Upside Down

by Lia Riley

  Chapter Thirty

  Talia

  Maybe I crawled under one of the tables and passed out. I close my eyes, hoping that when I reopen them Bran will have vanished. Please let this moment go down in the record books as the worst dream ever.

  “So what’s up, Talia?”

  I open my eyes and Bran remains, slightly out of focus because of the tears in my eyes.

  “Please, you don’t understand.”

  “No big thing, bro,” Jazza pipes up behind me, and my stomach curdles. I jump as he rests a hand low on my waist. “California and I—well, it didn’t really mean anything, Bran. You know how that goes. We’re cool, right?”

  A muscle twitches deep in Bran’s jaw. He moves quick and there’s a blur, a feeling of wind rushing past my ear. The sound is heavy, wet, like someone beating a side of meat with a mallet.

  I turn and cover my mouth, fighting an instant gag. Jazza’s nose spurts blood like a geyser of gore. “Oh God. Oh my God, Bran.”

  Bran growls something, but I can’t make out what he says because Jazza’s laughing. Even though this isn’t anywhere close to a funny situation.

  Jazza’s mouth opens and is covered with blood. His teeth look rusty. “I’d say we’re even, mate.”

  Angry is a light, twinkling feeling full of giggling fairies compared to the expression on Bran’s face. “Go away, Jazz, before I use your face to clean this mess.”

  I take a reflexive step back. I don’t mean to touch Jazza, but my back collides with his body and he dips, his breath hot in my ear.

  “I always thought American girls were sluts. But if Bran wants to make an ass out of himself over a frigid chick, I’m cool with that.”

  Bran’s fist balls.

  “All right, fellas, here’s your notice to clear out, or I’m calling the coppers,” the bartender orders from behind the safety of the long counter.

  I halt Bran with a raised hand and spin around. “That’s enough. Get the fuck out, Jazza.”

  “Look at you, California.” Jazza’s eyes are squinty and mean. “You’re a real hotshot prize, huh?” He shoves past Bran and disappears down the stairs.

  “I—”

  A barstool flies to the ground with a sharp bang. It takes me a second to register that Bran is the one doing the hurling.

  “Mate.” The warning’s implicit in the bartender’s voice.

  Bran presses both hands to the side of his head as if he’s trying to keep his skull from fracturing.

  I touch his arm and he jerks back.

  “Don’t, Talia, just…don’t.” Bran’s breathing is ragged. I swear for two seconds he’s about to cry. He passes a hand over his face and when he looks at me again his features are composed.

  “What you saw isn’t what you think.”

  He stares at me with a flat expression.

  “Come on, Bran. I ran into Jazza as a coincidence. I didn’t have money for a train and he missed his. It’s raining.”

  “Romantic.”

  “Yeah, right. He bought me drinks and I cried.”

  “You sounded pretty inconsolable in his texts.”

  “Wait—what?”

  Bran pulls out his phone and flicks the screen. “Here.” His voice is impassive.

  Jazza: Just ran into Talia, sounds like things are over with you two?

  Bran: What are you talking about?

  Jazza: She leaves tmr, you won’t mind if I give her a go, right?

  Bran: Where is she?

  Bran: For real, where the fuck are you guys?

  Jazza: Sitting right beneath the Chloe painting. Talia kind of looks like her don’t you think? Stoked to find out

  Bran: Don’t do this

  Jazza: Ho’s before bros, mate

  I shake my head, gaze unfocused. “I never had any intention of hooking up with Jazza. You know that, right? The idea is ridiculous. It makes no sense.”

  “You’re talking a lot.”

  “Because I’m freaked about what just happened. You punched Jazz in the face. That was total crazy town.”

  Bran’s posture is rigid. “People ramble when they feel guilty.”

  I am tempted to shake him hard and furious. “What are you, some guy from a true crime television show? Do you believe I’d go from you to Jazza in the space of an hour?”

  “Talia, I don’t know what to think.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  He shrugs and I understand, wow, bloodlust is a real phenomenon. If I wasn’t afraid to break my knuckles on his rock-hard skull, I’d sock him right between the eyes.

