The Year We Fell Apart (2 page)

Kyle’s sudden interest in hanging out with me probably has more to do with the rumors about what happened after-hours in the school pool this past spring than the fact that I loaned him a pen that one time. And I’ve been careful since the pool incident, determined not to give my classmates any more ammunition. The problem is, tonight I don’t care.

Tonight I need a distraction. So without another word, I slide onto the couch and straddle Kyle. His too-cool-for-school act wears off pretty quickly after that.

He meets me halfway, his mouth moving slowly against mine at first, but building momentum as one hand grips my hair.

Kyle’s not a bad kisser, per se. Just not my preferred style. Exhibit A: What is happening with his tongue? Maybe he’s trying that thing where you spell out the alphabet? Except he seems to have only awkward letters like
k
and
z
in his arsenal. Or he doesn’t know it’s supposed to be in cursive?

He pushes against my right hip and turns so that he’s half on top of me. I’m short of breath, and Kyle seems to interpret this as a good sign. His legs tangle with mine and his hand starts to roam up my side.

The air-conditioning kicks on. I listen to it blast through the vent in the corner. Then a dog barks outside. I’ve always wanted a dog, but Dad’s allergic. And Mom would never be able to stand the mess and besides, pets just get old and die.

Probably from cancer.

No clock in the room. I sit up a little and move Kyle’s hand away from my back pocket so I can grab my phone and check the time. He takes this as an invitation to go after my neck. Which, actually, I like a little better.

But it’s later than I thought, well past the dinner I was supposed to be home for, and I decide it’s time for me to round up Sadie.

“Gotta go.” I spring off the couch.

Kyle freezes with one hand where my hip used to be. “Seriously?”

I knock on Will’s door and call to Sadie that it’s time to leave, then go wait for her in the kitchen.

Kyle walks in and leans against the counter, looking decidedly less enthusiastic than a moment ago. “What’s the hurry?”

“I have a curfew.”

He looks out the kitchen window. It’s only just getting dark. He slides closer and hooks his finger through my belt loop. “Come on, it’s early. I can drive you home in a little while.”

I slip out of reach and call Sadie’s name again. Kyle crosses his arms and slumps back against the refrigerator door.

Sadie wraps it up in record time, running her fingers through her hair as she walks into the kitchen. Will steps behind her and gropes her waist. She giggles and whines, which seems to be exactly what Will wants to hear.

“Can we go?” I ask.

Will shoots me a dirty look and pushes a fringe of sandy-blond hair off his forehead. The hair stays put, and I imagine his fingers come away greasy. Sadie rolls her eyes at him but follows me out the garage door.

Kyle takes the wheel on the way home, so I ride shotgun while Sadie keeps Will occupied in the backseat. My foot taps out every second that ticks by as we wind our way through town. I’ve got ten minutes. Then five. Then none and we’re still four blocks away.

The car swings into my driveway and I glance over my shoulder. Mistake. I turn quickly back around because there is nothing in the backseat I want to see.

I push the door open.

“Hey.” Kyle catches my arm and pulls me into one last thin-lipped kiss I do not close my eyes for. He releases me with a smug smile. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says, which seems like the kind of thing guys say when they want to leave the option open for repeat performances.

I tuck my hair behind my ears and inch out of my seat. “Yeah. Good times.” I jump out and lean down. “Sadie? You coming in?”

She breaks away from Will’s face and smiles. “I’m good. Night, love.”

“Okay.” I hold on to the door a moment longer. I wish she would just come in. “Drive safe.”

On my way up to the porch, a jingle of keys a few yards to my right grabs my attention. I squint to make out who they belong to.

My feet stop.

He’s strolling down Cory’s driveway next door, twirling the key ring around his index finger. He looks taller. I mean, he’s always been tall, but definitely over six feet now. Stronger, too. He used to be so lanky. Now broad shoulders give way to muscular arms, and his hair is longer than he’s ever worn it—reaching all the way down to his chin. Everything is different. But it’s him.

My heart is helicopter-loud, pumping blood through me. But I’m rooted in place, watching the highlight reel of my childhood flash before my eyes.

