The Year We Fell Apart (17 page)

“What kind of girl?”

“Come on, you know what I’m talking about. What that guy was saying . . . what kids from school say about you. You act like all those rumors are true. You don’t even defend yourself.”

“Yes I do.”

“Not today.”

He’s right, not every piece of gossip about me is true. Not even close. But most of the time I don’t bother to deny anything. The rumors are all true enough.

Besides, people believe whatever they want to believe. Take Declan, for example. Right now, his face is a mosaic of disbelief. Scraps of our past, moments he spent with the old me, are clouding his judgment.

“What makes you so sure I’m pretending?”

“Because I know you.”

My heart swells, pressing hard against my rib cage. His voice is almost pleading, and it makes me dizzy knowing some part of him still thinks of me as the same girl he used to love. Even if he is wrong. I set my glass down, using the moment to catch my breath. “Everyone pretends something, right? Even you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You could have told me about Mackenzie and Cory. You made me think you liked her.”

He stares past me, at the blank TV screen. “I didn’t make you think anything. You assumed.” His eyes dart back to mine. “You do that a lot.”

“Fine. I guess it was all in my head.”

“What difference does it make, anyway? You have Kyle. Not like you were jealous, right?”

“Right.” I shake my head. “I mean, no.” Declan’s eyes narrow. “I’m not with Kyle. That’s done.”

“So he isn’t the reason . . .”

“Reason for what?”

He picks up a pillow and turns it over in his hands. Then tosses it back down. “Nothing.”

“No, what were you going to say?”

“I thought he might have been the reason why . . . we ended. Before.”

I stare out the bay window. A cloud passes over the setting sun and the whole room darkens. “I didn’t even know him then.”

He waits. Waits some more. A year’s worth of unanswered questions and buried pain flash across his face. “Is that really all you have to say?”

I push the hair off my face and take a step back. “What do you want to hear, Declan?”

“I just want you to be honest with me! Tell me what happened, tell me why you did this to us!”

The bookshelf hits my spine and I can’t back up any farther. I can’t give him what he wants, either.

His last few months in Carson, I tried so hard to help Declan. To be everything he needed. But the fear I’d carried since Natalie’s death—the fear of losing people, losing him—that hadn’t gone away. It had gotten stronger, growing inside of me like a tumor of my own. I needed Declan just as much as he needed me. On bad days, I needed to feel his hand in mine, feel the pulse on his wrist as a reminder we could survive anything. And on the good days, days his smile would light up his face and my whole world, that was enough to convince me we would make it to the other side.

But then he was gone. And it was so much harder to make him smile over the phone.

I try to swallow. “After you left . . .”

It was more than just state lines dividing us.

I missed you and I missed her and I needed to feel something else.

Something less.

That party in October was supposed to be like any other. But things were off to a bad start before I even left the house.

“Are you going out with Sadie again tonight?” Declan had asked.

It was code for “Will you be drinking?” and I had the wrong answer.

“I wish you’d get to know her better. She’s been really supportive.”

Declan coughed a laugh. “Yeah, she supports you when you can barely stand.”

I took a deep breath and gripped my necklace. It was the first time we’d spoken all week, and I couldn’t handle another fight with him. “What are your plans this weekend?” I asked before we could get any further off course.

“Just hanging out with Dave. We might see a movie.”

I could hear Dave, his roommate, in the background. I sat on the floor and leaned against my bed. “Anyone else?”

Declan hesitated. Cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh . . . I think a couple girls from my French class. And we might meet up with a few other guys. . . .”

I’d stopped listening. My lungs were lined with lead. They wouldn’t expand.

This was ridiculous; I had no reason to be jealous. But I was.

Declan waited for me to say something.

“Sounds fun,” I whispered.

The background noise faded, and when he spoke again there was a slight echo, like he’d shut himself inside his bathroom: “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just . . . It’s weird. Not knowing anything about your friends.”

“Well, what do you want to know?”

