The Last Time We Were Us (29 page)

I shrug, staring at her, defeated. “What do you want me to say, Lyla? Apologizing would imply I’m doing something wrong. I’m not.”

“How could you?” Her voice dips into desperation, sadness. “After what he did to Skip.” She’s full-on crying now.

“It’s not like what they said. It was an accident. He told me that the whole thing was a mistake. There was a can of lighter fluid on the ground and an explosion, and he never meant to burn him.”

“And you
believe
him?” She crosses her arms and looks at me like I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.

“Yes,” I snap. “Of course I believe him. I
love
him.”

The words are out before I realize I was thinking them, but once they are, it’s so obvious that they’re true.

She gasps, backs away from me, like I’m contagious and should be quarantined. Her hand reaches for the door, and she starts to walk out, but at the last second, she turns back. “Don’t even think for one second I’m going to let you stand up there with me at my wedding.”

“Good.” I’m yelling now, too. “I wouldn’t want to anyway.”

Lyla slams the door behind her, and in a few seconds I hear her tell Benny that they’re leaving and the rumble of her new car. Before anyone can stop me, I pull on shoes, grab my car keys, and run down the stairs as fast as I can.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad asks, but I ignore him as I slip out the front door.

Mom follows me. “Damn it, Liz, you cannot just walk away like this.”

“Leave me alone.”

And they stand there, dumbfounded, as I pull back, speed out of the cul-de-sac. I know they’re not stupid. They know where I’m going.

But I don’t care what they think anymore.

M
R.
S
ULLIVAN IS
“out with a friend” again, and this time, Jason and I don’t bother with words. We run through the living room, back into his bedroom, past his desk littered with papers and the case full of books, thoughtful ones, good ones, ones that make me love him even more.

We fall back onto the bed with a thump. Things move faster, and in a matter of minutes, my dress is off, and I wrap my arms around him and pull him on top of me.

“Are you sure?” he whispers in my ear. And they’re the nicest words I’ve ever heard, because I know right then that he actually means them. I know that Jason would wait for me, would never pressure me, would move on my time frame alone.

And that’s what makes me so sure I don’t need to wait.

I lock his eyes, nod, kiss his scruffy cheek. “I’m sure.”

“Just a sec.” He pushes himself up and steps out of the room, and I am alone, the blades of the fan whirring above, making goose pimples on my bare skin. I hear him opening drawers quickly, one after the other, and then the sound stops, and he’s back. I hear the crunch of foil, see him toss the wrapper away, and then he hovers over me, leans down, grasps my cheeks in his hands, kisses me again, soft this time.

“You’re sure?”

I nod again. “Are you?”

He kisses me. “Surer than anything.”

His hands do what they need to, but his eyes don’t let mine go. He is clumsier than Innis was—it is his first time and all—but the clumsiness is nice. It’s like he and I are on some new adventure together, just us. And a whole other world is ours to discover.

In a few moments, we are one.

It is wonderful and awkward and sweet. It is a feeling in my heart, an understanding I’ve never had with anyone before. It is a wholeness, within me and around me. It is me and Jason. And it has never been better.

When it’s over, he cuddles next to me, traces the curve of my shoulder with one hand. “How did I get so lucky?”

Before I know it, my eyes are filling with tears.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

And it spills out of me, because I am more open to him than I ever have been before. I don’t have it in me to hide anything from him anymore. I tell him about Lyla and about Mrs. Ellison, about MacKenzie’s pros and cons list. I tell him I’ll be okay, that none of this matters, that I want to be with him no matter what. It’s their problem, I say, as if saying it means they can’t hurt me, can’t tear me down.

Jason listens, wipes my tears, kisses me softly, but he doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have the answers, either.

I don’t go home that night. I know I’d have more of a leg to stand on with my parents if I did, but it doesn’t seem worth it. I can’t taint this night with an argument.

We wake up early, around five, leaving just enough time for me to slip out before Mr. Sullivan gets back from his boyfriend’s house. Jason walks me to the car, and I kiss him good-bye, promise to come over again tonight, my parents’ rules be damned.

