But the fact of the matter is, I tried this once already.
I cringe at how vulnerable I allowed myself to be when I first found out. I literally went right up to him — my shattered heart on full display — and asked why.
Why would you do this to us? You are my best friend. What gave you permission to get involved? After the first time you slept with her, did you feel guilty? How could it go on for so long if you felt guilty? Was it even hard for you to keep lying to me?
He answered none of these questions. He wouldn’t even look at me. To me, that was his chance. Not this.
“I know I hurt you,” he says softly, “and I know I betrayed your trust. I’m apologizing for that.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around myself.
I clear my throat and will my voice to sound unfazed, “Are you still seeing her?”
Silence.
A couple beats pass.
I turn, “Are you?”
“No,” He says quickly, “I mean, I was,”
“You were?”
“Yes, but no.”
“Which one?” I say, backing him towards the door.
He sighs, exasperated, “Yes, I was seeing her for a few days after you and I broke up, but no, I’m not anymore. I’ve cut off all communication with her.”
I stop.
A flicker of something flares in my chest that I can’t peg. Sadness? Anger? Hope? Possibly a blend of all three.
“Why did you stop?” I demand, keeping our eyes locked.
He shifts on his feet, “Because I’d rather have you. I miss you.”
It then becomes clear what the flicker had been. Anger.
It rises up in my chest, grabbing hold of my words. It throws them up my throat and out my vocal chords before I can filter them.
“Oh, I see. You’d rather have me. What? After you’ve had a taste of something else? After you’ve finished your sampling, you decide you’d rather just stick with me?”
“Grace,” He pleads, as I shove him towards the door.
“Get out.”
“Please.”
“Get out!” I shout, opening the door.
His handsome face looks startled at the sudden raise in my voice. It’s unusually satisfying, but the tiniest piece of my heart still dares him not to listen. Dares him once again to stay and say exactly the right words to fix everything.
But he doesn’t.
Of course he doesn’t.
He averts his eyes from mine and without another word, proceeds out the door. I don’t wait to see if he gets into his car and leaves. I slam the door shut behind him, lean my back against it and sink to the floor, heaving heavy sobs.
Why, Jayden?
Why, Why, Why?
Just leave me alone.
Just let me get over you.
18
Rae - Thursday
Grace had it right all along, picking a career that requires a couple certifications instead of a four-year degree. Not that she didn’t have to work hard for them, but I think she genuinely enjoyed the process, which is more than I can say for myself right now. It’s on days like today that I wish someone had told me to go that route with my career.
I sit in the front row of the class, quickly jotting down notes before Mr. Algray runs out of space and starts erasing the whiteboard.
I’m barely able to process what he’s saying because I’m trying so hard to get it on paper, so when I look up at the board and realize I’m totally lost, I set down my pencil and raise my hand.
The teacher's monotonous drone pauses for a moment, bringing a satisfying silence to the class.
“Ms. Brooks?”
I lower my hand and squint at the board, “Why does it equal three?”
The teacher turns back to the board and examines his work, “What part of the equation are you asking about?”
Great, he wants me to name specifics?
I stare at the board which has a jumble of both words and numbers scrawled on it, complete with two sets of parentheses.
All of it — I want to say.
I clear my throat instead, “I don’t get how we solved the last part.”
He points to the equation on the board, which reads “Sin2(Θ)+Cos2(Θ)= 1”.
“We simplified the problem by substituting sin squared of theta plus cosine squared of theta for one, and then since the equation asks for that substitution plus two, we added two.”
I swallow, trying to take in the mouthful of mathematical terms.
“But …” I say, “Why did we substitute it for one?”
“Because that’s the trigonometric identity.” A student adds, as if to say duh.
“Oh,” I say, backing down, “I get it.”
But I don’t.
It should never be allowed for a student to answer another student’s question, because then the asker feels dumb for even bringing it up. As if the answer is obvious, and the entire classroom is getting it. Everyone but you.
My mind circles back to ‘If I’d only just picked a career that requires a certification’.
The courses you have to take in order to obtain a certification tend to focus on the subject you’re actually interested in pursuing. For example, Grace dreamed of being an in-home, natural-medicine guru of sorts. So, she spent her time reading books about — if you can believe it — natural medicine. After about nine months, she became a certified herbalist and aromatherapist. Then she went on to obtain her associate’s degree in business with the time she saved. Now she has both a job she loves and a brain full of knowledge she actually uses on a daily basis.
I, however, am filling my brain with fragments of knowledge about trigonometric identities. Which, of course, is entirely relevant to physical training. Obviously.
Soon enough, the class is over and I’m left staring down at my sloppy attempts to copy down the teacher’s writing.
“Don’t forget,” he says as students begin gathering their things. “Your midterm test is coming up in one week. That’s this upcoming Thursday, and it’s forty percent of your grade, so study hard.”
A whirlwind of dread comes sweeping through my stomach. I am so screwed.
Most of the students have dispersed from the room. As I am collecting my papers, a shadow appears on my notes. I look up to see who it belongs to, and a smiling, redheaded girl waves at me.
