The Heartbeat Hypothesis

by Lindsey Frydman

  After everything was put away aside from the blanket, Jake and I ended up lying on our backs, staring up at the clouds rolling by slowly overhead. I spent the entire time smiling, because this was the happiest I’d been since Kat died.

  Jake grew quiet, and the silence was comfortable, until it wasn’t. Until thoughts of my best friend led to thoughts of his sister and a vise squeezed my heart, reminding me of my never-ending pain.

  I rolled onto my side, propping my head on my hand. “Can I ask you something?”

  He slid his gaze my way, and his gray eyes almost looked green in the sunlight. “Obviously.”

  I’d planned to ask him what he thought his parents actually did—would they really have hurt their own daughter? But Jake looked so content, happy even, and I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it. So instead, I picked a different question. “Will you be in the picture with me? The one for my list?”

  His brows pulled together slightly, but he was grinning. “Only if I get to choose the caption.”

  “And I get to choose the hashtags?”

  “Sure.”

  I sat up, a giddy, childlike feeling swelling in my chest. Jake agreeing to a photo felt like some kind of victory. Lying back down, I held my phone out and laughed. “Say cheese.”

  And he did.

  …

  I uploaded the best shot of Jake and me to Tumblr, added his chosen Ansel Adams quote, and included my selection of hashtags.

  Not everybody trusts paintings, but people believe photographs.

  #PicnicInTheMiddleOfNowhere #Twizzlers4Life #PhotoSaysItAll #MyFavoritePhotographerJake

  The photo of us was silly, but admittedly adorable. I’d never seen a picture where Jake looked so…carefree. I sent him the link, because he needed to see it, too.

  Smiling stupidly at my phone, I scrolled through my Facebook feed because I had nothing better to do for the next hour until class. And when boredom got the better of me, I searched for Emily’s page.

  It was like a living, breathing memorial site. Friends still commented every once in a while, even though she’d been gone for two years. It occurred mostly on her birthday and on the anniversary of her death.

  Kat’s page was already transforming into a digital memorial. Two years from now, her page would be identical to Emily’s. I didn’t know if I wanted my Facebook page to exist after I was dead and gone, but I bet Kat would’ve.

  I stared at the screen like I’d done so many times before when I’d searched Emily’s name, scrolling through her wall, finding notes like I miss you. Or I’m still thinking about you, Emily!

  Jake’s confession about her death and his parents tumbled around in my head while I perused her page. Didn’t he want to know what happened? Had he ever considered coming right out and asking his parents?

  I answered my own questions as soon as I thought them. Surely he wanted to know the truth, but there was no way in hell he’d ever ask.

  My eyes scanned over the latest post on Emily’s wall. Memorial service this Sunday at two o’clock.

  This Sunday would be two years since my heart transplant. Two years since she died. I didn’t think people actually held anniversary-of-death memorials.

  I clicked on the girl who commented. Dana Brixton. I’d deduced—with my awesomely creepy detective skills—that she was one of Emily’s best friends. At least that’s what it looked like based on their photos together and comments to each other in the past.

  Tapping my fingers against my black leggings, I considered what I was about to do. Creepy? Or justified? Maybe creepy-justified?

  With my heart booming against my rib cage, I decided.

  Me: I’m a friend of Emily’s. (Something like a second cousin twice removed or whatever.) I’d like to come to the memorial this weekend. Can you give me more details? Thank you.

  I hit send and let out a long, slow breath. My Facebook messages had become so serious, so life-or-death. Social media used to be pointless fun. Now it housed all the answers I’d grown desperate for. And it was freaking weird.

  A new message.

  She’d responded—holy crap that was quick.

  Dana: Yeah! Logan Hills Church. 453 Gibraltar Rd. At 2 p.m. Glad to hear you’re coming. Do you want to speak during the service?

  Uh. Oh no. I quickly sent a thanks, but no thanks reply. I wanted to be as invisible as possible.

