Higher Ground

by Nan Lowe

  Van looks at his watch on the way out to the car, checks both of his pockets for something, and then waves his hand over the door handle to unlock it. He’s quiet during the drive, and I stare out the window at the Mardi Gras beads dangling from the power lines along St. Charles Avenue. Traffic thickens in the business district, especially close to the arena.

  “You got tickets?” I ask.

  “I ordered them Sunday after we talked.” He turns onto Loyola. “Your team trying to beat my team? It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah.” My phone vibrates in my purse, and I panic when I can’t immediately get my hands on it. It’s for nothing, though. There’s no text or missed call, only a comment notification for my impromptu engagement announcement.

  I have to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths to stay calm. All I want is to go back to my parents’ house, curl up in bed, and be as alone as this feels. Pretending the world is the same today as it was yesterday is exhausting, and I’m failing.

  He parks, and we walk, blending in with the crowd of Pelicans fans on their way to the game. Inside the building, Van sheds his jacket to show off a team hoodie. “Are you hungry?” he asks.

  “We just ate.”

  “Gumbo’s like soup.” He shrugs and gets in line to wait for seafood macaroni and cheese. He makes a second stop for fried chicken and ignores my pointed stare. “Stop judging me. Corey’s been on a health kick lately. If I have to eat kale one more fucking time, I’m going to lose it. I don’t even remember the last time I ate fried chicken. That’s not okay.”

  “No, it’s not. I had fried chicken with eggs and bacon yesterday.”

  “See? My mouth watered when you said that.”

  We find our seats and settle in moments before tip-off. Before I can stop myself, I pull out my phone and check it again. I consider texting Wade but have no clue what to say.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you and Wade?” Van asks. “Last night, you announced you’re getting married. Today, you look like someone died. You’re checking your phone every two minutes, and you won’t talk about him at all.”

  “I can’t…”

  “Can’t talk about it? Did you have a fight?”

  “No.” I shake my head and raise my hand to catch the attention of the beer vendor.

  “Then everything’s fine,” he says.

  “He left this morning. He walked out and things were… Things are so fucked up.”

  My poor brother’s face is scrunched in confusion. “But you got engaged last night.”

  “No,” I say again. “He asked me Saturday in Savannah. We were going to wait until Christmas to tell y’all.”

  “What happened?”

  “I told him.” I pay for two, reach for one of the beers, and take a long pull. “I told him everything.”

  Van’s clueless. He only knows that Oliver came to Atlanta and it ended badly. Until today, Wren was the only person I’d told. While he eats, I repeat what I told Wade this morning.

  “Oh, fuck,” Van says.

  “You should’ve seen his face.” I look away and take a swig of my beer.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Van asks. “Why didn’t you tell Wade?”

  “It’s not exactly my finest moment,” I say. “I know you were the perfect kid, but haven’t you ever done anything you’re ashamed of?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Then

  I stood in the doorway of my apartment, blocking the way to keep Wade in the hall. He examined my wet, tangled hair and the worn-out robe.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Not really.” It wasn’t even a lie. “I’m feeling sick.” More truth.

  “Do you need something?” He waited for me to shake my head before he continued. “We were worried. Wren said you were going to meet us for drinks, but you didn’t show up or answer your phone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I came home and went straight to bed.” My voice shook no matter how hard I tried to control it, and I shivered despite the thick cotton.

  “Okay,” he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thank you… for checking on me.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  I stayed in the hall until he stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed behind him. Oliver was standing in my living room when I turned around. He pulled his shirt over his head, and I was thankful he’d already put on his pants.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “None of your business.”

  “What? Is he your boyfriend?” he scoffed.

  “Get out.”

  “What?” He stopped and stood a few feet away from me with his shoes in hand.

  “Go.”

  “I came here to tell you I’m sorry and that I love you,” he said.

  “You’ve said it. Leave. Don’t ever come back.”

  He dropped the sneakers and took a step toward me, but I took a bigger one back. “You’re in love with him?”

  “I don’t know!” I closed the door of my apartment to spare my neighbors. “But I don’t love you.” I paused to let the words slice through him. “Not anymore.” The sneer on his face disappeared and morphed into nothingness, into a blank stare I’d never seen on him before. “Who’s Gabriel’s mother, Oliver?” I held up a hand. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I don’t need to know that. Where does she live?” His lips pressed together stubbornly. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She lives with me. We moved in together when Gabriel was about three months old. It was right after I got out of rehab this last time. I’m trying to be a father to my son. Is that so fucking bad?”

  “No. No, it’s not.” I shook my head and crossed my arms in front of me. “You should’ve stayed home with your family.”

  “I came to Atlanta to shoot a wedding for an old family friend. I tried to stay away from you. I guess I should have.” He grabbed his shoes, walked to the door, and stopped less than a foot away from me. “I’m sorry for that, too.”

