Scott spent his shift at work in a daze, utterly unsure what to think about his phone conversation with Aimee, that stilted and vaguely horrifying thing. At home that night, he ate dinner and went to bed early, still dragging, wanting it to be the next day so he and Aimee could talk. He’d never wanted a vacation to be over and to be back at school so badly.
The next day was busy, with teachers fighting to get their kids focused after the break, piling on homework and other assignments. Scott and Aimee usually met up at lunch, but it was the one day of the schedule rotation when they didn’t have the same lunch, so he waited by her locker after fourth period, when she typically switched out her books and they’d have a little moment to talk and furtively touch. (They’d gotten detention last September for making out in the hallway, and Aimee was intent on not repeating that embarrassment again.)
But she never showed. Maybe she got stuck in a class and didn’t have time to come by her locker, or maybe she was avoiding him. Not knowing either way was agony, and Scott went into the bathroom to send her a text, the only place a teacher wouldn’t see him using his phone during school hours.
hey where are u, he wrote.
She wrote back quickly. sorry. bad day. ill see u tonite.
Whenever Aimee came over to his house, which was rare, it was always around eight o’clock, after he and his parents had eaten dinner. (They didn’t work late at the store anymore, leaving that to a manager. “We’re old, we’ve earned it,” Scott’s dad said.) Scott ate hurriedly, cleared the table, and did the dishes, watching his phone vigilantly as it ticked toward eight. Then the doorbell rang, and Scott’s heart leapt. Scott heard his mother open the door, say, “Aimee, honey, hello. Scott’s just finishing the dishes.” Aimee came back into the little kitchen and gave Scott a small, timid wave. No hug, no kiss. That was strange. Something was about to happen.
On a normal school night when Aimee came over, they would have gone to the living room to watch TV and pretend to do homework, but tonight felt different; there were apparently serious things to talk about. It was an oddly warm night, so they decided to go out to the little backyard, with its faded patio furniture and overgrown lawn, still a circle of half-grown grass where an ill-advised above-ground swimming pool had been, years ago.
Scott flicked on the floodlight, but it was too bright, made the whole thing seem like an interrogation. So he turned it off, and they sat in the dim light coming from the kitchen window, Scott wanting to pull Aimee close to him, to have her tell him that they were going to be fine. But he sensed something guarded about her. Something between them had shifted. So he sat in the chair next to her and waited for her to speak.
“I’m sorry about school today,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “I’m sorry I missed you. And I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have accused you of that.”
Scott shook his head. “It’s O.K. It’s O.K. It’s fine.”
“Maybe . . .” Aimee said, sounding unconvinced, distracted. “I just feel like so much has happened in the last couple of days. Everything feels different, you know?”
Scott did know. But he wasn’t sure if his different was the same as Aimee’s different. Not from the way she was looking at him, a breeze making him shiver.
“It’s just . . .” Aimee continued, “we love each other. Or, like . . .”
She trailed off and started crying. How serious was this, actually? “We do love each other,” Scott said, reaching out to put his hand on hers, which was resting tentatively on the table. But she pulled it back, put it between her knees. She looked down, sniffled some more.
Scott could hear cars whooshing by, the buzzing of the streetlights, a few dogs barking. Normal sounds. And yet nothing about this was normal.
“I want to break up,” Aimee finally said, barely audible.
Was it possible to be both stunned and somehow not surprised at all? The way Aimee had said it, that little, terrible sentence, made it seem like they had already broken up, that her mind had long been made up and she was just now telling him. This was not any sort of negotiation.
“Aimee . . .” he started to say, but she interrupted him.
“I’m so busy with school and grades and shows and stuff. And you’re going through a lot too, and I just feel like it’s all a little overwhelming. This whole thing has gotten too intense or something.”
“Isn’t it supposed to be intense?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it is. But not like this. It’s supposed to be intense in a good way. But you’ve been freaking out about me graduating, doing stuff that’s not you at all, and now this whole thing with Maddy . . . I just think maybe it would be better for us if we ended things now, so we have some time to, like, enjoy high school before it’s over.”
