The Night We Said Yes (3 page)

“So why tell me now?” I asked, still taken aback and feeling slightly betrayed.

“Because I know it’s over. I know there isn’t a part of you still thinking about him.” She paused. “And if I hate your next guy, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

“I better be,” I said, remembering back to how my friends didn’t hang out with Nick really, they didn’t involve him.
Maybe I should have known they hated him. Then again, maybe I should have known about him, too. “I mean, you’re right, I don’t want him back or anything, but I wish you’d told me earlier, I guess.”

“If I did, would it have changed anything?”

“Maybe . . . I don’t know.” I was used to her always revealing her position. Not knowing something she thought made me feel kind of alone. “I like your opinions.”

“And I like you being happy,” she explained. “I didn’t want to kill that, you know?”

“Yeah, okay.” I relented because even if she had told me, I’m not sure if I would have listened. “Next time?” I asked anyway, pressing on.

“Next time.” She nodded. We didn’t apologize really, not like normal people. We just kept going. It was more natural that way. We drove the rest of the way letting the music do the talking. For us, words weren’t always necessary.

The party was at our friend Ross’s house, which was large, had two floors, and was in a secluded part of town. Because of the location, he could have bands play without the neighbors complaining. Cars lined the sidewalks, parked crookedly all the way down the street. While we drove through the neighborhood, nobody was out—the streets were still and asleep. But at the house, it was as if everyone in town was already there, waiting for us.

“All good?” Meg asked, standing beside her car. Any trace of emotion from earlier had been wiped from her face.
I gave her the once-over and nodded. We were ready. It was my favorite part of the night—when the evening’s events were still unknown and unpredictable. It was the sense of possibility that I loved, the idea that anything could happen next.

We walked to the front door, only to find a wall of people blocking it. Meg gave her signature half smile—the one that says she’s better than this—and pushed through, owning the party with a single look. I followed behind, feeling taller than I had earlier. Meg had the power to transmit her self-esteem onto me sometimes, and I liked it. People were everywhere, broken into groups small and large, all talking over one another.

“Okay, what now?” Meg asked as we stood in the entranceway.

“Kitchen?” I suggested, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. I’d been to Ross’s house before and knew the ins and outs. The kitchen was brighter than the rest of the house, and still full of people. There must have been at least twenty in the small space. Most were gathered around the keg in the corner, pumping out foamy beer. I could hear the band in the other room, performing a cover of some pop song I kind of recognized, really screaming out the lyrics. Not great, but not bad either. At least we weren’t late.

Meg grabbed two cups and went to get us drinks.

“Hey!” A shout came from across the room. I knew that voice. I turned around and saw Barker pushing his way into
the room. He was wearing an Oingo Boingo thrift store T-shirt and brown corduroy pants. He was half indie, half professor, and it somehow worked on him.

“Hey Barker,” I said, waving. “We’re not too late, right?”

“Nope, these guys just started, so there’s time before we go on. Hey, I want you to meet Matt, the new bassist.”

Barker turned around and grabbed the guy behind him. I self-consciously looked down to check my shirt, and as I adjusted it, I saw his red Converse sneakers. They were similar to ones I owned, which I found funny. He had on dark blue jeans that looked worn, but not in that purposeful way that was sold in stores, but more in the way that meant he actually wore them a lot. His black T-shirt was a bit tight and featured a band I’d never heard of before. And then I saw his face, with his dark brown messy hair and black-rimmed glasses. He was tall, taller than me, and his face lit up when our eyes met. Okay, Meg was right, he was cute.

“Matt, this is Ella. El, Matt.”

“Hey,” he said, smiling. It was a cute smile, crooked and shy.

“Hi,” I said back, officially excited to start the night.

NOW

8:30
P
.
M
.

“Hi,” I manage to respond, still staring; because never in a million years would I have thought Matt would be here, at Evan’s party. Never would I have thought he’d come back. When he left, he took away everything, and every day since then I feel that gaping hole, every day I remember what’s missing. I can feel it now, growing larger as my heart races and my hands shake.

