’m the person who knows best. “She’s fine,” I say politely. “I’m getting her more cranberry juice.”

Mrs. Jasinski nods and walks out of the kitchen. I go back to Sasha’s room, hand over the juice, and sit down at the end of her bed. “Your mom was asking about you just now. She wants me to stay away from you.” I don’t even blame her mom; that’s just the way it is.

“I know,” Sasha says. “They told me to stay away from you too.”

“So what happens at school?”

That concentration look slips over Sasha’s face. She frowns as her eyebrows draw together. “Well, you better not ignore me,” she says firmly. “I don’t want it to be like before.”

“I don’t want that either.” Like that’s even possible. “I don’t think I could do that after all this.”

“Yeah.” She drops her voice. “But it’ll be different, you know? We can talk at school, but no more phone calls or anything. My parents wouldn’t like it and I think I need some distance too.” She rubs her eyes. “Right now you just remind me of everything.”

“I know what you mean.” I glance at her black socks, bunched up around her ankles. The last time I was on this bed so many things happened between us. Now it’s all about this. “You know you can call me anytime if you want to—if you need to talk.”

“Thanks,” she says, but we both know she won’t. I know her so well that I can do most of the translations in my head without missing a beat.

Sasha stares at me with weary eyes, her lank hair lying against her shoulders and her washed-out skin nearly the same color as the wall behind her. I love her so much, only the love is all pain now. I don’t want to remember us like this; I don’t want to feel this way every time I look at her, but maybe I will. It’s not something I can run away from.

“You look tired,” I say gently. “Maybe you should go back to sleep.” Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to go, but it has to happen sometime.

“Now you sound like my mom,” Sasha says with a yawn.

“It could be worse, right?” I joke. “I could sound like your dad.”

“Yeah.” Sasha crosses her ankles next to me. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

“I hope not.” I’d like to think I wouldn’t make my teenage daughter feel like crap for getting pregnant. “I think I’m gonna call my dad tonight—let him know about everything.”

“What about your mom? You never told her?”

“I’m going to. As soon as I get home.”

Sasha tilts her head as if to ask: Why now? And I don’t know except that it’s happened and it’s finished. I’ve been doing a shitty job of acting like Nick lately and today I can’t do it at all. If you tapped my chest, you’d hear the sound of emptiness.

“I should’ve told her before,” I continue. “Even my dad said that. I should’ve told her on Christmas Eve.”

“Your mom’s okay,” Sasha says. “She’ll be upset, but it’ll be all right.”

“Yeah.” I nod at Sasha. She always knows what to say—even on a day like today. “Did you talk to Lindsay?”

“She called last night, but I didn’t want to talk. I’ll probably call her back later.”

“Nathan called yesterday when I cut art.” I reach behind me, grab my 7-Up from the dresser, and down a couple mouthfuls. “Sometimes I feel like he’s the only person aside from you that gets how I’m feeling.” Him and Jillian, but she’s going and I’m still not ready to hear any details about that journalism student. That last part is something I really need to work on. There are a few things I have to work on and with hockey on the back burner I have a lot of time.

“He’s a really good person,” Sasha says.

“He is,” I agree. Him and Sasha are the best people I know.

“Listen.” Sasha turns and adjusts her pillow. “Maybe you better go soon after all. I want to take a shower.” She puts a hand to her head. “My hair’s disgusting.”

“You look fine.”

“You must be legally blind,” she says.

I stand up and hover around her dresser as she gets off the bed. “You’re okay to take a shower?”

“No baths,” she says. “Showers are okay.” I move out of the way as she grabs a pair of underwear from the dresser. “And I have to take my temperature again later.”

I read about that on the Internet. A fever can mean you have an infection. Bleeding is normal, but too much isn’t. They say abortion’s one of the safest surgical procedures, but there are still things to watch out for. Thinking about that makes me glad we didn’t do this on our own, that Sasha’s mom is right here looking out for her.

“Okay.” I bend down and kiss Sasha’s forehead, as softly as I can. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yeah, see you Monday.” Sasha folds her arms in front of her chest, just like she did that day at school when I chased after her. “Thanks for coming by,” she adds quietly. “It means a lot.”

I bury my hands in my pockets and nod. We’re at the very end. There’s nothing left to say. All I have to do is walk out the door.

twenty-one

There are voices
coming from my living room, mingled with the sound of some English band’s gloomy guitar chords. Holland is musically challenged and loves this shoe-gazing crap. I bypass the living room and leave her to it, but a guy’s laugh stops me partway to the stairs. I poke my head into the living room and take in the scene. Holland and Diego are sitting on opposite sides of the coffee table, the Scrabble board spread out between them.

It’s like I’ve been hurtled back in time. Our Scrabble board hasn’t seen the light of day in three years. Diego bounces me a smile over his shoulder. “Hey, Nick. How’s it going?”

“All right,” I tell him. “You?”

“All right,” he says.

Holland adds her own smile for good measure and I turn and double back to the stairs. I go up to my room and sit on the floor next to the bed. The sheets are twisted into a solid mass, leaving the mattress partially exposed. My sleep over the past few days has consisted mostly of shifting positions and I’m exhausted, but I won’t lie down.