“Before it’s over for you, you mean,” Scotty said, the words sounding more indignant than he meant them to. Maybe, anyway.
“Before it’s over for me, yeah. But I dunno . . . Don’t you want to, like, figure out who you are without me getting in the way?”
Scott’s face felt hot, he was dizzy. “You’re not in the way, Aims. You’re, like, all I have!”
“See, that’s what I mean!” she said, a sob cracking her voice. “That’s so intense, Scotty. That’s so intense for you to say, and for me to hear, and I just don’t want to do it anymore. I need to not feel all this pressure to keep you happy, to, like, not be excited about what I’m doing next because it’s going to make you sad.”
“Aren’t you sad?”
“Of course I’m sad. I’m sad all the time! But I feel like . . . It’s still early enough that I have, like . . . Like maybe I can actually enjoy visiting colleges and getting excited about that, and graduating, and being with my friends and stuff, without always feeling so guilty all the time. You make it really hard, Scott. You just don’t . . . get it, sometimes.”
Scott was stung. “You mean, I don’t get how exciting it is that you get to go away to college and live some cool life, because I’m never going to do that, because I’m going to be stuck here forever?”
Aimee let out another little sob, wiped her nose with her sleeve. “No, it’s not that. I mean, maybe it’s that. I don’t know, Scott. I feel like you kind of think it’s my fault that you’re not in the same place as me.”
Scott didn’t know what to say. Of course it wasn’t her fault. It was his fault. Or maybe it was no one’s fault. But either way, wasn’t that his problem? Didn’t he get to decide what to do about his own shit? He wanted to fight with Aimee, to make her see that she was wrong, that she was being melodramatic, that she was overreacting. But she seemed so determined. Even though she was crying—real tears, not stage ones.
They sat without talking for a moment, Aimee sniffling, Scott trying to grapple with the utter surreality of the moment. Finally, Aimee sat up straight, wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
Scott nodded. There didn’t seem to be much else to say beyond “O.K.,” to walk Aimee around the side of the house to her car, to let her hug him goodbye while she cried a little more, the night quiet and foggy with melting snow. Aimee said she’d talk to him soon, that they should still talk. Scott, shell-shocked, wanting to go up to his room and scream, said yup, yup, of course. Then Aimee got in her car and was gone, disappearing down Scott’s narrow little street, putting her blinker on and turning right, back to her house, off to start a life without him.
Scott spent the next months dazed and grieving. He and Aimee barely spoke, Scott sending a few misguided text messages, but mostly retreating. He was quiet at school, quiet at home, going through the motions at work. He and Pete hung out, Pete trying to get him to go after other girls, saying shit like “I mean, Maddy clearly wants it, and now you’re free and clear.” But Scott had no interest. He wanted Aimee back so badly it was like having a disease, a massive tumor throbbing inside him.
But Aimee wasn�
�t coming back to him. By that summer she’d started seeing another guy, Tim Tumposky, another theater kid. Scott saw this on Instagram, not sure why he still followed Aimee, or why she hadn’t blocked him. Scott, meanwhile, remained in stasis. He spent his summer at the store, working long hours and helping his dad with stuff around the house. It was a lonely existence, but something about all the deafening quiet and stillness helped drown Aimee out. He still thought about calling or texting her almost every day, but he never did.
He did email her on her birthday, though, late in August. He wrote,
Happy 18th, Aims. Hope it’s a great year and you get where you wanna go. Love always, Scott.
He instantly wished he could unsend it, but there it was. Sent. She wrote back a day later.
Hey Scott,
Thanks so much for your e-mail. It was a nice birthday, especially nice to hear from you. Hope you’re doing well. Let’s say hi to each other at school in September?
They gave each other a wave once they were back at North, after Labor Day, but that was all that really happened. Just a wave.
They were done, had been done for months by the time of the accident.
