Even on the Darkest Night

by Allie Martin

  Natalie’s sitting on the cracked tile counter, her head down, her hair hanging like a curtain. She’s bent forward with her forearms on her knees, and I clear my throat to get her attention.

  “I broke up with him,” she says flatly. The words echo off the wall and through me.

  “Good.” I move to lean against the counter, but the closer I am to her, the more uncomfortable I become. “That’s good,” I repeat to fill silence.

  “How many times did you take her back before it was over?” Nat suddenly snaps her gaze to me as if I have all the answers to all of life’s questions.

  I grip the pen that hangs around my neck. “I’m not sure if it is over, Natalie. I couldn’t say with any certainty that I’m done taking her back.”

  Chancing a look, Nat has her bottom lip sucked into her mouth while she thinks over my statement. Saying it’s over is an empty threat. It’s not over until it’s over. I learned that the last time Annie left.

  “If you walk out that door, Annabeth, don’t ever expect to come back.” I tried to sound stern. I tried to make myself believe the words I had spoken. I could see Lane standing in the half open doorway to his room, but I refused to take more than a glance. His head leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest. I forced myself to focus on Annie’s deep, defiant eyes. The thing with Annie is that she honestly believed that every time she left, it was the last time.

  “I don’t want to come back, Jordan. We’re done. For real this time...” She spun and slammed the door in my face the second time we broke up. Three months later there was a note slipped in my locker.

  I need to talk to you. He doesn’t get it. I feel like you’ll understand...

  “It’s messed up, eh?” Nat’s reverberating voice brings me back, but the nausea doesn’t fade. What if she does come back again? I shake the thought and focus on Nat.

  “What is?”

  “Love. The shit we put up with to feel it.”

  I take a deep breath and twist my body to face her. Taking her hand in both of mine, I tell her the only truth I know.

  “I’ve been angry, Natalie. Since the first fight Annie and I ever had, I’ve been angry. But not at Annie. I’ve been angry with every pity filled look from my brother. Every snide comment from Hector, or Rick, or basically everyone at school. I’ve been unimaginably pissed off at anyone who thought they knew what was best for my heart.” I squeeze her fingers, and her eyes widen to make room for the building tears. “I write words better than I speak them, so I can’t give you advice. I can’t tell you it will be okay because I don’t know that. I don’t even know if I’m going to be okay. I can’t lie to you. I won’t feed you some bullshit, happily ever after story because you’re too good for that. You’re too smart for that.”

  Natalie slides off the counter as the tears slip off her cheeks. “I’m not smart, though, Jordan. Twice. I let him do it twice. Smart people don’t let these things happen to them.”

  I take Nat’s shoulders. “Annie left me for the fifth time this morning. She has another boyfriend, one other guy, and she goes back and forth. From me to him, and him to me. She loves us both, and we know about each other. We always have. It's not really that either of us are smart or dumb. We choose to take her back. We choose.”

  “I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t live with knowing Aaron loved someone else.” Nat sucks in a deep breath, and I force a smile through the cracks in my soul. She’s so much better than I am. She’s so much farther along than I am.

  “Then don’t,” I say and grip the pen around my neck. “Write your own ending. No one else can do it for you.”

  She flings her arms around my waist, and I hug her tight while she cries. Even through her hug I can feel her strength. She’s going to be fine. The way she so assuredly spoke her limits is the reason she’s going to be okay.

  But I’m not going to tell her that; she’s not ready to hear it.

  Saturday, April 20 • 12:25 AM

  Evan

  "Just trust me, okay?" I beg Lane to go along with my lie until after the food.

  Lane shakes his head as Jordan and Nat appear. They both look a little exhausted, and guilt rips at me. Midnight has come and gone. My fantasy is over now. Only I’m not ready to admit it.

  As Nat said, I either disappear or fess up.

