Neither

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “I know. I wish that, too.”

  I get periodic messages from Tex, and I ask her what they're doing with Jamie, but she won't tell me. I even try calling her, but she doesn't answer.

  “I really wonder about that girl sometimes.”

  The truck looks amazing when we go to pick it up. Instead of a white/gray, it's now a shiny black, complete with a wax coating that will resist rust. The sales guy was very persuasive and I had quite a bit of cash from Viktor. He shelled out hundreds like he was handing out candy. Tex's eyes went wide at the amount, but she kept her mouth shut. I have no doubt that plenty of those hundreds are going to be spent on buying her shiny things.

  We meet back up at the high school because it's the best central location. I pull in with the truck and Peter comes in behind me with my car.

  Tex and Viktor are by her car, and I see Jamie, arms crossed, looking surly. He also looks sad. Helena and Brooke are MIA, which surprises me because I thought Brooke would be attached to his hip. Something has gone on between those two, and I intend to get it out of him.

  “What's this?” he says when I hop out of the truck.

  “Your new/old truck. I had it painted. Surprise.” I gesture to the truck like a car model. I should have made a sign or had some confetti or something. I always forget these things if I don't write them down.

  His mouth drops open. “You did what?”

  “I know you've always wanted your truck painted. I wanted to do the interior, but I didn't have the funds.” Well, I could have the funds if I asked Viktor for them, but I didn't want to be a gold digger.

  “Is that why Tex kidnapped me?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Why didn't you just ask to borrow the truck?” he says, coming closer and running his hand over the paint job. “That would have been easier than forcing me to go see a special screening of Dirty Dancing.”

  “Tex, you did not.”

  She puts her chin in the air. “I will not give up until he says that Patrick Swayze has talent and that nobody puts Baby in a corner.”

  “I'm not going to say that if you make me see it a million times.” Jamie's still going over the paint job, and I can see the flicker of happiness on his face. “It's good. Where did you take it?”

  “That place over in Brunswick. You know the one that's always on TV?”

  “Wow,” he says, feeling the slickness of the coating. “Why did you do this?”

  “I've wanted to do something for you for a while. To apologize for being such a crappy friend the past couple of months. I lied to you and hid things from you, and I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Jamie,” I say, walking over and putting my arms around him. I don't care if he hugs me back, but I need him to know that I love him and I need him in my life. I don't really care if everyone else sees me.

  “I'm sorry too, Jamie. I knew Ava's secret and I didn't share it with you. But you knew about her mom and didn't share it with me. So I guess we're even, yes?”

  Jamie finally returns my hug, kissing the top of my head and messing with my hair. “You went all out, Ave. Thank you.”

  “You're not still mad at me, are you?”

  He sighs. “I'd be a horrible friend if I said yes, so no. I am not mad. Just disappointed that you didn't feel like you could confide in me about something like that.”

  “Forgive me, too!” Tex throws herself into our hug, and Jamie puts his arm around her.

  “What am I going to do with you two?” We laugh and fall against the truck, Jamie struggling to keep both of us upright. “What do they think of this?” He means Viktor and Peter.

  “They do what we tell them,” Tex says. “We wear the pants. Right, baby?”

  “If you say so,” Viktor says. I just wink at Peter and he blinks back.

  “Whipped. They're totally whipped,” Jamie says.

  “We could say the same about you,” Tex says, jostling his shoulder.

  “I guess,” Jamie says, blushing. I tickle him in the stomach and he wiggles away. “You're the best, Ave.”

  No, I'm not, but he smiles and I almost believe him anyway.

  ***

  “Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!” Aj calls when I walk in the house. She dives at me and gives me a huge hug. Her blood overwhelms me, but I braced myself before I walked in, and I've got Peter's hand on my back.

  “Hey, Aj. Can you let me breathe now?”

  “Sure, kiddo. How are you?”

  “Same old, same old.” I just have a psycho immortal after me, both of my best friends are involved with immortals, my mother has terminal cancer, and I have finals. Nothing major.

