Happenstance: A Novella Series: Part Three

by Jamie McGuire

  Weston’s words blurred together. His voice was raised. Peter and Veronica were trying to reason with him. He was more than upset.

  “Can you just try to enjoy the day?” Veronica pleaded. “You’re not just ruining it for yourself, Weston. You’re going to ruin it for her.”

  “This isn’t your last day with her,” Peter said, his voice strained. “You’ll have the whole summer.”

  “Is that what Sam and Julianne said? Do they know something?” Weston said.

  “No,” Peter said. “Weston, calm down. You’re getting yourself worked up.”

  I heard a rattle, and then Weston took a puff of his inhaler.

  “This is it,” Weston said, sounding broken. “I waited too long. We didn’t have enough time.”

  “Enough time for what?” Veronica asked.

  “For her to have strong enough feelings for me. She doesn’t feel the way I do.”

  “Weston, you’re eighteen. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” Peter scolded. “Erin’s a sweet girl, but she’s not the only girl. If she moves on, then you can, too.”

  “You don’t get it,” Weston said. “You just don’t get it. If you had ever loved Mom the way I loved Erin, you wouldn’t say that to me.”

  “Weston!” Veronica screeched.

  I turned into the bathroom and pressed my back against the wall. If they knew I had heard their conversation, they would be embarrassed, and so would I. I had to get out of there before they realized I had let myself in.

  Weston’s next words were muffled.

  Then, Peter spoke, “I know that it’s better to feel that kind of love for even a little while than never at all. I also know if you keep pushing this, you’re going to push her away.”

  As I crept down the hall, Weston spoke again, “I can’t help it. I love her. I’ve always loved her. I don’t know what it is like not to. Now that I know what it’s like to be with her, I’ll never get over it. I don’t think I should. Everyone keeps telling me that I have to let her go. But why would I do that to myself? I already know what it feels like to suffocate—to suck in a breath and not get enough air, no matter how many times or how deep. You say I’m being melodramatic, that I’m overreacting, but I know what dying feels like, and I’ve felt it more than once. This…this is worse.”

  I slipped out of the front door and covered my mouth, reaching for the iron railing just as my knees gave way. Every faltering breath that filled my lungs made me think of his words and the agony and panic in his voice.

  After taking a few minutes to gather myself, I balled my hand into a fist and banged against the wood. Weston had been looking forward to these last days of high school, and I wasn’t going to let him regret anything. Even if I was the only one still winging it, he needed to hear a few simple words from me, and I would say them—words that I was afraid to say out loud, but that didn’t make them any less true.

  When no one came to the door, I rang the doorbell, listening to what sounded like cathedral bells pealing an intricate tune.

  Veronica answered the door, her expression tired. “Erin,” she said, relieved.

  “Can I come in?” I asked.

  She stepped to the side and opened the door wider. “Yes, please. He’s in the family room.”

  I rushed down the hall, past the basement door and the kitchen, and I abruptly stopped five feet from Weston. His back was still turned.

  “Weston?” I asked, unsure if he even wanted to see me.

  He turned. His eyes were red, his cheeks flushed. “Did they tell you to come?”

  I shook my head, hoping he would believe the lie. I didn’t want to upset him further. “I wanted to see you.”

  “Not like this. I’m a freakin’ mess.”

  “You’re nervous. We all are. It’s okay.”

  He hooked a couple of his fingers on each hip and stared at the floor. His chest rose with each deep breath he took as he attempted to calm down. “I feel crazy sometimes. I mean…I knew I was crazy about you, but…damn it. I can’t control this. It’s scary as hell.”

  “Talk to me,” I said.

  “It’s the end, isn’t it? We’ve got a few weeks of summer left, and then it’s over.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Why won’t you believe me?”

  His eyes danced around the room, finally settling on me. “I’ve been waiting, listening, watching. I’ve been hoping you’ll say what I need to hear. I don’t even know what that is, Erin. Every passing day just makes me feel worse.”

