The After Girls

by Konen, Leah

  Ella’s eyes opened wide. She absolutely could not believe what Sydney had just said. “Selfish? You’re the one getting drunk every night and hooking up with Max and leading Carter on just because you feel like it, and I’m the one thinking about Astrid. I’m the one trying to make sense of it all. You’re calling me selfish?”

  “You don’t know shit about Max or Carter. And you can’t talk, miss I’m-in-love-with-my-dead-friend’s-cousin.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, at least I’m trying to get to know her family. At least I’m trying to figure out more about her.”

  “I knew plenty about her when she was alive!” Sydney screamed. “I don’t want to know any more. I don’t want to think about her anymore. Every time I do, I feel sick. I’m done,” Sydney threw her hands up in the air. “Done.”

  Ella just shook her head. “You don’t really mean that.”

  But Sydney was nodding. “I’m not doing it anymore. I can’t do it anymore. I’m not listening to your bullshit theories or reading my aunt’s book or hosting séances or stealing fucking journals. I’m moving on, okay? That’s what people do. You should try it sometime. But oh wait, you can’t. You’re too fucking scared so you’re stuck playing ghost hunter.”

  But Ella shook her head. She started to pull out her phone. If Sydney could only see it, she would get it. She would finally understand. “Let me just show you one thing,” she said.

  “No,” Sydney said. “You’ve shown me enough.”

  “But — ”

  “I said no,” she said, her voice getting even louder. “Just get out. I’m done with this.” And Sydney grabbed the journal, pushing it at Ella, practically shoving her out the door.

  And it was then that she realized that it was no use. Sydney wouldn’t understand. Sydney didn’t even want to understand.

  “You’re wrong,” Ella snapped. “You have no idea how wrong you are.” And then she rushed out as quickly as she could, practically falling down the stairs, and was out the door before Sydney’s mom could ask what all the yelling was about.

  She ran her hand along the journal as she walked down the street.

  It was the only thing she could count on now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sydney burst into sobs as soon as Ella left.

  She shouldn’t have yelled at her. She shouldn’t have pushed her away. She knew Ella needed her more than ever. But she already knew too much. She didn’t want to see those pages. She didn’t need to see those pages.

  She’d lived them. She didn’t need a reminder.

  She’d gone over to Astrid’s just a couple of days before she died, 49 hours, to be exact. She’d counted. Multiple times.

  Astrid had said she wasn’t feeling well, and Sydney wanted to see her. No one had answered the door, but it was unlocked, so Sydney let herself in. It was that kind of house. One without too many rules.

  She knocked softly on Astrid’s door, and when she heard her voice say, “What is it?” she slowly opened the door.

  “Oh,” Astrid said. “It’s you.”

  Sydney took that as invitation enough to come in. “I wanted to see how you are,” she said. “You said you were sick.”

  “I didn’t tell you to come over,” Astrid said, her mouth a thin, straight line.

  “I’m sorry,” Sydney said. She stared at her friend. She did look sick. Or maybe not even sick. Empty would be a better word. She was pale as a sheet, and she had deep circles under her eyes, like she’d forgotten how to sleep. Her bony legs weren’t shaved, and they poked out of the sheets. She looked skinnier than ever.

  “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Sydney said.

  Astrid just shrugged. “What’s the point? You can’t do anything to make it better.”

  “Do you have a cold or something?” Sydney asked, her eyes locked on her friend. “I brought some cough drops.”

  Astrid laughed, and her laugh was hoarse, almost as if she’d been to a concert, had spent the whole night screaming.

  “I don’t need cough drops.”

  Sydney sat down on the edge of the bed, but Astrid scooted back, like she was toxic or something. “What’s wrong, A?”

  Astrid stared at her straight, without blinking. “Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her voice almost childlike. “Why would anything be wrong?”

  “You’re freaking me out,” Sydney said.

  “Then leave.”

  “I just wanted to — ”

  “I don’t care what you wanted,” Astrid yelled, her voice definitely hoarse now. “You can’t help, okay? Just leave me alone.”

  “Astrid,” Sydney said, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she shook her away.

  “Don’t touch me,” she said.

  So Sydney stood up then, backing out of the room. “I can’t be here for you if you won’t let me,” she said, as she made her way to the door.

  Astrid was silent then, and Sydney turned back. For a second she almost looked like herself, weighing, waiting, wondering if she should open up to Sydney right then and there. If she should finally let her in. But in an instant that look was gone.

  “I know,” Astrid snapped. “That’s why I’m telling you to leave.”

  And she shouldn’t have let it get to her, she should have known that A needed help, that she was hardly even in control, that nothing she said in desperation should be taken at face value. But Sydney couldn’t help it. She felt nothing but anger. Anger and a deep desire to get out. If her friend didn’t want her help, she sure as hell wasn’t going to get it.

  “I’ll call you later,” Sydney said, heading out of the door.

  “Don’t,” Astrid said, but Sydney just kept walking. She couldn’t take any more. Astrid was a different person. With empty eyes. An emotionless voice. She was almost like a ghost.