  “If you throw out accusations, be ready to back them up. What about Adie? How convenient that you haven’t mentioned a word about her.”

  Bran looks around the bar. It’s mostly empty still, but we are definitely the stars of the show. Every eye here is locked on us.

  “Talia.” He grips his elbows hard like he can either hang on or hit something. “If you want to have this out, we need to leave.”

  “Fine.” I bound down the stairs, two at a time, not bothering to check if Bran follows. I push open the heavy pub door and duck into the lashing rain. “Seriously, what’s your problem?” I spin around and shield my face with one hand.

  Bran ignores the downpour. He’s drenched to the bone. His dark hair plasters across his high cheekbones. “You, acting like this. Creating drama. I can’t deal.”

  I draw in a breath between my teeth. “You know what I can’t handle? Having my mom tell me that I single-handedly caused my sister to die, Bran. Me, because if I wasn’t me, if I was someone normal, a person who didn’t freak out, Pippa would still be alive.”

  He takes a step forward and holds out a hand. “Talia, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “No, you didn’t know.” I stomp my foot, ignoring his gesture. “Because you were too busy getting on your ex-girlfriend. The girlfriend who just so happens to be your first heartbreaking love.”

  “She needed to see me.” His face is tight. He won’t let me in.

  “Oh, I bet she did. You know what? Forget it. Sorry I said anything.”

  “Don’t be like that, Talia. You don’t know what’s going on. Adie found me to confess. She didn’t have an abortion.”

  “What?” My angry blood flash freezes. “You guys have a kid?”

  Bran paces back and forth, the words pouring out. “She lied to me, about everything, because she didn’t want to get married. She knew our relationship had changed, that we were growing into different people. But she understood me well and figured—rightly—that I wouldn’t give up if I believed she needed my help. So she cheated on me and made up the story about the abortion to drive me away. Her plan worked well. She meant to keep the baby.” A violent sob tears deep from his chest. “The baby—it was a little boy—the doctors discovered during a routine ultrasound that he had a congenital heart problem. There was nothing anyone could do. He…he died…eight months into the pregnancy. She had to go through with a stillbirth—even give him a name.”

  “What was it?” Even though I guessed.

  “Brandon.” He grinds fists into his eyes. “Her dad is here on business. She’s working for him now, as an executive assistant. She took the Australia trip so she could tell me the truth, at last, face-to-face.”

  “My God. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” Sorry—such a pale, weak word when this is his life, knifed through, red, raw, and vulnerable.

  “Me too.” He mops rainwater from his eyes.

  “How awful that she’d keep something that monumental from you.” I reach for his hand. “That’s borderline evil.”

  He recoils like a shot. “Don’t talk that way about her.”

  Whoa, he actually growls.

  I shake my head in disbelief, my hand still hanging suspended in space. “This girl cheats on you, lies to you, and still you defend her.” No matter how much this will hurt, I need the truth. “Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not hung up on her.”

  “It’s not li
ke that.” Rain glistens on his spiky lashes and runs down his face, but his face remains fixed on his feet.

  “Whatever. For the record, I had no idea what Jazza was texting or that he meant for you to find us together.”

  He blows out a long breath. “I believe you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Jazz and I—we have history. I slept with his ex on New Year’s Eve, before I met you. They’d been broken up awhile. When he found out, I told him it didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t. Not to me at least, but obviously he’s hung up about it.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s why I didn’t want to make a play for you at first. If you and Jazza were a thing.”

  “Which we never were.”

  “No, you weren’t. But I think he hoped otherwise.”

  “I don’t want to waste another second talking about stupid Jazza. Or Adie. Our time—our time—together is disappearing fast. I feel like we’re running down a hill with a giant boulder at our heels, threatening to squash us.”

  “We’re crazy.” He gives a slight shrug. “Totally crazy.”

  We are crazy or does he just mean me?

  “But that’s okay, right?” I grab for his hand and this time succeed. His skin is cool and hot, all at once. “Not everything in life follows a set path. When I was with you in Tasmania, on that mountaintop, that’s an example of what we can be when we try for the best. When we want to, you and I, we are amazing. That’s…that’s what I love about you.”