  “I don’t know, Evan. Jordan is... sensitive.” Lane nods at Nat, but he’s running his fingers along the tablecloth. I see small, neat letters of various sizes written across the surface. The words do the opposite of what they say. They don’t hold me up or keep me afloat. They drown me in the unfairness of it all. “He feels people’s pain as his own...”

  I can’t answer as Jordan slides in next to me and grins. I return the gesture, but Lane’s white-hot laser vision burns me. Jordan feels people’s pain as his own. I believe it. I have no doubt that Lane is right.

  It doesn’t help me. Wouldn’t the smart thing be to not tell him at all? To let him believe I’m happy and healthy and just some girl he had a one-night fling with?

  “You’ve met my brother,” Jordan says, but he doesn’t touch me like he has been all night. I feel the space between us. Inches, but it’s feels as if we are separated by a void. A black hole of lies. I don’t like this feeling. I want to be closer to him.

  I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m some carefree person who snuck out on a Friday night because I’m not. Nothing about me is carefree. My life is carefully curated to keep my body from giving up on me. No matter what lies I tell Jordan that doesn’t change my truth.

  I will never become who I’m pretending to be.

  I bite my lip and struggle to keep my feelings from bursting from my chest like a solar flare.

  Jordan introduces Lane to Natalie, who does her best to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on. She’s not a bad actress; I’m just so familiar with every twitch, tick, and shift in her face that my stomach lurches. I feel crappy—all around, inside and out, a crappy person.

  The clanking and clattering of silverware on dishes clutters up my brain and helps drive up my discomfort. Jordan absently pops blueberries in his mouth, and I look over at Lane. He’s right.

  I hate that he’s right.

  “I promise,” I mouth and his demeanor softens.

  A little.

  12:47 AM

  “I can’t eat another thing.” Nat shakes her head, leaning against the hard vinyl. The scrape of silverware against plates is deafening while everyone sorts out their dirty dishes. I thought one order of everything was ridiculous, but there's not a bite of food left on any plate.

  "Now what should we do?" Hector stretches his hands up and then places them on his shaved head.

  "Sleep? Go into a food coma?" I ask, slumping down in my seat. Nate and Steve both slap the table at the same time.

  "No way. We're pulling an all-nighter," Nate says, following Hector's lead by stretching. "We fly out to London in the morning, and the time difference is going to kill us. We need to stay up."

  "Cool! Why London?" Nat takes a sip of coffee, which she almost never drinks, and leans forward on the table. She's also way more interested in this than she should be. She's never been interested in travel. Only marriage and then a honeymoon. Maybe her split with Aaron has driven her to the other side of the spectrum. Maybe she'll backpack through South America after graduation instead of say her vows. Honestly, I hope she does.

  "We have to meet with an exec there for our contract. Then we have a couple shows before we come back for the big American Tour," Hector starts, and Jordan shifts in his seat. I’m interested in what Hector’s saying, but Jordan’s mouth so close to my ear it’s hard to concentrate on anything (including breathing).

  "Hey," he whispers. I tune out everything around me.

  "Hey." I smile against his cheek.

  "Wanna get out of here? Go for a walk? I drank way too much coffee. I’m buzzin’."

  "Sure." My heart stutters for so many reasons that
I'm thoroughly confused. I want to be alone with him, but being alone means I have to tell him. Lane glances at me as I stand and to hide my nerves.

  "Where are you going?" Nat asks with as much concern in her eyes as Lane has. I feel like I'm going to prom, and they are my overprotective parents. Actually it does remind me of my actual overprotective parent on actual prom night, and not even my prom.

  "You have your pills?" Dad had asked as I stood in sneakers and a boring dress that came up high around the neck to cover my surgery scars. My date, Riley Cavenaugh (a senior that I'm sure Nat bribed to take me so she wouldn't be the only sophomore at the prom) stood on the porch, his features tilting to fear at the mention of pills.

  "Dad..." I made a face at him with my back to my date.

  "Nat will be there? I will call to remind you at nine twenty. Don't dance too much, and remember to drink lots of water." Dad was rambling as I shoved Riley down the steps, his eyes still flickering around.