T
HEY’RE WAITING FOR
me in the front room when I get there, keeled over on the couches, half asleep. Lucy runs to greet me, her barks waking them both. Mom is up and ready to go in an instant. “Where were you? What do you think you’re doing? How dare you walk away from us like that. You’re grounded, you hear me?”

I scratch the top of Lucy’s head, then stare at Mom. Dad is up now, too, and stands behind her, arms crossed, trying to look scarier than he is.

“Go ahead and ground me. Throw me out of the wedding. Do it all. It’s not going to change anything.”

Her jaw drops. Before she can think of the appropriate response, I amble up the stairs, slip into my room, close the door softly, and hop into bed.

Mom follows me in, and I tell her I’m going to sleep.

“This conversation is not over, Liz,” she says.

“I know.”

But she must not know what to do next, because she turns, walks away, and shuts the door behind her.

I close my eyes, pull the covers tight, and think about Jason until I fall asleep.

“L
IZ.
” M
OM IS
above me, her voice too loud and angry for so early in the morning. She shakes my shoulder. “Liz.”

“What time is it?” I pull the covers up higher.

“It’s nine,” she snaps. “And if you hadn’t been out all night, it wouldn’t feel so early.”

“Go away,” I say.

She sits down on my bed, shakes my shoulders. “Liz! Aren’t you supposed to be babysitting?”

I flip the covers down, look at her. “Actually no. Mrs. Ellison replaced me on Monday.”

“Oh, great,” she says. “Well, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Thanks, Mom. Real supportive.”

She shakes her head. “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you want me to say? Seriously? What explanation will make it better?”

“How could you do this to your own
sister
?”

I sit up in bed. “I’m not trying to do
anything
to Lyla. This isn’t my fault.”

Her anger melts into a frown, and she looks down at her hands, then back up at me. “How could you do this to me? After all I’ve done for you.”

I pull the covers back up again. “How does this have anything to do with you?”

She shakes her head so fast and vicious I think she’s going to give herself whiplash. Then she stares at me, and she looks almost like a kid. Like I did, when Jason left me. Her eyes glisten.

“Everyone knows,” she says, her voice shaking. “The whole neighborhood is talking about it. At the Homeowners’ Association meeting this week, they all got quiet as soon as I came in the room! If Suzanne hadn’t been there, patting the chair next to her and inviting me to sit down, I would have walked away immediately. How could you put me through this?”

It’s like I barely know her. “Why do you care about what some nosy gossips think more than your own daughter’s happiness? They’ll be talking about something else next week!”

“No, they won’t.” There’s only desperation left in her voice. “They don’t forget things like this!”

I lie back down, shaking my head. “This is insane, you know. You’re not in middle school.”

She tries another tactic. “I forbid you, Liz. I absolutely forbid you from doing this.”

“Whatever.”

She stands up and begins to violently pick up every single bag I own, tipping each one over, napkins and pens and loose change and old Starbursts falling to the floor.

“What are you looking for?” I ask.

“Your phone and keys,” she says.

I point to the bag hanging on the door.

She whips it away with anger, fishes around, finds what she wants. Her eyes lock on the phone’s cracks but she doesn’t say anything; maybe she doesn’t have the energy for that battle right now. “Don’t even think about going anywhere.” She storms out the door.

“You can’t stop me!” I yell, and I flip over, pull the covers up, shutting out everything else. What sucks the most is that I don’t want to fight with Mom and Lyla and MacKenzie. I want to blush when they ask me about Jason, tell them all the nice things he says. I want Lyla to narrow her eyes at me and ask me what base I’ve gotten to, remind me to use protection with a conspiratorial smile. But it won’t ever be that way—not with them.

Even so, I am sure, in the deepest part of myself, that Jason and I are right for each other.

And that’s what keeps me together, as everything else comes undone.

M
OM COMES IN
once an hour the rest of the afternoon, and we riff on a version of this same fight, without getting anywhere.