  He didn’t make me tell him again to leave. When I opened the door, he walked out on his own. I wanted to slam it shut behind him, but I didn’t even have the energy for that. I pushed it slowly and sank to the floor where I’d been standing, unable to stay on my feet any longer. Self-hatred swallowed me whole in that moment. I’d become everything I couldn’t stand, everything that had torn me to pieces.

  I was still there when Wren came home more than an hour later. She panicked at the sight of dried tears and snot, sat down next to me, and hugged me as I confessed what had happened, how I’d jumped back in for another round.

  “This time was different,” she said. “You ended it. You did that by yourself.”

  She helped me up and told me to take a shower while she changed the sheets on my bed. My warmest pajamas were waiting on the edge of the sink when I turned off the scalding water. I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror, so I brushed my hair as I walked back to my bed.

  Wren was waiting for me. I sat next to her and leaned against the headboard. “What am I going to do?”

  “About?”

  “Wade,” I said. “What am I going to tell him?”

  She was quiet for a long time. “Nothing. You don’t have to tell him anything.” Silence stretched between us for a while until she broke it with a yawn. “Do you want me to stay in here with you?”

  “No.” I closed my eyes. “I’ll be okay.”

  I heard her stand, walk across the room, and close the door on her way out. For hours, I stared at the white ceiling above me, wishing I could somehow rewind the night and do everything differently. I should’ve kept walking. I should’ve laughed and said no. I should’ve known better.

  It was Wade’s face I couldn’t get out of my mind when I closed my eyes, though.

  I was still awake—awake and angry—when the alarm clock sounded around 8:00 the next morning, because there was only one way Oliver could’ve found me.


  Troya was living in Baton Rouge at the time, so I had to wait a couple of hours before I picked up my phone to call her. She answered on the third ring, slightly out of breath but wide awake.

  “Good morning!” she said. “You’re up early.”

  “I never went to bed.”

  A noise stopped in the background, and she gave me her full attention. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  “Did you tell Oliver where to find me?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t do that. Please don’t.”

  “He asked about you at Christmas. I told him you were studying at Emory,” she said.

  “Why? Why would you do that?”

  “Whoa. Hang on a second. I told him you live in Atlanta. I didn’t give him your address or a map to get to your place, so why are you pissed at me?”

  “You could’ve told me he was coming here! At least then I would’ve been prepared.”

  “Oliver came to Atlanta?” she asked.

  My grip tightened around the phone, and I had to take a deep breath before I could speak. “Yes. He came here. You expect me to believe you didn’t know?”

  “What exactly are you accusing me of, Violet? It’s early here, and I haven’t talked to you or Oliver in months, so excuse me for being confused as fuck.”

  “It took years for me to get over the shit Oliver put me through in high school. I can’t believe you would sell me out like that and tell him where to find me.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, this is the age of the internet. Anyone can—”

  I didn’t hear the rest. I wasn’t interested. My thumb ended the call, and I settled back onto my pillows again and covered my head with the quilt. Wade called an hour later, and I watched his name flash across the screen of my phone and waited for the buzzing to stop.

  He called almost every day for two weeks, but I let it go to voicemail every time.

  “Hey, Violet, it’s me. I was just wondering if you’re feeling better.”

  “Me again. I make a mean chicken soup.”

  “Did you lose your phone?”

  Eventually, he gave up.

  “Wren said you’re going through a rough time… I hope it gets better and that you’ll call me when you can. Take care.”

  Every time she saw him, he asked about me.

  And I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

  For months, I beat myself up over what I’d done with Oliver. I took advantage of the school’s counseling services, something I hadn’t needed since my early semesters at Auburn, and I spent hours talking about my year with Oliver and the six years that followed. I found myself mentioning Wade more often than I’d expected. When asked if I had deliberately sabotaged my budding relationship with him, I shook my head and sobbed inside. It had been entirely accidental. One moment of horrible decision-making had cost me something that could’ve been amazing.

  I missed laughter and happiness. I missed the way his lips smiled during kisses and the sound of his voice calling plays faster than television announcers. I missed Wade in ways I’d never even known Oliver.

  A package arrived shortly after the fall semester started and the leaves had turned. It was wrapped in brown paper with Oliver’s handwriting on the address labels. I’d reached a peaceful but precarious acceptance of what had happened. I hadn’t quite forgiven myself just yet, but I didn’t hate myself anymore. It was progress.

  Instead of opening the unwanted gift, I put it on a bookshelf and closed that chapter of my life.

  I went to school, worked, called Miss Verity on Saturdays, and tried to get back on track with the plan. Wren spent most of her free time with Nick at his place. There was an unspoken invitation for me to join her, but I wasn’t sure how to take that step. When I stopped to think for too long, the loneliness would sometimes creep in.

  Wren gave me a reason to stop thinking the week before Halloween. “A girl Wade works with is going to ask him to Nick’s costume party.” She kept her eyes on the television, waiting for me to bite.

  “Oh.” My stomach flipped, and a dull ache settled in my chest.