  Riley spent most of that night with Jackie Hennie. I was totally okay with it. Actually, I’m sure I suggested it.

  "We're going for a little walk. I need to settle these pancakes." Jordan rubs his stomach before stretching his arms up over his head. His hoodie lifts up. I see the skin that I ran my hands over earlier, and my heart wobbles. I think I'd like to do that again—touch him. I know I’d rather do that than come clean about why I’m here.

  I pinch my lips together, my gaze flickering between Nat and Lane, wanting to be reassuring. I'm going to tell him.

  Now.

  Maybe.

  Saturday, April 20 • 1:00 AM

  Jordan

  I touch the small of her back and guide her through the jingling glass door into the darkness. The neon sign that says ‘all night’ crackles a blue glow over the paved parking lot and catches her hair in dancing color. After my exhausting chat with Natalie, I’m glad to be outside. I feel less claustrophobic, less like my world is crushing me into the truth of my choices. It’s true what I told Nat about her choices and writing her own story. So why can’t I write the ending I want? I’m the guy with the pen, and I never knew until right this second how ironic this whole thing is.

  “We aren’t going far, right?” Evan watches over her shoulder, past me and through the glass windows that span the width of the diner.

  “We don’t have to go any farther than this, if you don’t want. My original plan was to at least make it to my brother's car so I could lean on it,” I tease her, and she laughs. Her laugh is smooth and infectious and unpracticed—guarded and only shown to select people, like her words.

  “I suppose I can handle leaning on the car. It’s cold out here, though...” She watches me with innocent eyes, and I’m in awe of her. She has this air of hardship to her that fills me with sadness. Then these beautiful moments of seeing the world for the first time surface, and I want to ask her everything all at once.

  “I only get one night with you, and call me selfish, but I want you to myself for at least part of it.” I unzip my hoodie and hold it open for her. Her arms slide around my waist, under my t-shirt, and I wrap her up. Her hands are cold against my bare skin, but it wakes me up. Her fingers hook into the muscle of my back and everything but her and the way she touches me completely disappears. She anchors me in my own mind, letting all extraneous thoughts and fears float up and away, leaving only me. Her. Us.

  I rest my chin on her head and close my eyes as her hands dance across my shoulder blades, my ribs, my sides... my hips.

  “So what do you want to do with our alone time?” she asks.

  I want to stop time and live in this moment forever. Like I told her earlier at the concert about the word touch. I want to prolong her presence and stretch our night into infinity. I've never felt this way before.

  “I want you to tell me everything about you," I finally say. “I want to know it all.”

  Her body tenses in my arms. Her stomach and chest pump air more rapidly, reminding me of the secrets I know she’s keeping. “Or, we can stand here and look at the stars,” I add, and she tilts her chin to the sky, leaning back without letting go of my waist and craning her neck so it’s long and smooth and exposed. I bend over her, kissing the spot where her jaw, ear and neck all join before I realize what I’m doing. She doesn’t stop me, though; she leans back farther, tilting her head, giving me better access.

  “I like stars...” she mumbles, and I trail along skin. "I've always liked stars."

  "As in Astrology?" I ask, and she shakes her head.

  "As in Astronomy. Planets, and galaxies, and constellations." She tilts her neck again to study at the sky dotted with little diamond stars made hazy by the orange glow of the city. “I like the universe and all its mysteries. I like the stories and myths, but more than all that, I like the answers. I like to know the answers to the impossible questions.”

  "So you're a scientist? That actually explains a lot..." I say and she swats my chest.

  "My dad is a doctor, and my mom is a corporate accountant. There wasn't much creative expression in my house. Unlike you probably..." She trails off as her gaze travels back down to meet mine. She's expecting me to answer.

  I shrug. "Mom died when I was about a year old. Dad never talked about her much. Lane said she was a musician. He was seven, so he remembers her more, but he always says it’s the music he remembers, not her."