  When Jake texted me moments after closing the stupid app, guilt pricked at my spine.

  Jake: It’s cheesy, but I like it. Speaking of cheese… Pizza?

  Me: Only if we can get a Hawaiian this time.

  I smiled to myself after hitting send, but it faded when the guilt stabbed harder.

  I didn’t want to tell Jake I was going to the memorial, but keeping it from him felt like a lie.

  Jake: Gross.

  I stared at his response and wanted to laugh. I was trying to help him, not hide things from him—not any more things.

  Me: Fine. Pepperoni and mushrooms.

  We finalized our plans for pizza, and I changed into jeans, pulled on a sweater, and stared at my reflection. Not my face, but the color of my hair. The kind-of-purple that never was.

  Kat.

  I searched for a tie and threw my hair on top of my head—so there was less of it to stare at—and left my dorm room.

  After we finished our pizza, Jake said he wanted to get some photos before the sun went down. I offered to go with him, and twenty minutes later, I hopped out of his truck, throwing on my gray zip-up hoodie.

  “More hiking through hills?” I asked.

  “Just one hill.” Jake smiled, slinging the camera bag over his shoulder.

  I didn’t actually mind the hiking—kind of liked it, even. Exercise was never big on my list of fun activities, but I’d always loved being outside.

  “So you’re doing more landscape photos?” I asked as he set up his equipment.

  “Not exactly.” He fiddled with the camera for a moment. “I’m taking pictures of the clouds while the sun is setting.”

  I leaned against a nearby tree, wrapping my arms around my waist. “Why clouds?”

  “I wanted to do something I haven’t done yet. It’ll be more abstract than my normal stuff.” Jake crouched, digging through his camera bag.

  “But…why clouds?”

  “What color is the sky right now? What color are the clouds?”

  I looked out in the distance, even though I already knew. “Bright orange with some pink streaks. Some light blues and whites, too. Maybe a little red.”

  Jake rose from his crouched position. Looked at the sky. Looked at me. He chuckled softly, then went back to messing with his equipment.

  I waited, but he didn’t say anything. “Is this a riddle?”

  His feet crunched over the multitude of broken twigs, heading my way. “I don’t see the same sky.”

  Was he trying to go all Psych 101 on me? Everyone sees a different sky because everyone is different. Or something like that? Yeah right, that was so not Jake. “What do you mean?”

  He stood in front of me, the wind blowing golden pieces of hair across his forehead. I pressed my back against the rough tree bark harder, although I would’ve rather used it as a springboard to propel myself into his arms.

  I laughed at my own thoughts. The sound was one part giddy and two parts nervous.

  Inclining his head, Jake said, “I’m color-blind.”

  My laughter died a quick, squeaky death. I stepped forward, one palm flattening against the tree. “What?”

  “Yeah.” He shrugged like it was no big thing.

  “You never told me that before.” Unless we were drunk—which, come to think of it, was a possibility.

  “Back in elementary school, kids used to make fun of me for it.” He looked out at the color-wheel sky instead of my face. “My dad suggested beating them up. He said if I did it right, they would never make fun of me again.”

  I forced my lungs to expand, take in much-needed air, but all
I could notice was the way his scent electrified me. Too bad not breathing wasn’t an option. “So did you? Beat them up?”

  He surveyed me, all traces of laughter disappearing from his face. Flat lines. Hardened jaw. “They never made fun of me again.”

  So many heartbeats passed while everything in my chest seized. I smiled—because I had to do something with my mouth other than let it hang open.

  Thinking about his dad led to thinking about my plans for Emily’s memorial service. I reconsidered telling Jake about it, and guilt nudged me when I didn’t because it was lying by omission, and he didn’t deserve any more of that from me. But he might’ve told me not to go, and I was definitely going. If I wanted to find the answers he needed—but wouldn’t admit to needing—I had to go.