  “It’s not supposed to be like this,” I said, my voice small. “You’re not supposed to be miserable. We’re supposed to be making good memories, remember?”

  He nodded and then reached for me. I took the few steps and melted into his chest, allowing his arms to encompass me.

  “Hey,” I whispered, hoping my voice was comforting. I gripped his maroon graduation robe in my fists, trying to pretend I hadn’t heard every excruciating thought he just confessed.

  He buried his face in my neck, his breaths jagged. He was getting more upset, and it was frustrating to know that the more I’d tried to put him at ease, the worse he seemed to feel. I would have to change my strategy.

  “Weston,” I snapped, forcing him to look into my eyes, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about the other day.”

  He held his breath, bracing himself.

  “You’re wrong. You are all kinds of wrong about everything.”

  “That…sucks,” he said. He furrowed his brow.

  “I do need you.”

  He leaned away from me, searching my eyes for something.

  “I know you don’t think I do, and that’s my fault. Maybe I didn’t want to need you. But I needed you to come to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream every day just so I could have that one moment when it was just you and me. I needed you to pull up next to me when I was walking home that night. I needed you to make the overpass the first place I ever felt safe. I needed you to kiss me in front of everyone at the ball field. I needed you to share my first limo ride. I might even need you to be afraid to lose me because I’m terrified of losing you.”

  “You don’t…act like it,” he said, the words seeming to leave a bad taste in his mouth.

  “I don’t want to talk about how we’re going to make this work after this summer because I don’t want to think about it. I just want it to work. I just want us to figure it out.”

  Weston’s eyebrows pulled in. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “No, you are. And so am I. We’re going to say good-bye in a couple of months, but I just concentrate on the fact that it will not be forever. OSU is going to be my second home, and Dallas will be yours. My new friends will be yours, too. And even when we don’t have experiences together, they’ll just be something else we can spend an hour laughing about on the phone. We’re going in different directions, but we can always come back to us. We’re home base.”

  He pulled off his silly square hat and cupped my jawline, tilting his head and pressing his lips on mine. He didn’t bother to begin with his mouth closed. He consumed me, his fear and relief evident in every passionate brush of his tongue against mine. He didn’t ask for more promises or for me to change schools. He’d only needed the assurance that I was as scared as he was because love was wonderfully terrifying.

  Weston pulled his cap back onto his head and inhaled, deep and slow, as if it were the first time he’d breathed in weeks.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to me.

  Peter and Veronica walked in, looking relieved to see their son more relaxed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said to his parents. “It just hit me this morning before the sun even came up. But it just kept getting darker. The closer it got, the worse I felt.” He touched the silver chain he saw peeking from my gown, and then he pulled the heart-shaped trinket from its hiding place.

  “This is the beginning, not the end,” I said.

  Veronica held Weston’s tassel, the corners of her m
outh cautiously turning upward. I wasn’t sure how much of our conversation she had heard, but she could see Weston was in an exponentially better mood.

  “Don’t forget this,” she said, fastening it onto the top button of his cap.

  “Everything okay then?” Peter asked. When Weston nodded, Peter jingled his keys. “Let’s roll. The grandparents are waiting.”

  Weston rode with his parents to the high school, and I rode with mine. The Gates and the Alderman families met in the parking lot, and Weston and I walked toward the vocal room while our parents met Weston’s grandparents in the auditorium.

  Once inside, Weston chatted with his baseball and football buddies, holding my hand, while I listened to the excited banter of everyone else filling the room. Seniors hugged, and some of the girls dabbed their eyes with tissue, careful not to smear their mascara. Everyone was happy, maybe the happiest I’d ever seen them.

  Mrs. Pyles approached me with her signature beaming smile and bright blue eyes. “Look at you!” she said. “Are you nervous?”

  “Not really,” I said.

  “You’re going to be one of the first ones to walk.”

  “Oh. Will they say Alderman?”

