The Art of Losing

by Lizzy Mason

  “Doesn’t Harley have the best boobs?” he said. “It’s because she’s not skinny. My girl has meat on her bones.”

  I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Stop it,” I hissed, slapping his hands away.

  But his large hand gripped me tightly around the wrist, and I squeaked in pain. “Don’t be like that, baby,” he slurred, sliding his free hand up my stomach again.

  “Stop it!” I said as I twisted out of his grasp. “You didn’t think my boobs were the best when you were kissing Sofia.”

  Mike’s friends shouted things like “Damn!” and “Burn!” and laughed at us, the drunk couple fighting at the party. I didn’t want to be part of that couple. I wasn’t even that drunk, but the alcohol was fueling the fire of my anger.

  I headed for the kitchen. Mike followed me, but we didn’t get far enough away from everyone else before he accused me of being “no fun” and “focusing on the past.”

  “I don’t give a shit if you think I’m fun,” I said through clenched teeth, knowing everyone was listening. “You’re wasted, you’ve been embarrassing me all night, and now you’re acting like an idiot.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” he slurred. I hated the way he sounded when he was drunk. His mouth would get all twisted when he talked, as if there were silent syllables in the words, and he was tripping over each one.

  “You are right now,” I said, turning to go to the bedroom we were sharing.

  Mike wanted to keep arguing, but Ryan walked up behind him and distracted him long enough for me to make my escape. I shot Ryan a grateful look and he nodded, apology reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

  Later that night, Mike knocked on the locked bedroom door and then started pounding on it when I ignored him. There was no point in talking to him when he was that drunk. He wouldn’t remember what he’d done the next day anyway. But I would.

  Eventually, I heard Ryan convince him to sleep on the couch, and I made a mental note to buy Ryan all the iced coffee he could drink for the next year.

  Something changed after that weekend. Mike grew less interested in hanging out in my parents’ basement watching movies, especially when he could be somewhere else, drinking. And I wasn’t at all interested in being where he was when he was drunk.

  It was a widening chasm that would have soon been too wide to bridge. But not soon enough.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I drove the familiar route to Mike’s house with a knot in my stomach. He’d sent me a text in the middle of the night, just a Hi, but it was enough to make me act. I needed to tell him that I wasn’t fooled, that I knew he wasn’t sober and didn’t plan to be, and that I didn’t want to be a part of his life. I wasn’t looking forward to his reaction.

  “Oh, Harley,” Ms. Baker said as she opened the door. “I was worried I might never see you again. How are you?”

  “Okay,” I said. Ms. Baker held the door open for me and tried to pull me in for a hug on my way in, but I pulled away, apologizing.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she said, closing the door and sealing in the cool air. “I know my anger can’t possibly compare to yours, but honestly, sometimes I can’t bear to even look at him.”

  I tried not to look as taken aback as I felt. This was her perfect son she was talking about. I’d never heard her have anything but praise for him.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she said. Her eyes misted with tears, and I finally opened my arms and gave her a quick hug. She sighed gratefully.

  My throat was clogged, full of anger and sadness and pain. I was practically choking on it. But she didn’t wait for me to answer. She wiped her eyes and ushered me inside.

  “I’m sure you’re not here to see me. Michael is downstairs playing video games.”

  There was so much I wanted to say to her. To yell at her, really. But instead, I just watched her back as she headed toward the couch, settling in to watch TV.

  From the top of the stairs, I could hear the sounds of the first-person shooter game Mike was playing in the basement. He was shouting at someone somewhere else in the world, something about “flanking his left.” I’m not sure even he knew what he was talking about.

  I stepped around the couch until he could see me in his peripheral vision, but he did a double take anyway.

  “Harley!” he said, dropping his controller. His eyes flew back to the TV as his character was violently shot, multiple times, in the head. I heard several groans through the earpiece. “Sorry, guys,” he said to the team he was playing with. “I gotta go.”

  “Wow,” I said as he pulled off the headset and stood. “It used to take hours to get you to quit playing.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe I’ve changed.” He smiled then, that glib, knowing smile that meant he knew he was doing something I wouldn’t like but was going to let him do anyway. I almost shuddered. How I had ever fallen for his charm, I couldn’t understand.

  I sat down on the couch, and he sat next to me. I shifted to put a few more inches between us and his forehead creased, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So how are you?” I asked.

  “I’m glad to be home,” he said. A careful response to a loaded question. “The people I was in there with . . . Well, you saw them. Let’s just say they weren’t the type of people I wanted to be friends with. It wasn’t summer camp.”

  He was smiling, but I wasn’t. “It wasn’t supposed to be.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Have a sense of humor, Harley Quinn.”

  “This isn’t funny, Mike. I know that you’re drinking again. You just got out of rehab and you’re already drinking.”

  “I just need to escape sometimes,” he said. “I need to forget. Just for a while. Drinking is the only thing that makes the guilt fade.”