He holds my gaze as we pass each other. Or rather, as he passes me, since I’m still standing here staring at him like a total freak.

“Night, Harper.” His voice is soft. Completely at odds with his rigid posture.

Will backs out of the driveway. I watch the car over my shoulder, and even in the darkness, I can see the front seat clearly from where I stand.

I wonder how much Declan saw.

When I turn back toward him, Declan’s gaze is fixed on the ground. He stays that way until he reaches his own car in the street.

“Good night,” I call, forcing my heavy limbs into motion.

I peek over my shoulder once more before going inside. Declan is already driving away.

MY PARENTS CALL ME INTO
the living room as soon as I cross the threshold. They’re huddled together on the couch, sharing a blanket. Empty wineglasses and a yellow legal pad covered in writing lie on the table in front of them.

I rest my hip against the bookshelf and wait for Dad to start reaming me out for missing curfew. Even though my new curfew is ridiculous and I’m all of six minutes late.

“You doing okay?” he asks instead.

Mom looks better than yesterday, when she sat my brother and me down to tell us. She has some color back in her cheeks, although that could just be from the wine. She leans forward to look at me and I drop my gaze to the floor. I can see it in her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to hide it. She’s scared.

All through dinner last night she kept trying to prove otherwise, telling us they caught it early—just two little lumps—she’ll be
finejustfine
. Only, how can she know that?

She wants it to be true. I can feel how much she wants it. But that doesn’t mean it will be.

Because the truth is none of us knows for certain she’ll be fine, and the more she talks about tumors and treatment plans, the harder it is to believe.

I’m not okay. None of this is okay. But I look at Dad and nod.

“Did you have fun tonight?” Mom asks.

More nodding.

They don’t seem to have any more to say than I do, so when a suitable amount of time has passed, I announce I’m going to bed.

“All right, honey.”

“Harper.” I turn to face my dad. He smiles softly, looking like the old him. The version I saw a lot more of before I stopped being his little girl. “We love you.”

I shift my weight. “Love you too.”

Upstairs, I change out of my clothes, grimacing at the scent of Kyle’s cologne clinging to my shirt as I pull it over my head. I sit on the edge of my bed and look around my room, at the swimming medals and team pictures that are all from another lifetime.

Folding my arms around my bare legs, I squeeze my phone between my palms. I scroll through the contacts until I fall on his name. My thumb hovers over the call button. Closing my eyes, I imagine calling him, think through what I would say. My fingers tighten until my knuckles ache.

I open my eyes and loosen my fingers, then scroll back up the alphabet to the
C 
’s. Cory answers on the third ring.

“You knew he was coming back?”

“Hello to you, too.”

“God, Cory. A little heads-up would have been nice.”

“Ah, but would it really have made a difference?”

I scowl and hang up on him, then collapse back onto my mattress. I just want this day to be over, but I know I’ll be awake for hours.

Eventually, I wind up on the roof ledge outside my bedroom window, listening to the songs of the cicadas. The sky tonight is more blue than black, and the stars are out in full force. Perfect for making wishes, if I still believed in that sort of thing.

A cool breeze kisses my face and clears my head.

Tracing the infinity pendant on my necklace, I wonder where the invisible line is. The line that determines which parts of our past are still close enough to go back and fix, and which parts we have to live with forever.

  *  *  *  

My mother is whistling. How can she be bustling around arranging flowers and whistling right now? Chemotherapy starts in three days. She still insists on pretending she’s not petrified.

I pad the rest of the way into the kitchen. “Morning. . . .”

“There she is!” Dad says.

Mom smiles and holds out a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I don’t take it. I head straight for the coffeepot and pour a cup of the rocket fuel my parents brew.

It’s a little past ten and the thermometer outside the kitchen window has already crept above ninety. I pull myself up to sit on the cool granite counter and tap my fingers along the side of my mug. No one says anything about the giant, malignant elephant in the room.

I consider screaming
BREAST CANCER!
just to see how they’d react. But I’ve rocked the boat enough this year. The least I can do is keep up my end of this charade.