  I moved closer to him. Hoping to derail the guilty path my thoughts were taking, I said, “So…what colors can’t you see?”

  “It’s not that I can’t see them, but I have a hard time distinguishing between red and green. Mostly. The sky, to me, doesn’t have much red or pink in it.” He stepped backward, turning toward his camera. “The final collection of photos will look entirely different to everyone else.”

  “Isn’t that how everything always is for you?”

  He almost smiled. “Yes, but this is intentional. And it’s art. As long as you call it art, you can justify it pretty much however you want.”

  “That’s kind of genius.”

  His chuckle carried with the wind, faintly echoing through the trees. “Glad we agree.”

  “Wait, these pictures will be in color? No more black and white?”

  “Hey, don’t be so quick to judge,” he said with another laugh. “I’m only doing it for this assignment.”

  “Well, okay, but I think I’m confused. Doesn’t your color blindness keep you from getting a good picture?”

  He gave me a look as if to say it’s a secret. “It gets in the way sometimes. And I always have my final prints viewed by someone else, just to be sure.”

  I almost asked him why he’d pick a major—and a career—that was automatically more difficult because of his color blindness. But then I thought about it more, and decided that nothing else would’ve made sense.

  I watched him set up his camera for a few more pictures. “Do you photograph the same places more than once?”

  He kept messing with the camera, adjusting the tripod. “Sometimes.”

  “Like all these beautiful places you keep bringing me to?”

  Jake turned. He smiled, but a wistful expression overtook the rest of his features. “Yes.”

  Quietness fell around us again while he took a few more shots, me standing by watching with interest. “So your birthday is in two days. Are you doing anything?” He hadn’t mentioned it since he told me how his mom wanted him to come visit.

  “No. Birthdays aren’t really my thing.”

  “I never understood that,” I said, hugging my elbows. “You’re celebrating the day of your birth. You only get one. Why not make a party out of it?”

  He shrugged, staring out at the clouds, maybe searching for a hidden message. “But everyone has a birthday. How many people share your birthday with you? I don’t think it’s a big deal, and I’ve never understood why people like to make it one.”

  I took a few steps sideways, turned my head to better hide the disappointment. “It’s a reason to be happy. A reason to celebrate. You know, celebrating having made it out alive for one more year.”

  After a moment, Jake’s feet crunched across the grass, and then I heard his voice whispering, just inches from my ear. “I’m sorry.”

  I peeked at him, watched a muscle tic along his jaw. “Sorry for what?”

  He raked a hand through his hair, and I imagined him fumbling over the words in his head like I often did. “You’ve spent your life looking at birthdays that way. And for good reason. I think that what I said…might have been a bit inconsiderate. And I’m sorry.”

  I stared at his pinched eyes and worried lips. “I think you got it wrong.” When he gave me a confused look, I continued. “Most people under the age of twenty—or even forty or fifty—don’t live with the question, Will I live to see my next birthday? I get that. I don’t expect people to treat me differently or act differently or even look at the world differently because I was born with a hole in my heart. But I wish—” I wished he wasn’t so cavalier about his own life—about his own birthday, because it meant something to me, because he meant a whole lot to me.

  “You wish what?” he said, stepping closer, the pained look still on his face.

  I shook my head, kept my mouth clamped together because I felt one of my hysteria fits burning through my lungs and stinging the backs of my eyes. I’m ridiculous.

  “Hey,” he whispered, putting his hands on the sides of my shoulders, dipping his head lower, so close to mine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s nothing,” I choked out, attempting to hold my tears back.

  Jake didn’t speak for a while. He ran his hands up and down my arms, and the movement kept me grounded, kept me focused on the here and now. Me and him. Here and now.

  I wanted to bury my face against his chest, lean into him, and feel his warm body press against mine.

  So I did.

  With his heartbeat echoing in my ear and his fingers running through my hair, he said, “You want to hear a story?”

  “What kind of story?” I asked with a sniffle, peering up.

