How It Ends

by Laura Wiess

  I was like, “What’s his deal?” and Crystal gave me this interested look and said, “Why? Do you like him?”

  “No, he’s just always nice to me and I’m curious, okay?”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said and laughed. “What? I think you guys make a cute couple.”

  “Sure, especially since once my parents see his big ‘fuck’ tat, my father will tattoo his work boot against my butt. Are you kidding?”

  And then she said Jesse got it from some hole-in-the-wall place after his mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and almost died, because that was pretty much how he felt about the world.

  “When was this?” I said.

  “When we were in sixth grade, don’t you remember?” Crystal said. “She left in the middle of the semester and took like a year’s leave of absence because she was so sick. Jesse was what, a freshman or a sophomore?”

  “But she made it, right?” I said.

  “Yeah, but he thought she was going to die and his dad was totally focused on her and Jesse just kind of got lost trying to deal with it. He started partying way too much and dropped out of school in junior year and got arrested for driving without a license but they went easy on him because of his circumstances—”

  “You knew all this and you never told me?” I said.

  “Why would you have cared?” she said, amused. “Everybody’s got a story behind them, Hanna. You know that. You read.”

  “Well yeah, but that’s fiction. This is like, real.”

  “Well, don’t feel sorry for him because his mom’s okay now and he quit partying and got his brown belt in karate and his GED. He’s an apprentice stone mason and that’s union so he makes really good money. And he’s got that new bike and…oh, yeah, you already know about that part,” she said, nudging me and grinning.

  “Yeah,” I said absently.

  Can you even? I mean, I had no idea there could be so much to karate guy.

  Jesse.

  I got home as Gran and Grandpa were just leaving so I changed and walked the deer path with them, putting down the corn and some apples as a holiday treat because the second wave of deer-hunting season began at sunrise, the day after Christmas.

  On the way back I couldn’t help wondering if peace on Earth really was supposed to be a sentiment people meant for only a day.

  And right as I crossed through the gap in the little woods between our properties, I got a text from Seth.

  Merry Xmas.

  I stared at it with growing wonder, and then, shaking a little from both cold and happiness, replied, Merry Xmas to you, too.

  A pause, and then: Party at Connor’s NY’s Eve. Want to go?

  I clapped my hand over my mouth, eyes huge, and let out a muffled half laugh, half sob, then, getting a grip, punched out, What about Bailey? Freaked, deleted it, and replied, I need a ride.

  I’ll come get you.

  I said, OK, and danced all the way home.

  I called Sammi and told her how he might come get me on New Year’s Eve.

  “Do you believe him?” she said. “I mean, I’m not trying to jinx it or anything but…”

  “I know,” I said because she didn’t need to say it: What if he said he was coming and then just didn’t show up?

  Seth hasn’t texted me again but I’ve been operating as if he is going to come over and maybe even hang out for a while before the party, so I spent an insane day cleaning my room, trying to find a way to make it sexy and alluring and comfy and a major reflection of me all without letting my mother know that’s what I was trying to do.

  Well, I mean the sexy and alluring parts.

  “So who is this guy that I’ve never met or even heard mentioned that I’m supposed to let upstairs into my fifteen-year-old daughter’s bedroom on New Year’s Eve?” my father said, lowering the paper and arching an eyebrow. “Want to fill me in on this, Hanna, or am I going to have to grill him when he gets here?”

  “Mom,” I said, giving her an impatient look. “You said you wouldn’t let him do that!”

  “Really,” he said, sounding interested and glancing at my mother, who had covered her face with her hands and was shaking her head. “What else am I not allowed to do in my own home when Prince Charming is here?”

  “Call him that,” I said, freaking. “And please, please don’t wear those dorky reading glasses or do that killer-grip handshake thing or make two thousand trips upstairs to get dumb things, because it’s so obvious—”

  “Good,” he said, nodding. “I want it to be obvious. No hanky-panky—”

  “Mom! That word!”

  “You’re not allowed to say hanky-panky, either,” my mother said, giving him a twinkling look. “But don’t worry, it’s not only you. I’m not allowed to wear my bunny-head slippers—”

  “God, no,” I said, shuddering.

  “Or sing any of my lame songs or…what was the last one?” she said.

  “Ask him if he’s thought about what he’s going to go to college for because that’s just so…ugh…I can’t stand it,” I said, not missing the wry look they exchanged. “And don’t wear your ugly mom jeans, either, okay? Wear the newer ones.”

  “You getting all this?” my father said.

  “Let me write it down,” my mother said, smirking and reaching for a pen.

  “No!” I hollered. “Then you’ll leave it out on the counter or something and he’ll see it and know it’s a big deal and he can’t know that ever.”

  “Oh my Gawd,” my father said, clapping a hand to his chest. “He’ll know.”

  “You guys give me a pain,” I muttered, but I wasn’t really mad and they knew it, so I grabbed the Pledge and ran back up to my room to give it an overhaul it hadn’t seen since I’d graduated eighth grade.

  Every shirt I own is stupid and ugly.

  All my jeans make me look fat.

