by Maya Hughes
“Something like that.” Only this time, it was a self-imposed exile.
“It was a fire last year, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I gathered up my blanket and tried not to feel like a mooch for bumming a place to sleep off my professor. “You don’t have to offer up your house. I can find somewhere else to stay.”
“Don’t worry about it. If you use it, I’ll feel less terrible about actually having a guest house.”
“When you put it that way…” I followed Professor Morgan out to her car. She kept the conversation light, sticking mostly to discussions of art.
Inside the guest house, she helped me make the bed and set out towels. “I don’t want to pry, but you can talk to me if you need to. I’m an art historian, not a therapist, so my advice might suck big time, but it’s worth a shot.”
The one-bedroom guest house with a full kitchen and bathroom was nicer than most hotels. Professor Morgan had done well for herself, although her worn leather briefcase, broken-in slide on flats, and the way she could never stay away from the cookie spread at any of the Art Department events had never screamed ‘rich person’.
I picked my bag up from the floor and put it in the armchair beside the bed. “A lot is going on right now, and I’m probably not handling it in the most mature way possible.” Not in the slightest, really, and I hated myself for it. I’d sent Jill a text to see how Charlie was doing. I hadn’t been able to eat without worry. He wasn’t someone who deserved this, and even though it was crazy, it felt like I’d failed him—them. That I’d messed up somehow, and he’d have years stolen from his life because my bone marrow wasn’t strong enough or good enough.
“We all have our moments.” Her dry chuckle did nothing to put my mind at ease. “Is this school, family or guy related?”
I sat on the edge of the bed and peered up at her. My mind was a churning cauldron of chaos. I hadn’t been able to think straight since the last text from LJ. I’d been scared to go back to the house, especially after seeing the pictures he’d been tagged in on social media, where he’d been cozying up with some football fans at a bar. Why didn’t he just take me out back and shoot me to put me out of my misery?
Charlie was possibly fighting for his life and LJ was out playing superstar. I didn’t know what was scarier, talking to LJ or not talking to LJ. I’d been tempted more than once to call Jill and find out what was happening with Charlie, but that would be too much loss for one day. Hell, for one lifetime.
“All of the above.”
She sat beside me. “A triple whammy. It’s hard to know which way is up with those.”
“It sure is.”
“If you want to talk. I’m here. Well, actually, over there.” She pointed to the white-trimmed, brick, two-story house that had to be way outside a professor’s salary range.
“I appreciate it. And I’ll be out of here as soon as I figure out my next steps.”
“No need to rush.” She popped up. “Here’s a key. And here’s my phone number, if you need anything.” She scribbled the digits on a notepad by the front door.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“We all need a little help sometimes. Don’t worry about it and you can pay it forward the next chance you get.”
I mumbled a thank you.
She closed the door behind her.
Walking to the bedroom, I stared at the phone I’d turned off a couple days ago. My fingers brushed against the dead, black screen. I needed to prepare myself, to fortify my mind and my heart against what was coming.
I’d also sent an email to the Venice team apologizing for how late I’d been in giving them the information they needed to enroll me in the master’s program.
Curling up in bed, I hugged one of the freshly laundered pillows and buried my face in the soft down. I missed him.
The tears spilled down my cheeks, catching me off guard. It took nothing more than a thought before I was a mess all over again. Bleary-eyed and sniffling, I drifted off to sleep trying not to think about everything I was about to lose—if I hadn’t lost it already.
The smells of the museum used to be comforting, an escape from the real world where everything was labelled, catalogued, protected. Today, all they did was remind me of where I’d be going in three months after graduation.
Staying at Professor Morgan’s place for the past two days hadn’t been so bad, other than the crushing loneliness and fear of facing my real life outside the one-bedroom Pottery Barn guest house.
I left all my classes through alternate exits, or skipped them, if I could. Not that LJ was looking for me. I wasn’t sure which would be worse: that he might be waiting for me outside of each class or that he was avoiding me.
Had there been any news from Charlie’s doctors? The knots in my stomach had been grating and grinding, making it hard to choke down anything. The fear of hearing the disappointment or anger in their voices if the cancer had come back had kept my phone turned off, no matter how much I’d wanted to know.
Today, I was at the museum, in my museum tour clothes, with my museum tour group—twenty-nine seventh graders who looked as happy to be here as I did.
At least this gave me something to fill my time with other than obsessing over the betrayal of LJ brushing off my call and going out for drinks with random women, or the panic that I’d failed one of the people who meant the most to me.
I walked through the ground floor of the museum, droning on through the lines I’d long since committed to memory. My heart wasn’t in it one bit.
“This is the Arms & Armor exhibit. Wander around and see if you can answer the questions on the crossword puzzle and we’ll meet back here in ten minutes.” Some of the boys perked up and rushed off, heading straight for the wall of swords and maces.
The twenty-eight seventh-graders took off in ten different directions with their buddies. Their teachers were on herding duty.
“Marisa.”