  There, I almost said it. Maybe if I speak the words, how I really feel, he’ll lose that cold shuttered face. Time’s up; we don’t have the luxury of masks anymore. “Bran.” He needs to hear how deep my feelings run. I’m doing this, putting it all on the line. “I should have told you this before but I—”

  “Natalia.”

  Here it is, he’s going to say he loves me first.

  He yanks his hand free and stuffs it into his pocket. “I can’t do this. Me and you. I thought I could, but it’s too hard.”

  My whole body convulses. The words don’t penetrate my numb shell; instead they slide down my skin like a toxic ooze, leaving behind a slow burn. “Are you serious?”

  He steps back like I’m contagious. “You fly out tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. I am. Yes.” My core temperature plummets ten degrees.

  “Right. So good-bye.”

  “Wait? What?” After everything, the wild ups and grand downs of the past few months, he cannot do this; no way will he leave me in the rain. “Are you for real?”

  A muscle bunches in his jaw. “This is what people do. We all eventually have to say it to everyone, right? Better now than later.”

  My mouth opens and shuts like a fish. Maybe I’ve sprouted gills. Such an oddity wouldn’t make the moment more surreal. I’m drowning here in the empty air that separates us. A bitter pain sears my stomach and the toxic ooze works its way inside, eating out my insides. “But I…I thought we were different.”

  He turns and shields himself from my disbelieving stare. “We are different.”

  “We are?” If I’m not a dying fish, I’m a dazed parrot.

  “I live in reality and you…you want to pretend we’re in some fantasy land. You made me believe this story for a while but I’m not deluding myself anymore. There are no happy endings, not for people like us.”

  The low blow punches me in the solar plexus. “You are a bastard, Bran.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  My lips flatten into each other. “Fine. You win. Good luck with that happily-miserable-after you want so much.” I wish I had access to a door so I could slam it in his stupid face. I know, without a doubt, my issues are too much for him. I can’t change on a dime. There’s nothing I can do but walk.

  I am not perfect only for him. I’m not perfect for anyone.

  Bran falls in step beside me. No emotion is revealed on his features, except for a hint of relief. He’s going to ride this out in full-blown stoic mode. We stop because we’ve reached the end of the road. Here’s where the sidewalk ends. The idea is kind of funny if you think about it.

  But if I laugh, I’ll cry.

  “Good-bye, Talia.” He says it slow as if the saying of a thing makes it more real. The pedestrian light turns green and he crosses the street.

  I stand, as if encased in newly poured concrete, and watch Bran walk out of my life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bran

  Three seconds after shoving through the turnstile at Flinders Street Station, I realize I’m the world’s biggest idiot. I turn around and hurdle the gate, narrowly avoiding taking out a pensioner shuffling for her transit card.

  “Hey,” she cries, dropping her purse.

  I press it back into her hands. “Sorry, love. I gotta go see about a girl.” And I race from the building, heart pounding. I was furious at Young and Jackson, but more jealous to be honest. Freaked Jazz’s poisonous words might have basis in something approaching reality, which shows how loose my brains were knocked by Adie’s unexpected arrival.

  Can’t think about Adie. We reached a tentative reconciliation; that’s the most important thing. She’s been through her own hell and I do still feel love for her. But it’s for the memory of who she and I once were, not the lies and betrayal we became. I can’t sabotage a future with Talia because of what happened with Adie. The black days in Denmark are my past.

  That’s what I need to tell Talia. That she’s vital. I hit Flinders Street and grind to a halt. She’s nowhere to be seen. My arms sink to my sides.

  Okay.

  Think, think, think.

  She can’t be far. I saw her less than ninety seconds ago. I do a quick crowd scan and try not to get frantic. If I lose my head, I won’t keep rational. Melbourne has a population of over 5 million people, and right now, with the weather clearing up, it seems like every single one of them has appeared on the streets.