“Hey? That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Meg says, eyeing him.

“You guys know each other?” Anthony asks, face darting from mine to Meg’s to Matt’s and then back around again.

“Hey Meg,” Matt says, running his hand through his
hair, avoiding her glare. “How’re you? How’s Jake? Is he . . . here?”

“No, he’s not here. And you’d know how he was if you ever called him. Or her,” she says, nodding toward me and squeezing my hand at the same time. Her words, though true, are piercing me, digging deep into my body. I don’t know what to say, so instead I put my free arm around my torso, trying to keep myself together in case I really do rip apart at the seams and fall to the ground, where Matt can proceed to step on me and finish what he started.

“I think I missed something,” Anthony interjects, still bopping his head, trying to keep up. The hopeful look washes away as he realizes his plans for Meg may not materialize after all. And I stay quiet in the middle of it all because I might just vomit.

“I think
he
missed something,” Meg answers, pointing to Matt. “Like, half a year of somethings. How could you just leave like that?” she continues, spite in her voice.

“Meg, please,” I whisper, squeezing her hand. And as quickly as she got fired up, she calms down and shakes her head. It’s my fight, not hers. “You know what, forget it. Come on, Anthony, let’s get out of here.” As her hand slips out of mine, my heart races faster, louder. She doesn’t have to fight my fights, but she also doesn’t need to leave me out here alone. I don’t know if I can do this. “You need to talk to her,” she says back to Matt. “She deserves answers. And Jake does, too.”

I watch as she leaves in a huff with Anthony, his arm slowly trying to drape over her shoulders. She shrugs him off; he should know by her look that she doesn’t want to be touched. Never touch lit dynamite.

I turn back to Matt, scared. I’m not ready to do this, to simply talk to him after six months apart. He’s staring at his untied laces, not meeting my eyes. His shoelaces were always untied, and the memory hits me with a force I wasn’t expecting. Him always sighing when I pointed it out. Me always laughing at the repeated act, and loving him even more for the simple imperfection.

He drops down to tie them, taking his time, and brushing them off when he’s done. And inside I want to cry because
he’s here.
And him being here proves it all happened. I want to touch him and make sure this is all real and tangible. I close my eyes and feel every emotion I tried to hide when I was being braver, stronger, moving on. The pain. The loneliness. The shame.

“Um. How’re you?” he asks, standing back up.

How am I? I almost laugh at the question, because I’m a complete wreck. My heart isn’t sure if it should soar or crash and my body is both pushing me closer to him and pulling me away. And I don’t know what’s right, and I need Meg here to tell me. But I can’t say all that, so instead I open my eyes and say, “Fine, you?”

“Okay,” he answers, putting his hands in his pockets and he’s still so cute. It kills me seeing him there, so nonchalantly.
So
there.
He doesn’t move from where he is, staying a few feet away, still behind the bar where Anthony was. “This is incredibly awkward, isn’t it?”

My body loosens and a brief calm washes over me. I smile slightly, agreeing. He’s always had a way of pointing out the obvious when it needs to be said. I take a moment to look at him. He’s different, but not really. His glasses are new; thin frames instead of his black-rimmed plastic ones. They make him look older, more mature. But behind them, his eyes are still the same. They’re the eyes I fell for. Green with hazel flecks. It’s dark, but I can still see them flash in the tiki lights. The familiarity pushes me to ask him the first thing I can think of.

“What are you doing here?”

“I go here now. To UCF. I just moved back,” he says, finally meeting my eyes. It’s as if he wants his look to convey an inner meaning his words won’t allow. And when my heart flips, stupidly I want his look to say
I’m back for you, this whole year was a mess, let’s run away together and never look back
. But I can’t want that. I can’t allow myself to get hopeful again, not after what he did. I hated him once—I have to remember that, and not the way his lips felt on mine.

“Oh,” I answer, because it’s all I can say.

