It Was Me

by Anna Cruise

  I went to the kitchen to bake.

  I'd spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my mom as a kid and it had rubbed off on me. I wasn't intimidated by cutlery or ingredients and I'd put together a pretty good repertoire of things I could make off the top of my head. I was a better than average cook, but I was damn good baker.

  I opened the pantry and pulled out the containers of flour and sugar, along with a box of cocoa powder. Griffin had ribbed me when he'd first caught sight of the baking stuff. He'd shut the hell up as soon as I'd shoved a brownie in his face. I set the oven to preheat and cut a hunk of butter off a stick in the fridge. I tossed it in the pot I'd put on top of the stove and it melted slowly. I dumped sugar and cracked eggs and added a heaping teaspoon of vanilla. Flour, cocoa, salt and baking powder were next. I mixed just enough so the ingredients blended and then poured the batter into a greased pan. I licked the spoon clean before sliding the pan into the heated oven. It smelled insanely good already, the hint of melted butter and chocolate heavy in the air, and I knew it might be exactly what I needed to entice Abby to come over. She liked everything I baked but brownies were the best. Especially because I always made extra frosting...frosting I often used to dab on her and lick off.

  I plugged my phone into the docking station on the kitchen counter and listened to the Foo Fighters while I washed the bowls and pans. By the time I'd cleaned and put everything away, the timer on the oven dinged. I pulled them out to cool and started in on the frosting. More butter and cocoa powder, heaping cups of powdered sugar, a squirt of honey. I licked the spatula, wishing Abby were there so I could lick it off of her. I sighed and tossed it in the sink. I needed to get a grip. Literally. On her.

  I spooned the frosting on to of the still-warm brownies and it oozed over the top, covering the entire surface. I tossed the dirty dishes in the sink and grabbed my phone from the dock.

  Still nothing from Abby.

  I frowned and texted her.Left you a vmail. Where are you?

  I waited.

  And waited.

  Then I texted again.I'm getting a complex.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  Nothing.

  It wasn't like her to not call me back, let alone not text me back. She was as tethered to her phone as I was when we weren't together. When we were with each other, it wasn't unusual for one of us to misplace our phone. But when we were apart? They were very nearly always in our hands.

  I glanced at the pan.

  Fuck it.

  I wasn't going to wait.

  I grabbed the roll of aluminum foil out of the cabinet, tore off a big enough sheet and covered the pan tightly with it. I put the foil away, pulled on a T-shirt, grabbed the pan and found my car keys.

  Maybe she was in the shower.

  Maybe she'd gone out with her mother and forgotten the phone.

  Maybe she was taking a nap.

  I wasn't sure what the answer was, but I was going to drive over to her house and find out.

  TWENTY FOUR

  I knocked on the Sellers' door and stood there, a warm pan of brownies in my hand, feeling like a delivery man. I could hear voices in the living room, the shuffling of feet as someone made their way to the front door.

  I was disappointed when Annika opened the door.

  And a bit unnerved.

  Her carefully made up face was pale under her make-up and she wore an expression I had never seen on her.

  Worry.

  I tried to dismiss it. Knowing her, she'd done something to fuck up someone's life. I just hoped to God it wasn't her twin sister. Again.

  “Where's Abby?”

  She didn't answer, just shifted her eyes from me to the threshold where I was standing.

  “Hey.” My voice was sharp and she looked up, her brows drawn together. “Is Abby here?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

  I glared at her. “Don't lie to me. Her car's in the driveway.”

  Annika's eyes drifted to the driveway before returning to me. “She's not here, West.”

  “Then why's her car here?” I asked, annoyed and wondering exactly what the hell was going on.

  “I...she's not here, okay?” she said, her voice a little desperate.

  “No, it's not okay.” I stepped into the doorway and pushed past her.

  She didn't try to stop me, but she didn't close the door behind me, either.

  I walked through the entry and into the living room. Mr. and Mrs. Sellers were sitting next to each other on the couch. Abby was nowhere to be found.

  “I...I was hoping Abby was home,” I said, standing there awkwardly, the pan of brownies heavy in my hands.

  They exchanged a look and then Mrs. Sellers smiled at me in a way that seemed strained, forced. “She went out for a bit, West. I'm...I'm sure she'll call you when she gets back.”

  I looked at Mr. Sellers. He was staring at his hands, folded tightly together in his lap.

  “Okay,” I said. I had a dozen questions I wanted to ask. Why wasn't she answering her phone? If she'd gone out, why the fuck was her car still sitting in the driveway? But I didn't ask anything. Instead, I just help up the brownies and said, “I made these.”

  It was a dumb thing to say. I felt the heat flush my neck when no one reacted. I couldn't figure out why they were acting so strangely, but I'd gotten the hint about one thing, loud and clear. They weren't asking me to stay.

  “So,” I said, more flustered than ever. “I don't know if I should leave these or take them home...” My voice trailed off.