  “‘Oh’?” She glanced at me. “So you’re okay with that?”

  “No, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  She stood and tossed the remote into my lap. “That’s bullshit.”

  “I haven’t seen him in eight months. Do you really expect me to believe he hasn’t already gone out with someone else?”

  She kept walking until she reached the hall. “No. He’s gone on dates. I was there for a few of them. Too bad he wasn’t—in spirit, anyway. Wade wants you. He thinks about you. He misses you.”

  Miss Verity’s words ran through my mind on a loop. If love—real love—could cut me that much before it even started, what would it do to me in the end?

  “Tell him I’ll be there,” I said. “He can decide if he wants to accept his co-worker’s invitation.”

  She smiled and walked backward until she reached her room. “I’m going to text him right now so you can’t back out.”

  “I won’t.”

  My mind was made up. Never knowing would be worse.

  It had been years since I’d dressed up for Halloween. I turned to books for ideas and found an Alice in Wonderland costume online with two-day delivery. Since Nick was borrowing his brother’s jacket and stethoscope to play doctor, Wren chose to go as a nurse. She talked my ear off about all the possibilities, which in turn made me thankful they’d be staying at his place for the night.

  I checked off the days on the calendar, wishing time would speed up and praying it would slow down. I called out sick from work on the day of the party. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t eat. Most of the afternoon was spent pacing my apartment. Wren left early to help Nick set up, and I realized being alone was worse. To keep busy, I painted my toenails, shaved my legs, and pulled a few rogue eyebrows. A long, hot shower soothed some of the anxiety away. It took longer than expected to straighten my hair, so I called a cab instead of taking the MARTA. I needed to be there before Wade.

  Dolly Parton’s twin answered the door when I arrived at the party. She introduced herself as Nick’s neighbor, Jasmine, and welcomed me with the obligatory drunk-girl hug. Wren was standing there when she released me.

  “Wine?” she asked.

  “Tequila.”

  The smile on her face twisted. “You really want to go there?”

  “Wine would be great.”

  Shortly after 9:00, Wade showed up alone. He was wearing a black suit with a white dress shirt, and the top few buttons were undone, revealing a blue Superman t-shirt underneath. His dark hair was combed and plastered to one side of his head. I would’ve laughed, but he was wearing black glasses and looked amazing in them. I watched him study the room and saw the way he jumped when he found me staring back at him, but I chickened out and slipped into the kitchen.

  The blood rushed through my veins until I felt high—a high that was better than weed or one-night stands. It was a quiet, bursting euphoria and a fear that spiked my adrenaline. I mean, what could I say to him?

  “How long is forever?” He acknowledged my choice in costume by quoting the story, one of his favorites. “Sometimes, just one second.”

  I was an Alice, a girl who’d fallen down a rabbit hole but had also tried to do better since. I’d stumbled. I’d failed. I wanted more.

  “I hope not,” I said.

  “How are you?”

  There were a million different answers to his question. It was hard to pull a positive answer from thin air, so I settled on “okay.” I turned around to face him and rested my back against the fridge. “Better,” I added. “Things are better.”

  “Good. Good…”

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve called you.”

  His neck and cheeks flushed bright red, and his lips pressed together. “You don’t have to say that,” he said after a long pause.

  “I know. I’m saying it because I mean it. I don
’t know if it makes any difference, but I wanted to call. I wanted to see you and talk to you. I missed you. I still do.”

  “But you don’t want to be with me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground between us.

  “I don’t know how to be with you. I’ve never been in a real relationship, and I have no idea what to do.”

  “You’ve never had a boyfriend?”

  “Not since high school,” I said.

  “Why?” He stepped forward until our chests were almost touching.

  “Because I’m scared.”

  He reached out and took my hand in his. “We don’t have to jump into anything. You’re not a deadline. We can be friends. We can be more. Whatever you want.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “You.”

  His gaze never wavered, and when I leaned in to rest my head against his shoulder and hug him, his arms held me so tightly that I thought I might burst. “I’m sorry,” I said again, especially for all the things I couldn’t voice. There was a window to a confession, but it passed in blissful silence and cowardice.

  People wandered into the kitchen for beer and food, so we joined the party and tried not to be obvious about staring at each other every time we were separated. He knew more people than I did, so he made the rounds while I sat with Wren on the balcony.

  She smiled and poured a generous amount of wine into my glass, and I filled her in on my conversation with Wade.

  “This is good,” she said. “It’s about fucking time.”

  At the end of the night, Wade offered to give me a ride home. We left together with his hand at the small of my back as we walked across the parking lot. He opened the passenger door for me, and I paused to breathe him in before I took my seat in his car.

  Silence was a third wheel until he parked near the entrance to my building and switched on his emergency flashers. “Can I take you on a date?” he asked. “I’ll pick you up, and we’ll hang out for a while. I’ll take you home… The real deal.”

  “I’d like that.”