  Grace stopped her in the hallway. “What are you doing here?” she snapped. Her eyes were fiery. “Astrid’s sick.”

  “I — no one answered, so I just came in. I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She needs her rest,” Grace said.

  “Okay, I’m leaving,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” Grace said, but she didn’t sound like it was fine. At all. “Just leave,” she said. “Just let her rest. She doesn’t need you.”

  Sydney wanted to yell at Grace then, she wanted to tell her that she did need her, maybe more than ever. But she couldn’t. Grace was the adult. Grace was the mom. She’d trusted her, in spite of herself. Even though she shouldn’t have.

  Let her rest, Sydney thought. Let her rest forever.

  Sydney stared up at the ceiling, trying to keep up with her racing mind. Why hadn’t she pushed back? Why hadn’t she shaken Astrid? Why hadn’t she made her tell her what was wrong? Why hadn’t she hugged her, told her she would always be there for her, even if she’d fought and screamed and tried to push her away? If she had tried, would Astrid have let herself be held, shaken with long overdue tears, finally told her what was really going on? Why the hell had she left?

  But Astrid had sent a text to her that night, apologizing, saying that the cold medicine made her cranky. And when she’d suggested that they all meet at the cabin the next night, before a big party one of the seniors was throwing, how was Sydney to know that it would be the last time that they’d all be together? How was Sydney to know that there wouldn’t be any more time to be a good friend?

  She wanted to keep crying, but now she was all out of tears. It was too early to start drinking, and lately it wasn’t making her feel better anyway. She wanted to rip the guilt right out of her stomach, but she knew that it didn’t work that way.

  Out of the corner of the room, her fiddle caught her eye. The one thing that wouldn’t leave her — that wouldn’t kill itself or yell at her or leave her with this palpable, horrible guilt.

  Sydney sighed, pushing herself up to a sitting position, slowly standing up and grabbing the fiddle and bow. She sat back down, running her hands along the smooth, str
ong wood. And then she wedged it under her chin and pulled the bow across the strings softly, until the rich sound filled her ears and for a second, she felt peace.

  • • •

  It had actually been a really long time since Sydney had written a new song. One with chords, a melody, the whole works.

  She and Max used to write all of their songs together. Then, after they broke up, things changed. She’d come up with a riff here, write a verse there — sometimes, if she was feeling particularly hung up on Max, or maybe if they’d recently hooked up, she’d make a try at writing one with him. It never worked as well as it had in the beginning.

  Practice was at Carter’s tonight. She hoped beyond hope that she’d have a chance to apologize for the night before — to explain.

  Max and Carter were waiting for her when she got to the garage.

  “You’re late,” Max said.

  “So sue me,” she said back.

  Carter just looked down at his feet. Which was even more awkward and obvious given how tall he was.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling straight at him. And he looked up, and she swore that a tiny, mini part of him smiled back — a little bit. Or maybe that was just Carter. But he just went back to messing with his mandolin. It was his trick when he didn’t want to deal with what was going on around him.

  “You need to start getting serious about the band, Sydney,” Max said.

  Carter kept tuning.

  “Are you for real?” she asked. “You’re always late or drunk or hooking up with someone in the crowd.”

  “And you’re always late and drunk and hooking up with the whole band.”

  Sydney whipped her head around to face Carter, as she felt her face go red. “You told him?” she asked.

  Carter shrugged.

  Sydney turned back to Max. “What does it matter to you? Like you actually care.”

  “I don’t,” he said. “I just don’t think that you should be talking about me hooking up with fans,” he said, “when you act like a groupie for your own band.”

  Sydney rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. You’re just mad because you want to know that I’m still hung up on you so you can feel better about yourself and how lonely you are.”

  Max raised his voice then. “I don’t want to know you’re still hung up on me,” he said. “I do know. And you pull poor Carter into the mix to make yourself feel better about it.”

  Sydney’s jaw dropped. Even Carter stared at Max in shock.

  Everything she’d ever loved about him — his hair, his smile, the way he had of looking her straight in the eye — seemed false now, like without it all, he’d be nothing, no one. Just another lead singer trying to get laid.

  Max wasn’t worth tears. Astrid was worth tears. Ella was worth tears. Carter was, too. Hell, even Ben was. Max wasn’t worth a single drop of salty water from her eyes. He wasn’t worth all of the ones she’d already spilled, all of the mornings after with headaches and regrets. He wasn’t worth any of that. And she wasn’t going to give him any more. Ever.

  Her words came out in a yell. “I’m not hung up on you,” she said. “And my feelings for Carter have nothing to do with you. But you know what, you win, okay? You win. Because you toyed with me enough to make me ruin it with him.”

  Max looked over to Carter. Then back to Sydney. “Oh what, so you like skinny momma’s boys now?”

  She briefly looked over to Carter, but then looked away because she couldn’t stand to see the hurt, the embarrassment on his face.

  “Fuck you, Max,” she said.