“How are you feeling today, Mom?”

She stops what she’s doing and looks out at the backyard, like she’s really thinking about it. “I’m great.” She tilts her head toward me. “I think it’s going to be a good day.”

Then she sucks her teeth and taps my thigh, shooing me off the counter. I hop down and stand shoulder to shoulder with her while I sip my coffee. She puts a hand on top of my head and sighs. Mom likes to pretend she’s still taller than me, but that ship sailed a while ago. My brother and I get our height from Dad’s side, though I do have Mom to thank for the borderline translucent complexion and auburn tint to my hair.

“Is Graham still sleeping?”

“No, he’s out playing a round of golf,” Dad says. “What are your plans for the day?”

Not that I’m going to win Daughter of the Year anytime soon, but I’m surprised my older brother bailed on Family Time. And a little relieved. If he’s not around, I don’t have to feel guilty about the plans I made with Cory. Besides, at times like this, Cory is one of the only people who can keep me sane.

“Heading next door in a bit.”

Dad folds the corner of his paper over. “Dressed like that?”

I glance down at the gym shorts and sports bra I threw on and roll my eyes. Sure, my parents’ concern isn’t really that far-fetched—it’s been a constant presence, as much a part of me as the freckled nose on my face, this underwater indiscretion of mine. But seriously, a sports bra?
Pick your battles, Dad.

“It’s just Cory.”

“And Cory is now a seventeen-year-old boy. Put on real clothes before you go.”

“You’re right. We’re going swimming anyway. I’ll change into my bathing suit just as soon as I’ve finished my coffee.”

He grunts and turns back to his paper, a frown pulling at the corners of his mustache. I take the seat across the table from him and scope out the bag of bagels between us.

“So, you two are practicing this morning?” Mom asks as she cuts a grapefruit in half.

I look into my coffee and take another sip before answering. “We’re just going to the quarry.”

Her face falls a little. “Oh, okay.” Then, because she just can’t help herself, she puts down the knife and says, “It would be good for you to get back in the pool, though, don’t you think?”

I tear off a piece of a salt bagel and take a bite. Mom swoops in, pulling a plate out of the cupboard and handing it to me. Crumbs are the enemy.

“I don’t really see the point,” I tell her.

“The point is, you’re going to have to try out again in the fall. And you can’t expect them to let you back on the team if you’re not willing to work for it.”

Mom’s big joke has always been that I swam before I crawled. It’s something I’ve done for as long as I can remember, most recently as captain of the girls’ team at Carson High. Right up until I got kicked off.

I’m not sure which part is worse for my parents: the fact that I got caught over spring break, drunk and half-naked in the school pool with a boy they’ve never met, or that everyone in Carson knows about it. Either way, she’s latched on to the idea of me earning my spot back like it’s the last piece in the puzzle that will make me whole again.

Too bad I have no plans to do so.

Mom grabs a spoon and starts stabbing apart the sections of her grapefruit. “And I wish you would stop drinking all that coffee.”

She says it to me but looks at Dad, who started me on my caffeine addiction a few years back. Unlike Cory, my internal clock never quite got the hang of waking up before the sun. When we started training with the high school team, I needed the boost for morning practices. Dad shoots me a wink and raises his newspaper a little higher.

“There are worse things,” he says from behind the paper. “And it doesn’t seem to have stunted her growth.”

“Besides, I’m going to need it tomorrow,” I say. “Why does this stupid class have to start so early?”

Apparently being grounded for the remainder of junior year wasn’t punishment enough, so my parents decided a summer school class at an ungodly hour would be a fitting penalty for the spring break incident. It was either that or get a job. I won’t make any money taking a summer elective, but at least this way my punishment is limited to two shifts a week.

Mom’s spoon clatters against the counter and she turns to look at me. “If I were you, I’d spend less energy focusing on all the things you’re unhappy with and take a moment to appreciate what a great life you have.”

My stomach wrings. I stare into my coffee. I’m always saying the wrong thing.

Dad’s paper rustles, breaking the silence.

I set my mug down on the table and sit on my hands. Then force myself to look her in the eye.