The last time Scott saw Aimee before the bridge collapse, he was leaving soccer practice and realized that Aimee, who had gotten the big part in The Crucible she’d been wanting since the drama department announced they were doing it, the winter before, would probably be getting out of rehearsal around the same time. Scott was driving by then, puttering around in an old Camry his dad had gotten cheap from a friend. Scott was throwing his soccer gear into the trunk when he figured that, since he was parked near the theater doors, maybe he’d wait for Aimee, thinking it might be a little private moment between them. Maybe they’d even say hi, talk a little.
But when Aimee finally did come walking out of the building, she was with a whole group of friends, laughing and oblivious to all of Scott’s pain. Aimee caught sight of him, waiting there, staring at her, and her face did a sorrowful little dip. She gave him a sad smile, and he, immediately regretting his decision, waved. She waved too and then that was it. Scott, red-faced and devastated all over again, for the millionth time, got in the car and drove home.
The next day, Aimee headed up to Salem with Taissa and Cara and the rest. And Pete ran up to Scott after fifth period to say that something had happened, and now here Scott was, skipping a shift at the store to be in the waiting room, saying he was Aimee’s boyfriend because it felt good to say, gave him some authority. Aimee’s mother, frantic and teary, had shot Scott such a repulsed look when she heard the lie. And Alexa was laughing, a strange, high-pitched sound. Scott felt frozen, embarrassed, knocked hideously out of orbit, all over again. Everything was somehow even worse than it had been before.
Chapter Thirteen
Skyler
SKYLER FINALLY GOT through to her grandparents on her third try, standing a block down from the hospital, feeling a relief so deep she thought she might actually melt into the sidewalk. When her grandmother answered, she sounded tired and confused, and it was clear to Skyler that she hadn’t heard anything about the bridge collapse in faraway Boston.
“Why are you calling?” her grandmother asked, sounding concerned, but the kind of concern one might have about something simple and everyday—was the house O.K., was there a leak in the upstairs bathroom again, had Skyler passed her French test? It was so strange to think that Skyler had lived through these hours of pure terror and her grandmother knew nothing about it. So she didn’t tell her much, explained that there had been an accident, a car accident, and that Kate had been involved, but that she was O.K. She had broken her legs, but the doctors said she would be fine, would walk again, it would just take some work.
Her grandmother started crying, saying she was sorry for not being there, that she and Skyler’s grandfather would fly home that day. But Skyler said no, it was all right, they didn’t need to, that there wasn’t anything they could do right now. She just had to tell them that Kate was alive, that she was going to survive. Skyler’s grandmother kept saying, “Thank God, thank God, thank God,” over and over again, and Skyler could hear her grandfather’s voice in the background, asking questions in Khmer, wanting to know what was going on, if Skyler and Kate were all right.
Skyler figured that her grandmother would tell him everything, so she said, “O.K., Grandma? Grandma? I have to go, I have to go see Kate again,” and her grandmother said, “I love you”—not something she said all that often, but not because she didn’t—and Skyler hung up, another teary wave of relief passing over her.
With the rain gone, the night felt renewed and cold, like real fall had finally set in, the city preparing itself for a long winter. But Skyler didn’t mind it then, the bite of the wind as she stood on the street corner, her fingers getting numb, her legs trembling. She didn’t even flinch when her phone buzzed and it was the unknown number, Danny again, sending just wtf.
She put the phone back in her bag, not knowing what else she would need it for that night. Unless she decided to track down her mother, but that prospect seemed exhausting and depressing, and Skyler wanted to keep feeling light and relieved.
She wasn’t sure what to do with herself. The doctors had told her that Kate would probably be asleep most of the night because of the pain medication. There would be another surgery early in the morning—nothing life-threatening, the doctors had promised her—and then the long road to recovery would begin.
But it would begin. Kate was already on her way, the short-haired woman, Dr. Lobel, had said, her smile warm and comforting. They were in the room with Kate, but she was asleep. Her face was bruised and she had lots of cuts, but she was still Kate, intact and alive and already fighting. It was the happiest Skyler had ever felt, knowing that she and Kate still had time, they had so much time, that Skyler could repay her sister for all the things Kate had done for her.
