Definitely, Maybe in Love

by Ophelia London

  When he lifted my hand off my lap, I glanced at him, straining from the pressure writhing behind my eyes.

  “We can go tomorrow,” he said. “Or tonight. Right now, if you want.”

  When my eyebrows pulled together, it caused a new pain in my head. “Go?” I said, realizing I hadn’t been listening. “Where?”

  He pressed his hands together, mine between them. “Tahiti.”

  Even though I was physically immovable, my brain was working now, catching up to what he’d been saying.

  “What?” I pulled my hand free.

  He seemed mystified by my reaction, because he only stared at me. A moment later, he sighed and the lines in his forehead smoothed out. “The invitation might seem out of the blue to you, but I’ve been thinking about it, about you, a lot, and you know how I feel…”

  He looked into my eyes and leaned in.

  I almost allowed it to happen. Part of me wanted it, wanted him, needed him. I could practically taste the delicious water waiting to quench my aching pain and thirst. My hands longed to touch him and feel him one more time, while another part of me knew better, and I followed its command.

  “Don’t,” I said, scooting away and standing up. “Don’t do that.”

  Knightly remained on the edge of the couch, looking a little rattled. “Why are you so upset?”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Hmm, where should I begin?”

  When he rose to his feet, I stepped back, keeping a distance. Henry stopped and watched me guardedly, like he was waiting to see if my head was about to burst into flames.

  “Spring,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned and more than a little anxious. “What’s really going on? What’s wrong?”

  “This plan of yours,” I began. “You expect me to drop out of Stanford, leave my whole life, and fly across the world?”

  He moved toward me cautiously, his hands out like a cowboy approaching a wild mustang. “I’m sorry if I was undiplomatic about it. I’m not romantic, but I am only thinking of you. You can take a break there, finish your thesis. It’s all arranged.”

  “You’re crazy, you know that? You’re insane, you’re— Why are you laughing?”

  He slid his hands in his pockets, his huge grin about to break. “I so enjoy when you get like this.”

  “You enjoy when I’m angry?”

  He took a beat, his brows furrowing. “No, not angry,” he corrected. It was one of the few times I’d seen him backpedal. “You know when I’m just pushing your buttons.”

  “You need to leave,” I said, realizing my do-not-argue plan had failed. “Right now.”

  His smile dropped. “Why?”

  I nodded toward the door, but he didn’t move. “I swear, Henry Knightly”—my voice was getting louder and higher pitched—“if you don’t leave this instant—”

  “Spring.”

  I jabbed a finger at the door, demanding that he go.

  “I’m not leaving.” He took a step forward. “I’m in love with you.”

  I blinked, and air whooshed from my lungs in one hard gust. “What did you say?”

  He took another step. “I love you.”

  For a moment, I still couldn’t breathe—I was in shock, his simple words derailing my anger completely. But the moment was up as quickly as it had come. He might as well have said his favorite color was blue.

  “So?” I said, forcing my voice to regrip the anger.

  I could both see and hear him take in a sharp breath.

  “So?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I love you and I want you…to come with me, to be with me.”

  “You seriously think I’ll run away with you because that’s what you happen to want at the moment?”

  Words were flying at me, I could actually see them in my mind’s eye, forming into sentences. Aiding and abetting these words were memories from the past, bruised feelings that were supposed to be gone, that I thought were gone. I only had to open my mouth and they came tumbling out.

  “May I remind you that the night we met you treated me like an ingrate? You were rude and judgmental because of what you heard and because of the way I looked, like I was beneath your dignity.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Why don’t you take Lilah to Tahiti? I’m sure she’d be thrilled to pick up where you two left off.”

  Knightly turned completely white. I thought this would please me, but it didn’t. In fact, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of me again. Once more, I wanted to go to him, to take back my words, to wrap my arms around him until the hurt in his eyes went away. In some sick, ironic twist, I knew that comforting him would comfort me. If the past didn’t exist, nothing would be in our way.

  But the past was rushing back, too quickly for me to block, and it was very real.

  “Lilah, Henry!” My voice broke. “What were you thinking?”

  At that point, I didn’t know if I wanted an explanation from him, or an apology, or what. All I knew was suddenly the thought of them together was revolting.

  He spread his hands. “Lilah was… Spring, she means nothing to me. It was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” I repeated. “You have sex with her and that’s nothing? Even you can’t be that crass.”

  He dropped his hands but didn’t reply.

  “Is that what you expect out of me, too? I’m so sorry I disappointed you by not tearing off my clothes in front of the campfire.”

  “I wasn’t going to sleep with you last night. It’s been one day, we’re not…” He trailed off and thrust another hand through his hair. “Lilah was a mistake that I’ve regretted every day since. Believe me.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I scoffed, remembering how she was all over him at the street party. Sure, he hadn’t looked extremely into it, but I never witnessed him fighting her off.

  “Well, I’m certain your family took to her much more than they ever would to me. Now you’ll never have to worry about what they’ll think.” I was so mad my mind went blank, yet the words kept flying out like darts aimed at his heart. “I know all about your family, and your sister. Alex told me everything.”