“Hi,” She says.
“Um, hi.” I say back, shouldering my bag.
“Do you feel like you’re understanding everything so far?” She says, keeping step with my pace.
I give her a look. Not to be rude, but just because it’s obvious to everyone in the class that I’m not understanding everything so far.
“Sorry if that’s too invasive,” she says, “I just thought you might be interested in looking over my notes.”
I stop, looking over at the piece of paper she’s offered me.
The notes are neatly written in light blue ink and are complete with not only the equations, but lines of explanations and arrows pointing to which equations they apply to. Much more orderly than mine.
“Actually,” I say, “Yeah, that would be awesome. You don’t mind?”
She shakes her head, red hair bouncing.
“Well, thank you.” I say, folding the paper neatly in my binder, “Do you have more of these?”
She smiles, “One for every class session.”
I scan her with interest. She has a sprinkle of freckles spattered across her nose.
“Why would you … I mean …”
She adjusts the bag on her shoulder, “The truth? I’m studying to be a math teacher, and I need to fill a certain quota of one-on-one student teaching hours.”
I stare at her, my lips parted in amusement, “You’re using me?”
She smiles a toothy grin, “Only if you agree.”
I appreciate her candor right off the bat. Not only did I need all the one-on-one help I could get between now and next Thursday, but I’d be giving her
something she needs too.
“Yeah, that would be good.” I say, “Let me give you my number.”
She smiles and gives me hers as well, telling me her name is Claire before we go our separate ways. When I get to my car, I look back at her notes again. They’re exactly what I need to understand the lesson for today.
I turn my eyes upward as I ignite the engine. Could this be my reward for trying to do better? For suggesting abstinence last night?
***
I’m so excited to take a left turn at the stoplight instead of a right turn, which would normally take me in the direction of home. The left turn leads me to the gym, where I’ve been dying to try a new barbell workout. It’s been far too long since I’ve been here, but my work and school schedule just wouldn’t allow for it.
When I step into the building, I feel like I’m in a secondary home. A place where I can focus on becoming the best version of myself. Where I can push my physical limits toward something more resilient. Where I can tune out every last thing besides the sound of my own breathing.
I go over to the barbell station, switch my phone off, and begin my work.
To say that time passes quickly in the gym because I’m doing something I enjoy would be a lie. In fact, during the moments where I’m really pushing myself, five minutes feels much closer to an hour. But when I finish my last rep of the new barbell workout and my body feels warm with aching muscles, I love it. Something about that feeling is liberating to me.
I place the weight back on its rack and pause the music beating through my earbuds. I pull them from my ears as I turn from the station, and preoccupied with wrapping the earbud wires around my iPod, I bump right into another person.
“My bad,” He says.
“No, I —” I start, but my words are cut short as the tumble of blonde hair and friendly blue eyes in front of me begin to register.
Recognition dawns on his face at the same moment.
“Rae?” He smiles.
“Oh my gosh, Sam?”
“Yeah!” He laughs, “What are you doing here?”
I smirk, looking around, “This is my sanctuary. What are you doing here?”
He scratches his neck, glancing briefly at my body, which is glistening and toned from years of coming here.
“I guess that is the better question. I don’t know, I just figured it was time to get into some new habits — you know, get buff for my lady.”
“Ooh, your lady, huh?” I punch his arm, “Who are you seeing now?”
“Rosie Martin,” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
My lips part in a wide-open smile, “No way! You and Rosie? You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
Me, Rosie, Grace, and Samuel Ross used to all hang out together in high school. I lost touch with Rosie around the same time I stopped talking to Sam, so I guess shortly after graduation. The four of us certainly had some great times together back in the day. Oddly enough, even though Jayden was technically in our circle. We never saw him as much because he went to the high school across town, which was my old high school before the transfer. We pretty much only saw him during after-school double dates or school formals, to which Rosie usually took some upperclassmen, and I always took Sam (even after we broke up).
Our breakup was lighthearted and mutual. It wasn’t that we had some horrible fight or disagreement, it’s just that we honestly got bored of being a thing. Sam was my friend, and I was his, but the romantic feelings didn’t last that long. Neither of us ever said this, but now that I’m older, I think he and I were each other's experimental boyfriend/girlfriend — to practice kissing on before we were with someone who would judge our beginner-level skills and whatnot. Boyfriend and girlfriend or not, Sam and I always had fun together.
“Yeah,” He smiles, “I’ve been seeing Rosie for just under two years now,”
My eyes crinkle at the corners, “Wow, I’m really happy for you guys.”
“What about you though?” He says, eyeing my ring finger, “Is that a rock I see?”
I look down at my engagement ring. The diamond sparkles in the light and I smile.
“Are you blushing right now, Brooks?” Sam laughs, “You don’t blush.”
“Am not,” I say defensively.
He continues to tease me as though we’re sixteen years old again until I shove him.
“Wanna get out of here?” I suggest, “Sounds like we have worlds to catch up on.”