Suddenly, she thought of the others in the waiting room. Alexa and her brother, Scott and Morgan. She had promised them that she’d come back. That she wouldn’t go home until they all knew for sure about their loved ones. Skyler barely knew them, these scared and sad kids, but she didn’t want to go home, to be alone, just yet anyway. So she walked back down the block and through the emergency room doors, seeing that there were even fewer people now, that the four people she knew were all standing together, having some sort of heated discussion. When she got closer, she realized that Alexa was yelling, pointing a finger at Scott.
“I mean, you’ve just been lying to us this whole time?” Alexa was saying incredulously to Scott, who looked stunned, his mouth slightly agape, his chin quivering.
“I wasn’t lying,” he said meekly. “She was my girlfriend. She was my girlfriend!”
Skyler stood there for a second, not sure what to say, suddenly not sure she wanted to be back in this room at all. She considered turning around and quickly leaving. But then Alexa caught sight of Skyler and strode toward her.
“He lied, Scott lied this whole time. His ‘girlfriend,’ Aimee? They broke up, like, months ago. Her parents,” Aimee said, gesturing toward a well-dressed couple huddling close together in a corner, “they could not have been more shocked to see him here.”
Jason was shaking his head, glaring at Scott. “It’s pretty fucked up, man. It’s pretty fucked up,” seeming to enjoy someone else being at the receiving end of his sister’s disapproval.
Alexa nodded vigorously. “It’s really fucked up. Why lie? Here? When we’re all, like, going crazy just trying to hold it together.”
Scott didn’t speak, only turned to Skyler, his eyes pleading—for help or rescue or something. “You’re not Aimee’s boyfriend?” she asked him, as calmly and objectively as she could.
“I was. For a long time. But we broke up, in February. Because I messed up. And I don’t know. I guess I just put too much pressure on her.”
“What do you mean
, ‘pressure’?” Skyler asked, hoping he wasn’t going to say what she feared he would say.
Scott seemed to sense her fear, though, quickly saying, “No, no, no, not, like, that kind of pressure. Just . . . I don’t know. She’s graduating. And I messed up at a party.”
“Messed up how?” Skyler asked, taking a step toward him, trying to put herself between him and Alexa, whose anger only seemed to be growing. And then Scott explained that people thought he’d hooked up with another girl at a party after a fight with Aimee. That when Aimee found out, she broke it off. That it happened over eight months ago, but Scott still loved her, would always love her.
“And so now you’re what?”
Everyone turned, surprised to hear Morgan speaking up.
“You’re here to make things better with the girl who dumped your ass? I’m sorry, but all of us”—Morgan pointed to Skyler and Alexa and Jason—“actually belong here. We’re all here for family, for people we love. I’m not sure pathetic ex-boyfriend really counts.”
It was the most Skyler had heard Morgan talk all night, and her voice was quivering with anger. Scott looked distraught, and Skyler felt an odd pang of sympathy for him, even though he’d been lying to them all day.
“What were you doing with my sister?” Jason said suddenly, as if he’d just realized something.
Scott looked confused. “What?”
“With my sister. You guys have been talking all night; you went off somewhere just now. What the hell were you doing with Alexa?”
Alexa shot a hard look at her brother. “Jason, shut up, I didn’t do anything with him. That is not the point. The point is he lied and it’s really shitty that he would do that for this many hours when we’re all . . . when we’re all here. I mean, Jesus.” Her eyes welled up, and she turned and took a few paces away from the group to collect herself. Scott stood stock-still, his eyes cast to the ground.
Jason continued, “My parents might be dead, Morgan’s dad almost died.” Skyler saw something flash across Morgan’s face, there and then gone. “And you’re just lurking around, lying to us so you can see some girl who dumped you months ago? I mean, it’s fucked up, man. It’s really fucked up. They clearly want you to leave,” he said, gesturing toward Aimee’s parents. “So why don’t you get. The fuck. Out of here.”
All We Can Do Is Wait Page 17