When I’m sure Mom’s home, I slog down to the kitchen and catch her pulling a bag of Brussels sprouts out of the refrigerator. “Can I talk to you?” I ask. You’d think it’d be hard to say after waiting so long, but it’s not. I’m on auto and everything feels the same.

“Mmm?” she says, her head darting back into the fridge. My flat tone obviously hasn’t set off any alarm bells. “What is it?”

“No, I mean…” I point to the fridge, although she hasn’t looked up at me yet. “Can you stop what you’re doing so we can talk?”

Mom’s back straightens and her eyes meet mine. She closes the refrigerator and motions towards the table. I pull out a chair and wait for her to sit down next to me. As soon as she does, I announce: “Sasha had an abortion.”

Mom’s head wilts slightly. Her bottom lip juts forward. She stares at me in silence. I look at the table, then back up at her, waiting for my words to sink in. “Is she all right?” Mom asks.

“She’ll be okay.”

Mom’s eyes are unreadable. Her head springs up as she opens her mouth. “I didn’t know you two had that kind of relationship.”

“Before we broke up,” I say factually. “Yeah, we did.”

“And when did this happen?” Mom asks.

“Yesterday.” My throat’s drying out. I don’t have an ounce of water left in my body after what happened at Sasha’s earlier. “I just saw her today.”

“Do her parents know? Is she being taken care of?”

I nod leadenly. “Her mom took her. She’s at home with her now.” Mom’s head slopes towards mine and I keep going. “I couldn’t tell you before. You take things really hard.” I slump down in my chair. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Mom’s head snaps up again. It’s the wrong thing to say, I guess, but it’s the truth. “You can always talk to me, Nicholas. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“I can’t always,” I argue. “You can’t expect that.”

“But you told your father?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “That’s different. He’s not around all the time.” I’m too tired to do this with her. Why should I have to explain the way things are? Why can’t she just open her eyes and see it? “Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m telling you now. If you turn this into something about him…” My face is throbbing red. I can feel it.

“I’m not doing that,” Mom says evenly. “But you can’t expect me to hear something like this and not give it a second thought—because this is what’s been upsetting you lately, isn’t it?”

“Since Christmas Eve,” I confirm. “I couldn’t get away from it.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Nothing’s the same.”

“No,” Mom says. “Of course it isn’t.” I stay quiet and stare at my knees. “This is a very serious situation. This is something you could be dealing with for a while.”

“I know that.”

“Okay.” Mom folds her hands into her laps and squints at me like she’s about to say something intense. “What do you want me to say to you?”

My head jerks up. “I don’t know.” I stare past her. “I don’t know.”

“But I’m sure you know nothing like this should ever happen again.” Mom leans in so I can’t ignore her.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Because right now you may think you’ll never find yourself in that situation again, but you will.”

I’ve already decided to listen to whatever lecture she has in store for me. My face is fixed in a passive expression and I nod as she continues.

“I hope talking to your father helped.”

“A bit.” My jaw twitches in surprise. “He was pretty good about it, but I haven’t talked to him for a while.”

“Maybe you should give him a call,” she says. “I’m sure he’d want to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I might.” An idea begins building in my head and snowballs with momentum. “I was thinking maybe I’d go down and stay with him for a few days. Just to get away, you know?”

Mom blinks and looks into my eyes. “It’s not a bad idea if it’s all right with him.”

“I’ll check,” I tell her, and before I know it, I’m standing. “Thanks.”

Mom stands too and then we’re both standing there trying to pretend this isn’t as awkward as it seems. “Go ahead and give him a call now,” she suggests. “Let me know what he says.” I take a step towards the door and she adds, “Dinner’s in about forty minutes if you’re interested. Holland’s friend is staying.”

I shake my head and Mom nods sympathetically and says, “I’ll put some aside and you can have it later.”

“Thanks,” I say gratefully.

Upstairs, I pick up the phone and dial Dad’s condo. He has a lot of late meetings and I expect to get his machine, but he answers.

“Nicholas, how are you?” he asks. “What’s happening?”

He could’ve called me himself to find out, but I let that go and fill him in on the last few days. When I come to the point about staying at his place, he interrupts with: “Nick, this isn’t enough notice. Bridgette’s sister and her family are coming in from Calgary on Saturday, and you have work and school, I’m sure.”

“I can call in sick,” I tell him. “And I won’t miss much school.”

“The thing is I have plans, Nick.” Dad puts on his hearty voice. “What do you say to two weeks from now? I’ll come pick you up and we can get tickets to a Leafs game—the whole thing.”

Two weeks seems like a life sentence and I say, “No, that’s fine. Do your family thing with Bridgette. I’m cool.” In fact, my words are like ice. I never ask him for anything and all I’m asking for now is time. Not even a full consecutive twenty-four hours, just time.

“Nicholas,”
Dad says. His tone’s all “don’t be that way.”

So okay, I won’t. I hang up and flick on my stereo. After a minute the phone rings, but I don’t pick up. Thirty seconds later there’s a bang on my door and Holland swings it open and says, “There’s a man on the phone claiming to be your father.”