He tosses his brand-new membership card, “What is fitness? I don’t need to be sexy.”
I laugh, inching toward the door, “You gonna pick that up?”
He frowns, staring at its place on the floor.
“Yeah …”
***
“Where do you wanna go?” I say.
Rays of warm autumn sunshine spill from the sky as we exit the air-conditioned gym.
“Is that even a question?” He says, nodding his head at the quick mart across the street.
I chuckle. Remmy’s Quick Mart, which is also just a short distance away from our high school, is an old favorite of ours. There’s nothing special about it — It’s just a run-down, gas station-like store that desperately needs a paint job — but it does consistently carry those little retro wax bottle candies that seem to be absent in every other store.
“So tell me about your guy.” Sam says, giving the store owner a quick wave as we enter the building.
I tuck a lock behind my ear. “His name is Adam Compton. We met at the park.”
“Gevali park?” He asks, selecting a package of wax bottles.
“Yeah,” I smile, “It’s kind of a funny story actually.”
He tucks the package under his arm and selects a bag of Pop Rocks and a couple bottles of Coke from the fridge.
“These snacks,” He says, tossing a bottle to me, “Were literally made for stories.”
I laugh.
We proceed to the counter and Sam buys our goodies for us. In our circle of friends, this snack combo was iconic. As teenagers inspired by the Green Day song, we were curious to know what “Poprocks and Coke” really tasted like together, even though the song never actually mentions anything about the two items.
Turned out, Sam and I loved the explosively fizzy combo. Rosie and Grace, however, were not fans. So whenever Sam and I hung out, we got them for the two of us, and we never failed to get a package of wax bottles along with it, just because.
“Thanks man,” Sam waves to the cashier as he opens the door for me.
We decide to partake of these legendary snacks at the docks — a five minute drive from here.
“So you met him at the park huh? And a story ensued?”
I smile, “Yeah. It was two summers ago. He was helping host his little cousin’s birthday party at one of the pavilions. On that particular day, It just so happens that I decided to take advantage of the park's walking trails instead of hitting up the gym for my laps. Nice weather and all that. But, the thing is … pause for effect …” I raise my brows dramatically, “I forgot my water bottle.”
He gasps, “No.”
“Yes … So I remember slowing my jog upon seeing the party. Mind you, I had gone pretty hard already, and the sun was beating down no less, so I was feeling pretty desperate for some water.”
Sam raises an eyebrow suggestively, “And hottie offers you some water?”
I shake my head, “Hottie offers me some cake.”
“Classic.” Sam says solemnly.
I pull into a parking space in front of the lake, sighing wistfully, “So I declined the cake, but asked if I could bum on their party for a little water. Then I accepted the cake.”
“And the rest is history.” Sam shakes his head, “Ole’ Rae — putting out for the first man who offers her cake.”
I punch his arm, mouth gaping, “No. Jerk.”
Sam laughs, “I’m sorry.”
We get out of the car and make our way down the grassy hill to the old wooden docks.
“Actua
lly,” I say, “Adam’s aunt had forgotten to buy some important item for a game she had planned out and was making a store-run to pick up said ‘item’. Adam was left to fend for himself as the responsible chaperone over about twelve screaming third-graders, and I picked up on the fact that he looked a little outnumbered. So I offered to stay with him and rally the kids until his aunt got back from the longest trip to the store ever.
Sam snorted, “She actually just ditched you guys.”
“I know right? But it all turned out right in the end, so I really have his aunt to thank for my upcoming marriage plans.”
“So what happened next?” Sam says, “He was just like, ‘Hey, you’re pretty cute. Let’s get married.’?”
“Naturally,” I laugh. “Long story short, Adam and I decided we made a pretty good team that day by rallying all the third-graders. So he asked me if I wanted to do it again sometime, and I said yes.”
“Babysit a bunch of eight-year-olds for free?” Sam prods, “Sounds like a solid date idea to me.”
I roll my eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave my face, “It was actually pretty fun. And honestly, he nailed our first actual date, so I don’t want to hear it.”
He throws his hands up, “I’m sure he did. I’m just saying it doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.”
I squint at him, “That’s because your idea of a good time is sitting around playing Mortal Kombat all day.”
“Hey now … This is feeling like a personal attack.”
“Or Pac-Man World 2.” I add.
His face goes serious now, “Don’t you ever insult Pac-Man World 2 to my face. That is straight blasphemy.”
I laugh, shaking my head “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“I have too. Only where it matters.” He smiles taking his seat at the end of the dock.
I take my place beside him, dangling my feet over the edge, “Like joining a gym?”
He points at me with the cap side of his bottle and winks, “Exactly.”
We crack open our bottles and he pours a few pop rocks in my palm.
“Tell me about you and Rosie though,” I say, tipping them back in my mouth, “What happened there.”
He shrugs, “You know, it’s kind of weird because I feel like after graduation, our group just sorta split. I assume you and Grace kept up with each other while Rosie and I gradually grew closer. A douchebag at her college is what really sealed the deal for me.”
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