My heart stuttered and I turned to face the familiar voice I’d hoped to avoid for as long as possible. “What are you doing here?” I gripped my anger tight. It was a much safer, less scary emotion than all the others rushing through my head.
His face twisted with disbelief. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m not here to take in the art.”
“I’m working.” I seethed, keeping my voice low. He’d announced to everyone that he was single and ready to mingle, and he’d hooked up with some chicks just hours after texting me to say now wasn’t a good time. “You need to leave.”
“I wouldn’t have had to show up here, if you’d answered my texts.” His eyebrows dipped, and worry eclipsed anger, which brought out the little red flushes on his jaw.
“Time apart seemed like the best idea.” My heart thudded in my chest, blood hammering in my ears.
“After a five-hour flight, I get to the house and you’re gone.”
“Why do you think that might be, LJ?” The anger that had been partially extinguished roared back. I replayed his words over in my head. “You said the only people going to the draft were your parents.”
“I did. What was I supposed to say? Any time I’ve mentioned maybe telling people we’re together, you recoil like I asked you to shove your head into a fire.”
“You didn’t have to say my name, but you could’ve said there was someone. Not that you had a giant glowing available sign over your head. Women were posting pictures of you cozied up to them after you sent me a text saying you’re too busy to talk. Your messages came in loud and clear.”
Confusion flashed across his face. “They were fans who wanted a picture. One picture and me, Berk and Keyton all left for our rooms.”
My lips parted.
“Alone!”
A couple people stared at us as they passed by.
I flashed a smile before turning back to LJ. My cheeks felt like splintering glass.
He clenched his hands at his sides. “I wanted let everyone know. After the fight with your dad I was all fo
r telling whoever you wanted.”
I stepped in closer and jabbed my finger at the center of his chest. “You’re the one who suggested it in the beginning.” And once the word had gotten out on campus that he and I were dating, everyone would have been laser-focused on how he’d suddenly gotten more game time, or maybe Ron would’ve changed his mind and benched him completely. “You set the rules.”
“Because any other time we’ve ever gotten that close, you’ve backed off like our kiss senior year.”
I shook my head trying to follow his time jump and find out how that was somehow my fault. “You kissed me and then said thanks for saving Charlie’s life, like it was my reward for donating bone marrow. I didn’t want you to like me because I’d helped your dad—and what if it hadn’t worked? You’d have never wanted to speak to me again.”
“Is that what you think?”
I folded my arms over my chest and glanced to the side. The kids were wandering closer with their papers. A herd of them headed toward us. We needed to finish this now. I wanted to claw back the words and say I was sorry, but the fear and shame rode me hard, making it impossible to see anything but his eventual exit and my disintegration. “It’s what I know.”
His jaw clenched and he leaned in, growling, with eyes darting to the people strolling through the exhibit admiring the artifacts. “I thought we should keep it quiet because I didn’t want you to blurt it out at dinner with your dad to piss him off and ruin any chances you two had to maybe get on speaking terms.” He stepped closer, but I held my ground.
I gritted my teeth and checked over my shoulder for the marauding middle schoolers. “Aren’t you the fucking saint? You didn’t want him to know because you were trying to protect your chances in the draft.”
“Yes, also that.” His shoulders sagged before his eyes blazed again. “Can you blame me?”
“No, I can’t. Of course you should’ve put your future first and I have to do the same for myself. It’s good this happened.” I rocked back, trying to put some space between us. “It’s good I know where we stand because…” I licked my lips and sucked in a breath. “I’m going to Italy.”
His mouth opened and snapped shut. Head shooting up and eyes bulging. “But you don’t have the money.”
My mouth was sawdust dry. “My dad signed the tuition waiver at the end of last semester. When I went to pay, the balance was already at zero.” I shrugged like it was no big deal. Like my heart didn’t feel like it was being clawed out of my chest. This was the beginning of the end. Why draw it out?
He stepped back. “You’ve known this since November.”
“I hadn’t decided.” I truly hadn’t, but thanked my lucky stars I’d had the Plan B to fall back on.
“You’ve been keeping this from me since November.”
“It’s not like I was hiding it. I just didn’t mention it.” The heat dropped off at the end of the sentence. The vehemence had been replaced by guilt.
“I tiptoed around Italy because I didn’t want to bring up any bad feelings you might have about not being able to go. All the plans you let me think about what we could do this summer and how we’d spend it before training camp…” He shook his head and stared at me like I was a stranger.
Nausea roiled in my stomach.
“How could you keep this from me?”
The words stalled in my throat and bile rushed to overtake them. There was no going back now.
28
LJ
I flashed back to all the conversations. All initiated by me, made more and more elaborate by me. “The whole time I was making plans for us, you were planning on making your big escape.” The gut punch was unlike any I’d felt on the field. It was a cleats-meet-soft-belly punt without warning.
“This isn’t about me.” She shook her head, eyes glistening, and I wanted to shake her.
I threw up my hands and let them collapse at my sides, frustration throbbing in my head. “Of course this is about you, Marisa.”