  Evan's forehead presses into my chest, and her arms tighten around my waist. "I'm sorry, Jordan," she says with an even voice, completely devoid of the pity that so often accompanies that phrase. But the way Evan seems to understand me causes me to wrap her up tighter in my hoodie. "And your dad?" she continues.

  "Dad was an investment banker." That's as much as I want to say about him, but Evan picks up on my mistake and steps back out of my arms, leaving me cold.

  "Was?"

  All the wheels and gears inside me screech and grind as I shut down. I don't want to talk about this. The air around me gets thick and stale. "Yeah, he's not around anymore. I live with my brother."

  "Oh," she says softly, and we both focus on the stars. One star bursts across the sky, and I point, eager to change the subject.

  "A shooting star. Make a wish."

  "I don't really make wishes,” she says. “Plus, shooting stars aren't really even stars."

  "Way to suck all the fun out of it.”

  She swats my arm. "The truth is way more interesting. Stars are so far away that to see one explode would take thousands of years, or longer, for the light to travel to earth. A sun exploding is actually called a Nova and they alter whole galaxies. The core explodes, sending matter out in every direction, causing huge changes to everything around it. But gravity keeps it all close and eventually the matter starts to move and spin and crash into other matter, fusing together to create moons and planets.” Evan’s hands move wildly as she talks, her eyes widening and voice getting higher. I laugh, and her cheeks go pink.

  “What?” she asks, smacking my arm again, and I shrug.

  “Nothing. I’m admiring how amazingly beautiful you are...”

  Her pink cheeks turn bright red, and I reach out to her, pulling her into me by the hips.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But we have a bet, and it’s getting late. Step one in making someone fall in love with you is always be honest.”

  I’m kidding, but the joyful look falls from her face and her shoulders tense, reminding me that neither one of us is really being honest. She tucks her head against my neck, her hands placed flat on my chest. It’s a strange reaction, but I don’t want to ruin this. Us. So I change the subject.

  “So what are shooting stars, then? If they aren’t stars?”

  “Shooting stars are meteoroids passing through the earth’s atmosphere. Some are the size of a grain of sand, but they still leave a trail of light across the sky. Cool, huh?" Her voice is excited and infectious. She’s seemingly recovered from whatever weird emotion that passed over her.

  "It is
kinda cool." I have never thought about the stars. I have never wondered what happens beyond my world. I have never concerned myself with anything outside my own existence and the words inside my head.

  I'm not paying attention to the sky like she is. I'm mesmerized by her as she spins slowly then points.

  "There are a bunch of meteor showers every year. The Lyrids are happening right now."

  "You know a lot about this stuff, don't you?" I ask, and her face goes sad.

  "Let's just say I spend as much time with my telescope as I do with Nat." She smiles through her sadness and again, it’s a strange reaction. Why would something she loves so much make her sad?

  I reach out for her again, tucking her back against my chest, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap her in my hoodie again. Her secrets are closer to the surface now. I can feel it. The calmness she brings with her is now unnerving. The lack of frantic determination I'm used to makes me panicky because I can’t help but think it’s all going to go away. She’ll slip from my grasp, like I predicted.

  "Why do they call it the Lyrids?" I need to cut the silence. I need her to talk.

  "They come from the constellation, Lyra the Harp. Well, not from the constellation, of course, but from that area. See that bright star right there?"

  I nod.

  "That's Vega. And the cluster of four under it is part of the constellation, but you can't really see them because of the city lights. The tails of the meteoroids traced backward seem to always originate from Vega, even though the star itself is about twenty-five light years away."

  Evan sweeps her hands across the sky and tells me stories of constellations and where they came from. The stories and myths are interesting, but it's her voice that captivates me. The way she speaks with sureness and confidence. The conviction with which she tells me facts about the sky. Her face lights up and fills with color and life and I wish she'd stay and tell me stories about the sky until we are both turned to stardust.