  “Oh come on, school's almost out. What shenanigans are you going to get up to? I'm sure they'll involve this guy,” she says, pointing to Peter. “Hello, again, Peter.”

  “Nice to see you, Jenny.” He keeps his hand on my back and Aj notices. I give her a look and she stops staring.

  “I brought whoopie pies. Sorry, Peter. I forgot about the lactose-intolerant thing.”

  “That is fine. I will watch Ava enjoy them.”

  “Okay, then,” Aj says, giving him a weird look. I guess I'm so used to Peter saying strange things that I'm immune.

  We have dinner, which Peter doesn't eat, and whoopie pies, which Peter doesn't eat. The last time Aj was over, I purposely stabbed myself with a knife because I felt so guilty. Peter keeps squeezing my hand and I know he's trying to tell me not to do it again.

  “So I heard the cat is out of the bag,” Aj says, gesturing to the wilted flowers that are starting to make me sick with their sweet smell. I want to throw them from the roof and watch them smash on the ground, but I don't tell Mom that. They make me sick. Just a reminder of the fact that everyone who's anyone knows that my mother is going to die.

  “It's a relief to finally tell everyone. Although, the phone has been ringing off the hook and we have more tuna casseroles than you can shake a stick at,” Mom says.

  Aj throws up her hands, as if pleading to the gods. “Why do they make tuna? Does anyone like tuna casserole?”

  “Well, I might like it if it didn't make me violently ill. I'm sick enough as it is,” Mom says, trying to make a joke, but it falls flat.

  “So you're doing okay, though? Otherwise?”

  “I'm feeling as well as can be expected. I'm going to start having appointments once a week to see how I'm doing and do tests and so forth.”

  “So you're good, though?”

  “It's not happening yet. We'll call you when it gets close.”

  “I'll be here as soon as I can. I'd fly here if I could,” Aj says, taking Mom's hand.

  “I know you would.” They hug and I want to cry. I look at Peter.

  “Everyone wants wings,” I say so low that only he can hear me. He pulls me in for a hug.

  “You can't always get what you want,” he whispers in my ear.

  “What are you two whispering about over there?” Aj says, breaking our embrace.

  “Nothing.”

  “Don't you get all lovey-dovey on me, Ava. You're not that kind of girl.”

  “What kind of girl am I?”

  “You're my awesome niece who doesn't give boys the time of day and would rather read a book than get wasted.”

  “Well...” I say. I was that girl once upon a time, but that was a long time ago. “People change, I guess.” I'm uncomfortable with everyone staring at me.

  “I guess,” Aj says.

  “Dessert?” Mom tries to get up to get the whoopie pies, but collapses back into her seat, clutching her head.

  “Claire?! What's wrong?” Dad holds onto her as she groans. Aj gets up and goes to her other side.

  “Claire, talk to me.”

  “I'm fine,” she says, opening her eyes and looking at all of us. “I just had a little head rush. I'm fine. Nothing to fuss about. Everyone sit down. You're being ridiculous.”

  “Call Dr. Chase,” Dad says, snapping his fingers at me. I look at Mom for confirmation.r />
  “Sam, I'm fine. Just let me have some aspirin and a little rest. I have an appointment on Wednesday. There will be plenty of time for him to poke and prod me. Things like this are going to be normal near the end.” I hate how she says, 'the end.'

  “Claire, I don't want you saying that it's nothing just so we'll leave you alone. It's not going to happen,” Dad says.

  “Can everyone back up for a moment?” Mom's voice is sharp for the first time. “I just need some air.”

  We move, but not very far. She braces her hands on the table and gets up.

  “I just need some space, please. Thanks.” She goes to her bedroom, and we all stare at each other, unsure of what to do.

  Dad moves to go after her, but Aj grabs his arm. “Let her have a few moments. It's hard being under the spotlight, Sam.”