I wanted to know if they were pretty. If they were the reason he kept forgetting to call me back. If they made him smile on the days I couldn’t.

But I wouldn’t say it. I wouldn’t. “Have any become more than friends?”

Declan was quiet for a long time. “How could you even ask me that?”

Every day I woke up missing Declan. And whether we talked or we didn’t, by nighttime I always wound up missing him more.

Telling ourselves it was temporary didn’t help one bit. He’d been gone only two months and already he was drifting out of reach. We still had the rest of the school year, and then another, and even then we might end up at different colleges and have to start all over again.

We were trapped in this cycle, and each day we spent apart put another fracture in our forever.

“There’s just so much of your new life that I’m not a part of and . . . it feels like we’re changing.”

He let out a long exhale. “I don’t know what to say to you right now.”

Tell me you love me. Tell me I’m crazy.

Answer the question.

“God, Harper, you make this so much harder than it already is.”

An hour later I was wasted.

My memory of that night is spotty, even after Cory helped fill in the blanks. But I remember the important parts, enough to know Declan’s best guess about what happened is too close for comfort. And calling him the next morning—that I can remember like it was yesterday.

Telling him the truth would have hurt him. No matter what I did at that point, I was going to hurt him.

So I ended things. Told Declan I couldn’t make it work anymore, because it was easier than telling him about drinking until my lips went numb. About ending up alone with an older guy whose name I never learned and using the lips that had only ever kissed Declan to kiss someone else. Touching him and letting him touch me. Easier than telling Declan about Cory finding me there, pulling the guy off of me and stopping things from going any further because I was too far gone to stop it myself.

Or about making Cory swear not to tell.
Please don’t tell. I’ll handle it.

And I did handle it. I saved Declan the trouble of ending things himself. And he would have ended it, of that much I’m certain. Because no matter which way you cut it, I cheated on Declan.

It was the right thing to do, sparing him the gory details.

“After you left, I . . . It just got to be too hard.”

I hear the defensive tone in my voice and I see his expression tighten. I would have seen it coming with my eyes closed. If there was ever a person who called me on my bullshit, it was Declan.

He leans forward, hovering over me now. He grins incredulously. “Hard. For you.”

My arms slip down to my sides and all the air I breathe becomes his breath too. “You don’t understand.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” He steps back, pulling his hand through his hair. “My mom dies, I get kicked out and sent to a boarding school where I know no one, and then you cut me completely out of your life. Like what we had meant nothing to you.”

“Of course it meant something!”

The muscles in his jaw tense and release. It becomes a game of chicken, both of us waiting for the other person to say something. To fix this. And I want to, I just don’t know how to explain what it felt like to get left behind. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t his choice to go away to school. Declan wasn’t holding up his end of the deal—he was pulling away faster than I could catch up—and it hurt. So I pushed him harder, I hurt him back. But telling him all of this now will only make things worse.

“Good to know,” he finally says. He looks away and rubs his neck. “Listen, I’ve got a lot to do before my dad gets home. . . .”

Behind my back, the elastic snaps against my skin. “Are you asking me to leave?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks up at me. He nods.

Another small piece of my heart breaks. This isn’t how it should be between us. We were best friends; he knew me better than anyone. And now he can’t stand to be in the same room as me.

I meant what I said earlier this summer, at that party in the woods. I miss him. Even now, standing in front of him, I miss him so much it aches.

But I do what he asks. I leave, pausing on his porch and trying to get my breathing back to normal. I take one last look at his door, and sprint back to my house.

PHOTOGRAPHY CLASS THE NEXT DAY
is out of the question. I email Mr. Harrison my shots and include a message citing my mom’s health as the reason for my absence.

Yeah, I’m going to hell. What else is new?

Mom left super early for another round of chemo, so I stay in bed and try to catch up on sleep. But before long I’m fully awake, staring at my ceiling and remembering the glow-in-the-dark star stickers Declan has on his. At least, he used to have them. We stood on top of his bed and put them up together, re-creating all the constellations we knew. And every so often, one of us would jump on the mattress, just to make the other lose balance.