  I wanted to slap him. “You don’t get to forget!” I said, nearly shouting. “Audrey never will. I never will. Your mom, my parents, Cassidy, Ryan. None of us will ever forget. Because of you.”

  He wouldn’t look at me.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this,” I said. “And I know you have no intention of being sober. But you need to stop hiding your insecurities by getting drunk. You are better than this, Mike. If anyone knows that, it’s me. I didn’t stay with you for so long for no reason.”

  The muscle twitched in his jaw again, but at least he wasn’t telling me to shut up.

  “But that person you are when you’re drunk? He’s dangerous. He’s mean. And there were times when I was afraid of you.”

  “I never laid a hand on you,” Mike said in a low, angry voice.

  He had never physically hurt me or forced himself on me when he was drunk, but I refused to touch him once his eyes became glassy and his personality morphed. It was like kissing a stranger. He hadn’t appreciated that.

  I shook my head. “You hurt me constantly,” I said. My throat tightened. “You chose alcohol over me all the time. And I know I didn’t stand up for myself or yell at you, and I’m sorry for that because that wasn’t fair to either of us. I should have told you I wouldn’t put up with it. But I’m not afraid of losing you anymore. The worst has already happened.”

  I swallowed and steadied my resolve. “So now I’m saying it. You are unbelievably lucky that you, Audrey, and the man who hit you are still alive. You are even luckier that you aren’t in jail right now. I don’t think you appreciate that you were sent to rehab instead. Most addicts can’t afford it, and you need to recognize that privilege instead of mocking the people there.”

  He looked away guiltily.

  “At the very least, I need you to swear to me that you will never drive drunk again.” I stood and looked down at him until he looked back. “Swear it.”

  To my surprise, he nodded. “I swear,” he whispered.

  “Thank you,” I said. “And I need you to know that we are done. I can’t be around you,
especially if you’re going to be drinking. It’s really over, Mike.”

  “I know,” he said.

  I stood, ready to get away from him, but I realized I had one more question. “Why didn’t you tell me about what really happened at the party? That Audrey kissed you?”

  He glanced down and his hair fell into his eyes. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “And it’s not like you gave me a chance.” Bitter wasn’t a good look for him. But he was right.

  “I guess not,” I said. “But did you even remember? Do you remember anything about that night?”

  His gaze hardened. “I remember. Every. Second.”

  I was so surprised, I actually flinched. “Oh,” I said. I turned to go, but he grabbed my hand.

  “That accident was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life,” he said. “I’ll never forget what it felt like when I saw that car coming at us or the sound it made when he hit us.” He blinked rapidly. “I get that it’s over, I do, and I get that you’re angry. But I just really need you to forgive me.” His glacial blue eyes were glassy with tears.

  I bit my lip. I wasn’t sure if I forgave him or not, but I knew it wouldn’t be good for either of us if I just kept holding on to this anger. I needed to move past it. Past him. And maybe he needed my forgiveness to stop drinking, or at least to stop drinking to forget his guilt. And maybe I needed to believe that, if only just for a second.

  “I do. I forgive you,” I said.

  His shoulders slumped with relief and a tear slipped out.

  “Bye, Mike.”

  “Bye, Harley Quinn,” he answered with just a hint of a smile.

  When I got to the top of the stairs, I headed for the front door. But as I reached for the knob, I heard Ms. Baker in the kitchen. Adrenaline was still racing through my veins and it turned my feet around and pushed me toward the kitchen. Ms. Baker turned to look at me, and I stepped toward her.

  “I know it’s probably not my place to say this,” I said, “but you need to do better. You need to be a better parent to him.”

  Ms. Baker’s face grew pinched with anger, but I could see that I’d struck a nerve.

  “You know that, don’t you?” I continued. “I know Jordan told you the same thing he told me: you can’t enable him.”

  She nodded silently.

  “He’s drinking again.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  “You need to be stronger for him. He’s only a kid for one more year—you only have control for one more year—and then he goes to college.” She nodded again, her chin trembling. “You can’t let him go to college and drink like he does right now. He’ll hurt himself. Or someone else.”

  “I know,” she said.

  “Do better,” I repeated. “Help him be better.”

  “I’ll try,” she answered.

  Two Months Ago

  I wanted to go home.

  Cassidy should have known better than to ask me to sleep over. The chances of me making it to the end of any party were minimal, even if it was hers.

  I started the search for Audrey, hoping she might be willing to leave early, and Mike, who had probably continued drinking until he had passed out on a couch somewhere.

  I could hear shouts from the garage, where a raucous game of beer pong was being played on a pink plastic ping-pong table. At the other end of the house, in the kitchen, wobbly Jell-O shots were being passed out by Cassidy’s fourteen-year-old sister, Morgan. Her mouth was red at the corners, and she was laughing at something a guy said as she passed by.

  I took a picture of her and sent it to Cassidy. Keep an eye on The Nuisance, I wrote. She’s sampling the merchandise.