  Dad looks at her hand, holding his arm like he wants to wrench it away, but he sighs and sits down. “I just don't know what to do anymore. She keeps getting sicker and I don't know what to do. If I take her in, they'll just pump her full of drugs and then she'll refuse to take them. I don't want to fight with her, but I hate seeing her feel bad. What do I do, Jenny?”

  “I don't know, Sam. There isn't a good answer.” She gives him a hug, which is nuts because they aren't normally affectionate with each other. I glance at Peter, but he never looks uncomfortable, and even if he is, he hides it. Although, he's lived through some crazy situations, so my family drama is probably tame in comparison.

  “I think I should go,” Peter says, trying to excuse himself. Well played.

  “I'll walk you out.”

  “Sorry about this, Peter,” Dad says. My mouth drops open.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for, Mr. Sullivan. Your family is going through a hard time, and I wish I could do something to make it better.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot.” Dad and Peter have a moment of understanding, and then Peter nods and walks out of the dining room while I stand there, gaping like a fish.

  “I'm going to walk him out,” I say.

  Aj and Dad go back to talking about Mom as I walk Peter to the door so he can run home. Dad still hasn't noticed that he doesn't ever drive to my house. I guess he's got too much else on his mind.

  “I love you.”

  “Adore,” he says, kissing me softly before shutting the door.

  I stand still, feeling him hop up on the roof and cross to my room. Apart from the fact that I need him near me, I love knowing that he's in my room waiting for me. It makes me feel safe.

  I walk in on Dad and Aj having another moment.

  “I don't know what to do,” Dad says, raking his hands through his hair. It reminds me of that breakdown he had in the kitchen a few weeks ago. I hadn't seen him have one since, but that doesn't mean he didn't have them in private.

  “You know you can call me anytime. I have my phone with me always. There's nothing I can't abandon to help my big brother, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Dad? You don't have to do this alone,” I say. I've wanted to say that for a long time, but I was so angry for a while. Guess I've gotten past that stage of my grief.

  “I'm sorry, Ava. I haven't been a very good dad lately.”

  “It's okay,” I say, joining the hug. I've never hugged so much in one day.

  “It's really not, but thank you for saying so. We need to do some more talking, you and I,” he says, looking down at me. Sometimes it hits me just how much I look like him. I'm my father's daughter, whether I want to admit it or not.

  “Not tonight,” I say. I've got too much other crap going on. I've got to start working on my finals projects, which actually might end up being more time consuming than if I would have just done finals the normal way. C'est la vie.

  “I agree. I'm going to go check in Claire. Sorry about your visit, Jen.”

  “It's okay. Ava and I will have some girl time. Right?” She slings her arm around my shoulder.

  “Right,” I say, wrinkling my nose at her. She leans forward and gently nips it.

  “Okay.” He takes a deep breath, as if he's preparing to give a speech or go into battle or something. Maybe he is.

  “So, why don't you tell me what's really going on between you and that boy,” Aj says as we settle on the couch.

  “We're dating.”

  “And you love him.”

  “Yeah, I do.” We covered this ground already.

  “You're not sleeping with him, are you?” Well, technically yes, but I am not having sex with him, which is what she's asking.

  “I'm not having sex with him.”

  “For real? You look like you have.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You can tell when people have had sex. There's this, I don't know, glow that they have. It's like they have a secret they don't want to share. You two look like that.” We certainly have our secrets, but they're not about sex.

  “Nope. Still have my V card.” Damn card.

  “Good girl. Although, when I was your age, if I had a boyfriend like that? Damn, I would have jumped on it a long time ago.”

  “Ew.”

  “Hey, I'm not that old.”

  “He is sexy,” I say. This cannot be denied.

  “Where did you find him? I know you told me, but I've forgotten.”

  “Party. There was a drink that got spilled, he made a witty remark, I made a dumb one, and the rest is history.”

  “So is he the one?” Of course he is, but I don't know how Aj is going to take the extent of our relationship.

  “I think he is.”

  “Just be careful.”