  “Why don't you take them with you?” Mrs. Sellers suggested, her voice sounding as forced as the smile. “Maybe you two can enjoy them...later.”

  I nodded and turned, heading for the door, the pan feeling like a fifty pound dumbbell in my hands.

  Annika was still standing there, her hand gripping the knob. Her knuckles were white.

  “What the hell's going on?” I asked, lowering my voice so her parents could hear me.

  She chewed on her lip for a moment. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. Where is she?”

  “She'll be back.”

  “That doesn't answer my question.”

  She chewed on her lip again. “I know.”

  “So answer it, dammit.”

  “I can't,” she said. “But she'll be back. I'll have her call you.”

  “Gee. Thanks a fucking lot.” I'd been trying to get a hold of her for hours and it had gotten me nowhere.

  “West, just...” She shook her head, looking at me with her sister's eyes. The expression in them made me catch my breath and I had to remind myself that this was Annika. Not Abby. “I promise. I'll have her call you as soon as she's back.”

  For the first time since I'd known her, she seemed like she was telling me the truth.

  TWENTY FIVE

  I didn't remember the drive home. Or how I got back into the apartment.

  “Dude.”

  I looked up from my spot on the couch. Griffin was at the front door, a Carl's Jr. bag in his hands. “You saved me some brownies, right? That is what you baked, isn't it?”

  I stared blankly at him.

  He stared back at me. “Dude. You stoned or something?”

  I blinked my eyes a couple of times, then shook my head. “What? No.”

  He dropped the bag on the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. He lowered his big body into it and dug into the bag, hauling out a thick burger and an oversized carton of fries.

  “So what gives?” He bit into his sandwich and ketchup dripped on to his chin. “You look all mopey and shit.”

  I straightened up and ran my hand through my hair. “Nah. Just tired.”

  He nodded at the pan sitting on the table. I hadn't realized I'd put them there. “Those fair game?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I mean, no.” I sighed. I sounded like a fucking girl.

  He raised his eyebrows. “Uh, which one is it?”

  My phone rang then
and I jumped off the couch and grabbed it from the coffee table. My heart leapt when I saw the familiar name.

  I hit the answer button and hustled down the hallway to my room. “Hey,” I said.

  “Hi.” Abby's voice sounded tinny and hollow and altogether wrong.

  “Where've you been?”

  Silence filled the line.

  I felt something in my gut. Uneasiness. The stirrings of dread. Something was wrong. “Abs?”

  “I...” her voice trailed off.

  I sat down on my bed. “What's wrong?”

  I could hear her sigh. “Are you home?”

  “Of course I'm home. I've been waiting all fucking day to see you.”

  “I know. I'm--”

  “Where have you been? Why haven't you answered your phone? Texted me back?” My voice rose just a little and I tried to bring it down a notch. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “I...” Her voice cracked. “Look, I don't want to do this over the phone.”

  I stood up and began to pace. “Do what?”

  She didn't answer.

  “Abby?” I stopped in the middle of my room and clenched the phone right in my hands. “Do what?”

  “Not on the phone,” she repeated, her voice a whisper.

  I knew then. I knew what was coming. I didn't know why and I didn't know where the fuck it was coming from, but I knew what she was about to tell me.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Do it,” I said.

  “No.”

  “Do it, goddammit!” I screamed.

  Her voice shook. “Stop.”

  “Say it. Say what you're gonna say.”

  “I'm five minutes away.”

  “Don't come,” I spat out.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Tell me whatever it is you need to say. On the phone. Now.”

  “West.”

  “Say it.”

  “Fine.” Her voice was strangled with tears. “I think we need a break.”

  I laughed, a short harsh laugh. “A break?”

  “Things are moving too fast. Moving and stuff. I'm...I'm not sure I'm ready for it.”

  “Fine,” I answered. “We'll stay here. I'll call the fucking school now. Tell them no deal.”

  “No.” Her tone was near hysterical. “No. You can't.”

  “Watch me.”

  “No. Wait. I...it's more than that.” She paused before speaking again, her words coming out in a rush. “It's more than that. I'm just not sure about anything right now. About...about us.”

  “You're not sure about us?” I laughed again. “Really? Because you seemed pretty damn sure the other night when I had your clothes off.”

  “Stop,” she said and I could tell she was crying.

  I dropped the asshole routine. “Talk to me, Abby. Tell me what's wrong.”

  “I can't.” There was no mistaking the tears now. “I can't tell you. And I can't do this. Us. I'm...I'm sorry.”

  Before I could say anything, before I could even respond, the line clicked and went dead. I stood in the center of my room and stared at the darkened screen of my phone. I didn't think, just reacted. I hurled the phone at the wall and it shattered into pieces.

  “You okay?” Griffin's voice floated toward me.

  I wrenched my door open and stalked out into the hallway. Griffin was at the table, standing, his empty Carl's Jr. bag in his hands. His eyes widened when he saw me and he took a step back.