Sensing my discomfort—as if it’s hard to—he walks toward me, closing the gap that has stood between us ever since he left.

As he comes close, my stomach clenches and instinctively
I put my hand up. An image of the letter he sent me—the one I promptly ripped up and burned—flashes in my mind and I can’t go back to that moment. I can’t be the Ella that was innocent and vulnerable and easily fell for him after a crazy night. That Ella is gone.

“It was nice seeing you,” I say, quickly, eyes searching for an out.

“Oh,” he says, head down again. “Yeah, okay, you too.”

“I’ll see you around,” I add, but my words hold no real meaning, and he probably knows that.

“Yeah? Okay, cool,” he says, nodding, and still not looking at me.

“Bye,” I mumble as I turn to leave. I know he’s still behind me, I can feel him there, staring at me. But I have no clue what it all means. I have no clue why he’s even trying to start a conversation with me after all this time. We are over; we are in the past. We should have stayed there.

I find Meg by the door once I get inside. She’s leaning against the counter but she looks
too
comfortable, too posed. She was spying, of course.

“How’d it go?” she asks as soon as I shut the door.

“Uggghhh,” I answer, knowing she’ll understand the sound better than any assortment of words. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes as I wait for my hands to stop shaking and the lump in my chest to dissipate. I can’t erase the memory of him glancing down, looking almost pained. I won’t cry. Not here, not now.

“That good?”

“Why is he here?” I whine, frustrated with him, myself, everything.

“Did you ask him?”

“Yeah. He’s going to UCF now. Like, he’s back. For good.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I open my eyes.

“You’d think he would’ve let one of us know,” Meg answers, going back into her angry self. I know she’s thinking of me, but I know she’s also thinking of Jake, and the friendship he lost when Matt left. “I mean, coming to my brother’s party like this? What the hell? He had to have known we’d be here. It’s ridiculous, and it pisses me off that he thinks he can just worm his way back in.”

“Right?” I continue where she left off, feeling myself getting heated up. “And what does he want, anyway? Him here, acting all shy? Does he want to be friends again or something? Because, no.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s still outside,” I answer, joining her by the counter and leaning my head on her shoulder. “Why does this suck so much?”

“Because he sucks,” she answers, and I laugh a little. I can always count on her to make me feel better. “And because he’s important to you,” she sighs.

“Yeah, he was, like, a year ago,” I answer, shaking my head, but she eyes me and I stop.

“When you and Nick broke up, how long did it take you to get over him?”

“Like, a day.” Which isn’t exactly true, but close enough.

“And after Matt?”

I want to say a day, too, but that’s a lie. It took longer, much longer. And seeing him now—I guess the feelings never fully went away. So I don’t answer, but Meg is already eyeing me again.

“Exactly,” she says. “It sucks that it hurts so much. But it hurts because he’s still important to you.”

She’s right, of course, no matter how much I don’t want to admit it.

“I guess,” I mumble. I stare across the room at the wall I was previously leaning against. I can’t meet her eyes, not yet, because despite myself, I know what I should do, but I’m not ready for it. I know that if I look at Meg, she’ll agree with my right and logical conclusion, despite oftentimes not being right or logical about her own life. For the moment, though, I just want to bask in the melancholy of the situation because it’s easier than dealing with it. I want the feeling to wash over my body and take me hostage.

“You should go back out.”

“Why?” I still won’t look at her.

“As much as I hate the fact that he’s doing this to you—and as much as I want to kill him right now—you need answers. You spent half a year wondering what happened. This is your chance to find out. It’s why I left you out
there alone in the first place.”

“Yeah, about that.” I sigh and shut my eyes. “And Jake?”

“Oh, I’ve already texted him. There were a lot of expletives in his response.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “I can imagine.”

“Plus, despite Evan’s best efforts, this party kinda sucks.”

I finally look at her. She’s turned to face me, leaning her right side on the counter. Her perfectly colored lips have a slight smirk, as if she’s daring me to go back out. It’s always a game with her, and right now I’m not sure whether to love or hate her for making me play.