  Knightly’s face warped from white to red. “Don’t believe anything he says,” he muttered, almost like a threat. “I warned you to stay away from him.”

  “You warned me?” I echoed. “For your information, Alex told me about the crap-load of things you did to him in high school.”

  “Me?” He pointed at his chest, sounding indignant. “To him?”

  I nodded firmly. “And you obviously haven’t changed. You’re still duplicitous to anybody who happens to not have a million dollars in the bank.”

  “That’s absurd,” he muttered, pacing the room like a flea-bag lawyer working a jury. He stopped and took a few breaths, raking both hands through his hair. “So that’s the reason you’re upset.” He dropped his chin and exhaled, calming himself down. “Do you honestly believe what he told you?” When I didn’t reply, he spun around. “It’s not true,” he said, his voice full of entreating. “You know me.”

  “Do I?”

  I’d spoken aloud, but I was asking only myself.

  I don’t remember him reaching out or holding me by the arms, but there he was. His hands moved up to my shoulders, slight pressure to keep me still, reminding me of last night.

  “Yes, you do,” he said softly, staring into my eyes. “Think. Please.”

  So I did. About him, and about me. About what I thought to be the truth, and what I felt was true down to my toes. His kindness toward his friends, his brilliant mind, his patience with me, how strong I felt when we were together, how he challenged me and made me fight for what I believed in. From day one.

  The anger was dissolving, and the queasiness settled. Because, yes, I knew.

  “I…I guess I’m not sure what really happened between you and Alex,” I admitted softly. “And maybe it doesn’t matter, because what I feel…” He gripped my shoulders, easing me toward him. “I feel…” I touched his fa
ce, my fingers running across his chin, his parted lips, resting on his cheek.

  Henry placed his hand over mine and exhaled, long and ragged, his whole face showing exquisite relief. In unison, we shifted our weight.

  But suddenly, I was thinking again of those things I knew about him, one being how he treated his friends. Like a flash, I recalled what had brought us to that room in the first place.

  I’d only known Tyler for two days. Was it fair of me to trust him over Henry, without even asking?

  “Did you do it?” I dropped my hand and stared up at him.

  “No. Spring, Alex Parks is a pathological liar. I’ll tell you exactly—”

  “No.” I cut him off. “Did you do what Tyler said?”

  He blinked, looking confused. “What?”

  “Did you break up Julia and Dart?” I asked point blank, even though my voice was shaking. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

  Henry just stared at me. For a moment, I wondered if he didn’t understand what I was asking. Did he need me to rephrase the question?

  But no. The longer our eyes locked and the longer he didn’t respond, the clearer the answer was.

  “What the hell, Henry.” I brushed his hand off my arm and took a step back. “You did?”

  He stared down at me, bemused, making me want to shake him by the shoulders like a child.

  “How could you do that? Why?”

  “I…” he began, but then stopped. “It was the right thing to do. She didn’t love him. You know that.”

  “What?” I shrieked, balling my hands into tight fists, feeling like I might actually hit something.

  “Dart’s like a brother to me. I couldn’t watch him make the same mistake. I knew it wouldn’t work out with her.”

  “What same mistake?” I asked. “And you have no way of knowing it wouldn’t work out. She hasn’t been the same, Henry. Her heart is broken; her spirit is broken.” My voice cracked. “And it’s your fault.”

  “Spring, just—”

  “I can’t do this.” I pointed back and forth from him and to me. “What you did to Julia and your so-called best friend is despicable. So whatever little head game you’re playing with me, it’s over. Do you understand?”

  He shifted his weight but didn’t speak.

  “First Alex, then Lilah, and now Julia. Who knows how many people’s lives you’ve screwed with.”

  “I haven’t screwed with anyone. You don’t know what happened. Just listen.” He reached out but I dodged him.

  “I cannot be with someone, trust someone who’s capable of what you did. I could never love you. Never.”

  He flinched at my last word.

  “We’re done, Knightly,” I said, speaking more forcefully so my voice wouldn’t break again. “Now… This minute… Pour toujours—”

  “Yeah. I get it, Spring.” The harsh vibe in his voice matched his expression. “After all I’ve said, this is still how you feel?” When I didn’t so much as blink, he exhaled sharply. “Then there’s nothing more to say.”

  I folded my arms. Nothing more to say.

  He still didn’t leave, and I could feel his eyes on me, but I chose not to look at him until he finally moved to the front door and turned the knob. Sometime within the last turbulent hour, the sky had opened and it was pouring down rain.

  Have fun on your little motorcycle there, buddy.

  He paused under the threshold, staring down, not seeming to notice the rain, almost as if there was one more thing he wanted to say. But he didn’t. He never looked back.

  Once he was off the porch, I kicked the door shut. Through the rain, I heard his Harley start up, the tires angrily kicking up gravel as it screeched away. The sound faded out in a matter of seconds.

  “There,” I said aloud, dusting off my hands. “Well done, Springer.”

  After staring at the closed door until my eyes stung, I tore my gaze away and marched upstairs. I paced around my room in circles, my wits going wild, thinking of all the other things I wished I’d have said to him.

  Then I halted in place, remembering all the things I had said.