  “I think so.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. It might be weird for so many to hear the name Erin Alderman over the PA when the Erin Alderman they knew had passed away.

  “Would you rather them say Easter? I can let them know.”

  “Maybe you could ask them to say Erin Easter Alderman?” I said, not sure if that was the right thing to do either.

  “You bet.” Mrs. Pyles winked. “I’ll just go take care of that now.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  Before she could get too far, I tugged on her cardigan. She turned and then stiffened as I gave her a hug. It was unexpected but not unwelcome.

  “For everything. Thank you.”

  She hugged me back. “You’re welcome, sweet pea. I’m just so darn happy for you.” After a sweet grin, she spun on her heels and continued to the auditorium.

  Brendan, Brady, Micah, and Andrew stood together in the corner of the room. Brady’s eyes were no longer swollen, but the bruising was still obvious with purple splotches that had just begun to turn yellow in a few spots. I figured all traces of his run-in with Weston would vanish within a couple of weeks.

  The senior class adviser, Mrs. Hunter, could barely be seen in the crowd, but her voice boomed across the room. “Okay, all! Time to line up!”

  Just as we’d practiced on Friday morning, all eighty-four members of our senior class somehow organized themselves into alphabetical order without much confusion. The exciting hum grew louder as we settled into our places. Brady was just five spots away from me, but it was easy to pretend he wasn’t there. With Kiki Abrams on one side of me and Charlena Arnt on the other, I was kept occupied with conversation.

  Kiki gingerly patted the corner of her eye. “I can’t believe I’m so emotional. I didn’t think it would bother me, and all I’ve done today is cry.”

  “Not me,” Charlena said. “Get me the hell out of here.”

  I smiled, glad to hear I wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

  The band began to play, and the room quieted down. Kiki followed Mrs. Hunter through the double exterior doors. The sun was already hot, beating down on us, but it felt like liberation to me. We walked in a line down the south sidewalk to the lobby entrance of the auditorium. The line circled around until we were all inside the glorious air-conditioning, and then we waited again for our cue to walk inside.

  I looked for Weston, and once our eyes met, he waved at me and winked. I waved back, feeling strange to be around so many of our classmates without him near me.

  Mrs. Hunter and Coach Morris swept open the doors, and we walked down the aisle to the front six rows that had been roped off for us. Before I sat in the front row, I saw Sam’s and Julianne’s hands poking up from the sea of heads, waving to me. I waved back and took my seat.

  A few moments later, a familiar voice whispered in my ear, “Hi, gorgeous. What are you doing later?”

  Immediately, I felt at ease. Weston was sitting right behind me.

  “Whatever you’re doing,” I whispered back.

  He touched his lips to the skin just behind my ear, and then I could hear him settling back into his seat.

  “So cute,” Kiki said with a knowing smile.

  Principal Bringham was introduced, and after a lot of talking by a lot of people, our school song, and the speeches given by the valedictorian and salutatorian, the superintendent and principal took their places. With a microphone in his hand, Coach Morris headed toward the sound booth in the back of the auditorium, getting ready to call names. I stood with the first row of students, and we lined up at the base of the stairs leading to the stage.

  “Laura Kathryn ‘Kiki’ Abrams,” Coach Morris’s voice called over the PA.

  The crowd erupted into applause with several people yelling various cheers. For half a second, I wondered if the room would get awkwardly silent after my name was called, but the thought didn’t have enough time to linger.

  “Erin Easter Alderman.”

  After a short pause that was clearly surprise at the name that had been called, the room broke into applause, and both Sam and Weston stood to yell for me.

  “Way to go!” Sam said.

  Julianne snapped a dozen pictures.

  “Woo! Erin!” Weston called. “Good job, babe!”

  I climbed the stairs, shook Principal Bringham’s hand, and then crossed the stage to the superintendent. I shook with my right hand and took my diploma with my left. Chairs were lined up in rows toward the back of the stage, and I took my place next to Kiki.

  “Charlena Nicole Arnt,” Coach Morris called.