Especially because she’s reminding me of all the little dares Matt and I used to have, ones where we pushed each other to do something different or scary or necessary. How he dared me to submit an article to the school newspaper, despite my fear that it would be rejected. (I did; it wasn’t.) How I dared him to play a song he wrote for the rest of the band, despite his conviction that Jake would hate it. (He did; Jake didn’t.)

As I hear the song drifting in my mind, the melancholy ebbs, sliding away like a current. It’s still there, mucking around and ready to be called back, but the waves are calm, and I want answers. So I dare myself to return to him.

“Fine,” I sigh. She grabs me in a hug. “But first I need some air,” I say to her, feeling claustrophobic. I give her a look and walk toward the front of the house. The party is still going on, oblivious to the reunion that just happened.
Oblivious to the fact that my world is completely changing, all due to a single “Hey.”

I walk outside to the front yard, past people talking and making out, and breathe in and out until my eyes don’t feel watery and my mind feels light. The air feels good, soft against my skin, and I find solace in the mere action of walking away. In the grass is a crumpled-up piece of sheet music that I pick up instinctively, and curse myself for doing it. Matt might have left, but our game of collecting found objects, much to my dismay, stayed. Some habits are hard to break. I smooth the paper out to reveal the lyrics.

Deep in December, our hearts should remember

Well, that’s annoyingly appropriate. The line seems to cut off abruptly and though I haven’t heard the song before, I know there has to be more. I turn the sheet over, but there’s nothing.

“What’d you find?”

I spin around at the voice and it’s him, of course, standing behind me. My heart leaps again, but this time I’m ready for him. I’ve had my pep talk, and I no longer have a force field around me, stopping him from getting too close. It’s just me. So I hand him the paper and he gets a pained look on his face, like he’s almost sad he’s passed this habit on to me.

“It’s
The Fantasticks
.”

“Huh?” I ask, walking next to him so I can look at it, too.

“The musical. My mom loves it—she plays the soundtrack a lot.”

“How does it end?” I ask, needing to know.

“The musical?”

“No, the song.”

He looks over at me, finally meeting my eyes, and I suppress the urge to sigh, because that can’t be me. I can be strong. I can do this. I need to know.

“Can we go somewhere and talk?” he answers instead.

“What?”

“It’s been a while and . . .” He lowers the paper to his side. “. . . I don’t know. I’d just like to talk.”

“I don’t know,” I answer, because talking is one thing, but going somewhere to do it is another.

“Come on. The party is loud and I’d like to, you know, see how you’re doing.”

I raise an eyebrow in response. He should know. He should
really
know.

“Scratch that last part,” he says, looking down as a flush comes to his face. “I have the song in my car. I can play it for you.”

“Are you trying to kidnap me?” I ask dryly.

“Only a little.” He grins shyly and I can’t help but wonder,
Was he just flirting?
“I’m parked over there.” He points, and the sight of his car makes me pause. It’s exactly as I remember it, parked along the side of the road as if it has been waiting for me this entire year. The right side is still
scratched from when the band tried to stuff Barker’s drum set in the backseat. Of course it didn’t work, but they weren’t ones to turn down a challenge.

“I don’t know,” I say again, weighing the options in my mind. Go with him and get answers. Stay here and avoid everything. I’ve done a really good job at avoiding lately. Is it even worth it?

He turns around and starts walking backward to his car, still facing me, and in his own way challenging me. The light from the lamppost reflects off his glasses, making his eyes almost look illuminated. He keeps walking until his shoe hits a rock and he stumbles.

“Whoops,” he says nervously, and stops walking. He straightens out and runs his fingers through his hair again. With that small imperfection I realize for the first time that he’s uncomfortable too. He’s just as nervous and unsure as I am. The realization calms me; we’re in this weird, awkward situation together.

“I have an idea, but feel free to say no,” he says from where he is, across the yard, allowing me space to breathe and decide.

“That good of an idea?” I ask, raising my eyebrow.