All of this was collapsing slowly on top of me, and I couldn’t stop it. It was hard to breathe. “I’m scared, Marisa. The draft. My dad.” I let out a shuddering breath, trying to hold it together. “I need you to be there for me.”
Her nostrils flared and her chin quivered. The sheen on her eyes glistened brighter. “Your family is strong. You guys made it through it before. You’ve got the guys. They’ll have your back.” She dipped her head and stared at the center of my chest.
Who was this woman in front of me? She wasn’t the one I loved. This was the scared shell she’d put on to protect herself, and nothing I’d say could get through that. It was hardened and secure.
“My dad could be sick again.”
She brushed a finger under her eye and met mine. Dampness stained her cheek. “Looks like the Marisa Magic has finally worn off.” She cleared her throat.
“This was never about what you did for us—for him. It was about me loving you.”
“Do you honestly think you’d still love me if he was sick again?” Her voice cracked. “If he’s sick again and my bone marrow didn’t work this time? How could I look any of you in the eye again?”
“So your plan is to just never look at any of us ever again? Move to Italy and forget you ever knew us?”
Her lips trembled, but she kept them locked together.
I let out a humorless laugh and shook my head, staring at the armor and weapons behind the glass and mounted on the walls behind her.
If someone had come up and pounded me in the chest with a broad sword, it couldn’t hurt worse than what I felt right now.
“You’re right, Marisa.”
Her lips parted.
“We were never going to work. You’ve been running away from the beginning. Bags packed, and foot halfway out the door, ready to bolt at the slightest hint of a future.”
I stepped back, needing to put space between us. “You’ve always said you can’t understand how he did what he did, and that you’re nothing like your dad. Turns out you are wrong. You’re exactly like him, pushing away and running from the people who love you.”
A sound escaped her throat, halfway between a gasp and a sob. Her face fell, dropped just like my heart had and still was, sinking to the bottom of an abyss deep under the sea, being crushed by the pressure.
“Bye, Marisa.”
I turned and shoved my hands into my pockets, walking outside into the still blisteringly cold early April afternoon. My legs felt waterlogged, like concrete should have been breaking under every step.
Numbness radiated through me, muffling and clouding everything.
Sitting inside my car, I stared out the windshield and gripped the steering wheel. My breaths were choppy and strained, and my blood screamed through my veins.
Unable to hold back, I released a scream and slammed my hands against the wheel, jerking it so hard I thought it might rip free from the column. Exhausted, I collapsed back into my seat and watched people walking by in their coats and hats, smiling, laughing, and holding hands. Kids ran to catch up with their parents.
This was a lot like the first time I’d left the hospital after visiting my dad. The rest of the world carried on as though mine hadn’t imploded, like it hadn’t been broken and shattered.
I’d been sliced to the bone, and the surgeon hadn’t even had the decency to pump me full of anesthesia first. Defeated and deflated, I fell over the steering wheel and looked up at the white stone building where Marisa was. I hadn’t thought there would ever be a day in my life when she wasn’t by my side, whether physically or not. But now, I was riding out into what came next all alone.
It was dark by the time I got back home. I don’t even remember where I went. Everything was a blur. The fog of my feelings was so thick, it was hard to breathe.
“LJ?” Keyton called out from his room.
I gripped the top of the railing. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Is Marisa here too?”
Steadying myself, I closed my eye
s. “No, she’s not here.” I walked to his doorway.
He sat on his bed with a sketch pad and pencil balanced on his lap. “Where is—” Following my gaze, he dropped the pencil and flipped over the pad, clearing his throat. “Where is she?”
Leaning out his door, I looked down the hallway.
“Berk’s not here. He’s at Jules’s place.”
“Right. Listen, what you saw before with me and Marisa…”
His gaze dropped to the floor between us, a tomato red creep crawling up his neck.
“Just forget about it, okay? There’s nothing to worry about anymore.” I slammed my eyes shut. My heart feeling like it was being torn apart muscle fiber by muscle fiber.
“Who was worried?” He jumped up from his bed. “She’s not staying with Liv, is she?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
“You two broke up?”
“Can you break up with someone you were never even really in a relationship with?”
He sat on the edge of his desk right beside his window. “Maybe, maybe not, but that doesn’t mean it won’t still hurt like a motherfucker.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What happened?” He stared back at me, not with suspicion or skepticism, but open like he really couldn’t figure out what would’ve gone wrong.
I slumped against his wall. “Honestly? I have no fucking clue. Things were great. At first, I wanted to keep things quiet because of her dad. And she went along with it, but later I didn’t want to sneak around with her.”
“She didn’t feel the same?”
“She flipped it around on me. Then, I was the one who wanted to be open about it, and she wanted to keep it quiet. Like she was hedging against us ending—planning for it.”
I slid down the wall and stared out the window beside Keyton.
“She wasn’t ready.” It wasn’t a question.
“When we were together it was better than I ever thought it could be. I love her.” I felt burned out, like the husk of who I’d been only a couple days ago.