  My new sweater dress is too dressy, but Crystal got a nice, tight plum-colored hoodie she said I could borrow, so maybe that with black cords and my new black boots?

  He should call so I know what time he’s coming to get me tomorrow before I go completely over the edge.

  What if he met somebody else and made plans with them and I just don’t know it yet?

  I think I would have to quit St. Ignatz and go back to public school just so I would never have to see him again.

  He called and he can’t get the car but his buddy Phil said he’d drive us to the party if Sammi came, too.

  I said, “Oh. And what did you say?”

  He said, “I said it’s good with me as long as it’s good with Hanna and Sammi.” Silence. (And thank God he couldn’t see me writhing around on my bed and biting my own arm to keep from shrieking with joy.) “So do you think she’ll go?”

  I pulled my gnawed-up forearm from my mouth and, wiping it on the comforter, said, “Oh, yeah, definitely.” I was so over the rainbow that I almost forgot to give him my address but he reminded me, and that made it seem all the more real.

  The last thing I said was, “And if something happens and you can’t come—”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said and it sounded like he was smiling. “Okay?”

  Oh, yeah.

  I think I’m in a dream.

  Or maybe it was the shot of blackberry brandy on an empty stomach.

  Whatever it is, I don’t want it to end.

  It was so easy having Seth and Phil, the good little parochial schoolboys, come in, say hello to my parents and back up my ‘going to the movies and out to eat’ story without a hitch, then climbing into the backseat with Seth and leaving poor Phil alone up front while we drove over and picked up Sammi.

  Seth had his arm along the back of the seat behind me and only moved it to smoke a joint. I didn’t smoke because I didn’t want to forget any of what would happen tonight or say anything stupid or miss my chance by moving too slow, but there was plenty of secondhand smoke, so that’s probably why the first part of the night seems a little blurry.

  Walking in
to the party with Seth, having everyone there see his arm around me and mine locked around him was almost too intense. My knees were weak, my face hot, and I couldn’t stop trembling with excitement. Finally, Seth looked down at me, smiled, and said, “Cold?”

  The place was like a steam bath but what was I going to say? “No, I just can’t take being close to you”? so I nodded and he pulled me closer, which only made it worse, and that was why I decided on the brandy.

  Anything to help me ease down a little and get some self-control back.

  So we hung out and he talked to some of his friends, and me and Sammi kept exchanging excited eyeball messages across the room. There was food but I didn’t eat because I didn’t want to get caught chewing if he ever decided to kiss me. I know we talked but all I could focus on was his hand, warm at the back of my neck under my hair, sliding across to one shoulder, then down over my bra strap to the curve of my back right above my low-rise cords, like he was exploring my landscape, and my God, I was dying.

  Finally, he leaned down, put his mouth against my ear, murmured, “Come on, it’s too crowded in here,” and led me through the knots of kids, up the stairs, and into the first unoccupied bedroom.

  He closed and locked the door, turned to me standing there trembling in the dark, and with a smile in his voice, said, “Where’d you go?”

  “I’m here,” I whispered, and then his arms came around me, and an exhale swept out of me carrying all the strength I had left. I melted against him and lifted my face, and his mouth found mine, and oh, God, the sweetness was unbearable. I think he felt it, too, because he just kept kissing me as we found the bed and sank onto the edge of it, as he eased me back and stroked my arm, my hair, settled a hand on my waist and slid it to my stomach. I tensed when he did that, not on purpose but because he was making my whole body crazy for him, so he moved his hand back to my waist. I put my arms around his neck and pulled him down, wanting to feel his heartbeat against me.

  I don’t know how long we kissed but I was nearly senseless from the heat when I felt his hand ease up my side to my ribs, and it was like a drop of cold water plunked right down on the center of my sizzling delirium, not enough to put it out but just enough to wake me up a little. I brought my arm down, trapping his hand from advancing, and he smiled against my mouth and moved his hand, only to slip it back up again a few minutes later.

  I stopped him again and made a low un-un in the back of my throat without ever breaking the kiss. He drew back slightly, searching my face and murmured as if surprised, “You’re not like I thought you were.”

  “No,” I whispered, gazing back, half hurt, half thrilled, because he saw me now, the real me, not the flirty school Hanna but the girl, and then he smiled this wry little smile like the joke was on him and kissed me again.

  We talked for a little bit, nothing big, just teasing stuff, and about ten minutes later got up and went back to the party in time to watch the ball drop in Times Square, yell Happy New Year, and kiss right there in front of everyone. I went into the bathroom afterward, brushed my bed head (finally, Seth-induced bed head!), and put on fresh gloss, but there was no way to tone down my pink cheeks or the brilliance in my eyes.

  Sammi caught me in the hall and, pulling me aside, whispered, “Oh my God, did you do it with him?”

  “No, he didn’t even get up my shirt,” I whispered back.

  “Well, that’s not what it looks like.”