Anyway, that was ages ago. We were kids—young enough that our parents still let us play alone in each other’s rooms. He’s probably grown out of the stars by now.

My phone buzzes on my nightstand.

“Hey, Sadie.”

“I’ve got the best news. Mike’s great-aunt died last night, so his parents are going out of town for the weekend.”

“Oh my God, that’s so sad.”

“Right. I guess. Anyway, he’s having a party tonight. And Kyle’s older brother offered to supply the drinks. It’s going to be epic. So, I was thinking of wearing that pink top I got at the mall the other day? And if you want to come over early, I can straighten your hair, and I have the cutest new skirt you can borrow—”

“Thanks, but . . . I can’t go out tonight.”

“Why not?”

I focus on my hardwood floors. I don’t usually lie to Sadie. But she never takes no for an answer, and I’m so sick of Carson parties, the thought of going to another makes my skin crawl. “Family night. My mom’s making a big deal out of it . . . total pain. Sounds like you’ll have a lot of fun, though.”

“That’s so lame.”

“Totally, I know.”

“Well, I’ll let you know how it goes. Maybe you can sneak out after your mom gets her fill of board games or whatever.”

“Maybe . . .”

She clears her throat. “So, did I tell you what happened to me at the drugstore the other day?”

I cradle the phone against my ear and listen as Sadie recounts how she was innocently shopping for new lip gloss and wound up meeting a college guy who just wouldn’t leave without getting her number first. I gasp and laugh at all the right places, kicking my covers off and pulling my laptop onto my bed. I start scanning through pictures, trying to get some ideas for my next assignment. I’m such a multitasker.

She’s still talking when the garage door opens below me. I shut my laptop and cut her off.

“Hey, sorry, my mom just got home. Call you later?”

“Okay. And seriously, try to make it out tonight.”

“Sure. Bye.”

I realize too late I’m still wearing my pajamas. Class is way over by now, and normally this would totally give me away. But Mom’s had a pretty bad case of chemo-brain lately, and she doesn’t even notice them when I walk into the kitchen.

She’s already deep into her routine of acting like everything is perfect as pie—even though her head is wrapped in a scarf and she flutters her fingers self-consciously around her head every thirty seconds, never actually touching her thinning hair, probably out of fear that a gentle breeze will be enough to blow the rest away. But everything is totally normal. Completely fucking fine. At least that’s the word Mom keeps using over and over.

But she was barely able to choke down a yogurt at dinner last night, and can’t remember half of the things we talk about five minutes later. Never has this situation been anything short of horrendous, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend otherwise.

She looks up from the dirty dishes and smiles at me. “How was class?”

“Class was class,” I answer. “How was chemo?”

She gives me a conspiratorial look. “Fun as always. Actually, it’s not too bad. Your dad was there to keep me company for most of the time, and I finished a book while he made some work calls. He just headed to the office.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep putting on a brave face for me. You’re allowed to have bad days or be upset or just call this what it is.”

“And what is it?”

“It’s . . .” I swallow. “It’s unfair.”

Mom laughs. “Aw, honey. Nothing is ever fair.”

With that, she turns back to the pile of dishes in the sink.

“Can’t you admit for once that you’re scared?”

She stops what she’s doing and frowns at the sink. “Yes, sometimes this is all a little scary. But I’m not going to let that keep me from living. There’s no sense letting this temporary situation swallow up my whole life, right?”

We’re so different, Mom and me. She takes every day as it comes, never runs from the truth or has to trick herself into staying in a moment. The future is wide open for her, because she doesn’t dwell on her past. But for me it’s become impossible to separate her cancer from the experience of having someone I cared about taken from me. Every time I get stressed about Mom, I automatically see Natalie.

She must be able to tell how worked up I am, because she wipes her hands on a dish towel and turns to face me. “Hey, I don’t want you worrying about me. Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”