  “Fuck you guys,” he said. And he grabbed his case and stalked off to his car.

  Sydney watched him slam the door and pull away. Only then did she look back at Carter. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry you had to be part of that. It’s our bullshit, not yours.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said.

  “He’s just such a dick,” she said. “He always ruins everything. And what he said about you — ”

  “Sydney,” he said, lifting up his hands as if she were about to attack him or something. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Shit. I just was hoping that this would go different. I just don’t know why he has to be like that. I wrote a new song,” she said. “And I wanted to show you guys, and I wanted to apologize, and now Max is gone and you’re just mad.”

  She wanted him so badly to want to hear her song. She wanted him to sit there and listen or maybe say something about the fact that she’d just said that she liked him or maybe just smile at her like he used to when Max was a dick, to crack a joke and hug her and make everything feel better. She wanted him to forgive her.

  But he just stood there. Because they were in this strange new world now. Where they were all a bunch of broken pieces that she was trying so desperately to fit together.

  “Listen,” he said, finally. “Max left. Maybe you should just go home, too.”

  She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. But she deserved that, didn’t she? He’d probably felt the same way about her more than once. She’d made her messy bed. Now she had to lie in it.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll see you …”

  “Later,” he said.

  “Okay. Later.”

  And she grabbed her stuff and walked away.

  • • •

  When she was back home, she pulled out the sheet of paper and took her fiddle out of its case.

  She read the words of the song — her song — running her finger over the lines of the chorus that had come to her in a rush that morning. The one she’d written to make her feel better. The one that she didn’t believe yet, but she wanted to, and that was the point.

  No matter if you’re here or no matter if you’re gone

  Believe me, dear, it won’t be long

  ’Til we smile at the way we feel you near

  And rejoice the fact that we’re still here

  She sung them softly, and it felt good to feel the words coming out of her mouth, emanating from her lungs. It felt good to feel.

  And even though she felt like shit, even though she’d messed things up with Carter, even though even Ella wasn’t talking to her now, even though the news about Astrid tore her, ripped her apart, maybe it wasn’t so bad that she had no one to listen.

  Maybe this one was just for her.

  Her and Astrid.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  It was a little after six when Ella saw Jake bobbing up the steps of the park near Trail Mix.

  She’d called him at the coffee shop just an hour before, asking him to meet her — now as he approached, she felt like one of those people who arranged clandestine meetings in public places. She hadn’t wanted to ask him to her house — her mom kept asking her what was going on with Ben (it was like some kind of mom sixth sense) and she knew that Jake coming over would only inspire more questions. Going to Astrid’s house was obviously out of the question — at least if Grace knew about it — so she’d chosen here. It was a place that she and Astrid used to go to sometimes, after their shift ended. They never said too much. Just sat and looked out at the town — the world. It was beautiful here. A Blue Ridge wonder.

  Ella noticed that Jake was holding two cups as he approached her. He handed one to her. “Thanks,” she said, and she lifted it up to her nose. “Chai.”

  “Your favorite, right?”

  Ella nodded. “How did you know?”

  “I’ve seen you make it for yourself more than once,” he said. And she smiled. For once she felt calm and peaceful, in control. She knew it probably wouldn’t last, but it felt good anyway.

  Jake sat down next to her. “Wow,” he said, looking out at the sight before them. “I can’t believe this is so close and I’ve never been.”

  “There’s a lot of things in this town that you
have to know to look for.”

  Ella took a sip, and the hot milk burned the tip of her tongue. She blew on it through the tiny sipping hole, and it made a whistling sound.

  “I’m glad you called me,” Jake said. “You’re not sick, are you?”

  “No,” she said, without looking at him. “I’m not.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t know that you do.”

  He turned to her then. “I know I was an ass last night,” he said. “I know that Ben is good to you and that he was just drunk, and I know I shouldn’t have goaded him. I know I only made it worse.”

  From her vantage point, Ella could see almost every shop in town. The restaurant where she and Ben had had their first date. The bakery that made the best sourdough. The thrift store where she and Sydney had bought their graduation dresses. It all seemed so meaningless now, compared to this. “I don’t want to talk about Ben,” she said.

  Jake turned to her then. “You don’t? I thought you were mad.”

  “I am,” she said, without facing him. “Or I was. I’m not anymore. Don’t worry.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “I have more important things on my mind.”

  Jake nodded, and he didn’t press her further. She loved that about him. He was so easygoing sometimes. He made it so easy to be herself.

  Ella took another sip of chai and then set it down on the bench next to her. “I need your help,” she said.

  “My help?” He turned back to her, and in an instant, she thought that his eyes understood.

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t want to go back in the house, do you?”

  Ella nodded. “I need to.”

  Jake shook his head. “Is that why you’re friends with me? Am I just a ticket so you can come in and out as you please? So you can learn more about us?”

  “No,” she said calmly. “Not at all.”

  “Then tell me what all this is about. Is it because of what I said about her dad?” he asked. “Because it wasn’t that far from the truth. He was as good as dead, the way he treated them, and — ”