  The crowd erupted again.

  One by one, the names were called, students walked across the stage, and then they took their seats. When it was Weston’s turn, my small cheers were drowned out by his football and baseball teammates. He took his seat behind me, and once again, he leaned up to kiss me—this time, on the cheek.

  As each name was called, there were more empty seats in the reserved section. My throat began to tighten, and my eyes began to burn. The emotion surprised me. I had been counting down the days for this moment. But it wasn’t bittersweet or even relief. It was everything I had ever felt from kindergarten to that moment, all at once. Every memory, every smile, every tear, every disappointment, every victory was piling on top of me under the bright stage lights.

  Once the formalities were over and we were outside, Mrs. Hunter organized the pandemonium long enough to count down to the moment when we’d throw our graduation caps. The photographer got his camera ready as did all the parents, friends, and various family members. In unison, the graduates ripped off their caps and tossed them into the air.

  As the caps returned to earth, Weston pulled me into his arms, and in the height of the celebration, he made the entire world around us freeze in the moment with one incredible kiss. It told our love story, our future, and our past. And it was all in front of nearly everyone we knew. When he finally let me go, slowly, everyone around us began to move again as if they hadn’t noticed that we just had one of those moments that only a memory could accurately capture.

  Weston hooked his arm around my neck, seeming so much happier than he had earlier in the day.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “There’s a graduation party at Diversion Dam, complete with a keg and bonfire, or there’s a quiet night on our overpass with Fanta Orange, falling stars, and lightning bugs. Lady’s choice.”

  “Wow. That’s a tough one,” I said, a wide grin spreading across my face.

  THE CICADAS WERE SINGING in a high pitch, the haunting rise and fall competing with the crickets chirping somewhere in the pastures bordering the overpass. The steady stream of headlights heading north and south beneath us and the intermittent gush of air with each passing semi added to the
light breeze blowing through the grass. The twinkling stars above made the evening perfect.

  Weston was lying next to me, allowing me to use his arm as a pillow. As soon as we’d stepped out of the air-conditioned cab of his Chevy and spread the denim quilt across the truck bed, I had noticed the early summer heat hadn’t left with the setting sun like it usually did this time of year. Even in a white lacy tank top and shorts, the sticky humid air settled on my skin, and beads of sweat were beginning to form along my hairline and at any points where our skin touched—which was a lot.

  Weston had dipped his hand into the ice chest and popped the top of a can of Fanta, handing it to me, before we’d settled in. We took turns drinking it as we stared up at the sky, listening to the muted tones of summer.

  Graduation hadn’t taken long, but the hundreds of pictures, the mingling, the polite good-byes, and hugs and smiles were just the prologue to the family parties, the presents, and the questions about my future and Weston’s future and anything else I didn’t have the answers to. The soreness in my cheeks from retaining an appreciative, polite smile for hours and the exhausting trading of energy it had taken to socialize were much better than being alone, but it had taken some getting used to.

  Thoughts of what I might have done this afternoon had my life not taken such a drastic turn had been a quick reminder to endure the burning in my cheeks and to be grateful that people cared enough to ask me about the future I now had.

  Still, sitting quietly with Weston in my very favorite place was the best part of the day. He mindlessly played with my hair while his eyes scanned the millions of stars lighting the sky. They were more visible outside the city limits, so much that each time I looked up from our spot on the overpass, I would suck in a sharp breath at the sight.

  “I love you,” Weston said simply. His voice was even. It didn’t seem like the start of a more difficult or serious conversation. He just wanted to say it out loud.

  A grin stretched across my face.

  A few months before, Weston had just been a wish, out of reach, but now, I was in his arms. The desperate words he’d said to his parents earlier played over in my head like they had been all day. Between the handshakes and pictures, the reality of being loved—by Weston, by Sam and Julianne—and the responsibility that came with it had become clear. Love in any capacity required understanding, a give and take, conciliation and compromise. Love was a lot more work than being alone, but it was completely worth it.