  I grabbed the pan of brownies and stared at it for a second before firing it against the dining room wall. Chocolate smeared the white walls, dripping in globs to the carpet below.

  I stared at my best friend.

  “No. I'm not fucking okay.”

  TWENTY SIX

  Griffin didn't come after me. He knew better.

  I didn't have my keys so I walked the ten blocks to Mission Boulevard. I jogged down the steps to the beach, my mind in overdrive as I played Abby's words over and over. The sun was a low orb on the horizon, a dull orange behind the haze of clouds that lurked over the water and I wished I could reach out and grab it. Smash it against something, too.

  Abby. She needed a break. She wasn't sure about us. What the fuck did that mean? I dug my feet in as I made my way down to the hard-packed sand. I thought about all of the reasons she could have gone from sixty to zero in the span of two days.

  Maybe she was seeing someone else. Fury blazed hot in my blood at the thought of her touching someone else, kissing someone else. I clenched my fists tight, the muscles in my forearms twitching. No fucking way, the rational part of me said. She was with me all the time. She loved me. But she didn't spend every waking minute with me. We had separate lives. And maybe hers included someone else.

  No. Not Abby. She wouldn't cheat.

  Tana. She'd just spent time with Tana. Two days. Maybe her best friend had convinced her to dump me. Decided I wasn't good enough. Persuaded her to think twice about ditching everything and running off to Tucson with me.

  I shook my head. That didn't make sense, either. Tana liked me. Really liked me. And even though we'd never had the opportunity to spend much time together with her being up in San Luis during the school year, we'd still hung out enough. On weekends when she came home, Christmas break...we'd always included Tana in our plans. And she'd always acted as though she liked me. Had said as much.

  I kicked at the sand as I headed north toward Law Street. Clumps of seaweed littered the beach, flies buzzing the rotting leaves. A stray plastic bottle was wrapped up in one of the piles and I launched it with my foot, sending it spiraling into the air.

  Maybe it was her parents. Their reaction to me when I'd stopped by the house had been lukewarm. Cool, even. Mr. Sellers hadn't seemed too thrilled with me dragging Abby along to Tucson to play ball—maybe he'd sat her down and told her he wasn't on board. And that he wasn't paying her tuition to go.

  But even that seemed far-fetched, especially considering Abby's words to me. She needed a break. She wasn't sure about us. She wouldn't say those things if her parents had suddenly thrown down the gauntlet. She'd tell me. I could picture her showing up at my place, eyes flashing, that haughty expression she often wore when she was royally pissed off. And she would have lit into me, her anger flaring—not at me, but to me. Letting me know exactly how she was feeling. It was what she did. Who she was. And I loved it. I loved her.

  So to just say that she needed a break? That she wasn't sure about me and her and everything we'd been through and done over the last year?

  That didn't make sense.

  I swallowed against the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat.

  Because there was one way it did make sense.

  If she was simply telling the truth.

  She did need a break.

  From me.

  TWENTY SEVEN

  I picked up the phone a hundred times the next day. The new phone I'd gone and bought after shattering the old one. I stared at the screen, checked texts and voice mail. There was nothing. Just as many times, I clicked on Abby's picture on my contact list, my finger poised over the call button. A million things went through my mind. Things I could say, reasons I could call her. But I never pressed it.

  Griffin didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't need to.

  But by the third day of my sulk fest, he'd had enough.

  “Yo,” he said, coming into the living room with a towel wrapped around his mid-section. “You gotta snap out of it, dude.”

  I stared at the television screen, watching the Padres mangle another attempt to win a game. They'd been up by two in the bottom of the seventh. It was now the top of the ninth and they'd given up four runs to the fucking Dodgers.

  “Dude.” Griffin's voice was louder.

  I'd called in sick to work earlier in the afternoon. A bag of empty tortilla chips sat next to me on the couch and a half dozen beer cans littered the top of the coffee table.

  I turned glazed eyes toward him. “What?”

>   He lowered himself into the recliner, his legs spread wide, the towel not covering much of anything. His hair was wet and the smell of his deodorant soap was heavy in the air.

  “Jesus, dude,” I muttered. “Cover up or something.”

  He glanced down at his crotch. “You want some?”

  My mouth dropped. “What. The. Fuck?”

  His grin widened. “Yay,” he said, but his voice was flat. “Finally, a reaction from you.” When I didn't respond, he said, “You've been in a fucking catatonic state for three days, man. Needed to say something to get a rise out of you.” He glanced at my basketball shorts. “Not literally, because that would be fucking weird.”

  I rolled my eyes but I couldn't hold back a small smile. “Whatever, dude. Surprised you know what catatonic means.”

  He tapped the side of his head. “Genius, man.” He grabbed a beer can and shook it. And then another. “These all empty?”

  I motioned to the one closest to me. “Think that has some left.”

  He picked it up and brought it to his lips. “Tastes like piss,” he grumbled after he drained the can.