The Start of Me and You (28 page)

“Grief is slow,” my mother said, ducking her head to get a better view of my face. “It’s like wringing out a washcloth. Even after you think it’s dry, a few more drops will form.”

I wondered if she was thinking about her dad or about the divorce, if she had grieved that.

“It’s okay to still be upset sometimes, but I’d like to see you move forward.” She paused for a moment as the
waitress returned the bill with her receipt and credit card. “Even if that means I have to loosen up a bit about where you go and when.”

“Seriously?” The last thing I expected out of this dinner was for my mom to admit that she’d been too strict with me.

“I don’t want you to be scared anymore.” She signed the receipt with a flourish of cursive letters and looked back up at me. “So I guess that means giving up a few of my fears, too.”

Before I could even smile, she cleared her throat. “Your grandmother told me you applied to a TV screen-writing program.”

My eyes widened, guilty. “I, uh. What?”

“Don’t be upset with her. She put the printouts from the website in her notebook and didn’t remember it was a secret.” My mom looked right into my eyes. “What I can’t figure out is why you wouldn’t tell me.”

“I won’t get in,” I said. “It just seemed … I don’t know. Silly to mention.”

I waited for her to reprimand me, but she studied me with interest, not frustration. “I know you’ve always watched a wide variety of TV shows, but I had no idea you’d want to try your hand at writing. Your dad was thrilled. He’s always hoped you’d be interested in ‘the family business’ someday, although journalism is much different, of course.”

“You told Dad?”

“Yes, I talked to him about it. We both think that exploring an interest before you have to make college decisions is a wise choice. So, if you’re accepted, we want you to go.”

So apparently her “loosen up” philosophy was effective immediately. “Are you … are you serious?”

“Yes. We think it’s a positive step for you.”

“It’s really expensive, Mom.”

“I’m aware of the cost. You’ll get a job to pay us back for part of it.”

“It’s in Manhattan, though.”

“I know. That’s my least favorite part, but your dad talked me into it. You’ll be in dorms, and we’ll help you move in and get settled. Good practice for college, he says.”

I sat openmouthed for what felt like a full minute. “I … can’t believe it. Thank you. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You’re welcome,” she said simply. “I hope you’ll feel that you can trust me with things like this in the future.”

On the way home, I felt grateful for my mom in a way that I never had before. She made an honest effort to hear me and to understand where I was coming from. There was something else I needed to tell her, something I’d been carrying around since the night of Max’s birthday. Before then, I didn’t know how it felt, the thrill of clicking into place with someone. My mom must have felt that way with
my dad all those months ago, and I had no idea how truly involuntary it was—exactly as my dad had said.

“Mom?” I said, glancing over at her.

“Eyes on the road,” she snapped. There was the mom I knew.

“Look.” I sighed loudly, without meaning to. “I’m sorry about, you know, getting upset about you and dad and everything.”

“Oh,” she said, looking over at me. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”

“I know.” I clasped the steering wheel. “But I still feel bad. You and Dad were the last thing that I expected, and I didn’t handle it very well.”

She kept quiet, allowing me my confession.

“That doesn’t mean I’m totally comfortable with it,” I said, eyeing her for a reaction. “It just means that I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”

She nodded, solemn. “Apology accepted.”

I nodded back as I braked at a stoplight.

“I do understand why you feel the way you do.” She pushed a mass of curls behind her ear. “Of course I do.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking, I was sure, of the past she shared with my father. The past that they shared with Cameron and me. “I know it’s complicated, but your dad makes me happy.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “I know.”

Once home, I turned my phone back on, hands trembling. Not a single message from Max. I clicked my pictures, expecting to feel angrier at the sight of him. Instead, I found a photo I’d taken at Alcott’s—Max laughing across the table from me after coffee mug steam had clouded his glasses. The memory of the total happiness I’d felt with him splintered and broke inside of me. And it didn’t feel a thing like anger. It felt like heartache.

And why would I expect him to apologize? I’d hurled his nonrelationship with his dad—a secret he’d trusted me with—in his face the first chance I got. He’d thrown my pain right back at me.

I opened my planner to the list. It had become humiliatingly clear that “5. Swim” was an unrealistic goal. And how foolish, to think that going out with someone would ever help. I couldn’t survive losing someone again—not to death, not to awkwardness or rejection or cruelty exchanged in a moment of weakness. Not to anything.

A tear plopped onto the page as I stared down at it, giving up.

It had taken so long to glue the shards of my heart back together, and I just couldn’t afford to give any pieces away.

Chapter Twenty-One

The next night, Tessa was the last one to arrive at Alcott’s. We were cramming in one last hangout before her morning flight and Morgan’s family road trip to see cousins in Virginia. Kayleigh and I would both be spending spring break in scenic Oakhurst, where my only plan was to marathon
Gilmore Girls
in my bed. Yesterday’s fight with Max consumed my mind, burning the edges of rational thought. I’d spent half my day bitterly waiting for him to call or show up, full of apologies, and the other half working up the nerve to apologize first.

“Sorry,” Tessa said, sliding into the booth. The sloppy bun on top of her head meant she’d been at yoga earlier. “I had to at least
start
packing before my mom would let me leave.”

“Where are you going again? St. Barts?” Kayleigh asked.

“Saint-Tropez.”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is in the South of France, and one of them is South of the Dominican Republic.”

“Potato, poh-TAH-toe,” Kayleigh said. “You’ll come back tan, and we’ll hate you.”

“How was yesterday?” I cut in, my voice strained.

None of them had called or texted about how things went at Whitewater Lodge. They mumbled over each other—“Fine” and “Oh, okay” and “Pretty good.”

“We couldn’t help but notice,” Morgan said slyly, “that Max was also absent. Would you happen to know anything about that?”