  I take a few steps to the left, scrutinize the anonymous faces, and turn to the river. Would she go down to the Yarra? I check Flinders Square. Maybe she’d have a coffee? Or would she walk back into the city? I glance through the window of a trendy bar but don’t see her blond hair anywhere. Come on, I know this girl, right? Where’d Talia head after our brutal encounter?

  She’d avoid the city, the crowds. She wouldn’t want to sit for a coffee. She’d be upset, anxious, walking fast in that head-down, straight-arm way she carries herself when she gets agitated.

  The river. She’d go near the river.

  I start to run toward the water but see nothing. She’s wearing her black-framed glasses today and dark colors. Yeah, great, super helpful in a city that prides itself on dressing like a black hole. The Yarra is high and muddier than usual, if that’s possible. Little waves lap and curl at the riverbanks, mocking me because I’m not finding Talia. With every step, I become less convinced I know anything.

  After a mile of hard running, I stop, rooted in place. My leg muscles tighten. I’m not going to find her. I’ve lost her to the city. My stomach goes rock hard. Maybe I’ve lost her for good. I rest my head in my hands. My pride and temper outweighed my good judgment and now I’ve fucked everything up.

  I run all the way back to Carlton, and when I reach Talia’s place, I’m panting and rain-soaked. Not exactly the look that fires up the girls but right now I don’t have a choice. I need to explain what happened earlier today with Adie. How it wasn’t what it seemed. Any appearance of intimacy came from us sharing a moment to mourn all that happened. Adie and I had crossed over the threshold from childhood together. We had been with each other when we lost our innocent idea that the world owed us anything.

  I pound Talia’s door until the hinges creak.

  She’s not here.

  She’s ignored you before, comes the whisper from the back of my head.

  “Talia.” I dig my forehead into the frame. “Please, open the door.”

  I hear smothered giggling and turn down the hal
l. Three girls ogle me.

  Fucking hell. Let them stare.

  I face the closed door. “Talia, I’ve been an ass and I should have never left you like that back there in the city. I was so angry, at Jazz, at myself, and yes, at you. And that was stupid and unfair. You did nothing wrong. Please, I-I’m sorry for what happened earlier. It was all such a shock. When you came in my room so upset, I couldn’t hold everyone’s stuff inside me. I cracked, and my shit spilled out on you.”

  It’s oddly cathartic talking to an inanimate object. I press my forehead into the wood. “Open the door, Talia. Please, let me see you.”

  “She’s not in there.” A voice startles me from behind.

  I turn and find myself getting glared down by the French girl with the hot-pink hair. Marti, I think.

  “Where is Talia?”

  “She left.” Marti’s shrug could mean any of a thousand different things. “She took her bags and is gone to stay in the hotel with her mama until their flight.”

  “Gone?”

  “Gone.”

  “What’s the name of the hotel?”

  Another shrug. “Pfffft, no idea.”

  “Fuck.” I drag my hand through my hair.

  “Yes, you fucked it up.” Marti’s eyes glitter like she wishes me all kinds of hurt. “You broke the poor girl’s heart.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Talia

  I pedal my cruiser along West Cliff Drive while green, pink, and gold explosions glitter-spray the fog. Fireworks are banned from beaches in Santa Cruz. A fact universally ignored in the weeks leading up to and after July 4th. Crowds clog the sidewalk as I duck and weave whenever I spot familiar faces. I don’t want to chat with anyone or answer questions about Australia. I know I’m only expected to smile and chirp, “It was great,” but even that small lie feels insurmountable. The sky darkens, loneliness weighs on my spine, and I turn for home.

  My last day in Australia passed like an old-timey movie. The memories are jerky and off-kilter. I never saw Bran after our awful good-bye on the sidewalk in front of Young and Jackson. After I fled to the passive-aggressive torture chamber that was my mom’s hotel room, I paced a hole in the bathroom tile before catching a cab to his place. Miles answered the door. Told me Bran wasn’t home. That he hadn’t been around since the morning. It didn’t seem like he was lying. Maybe Bran was out with Adie or picking fights in a koala suit. Wherever he was, I couldn’t fly 10,000 miles home without telling him the truth.