  Without warning, my stomach heaved and I bent over, both arms around my middle. Knowing I had seconds to spare, I flung open the door, raced across the hall, and slid to the floor in front of the white toilet bowl, salivating and sweating, awaiting the looming upchucks.

  Twenty minutes later, after intervals of returning semi-digested food back to nature and resting my burning face against cold porcelain, I peeled myself off the floor and crossed to my room.

  Hail hammered against the skylight over my head. Lightning crashed and thunder rumbled. I put my hands on top of my head and tucked my chin, trying to shield myself as figurative hail pelted me from above.

  I had no strength left, nothing but a strange sense of carved-out hollowness.

  Defeated, I crumpled onto the bed and cried…cried for the first time in ten years.

  Chapter 27

  I glanced at Mel, who was watching the freeway, occupied by her own thoughts. It was strange and unsettling. New territory. It was the first time in our life-long relationship that I knew more about something than her.

  The remaining few days of spring break had consisted of me in the guest bedroom under the pretext of studying. I’d turned off my cell, unsure of what to tell Julia, but also dreading any other communication.

  Nothing was said on the subject of Henry Knightly the rest of the time in Vancouver. The only thing Mel probably suspected was that I’d kissed a guy then refused to talk to him a day later.

  You stay classy, Spring.

  I didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to think about it. My blood pressure was already skyrocketing as we headed back to California, flying south on I-5. I ran my fingers over my forehead and pushed back against the head rest, staring out the window.

  It was my own fault. I’d stepped into the mouth of the beast and had to live with the stench till it wore off. Served me right for getting close to a guy like Knightly. When would I learn that men, all men, were the enemy?

  This reminded me of the card I’d received from my father a few weeks ago. An invitation to his midsummer wedding, sent in the guise of a birthday card, the first card he’d sent in five years. Ha! There was no way I was going to any wedding, even if my brothers swore Dad had changed, that he was reaching out to me. I wasn’t ready to believe that. Especially not now.

  Reviewing some history notes from a class blog took up the next hour or so of our journey. My phone vibrated. I’d purposefully not checked messages for days, but it was probably time. I snuck a glance at Mel, who was yammering on her cell. My left temple began to throb as I tapped my Stanford e-mail icon then quickly scanned down the messages. There were plenty from friends, classmates, and even one from Professor Masen. I didn’t have the stomach to read that one yet.

  I jumped when my phone vibrated again. This time a calendar prompt popped up, alerting me of an event that was to take place in fifteen minutes. I stared at the screen. It wasn’t something I’d entered into my calendar. Knightly had put it in there, obviously. Though it wasn’t the event I’d seen him enter, our date to work on my thesis—that wasn’t until next week. This was something else, something…personal.

  He must have entered it when I wasn’t looking, when we’d been next to each other in the backseat of Tyler’s car, me momentarily distracted by someone’s hand up my shirt. Sweat pooled in the palms of my hands, under my hair, across my forehead, as I read the short event again and again, wanting—almost desperately—to be where it said I should be, with whom, and doing what it said we should be doing.

  After I’d read it a fourth time, everything in me dropped. Then spun.

  “What’s so captivating?”

  Mel’s voice startled me. When I turned to her, she took one look at me and winced.

  “Crap, Spring! What’s wrong with you?”

  I didn’t know what she meant. Had all my hair fallen out? Was I bleed
ing from the ears?

  “You look like death.”

  Funny, because I felt like death.

  I lowered the sun visor to look in the mirror. There she was again: the same girl I’d seen when I locked myself in the bathroom at Henry’s house, and again just a few days ago, alone in the spare bedroom, pacing around like a lunatic. My eyes were bloodshot with dark, puffy bags, nostrils white and flaring, lips pale, brows heavy and lifeless. My face was completely void of color except for the red splotches marbling my neck like a funky rash. But the expression in my eyes…that was the kicker. It wasn’t that I looked shocked or sad, it was worse than that.

  My face was exactly like Julia’s on that day she discovered Dart was gone.

  Oh, sweet, fracking irony.

  “Spring?” Mel shrieked, still gaping.

  When I opened my mouth to reply, my stomach heaved and I doubled over, a gasp of pain exiting from my throat. I felt the car swerve then slow, the sound of gravel under tires. When we stopped, my window was suddenly rolling down. I sat up and hung my head out the side.

  “If you’re going to be puking again,” Mel said from what sounded like several million miles away, “you should at least have food in you. You haven’t eaten in two days. Dry heaving is bad for the esophagus.”

  My right cheek was pressed against the outside of the car door, and my braids twisted over my eyes as the top half of my body hung upside down, suspended by my seat belt.

  “Keep breathing, babe.” Mel’s hand was on my back, rubbing and patting in comfort. As blood pooled in my brain, I was able to breathe easier, and my stomach settled. When I pulled my head back inside the car, Mel had a Diet Coke in her hand, holding it out to me. I pressed it against my forehead. The coldness of the can felt nice.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. “I’m fine.” I attempted to smile after I took a few sips. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

  “Tired, right,” Mel said, rubbing my arm. “We’ll sit here for a sec.”