The tears sprang forward in an instant, like they’d just been waiting for the magic words. I covered my face with my hands, though it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hide this from them anymore.

“Oh my gosh,” Morgan said. “I’m sorry! I didn’t … I mean …”

“Paige, what is it?” Kayleigh asked, and I felt Tessa’s arm around my shoulder. When I just shook my head from behind my hands, Tessa said, “See, Morgan?
This
is why I told you guys not to bring it up.”

At this, I uncovered my eyes. “You told them
what
?”

Morgan bit her lip. “Tessa put a Max gag order on us.”

“Meaning … ?” I looked at Tessa, but it was Kayleigh who answered.

“We’re not supposed to mention Max in any way that suggests the two of you are obsessed with each other.”

Of course they knew. They probably knew before
I
knew, and I felt like a complete jackass. Tessa looked right back at me—unrepentant. “I wanted you to be able to tell us when you were ready.”

“So you all know?” I glanced around at each of them.

“That you’re in love with him?” Morgan asked. “Yes.”

“I’m not in
love
with him,” I said. “God.”

“Of course we know.” Kayleigh snorted.

Morgan smiled. “And, duh, he likes you back.”

“He didn’t …,” I stammered, directing the question at Tessa. “He hasn’t said—”

“Anything about it?” she asked. “No.”

“But, to quote Morgan,” Kayleigh said, “Duh.”

“I’m really not so sure.” My voice cracked, and the words poured out like a burst-open dam. I told them all about the plan I made at the beginning of the year, which I’d never even fully told Tessa, and the drowning nightmare.

“I kind of figured,” Morgan admitted gently. “You didn’t get in the pool once last summer.”

I almost smiled. “You mean you didn’t believe me that I was working on my tan?”

Kayleigh laughed. “You wear SPF 100 even in the winter.”

I glanced over at Tessa, who was notably quiet. Several times, I’d woken up at her house in the middle of the night, tears on my face and gasping. “You probably knew, huh?”

One of her shoulders lifted. “I didn’t know your nightmares were
always
about drowning. But I figured they had something to do with Aaron, yeah.”

They were equally unsurprised when I told them about screen writing and my application to NYU.

“Girl, you’re weirdly into TV,” Kayleigh said. “But it’s like you’re not just watching it—you’re dissecting it. And that’s coming from me: obsessive, number-one fan of
Toil and Trouble.
”

Tessa turned to her. “Is that your witches-at-boarding-school show?”

“With the hot warlock boys’ school across the pond? Yes.”

“Anyway,” Morgan said, settling her eyes back on me.

They cringed as I told them about the pool—about how I’d fallen in, terrified. How Max and I had fought. I covered my eyes with one hand again. “I said something awful to him, you guys. And he said something really mean back.”

The three of them exchanged looks, silently deciding that Tessa would be the spokesperson. “What could you have said that was so bad? You were
traumatized
. He had to understand that.”

“I can’t …,” I said. “I can’t repeat what I said. It’s personal stuff. But it was bad.”

“I’m sure you guys will sort it out,” Tessa said. “Even if you don’t wind up together—”

“Tessa!” Morgan gasped, as if that was a sacrilege.

“No, listen. Even if you don’t wind up together, neither of you are the kind of people who would let this ruin a friendship.”

“I guess that’s true,” I said meekly. I repeated Max’s words in my head, wondering if I could ever forget them. “But he said, basically, that I act like I’m the only one with problems. And … I think he might be right.”

“He did
not
mean that,” Tessa said firmly. “He knows exactly how often you deal with my problems because I talk to him about it.”

“I mean, hello,” Kayleigh said. “You snuck out of your house and stole a car for me!”

“Excuse me,
what?
” Morgan cried.

“I’ll tell you later,” Kayleigh said.

“But, I mean, look at me now,” I said. “Blubbering all my problems to you
again
.”

Tessa jabbed my leg with her finger, prodding me to look over at her. “Your problems are our problems.”

“They better be,” Kayleigh said. “Because
my
problems are sure as heck
your
problems. You all are going to hear me whine about Eric for at
least
a few more weeks. I’m going to max out the friendship punch card!”

“No such thing,” Morgan said.

Max out. I almost laughed. It felt like I’d Max’d out my feelings punch card. But Morgan was right. If you’re lucky, relationships—with family or friends or boyfriends—are limitless. There’s no maximum on how much you can love each other. The problem is, there’s also no limit to how much you can hurt each other.

I glanced at my phone for any word from Max, but still I came up empty.

Kayleigh and I spent the week together, indulging in manicures and the TV marathon I’d been hoping for. She confiscated my phone on two different occasions, claiming I was “compulsively” checking for any word from Max.

But the phone was back in my possession on Saturday morning, with only two days left of break. I was picking up my room, blaring
M*A*S*H
on DVD to keep my mind quiet. Still keeping a hawk’s eye on my phone, I noticed right away when it lit up with a local number.

I pitched a sweater into my hamper and muted the TV. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Paige?” a guy’s voice asked.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Clark. Driscoll.” He hesitated. “You … gave me your number, after the funeral. I wasn’t sure if—”

“Yeah, I remember.” I sat down on my bed and tried to
sound as if this call wasn’t bafflingly unexpected. What if he needed to
talk
talk? Like, about feelings? “Hey, Clark.”

“I know this is out of the blue, but … some of the guys and me …,” he paused, and I locked my mouth closed so I wouldn’t say: Some of the guys and
I
. “We’re, uh … going to play trampoline dodgeball this afternoon. In honor of—”

“His birthday,” I finished, remembering in an instant. Aaron would have been seventeen. I cohosted a party for Max’s seventeenth birthday, and yet I
forgot
Aaron’s? It’s not like we’d ever celebrated it together, but I pressed my face into my hand all the same.