  “The one you asked for after we took the photos in the grass.”

  “You’re going to tell me a time you were really happy?”

  “If you want.” When I nodded, he grazed his hands down to my wrists, slowly wrapped his fingers around mine, and said, “My mom used to play the piano when I was little. She was really good at it. I remember listening to her play. Some nights she’d play for hours. I used to fall asleep to it. But when I was nine—or ten maybe—she stopped playing. After that was when things got worse. And on the nights when things would get really bad…Emily would come into my room and beg me to play the piano for her. Apparently, she fell asleep to the music, too. But I told her I couldn’t, because I didn’t know how to play.” Jake paused, breaking away from me. “She kept asking me, kept begging me to learn so I could play for her, because Mom wouldn’t. So a few years later, I bought that beginners book—the one I gave you—and I taught myself.

  “I wasn’t all that good, but it was something. Then one night, Emily came into my room crying, begging me to play, just like all the nights before. But that time…that time I could do it. I could finally play for her. I don’t think I ever saw her as happy as she looked that night.”

  I thought I understood the ways in which a heart could break. But Jake’s story formed epic craters in my chest. That’s why he was so weird about the piano sometimes, why he sometimes stared at it with a faraway look, why he didn’t think he’d ever play again.

  There were no words good enough for me to say.

  He looked down, long eyelashes fanning his face, and I latched onto his fingers tighter. A cool gust of air blew my hair up and over my shoulders. I shivered from the chill, and Jake raised his chin, met my appraising gaze. He leaned in and kissed me softly. It was the simplest thing in the world, but it felt bigger than that inside my chest. When he pulled back, his lips lifted into a smile. I couldn’t help but smile back.

  Still, my heart continued to ache as I switched between watching the sky and watching him take pictures, swiveling the camera to get the right angle. I tried to imagine the sky from his point of view—without the red or pink. Was it still beautiful? I’d bet so. Just a different kind of beautiful.

  “I should take up photography as a hobby,” I said after a while. “Maybe you could give me photo lessons next.”

  He sent me a sideways glance. “Sure. Your first lesson is this: not all things can be fixed with an Instagram filter.”

  “I’m only kidding. You already gave me piano lessons fo
r nothing.”

  “Company’s not nothing.”

  A warm tingling spread throughout my chest, and I beamed, wondering if being around me made him warm and tingly inside. But…

  What if Kat was right and my feelings for Jake would only end in pain? Maybe he could never give me what I wanted. Never love me. Not that I loved him…

  But I could.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I’d never been inside the art gallery until now. I’d never had a reason to go there before. I wasn’t against art, but I wasn’t particularly seeking it out. Especially not in the form of a student exhibition.

  But Jake’s work would be there. And that included the portrait of me I was itching to see.

  And Jake would be there. There was always that.

  The way the crowd murmured made the place feel like a library with extra rules. And there were a lot of people. More than I expected. I continued glancing around, glad I decided on wearing my knee-length black-and-white skirt instead of a pair of jeans. The last thing I wanted was to show up dressed inappropriately.

  I spotted Jake on the other side of the gallery, past the table of finger foods and other items you could eat off a stick. His arms hung casually by his sides, shoved into the pockets of his dark gray dress pants. A light yellow button-down shirt complemented his skin tone perfectly. Girls would’ve literally murdered for that slightly tanned complexion.

  Carefully weaving through the crowd, I attempted to take in everything as I grew closer to Jake. But like a magnet, my gaze was only drawn to him. He was all I wanted to look at. Even if that meant ignoring the entire exhibit or missing my portrait.

  My barely-heeled shoes clicked out the steps it took to reach Jake, creating an eccentric cadence to go along with my heartbeat.

  Now only a few feet away, his head lifted, and the slight knit to his brows disappeared.

  “I must say, you dress up quite well,” I said.

  “No mismatching colors. I’m impressed.”

  “Because I’m color-blind, you mean?”