  “Well, I can’t help that,” I said and was so happy that, when we went back downstairs and I saw Seth sitting in the corner of the couch, having a beer and talking to a couple of guys, I didn’t even really mind that he’d put himself in a place I couldn’t get to. Instead, me and Sammi started talking to two guys from Connor’s block and it didn’t take long for Seth to come put his arms around me and start joking around and feeding me potato chips. I was flying so high that I stood on tiptoe and whispered, “So now you’re my love slave, right?” and waited for him to laugh, and he did, well, it wasn’t a laugh exactly but he gave me that same wry smile and his gaze went all distant. So I quickly told him I was only kidding but it lessened something somehow, and nothing I said or did after that brought the connection back to that same heady level.

  And it killed me because I want to know him, all of him, everything about him, and I want him to know about me, to ask me all my thoughts and my dreams and what I love and hate…everything. All the real, true love things below the surface, all the secret hopes and stuff you never tell anyone but the people you really trust, the ones you know won’t use it against you.

  I wanted me and Seth to be like that more than anything.

  He got Phil to drive us back to Sammi’s at two and kissed me good night, but it gave me a gray feeling, like I’d finally had my chance and blew it, which was, in fact, the truth, as I had apparently been good enough to be with but not good enough to formally ask out, and that just broke my heart.

  Gran and Grandpa came for New Year’s Day dinner but they didn’t stay long because Gran didn’t feel good. She’s stopped waitressing part-time because she’s kind of shaky and she even brought her own travel mug because she says it’s the best way to drink without spilling.

  She asked me if I’d read any good books lately and when I said no, because I hadn’t been over to peruse her bookcases in a while, she offered to lend me one of her book club selections and I said sure, okay, because I didn’t have anything better to do and, let’s face it, the phone wasn’t exactly ringing off the hook.

  So I went back with them after dinner was over and while I was there she asked me if I knew how to list things on eBay, because she was thinking about selling her collection of Hummels, as she couldn’t dust them anymore and they were probably worth something.

  I said sure, why not, and spent the rest of the day writing descriptions of old-fashioned, foreign-looking knickknacks and showing Grandpa how to navigate the auction site.

  How do I get roped into these things?

  Chapter 11

  Helen

  I am in the pantry sorting the remaining vegetables and removing any that shows signs of spoiling when Lon appears in the doorway. “Helen.”

  “You’re in my light,” I say absently, examining the last of the beefsteaks.

  “Helen,” he says again, and this time I hear the tight wheeze in his voice, the urgency, and the beefsteak rolls from my hand and onto the floor with a soft, dull plop, and I hear myself say, “Lon?” in a voice I would have never thought was mine. “What is it?”

  He sags against the door frame, one hand pressed to his chest, and struggling for breath. “Call the…ambulance.”

  Chapter 12

  Hanna

  Gran called my mother and said Grandpa had another heart attack and was in the hospital. She said they’re monitoring him and having visitors would be too stressful but asked if I would go over to their house before dusk every day and put out the deer food, feed the stray cats, and fill the bird feeders, because she’d be spending most of her days there with him. My mother told her I would.

  I hope Grandpa gets well soon, because my mother said Gran would be lost without him.

  That’s so sad.

  I hope someone will be lost without me someday.

  Serepta is lonely without Gran and follows me around while I get her food and water, so of course I have to sit in my chair and pet her before I put out all the other cat food.

  Good thing Gran left written instructions because I have to open seven cans, put them out on plates around the yard, then refill the water and dry food bowls.

  At first I thought it was a giant pain, going through all this work every day just to feed some wild cats, but when they started inching toward the food, I changed my mind. They’re thin and scraggly and so wary, like they think I’m going to kick them or something. It makes me wonder what kinds of terrible things happened to them before they found their way here.

  Most of them were dumped by people, and if it wasn’t for Gran, these
cats would have died of starvation a long time ago.

  Talk about real community service.

  I did some research on feeding deer, just for the fun of it, and found out that giving them corn in the winter isn’t such a great thing, and that if they really need food to survive it should be hay, or even cutting down a few trees so they have fresh browse.

  Feeding them corn when it isn’t a natural food supply for the season can actually do more harm than good.

  Hmm.

  What’s that old saying about the road to hell being paved with good intentions?

  Gran’s going to hate knowing that all this time we might have been hurting them more than helping them.

  I think I’ll tell her later, when she’s not so stressed.

  In the meantime, I’m going to ask my father if we can get some hay.

  Sammi finished her community service requirement. She thinks I’m nuts for not letting guidance know I fell off the list, but I’m not telling them now. God, then I’d have to go to stupid summer school or something to make it up, so forget it. I’ll worry about it next year. I can always do double the time if I have to. I told Sammi that and made her swear on her mother’s life that she would never mention the phrase mandatory community service in front of my parents because I don’t want to remind them of it, either. She swore but she still thinks I’m crazy.

  I’m not crazy. I just want to be available in case something wonderful happens this summer.

  The first day of spring.

  Seth stopped at my locker, picked up a strand of my hair, tickled my nose with it, smiled, and said, “Just don’t want you to forget me, pretty lady.”

  I could kill him for giving me just enough to get all hopeful again, every single time.