  I wandered around for a while looking for Mike. I didn’t need him; I drove myself to the party. But I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. And I had to track down Audrey anyway. I needed to make sure she had a way to get home, even if it wasn’t with me.

  I threaded my way through the crowd and headed upstairs. It was the only place I hadn’t checked, but I also needed to get my bag from Cassidy’s room. It had been optimistic of me to bring my pajamas in the first place, and now I had to carry them through the party as I left.

  The door to Cassidy’s bedroom was closed, but that wasn’t a surprise. She’d told me she was going to lock it so no one could have sex on her bed, in front of her stuffed animals. But I’d spent many nights sleeping in that room, so I didn’t think twice when I reached above the doorjamb, grabbed the hidden key, and opened the door.

  I waited for my eyes to adjust in the dim light, so it took me a moment to realize that I was face-to-face with my little sister.

  “Harley?” she whispered.

  “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” I said, jumping back a foot.

  Audrey’s chestnut brown hair, normally pin straight with tidy bangs, was messy and her light blue eyes were wide with shock. No doubt it was a mirror of my own, both in features and expression.

  My anger melted, reshaping into embarrassment when I saw that her shirt was half-buttoned and her shoes were in her hands. The bed behind her was mussed. This was unexpected, sure, but I hadn’t meant to interrupt my sister’s make-out session. I was more curious who it was with.

  I mouthed “Sorry” and started to back through the door, but Audrey didn’t scream at me to get out or smile with embarrassment. Instead, her eyes flitted to the floor where a familiar Hellboy T-shirt lay on the rug. I had seen it in that very position many times before. I leaned down and reached for the shirt, holding it out accusingly toward her, but I couldn’t speak.

  “Who is that?” Mike’s voice called out through the bathroom door. A second later, he appeared, bare-chested and with his fly half-zipped. His mouth dropped open when he saw me silhouetted in the doorway to the bedroom. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. “Harley. Shit.”

  I could see he was searching for a plausible lie for why he was shirtless in a bedroom with my little sister, but he was so drunk that he had to lean against the doorframe just to stay upright. I held up a hand to stop him.

  “Don’t,” I said. My voice was a hoarse whisper as my throat closed around a golf-ball-sized lump. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  I turned and ran for the stairs, dropping Mike’s shirt on my way. Audrey called after me, but I ignored her.

  As I ducked through the living room to the front door, I felt bile rising in my throat. The door to the bathroom opened and I dashed into it, cutting off a line half a dozen people long. I ignored their mutinous cries as I slammed the door behind me.

  I’m pretty sure I threw up everything I’d ever eaten in my whole life. I kept picturing Mike, his belly full of beer protruding over his unbuttoned shorts, putting his hands on my sister. Kissing her. On top of her.

  My throat was raw, and my lips were stinging when the door opened a crack. Audrey poked her head in.

  “Harley? Are you okay?” she said. Her words were slurred, and she had to put one hand on the counter to keep her balance.

  I leaned back against the wall and breathed in through my nose slowly. “Get out,” I moaned. “I don’t want to look at you right now.”

  Her chin trembled, and her eyes filled with tears. “But nothing happened! Just let me explain.” A tear glanced off her nose and hit the floor near my knee.

  “If nothing happened, then why are you crying?” I said as I pushed myself up from the tile. I rinsed my mouth out with water and washed my hands. Bloodshot and red-rimmed, my eyes in the mirror reflected a glassy blue. My face was flushed from crying. From throwing up. From the sting of betrayal.

  Audrey bit her lip until my hand was on the doorknob.

  “I was jealous,” she whispered finally. “You spend all your time with Mike, and you don’t even seem to like him. And then tonight, he let
me be his beer pong partner. And after we lost, I spilled beer on myself. He took me upstairs to clean up and borrow a shirt from Cassidy and . . . we kissed.”

  “Did you sleep with him?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  “No! We just kissed . . . and stuff. I didn’t plan it; it just happened.”

  “But you let it,” I said.

  I left her crying in the bathroom. She could find her own ride home. She could walk for all I cared.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I visited Audrey the next day, she was curled up in bed with her back to the door. She didn’t roll over when I walked in, and she barely looked at me when I sat down next to her.

  “Hey, kid,” I said.

  She pushed her knees away from her chest and rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. “Hey,” she murmured.

  “Want to watch a movie?” I asked. “Dad really wants us to see The African Queen.”

  She groaned. “I’ve been saying no to seeing that movie for years. Why now?”

  “Your wide-eyed, naïve optimism seems to be rubbing off on me,” I said. “I figure we can give Dad the benefit of the doubt.”

  She tilted her head, another question on her lips, so I told her what had happened the day before with Raf. “So I might be buying into the Audrey Langston school of thought that love is worth taking chances for,” I said as I sat down next to her. “Scoot over.” I cuddled in on her hospital bed as she slid over slowly and rested her head on my shoulder.

  “I’m happy for you,” she said. But her tone was serious, much more so than I’d expected.

  “You don’t sound happy,” I said. “What’s wrong?”