  “You're not going to tell me I'm too young, and there are lots of fish in the sea and all that?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I'm your cool Aunt Jenny. When Sam got married and had you I promised myself I would be a cool aunt that would let you get into trouble. So here I am, being the cool aunt.”

  “You are the cool aunt.”

  “This is not news.”

  “Shut up,” I say, shoving her arm. She grabs mine and twists it behind my back, not enough to hurt, but enough that I am incapacitated. I wiggle, but she's way too strong.

  “Give?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Say it.” I sigh.

  “Aj is the coolest aunt ever and I aspire to her awesomeness, which I can never achieve,” I say. It's the phrase she came up with a couple of years ago for when we have wrestling matches.

  “That's right. Don't you forget it.” I swat her with my hand, but she ducks. “Too slow.” Not if I'm immortal, but I'm not thinking about that right now. “I think a need a whoopie pie. You want?”

  “Sure,” I say, even though it's a tie between what I want more: the whoopie pie or her blood. Such is my life.

  We consume two whoopie pies each while we watch trashy TV. Aj pulls hers apart, licking out the frosting before eating the cake parts. I keep one ear trained toward my parents’ room, and all I hear is them softly talking about what to do and whether she should start taking some of the painkillers and other drugs Dr. Chase has been pushing on her. I try to block it out, but I hear most of it anyway.

  “You look like you're at a funeral,” Aj comments, and then winces. “Ouch, that was tasteless. Sorry about that.”

  “It's okay. You don't have to walk on eggshells. I'm fully aware of what's going to happen.”

  “I'm so sorry that you have to go through this.”

  “I know.” Other people have said similar things, but from Aj I know it's sincere.

  “I just wish I could do more. Sam won't let anyone help him.”

  “That's Dad.”

  She sighs. “He's going to have to suck it up, because I'm going to be here. I'm coming every weekend, just so you know. He told me about the road trip. I'm going to come up and stay with the house if you need anything. I thought I could clean and get rid of some of those casseroles and so forth. Is there anything you need
done?”

  “The sink's a little leaky. You don't know how to fix that, do you?” Aj knows about thumbscrews, but I'm not sure how much she knows about plumbing.

  “Pft. I got this. I fix all kinds of things in my apartment complex because my landlord is useless.”

  “Really? I didn't know that.” You learn something new every day.

  “You make me a list and when you get back, it'll be done.” She glances at the clock. “I should get back. I still have some research to do before I go to bed.”

  “What are you working on now?”

  “Some branding irons. Nothing too fascinating. I'll keep you updated.”

  “Okay. See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, kiddo. Tell your parents I said good-bye.”

  “I will. Thanks, Aj.”

  “Anytime.” We share another hug and then she leaves. I shut the door behind her and the house is calm and quiet.

  I suddenly can't stand the flowers anymore. They're ugly and dying and they smell thick and disgusting. I haven't been able to breathe since they've been in the house, but no one else seems to be able to get rid of them. Might as well be me. I get a big black trash bag and shove every single damn flower in the whole house that I can find into the bag. I kind of want to smash the vases, but some of them are pretty, I guess. Most of them are ugly and plastic, so I toss those in the bag. It gets full fast. I tie the top with multiple knots and drag it outside to the shed. When I get back inside I open all the windows to air everything out, and then I stack the vases in the sink.

  Feeling satisfied, I go upstairs to see my Peter.

  “Feel better?” he says, his eyes glued to a textbook. I turn my head and see it's one of the books I got him on medieval life. It is. Aj would be so proud.

  “Much,” I say, pulling my hair out of my ponytail. “I still can't figure out why people think dying flowers are a good way to say, 'I'm sorry you have terminal cancer.'”

  “What would be a good way?”

  I yank my hands through my hair, trying to work through the curls that have turned themselves into knots. “I don't know,” I say, grabbing my brush. “Will you help me with this?” Peter's very good at brushing hair. I don't have the patience. “I just want people to be sincere. They say they're sorry and they have that look in their eyes, but you know it's bull. It's like they get something out of it. I don't know what. People are pretty sick.”