It’s almost two, and I’m getting ready for her to come up and yell again, while counting down the hours until I can see Jason, when I hear a knock on the front door and Mom’s muffled voice. I sit up straight when I hear steps on the stairs. I can’t imagine her sending MacKenzie up to talk to me, not when I’m supposed to be grounded for life. And I know it’s not Lyla; these steps aren’t hers. Maybe it’s Mrs. Ellison, I hope, coming to apologize for the family’s rash decision, coming to let me know that the girls can’t possibly go the rest of the summer without me watching them. That I’m a good babysitter no matter who I date.

There’s a hard and fast knock.

I open the door, and instantly my throat feels like it’s closing in on itself.

Innis is holding an obscenely large cluster of flowers—roses in bright, cliché red. The smell of them fills the room immediately, choking out every last bit of breathable air. He is wearing a button-down shirt and his nicest pair of khakis, but his feet are absurdly bare, because my mother doesn’t let anyone come upstairs with their shoes on, not even her daughter’s scorned-but-hoped-for suitor. He’s got an audacious smile on his face, and he looks absolutely absurd.

“What are you doing here?”

His mouth falls to a frown and his hand holding the flowers droops, the long stems pointing at me like a bouquet of swords.

“You said we could talk in person,” he says.

“I said to stop calling.”

He pushes his way in and closes the door behind him, and I feel suddenly trapped by his near-perfect body, the over-the-top flowers, the conversation I don’t want to have.

“As soon as your mom saw me, she said she hoped I could talk some sense into you.” He smiles, as if it’s as simple as that:
If you weigh out all your options, it’s easy to see that I’m the better choice.
He sets the flowers gingerly on my bed.

“This isn’t going to change anything. I meant what I said. You shouldn’t have brought the flowers.”

“A beautiful girl deserves beautiful flowers.”

“Stop with your crap,” I say.

“It’s not crap. Okay, so I haven’t been very understanding. I should have known you were going to want to see him. But it doesn’t matter. When we’re together, it feels right. Maybe I don’t show it like I should, but I’m not perfect.”

I shake my head, because no good can come of this speech. The grand gesture, the one girls dream of, that’s pulled from script upon script of teenage dramas, quotes taped up on lockers, the one that doesn’t
really
exist in real life, is here. And I don’t want it. It makes me sick.

“We can’t end everything,” he says, “because you’re confused.”

That’s what makes me lose it. “I’m not confused,” I snap. “I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know that I care about Jason in a way I never cared about you. I’m sorry to have to say it, but you just can’t get it through your head. It’s over.”

He shakes his head. “But you slept with me. You lost your virginity to me.”

I won’t let him do this. I won’t let him bully me.

“Well, I slept with him, too,” I say. “How do you like that?”

His jaw drops, and his face goes red. “You slept with that asshole?”

“I did.”

Innis stares at me. He’s a boy who’s been indulged all his life. Been spoken to sweetly by practically every girl he’s run across. He still thinks that if he brings me flowers and calls enough times, he can turn this whole thing around.

His hands form fists, and he closes his mouth and continues to stare, then parts his lips, finally able to make words. They come out as a whisper, but they’re sharp as a knife just the same. “You’re a slut.”

He turns around without saying another word, stomps out of the room, slams the door behind him. It’s not a minute before I hear the rush of footsteps, and then Mom is at my door.

“Is everything okay?”

“No.”

“Did something happen? I heard the door slam.”

“You need to give up on this,” I say. “This dream you have.”

Her mouth opens, shuts.

“He isn’t who you think he is.”

She steps closer, and her eyebrows knit together. “What did he say to you?” she asks.

“Nothing, Mom. Just leave me alone.”

“You can tell me,” she says.

“Just leave me alone,” I beg. “Please.”

I
REFUSE TO
eat dinner. I don’t want to be down there, sitting with the both of them, pretending things are okay.

The phone rings around eight. The house phone, not my cell, likely still sitting in my mother’s purse. Mom must feel bad about what happened earlier, because she walks up the stairs and hands it to me. “It’s MacKenzie,” she says. I take it.

“Hey.”

Mom stands there staring at me, but I shut my bedroom door so I won’t have to see her.

“You
slept
with Jason Sullivan?”

I wait for the patter of steps down the stairs before answering.