All the Forever Things

by Jolene Perry

  “I said he could come in,” Matthew says quietly.

  I narrow my eyes. Hartman had to have waited for Matthew in the parking lot. So, he can come over and wait for Matthew, but can’t send me more than a simple, cryptic text? Can texts be simple and cryptic? I don’t care.

  I jerk open the door to the stairs and start up in the blackness. My tears are cool on my hot cheeks. The door slams behind me, which is perfect. My legs are like rubber and suck at climbing stairs. I lean against the old wall in the dark, close my eyes, and try my three breaths to calm down.

  A flash of light and the squeak of the hinges sends my thoughts into a mess.

  “I’m not in the mood, Matt.”

  “It’s Hartman.”

  My feet still won’t move. The door closes behind him, enveloping us both in the dark. I swipe at my eyes as if he could somehow see my tears.

  “Wow, it’s dark in here.”

  I don’t speak.

  “I meant it when I said it was complicated,” he says softly. “A combination of friends I left back in Connecticut, my mom having a rough week, and…I’m sorry, Gabe.”

  I imagine the way his lips would come together on the b in my name. No. “Don’t use my name.”

  A frustrated sigh bounces through the small space. “I just needed—”

  “Stop!” I can’t let him finish. Can’t. My insides are dancing around each other making knots.

  “Gabe. Just…”

  “Look! I’m acting crazy and feeling crazy, and I don’t want that!” I yell. “I like my normal. I like my simplicity. I can’t handle the continuous feeling of inadequacy or second-guessing or panic or whatever it is that clutches at me when I’m thinking about you!” Especially when I’m doing it all without Bree’s help. My heart aches for her and me and Hartman—and because of all the crappiness that’s suddenly been shoved at me from too many sides.

  Our breathing echoes in the blackness. I know his weight shifts, so I squint in the dark, but I wouldn’t be able to see my hand in front of my face, so I’m not sure what I hope to accomplish by squinting.

  “Okay.” His voice is low and sad, but now I’m thinking about what that might mean. This is stupid. How does anyone put up with this twisty-turny feeling long enough to be with someone and get married?

  He hasn’t moved.

  I haven’t moved.

  My heart pounds now, and I feel my body start to lean his direction.

  No. No. No. No. No.

  I’m not doing this.

  I spin, rest my hand on the wall to guide me, and rush up the stairs.

  As soon as I shove open the door to our house, I nearly run into Mom who is standing in her bathrobe, her arms crossed. “What are you doing?”

  “Fighting with…Matthew,” I finish in a lie.

  “You really…” She stops, and I swear she’s regrouping. “You should probably go to bed.”

  Is that it? We stare at each other for a moment longer before I turn toward my room and die a little with needing to talk to my friend.

  If I hadn’t had to pay for my own phone, I’d throw it across the room. Four snoozes later, and I still feel like I was run over by a truck.

  I get dressed in the turquoise dress from Bree—like maybe my cute clothes will counteract my mood. And like maybe wearing the dress she got me will make her talk to me. Prom is tomorrow, so I really should use today to find a way to apologize to Bree in a better way. On top of which, how am I supposed to navigate the Hartman situation without Bree? Or the Bree situation without Hartman?

  A coffin sits in the viewing room but I don’t see anyone, so I stand in the doorway. Another older lady. Sort of roundish. Matthew made her lips too pink, but maybe she always had really pink lips. Bree would know, if she’d taken the hours my parents have offered her.

  “So,” I ask her. “What would you do, huh? Suck up to the a-hole boyfriend to get your friend back?”

  Even though I never knew this woman alive, I picture her bright lips frowning.

  “Yeah, well. It’s not like I have a million other options here.”

  I imagine her giving me some kind of knowing nod, her mouth pursed.

  “I’m gonna do that. Friendship should come first, I think.” And I desperately need to share my crazy with someone.

  “Gabby?” Dad calls.

  I open my mouth to correct him, but step back out of the room instead.

  Dad’s brows rise in question when I walk into the lobby with my bag over my shoulder.

  “Just curious. I didn’t see her when Matthew was getting her ready,” I explain. And getting cadavers ready without Bree just isn’t the same, so I haven’t been helping.

  Dad starts tying his tie. Black tie. White shirt. “Thought I heard voices.”

  “You turning into Angel?” I tease.

  “No.” Dad shakes his head with a weird smile. “Everything okay? Mom said you were arguing with Matthew last night. That you woke her up.”

  “Matthew’s fine. I’m peachy.”

  He does his staring thing like he can somehow see into my brain just by looking long enough or weirdly enough.

  “Don’t want to be late,” I say as I start for the door. I’m not sure I like sunny California in this moment. I’m in the mood for a rainstorm.

  “Okay,” Dad says behind me.

  There’s no replacing Bree, so even if I have to apologize and sound like I mean it, I should say something to Bryce. I’m going to have to talk to him.

  This might end me.

  Chapter 21

  I walk through the hallways looking for one of the biggest assholes in school. The one I tried to give a black eye last week.

  Worth it for Bree. Worth it for Bree…

  “Bryce!” A guy’s voice crashes into my ears, and I flinch.

  I turn to see Bryce giving his friend Jeremy a high five. Jessica is draped against Jeremy like nearly always, and I stare like a moron because now I’m here and I’m doing this and I really, really don’t want to do this.

  Because I’m still standing in the middle of the hallway like an idiot, Bryce sees me right away.

  He has this amused expression on his face. The odd smirk also makes him look like an asshole. I’m not sure how he accomplishes this, and I’m about to make some snide remark to ask him until I remember I’m here to say I’m sorry.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “It was stupid. Trying to hit you. I had…a bad day…?” Will that work? And I maybe shouldn’t have let it sound like a question. “Bree said you thought it would be cool if I was your chauffeur for prom in the hearse? I can still totally do that. Like…as an apology. I didn’t mean to…” I swallow a huge lump that I’m quite sure is filled with every ounce of dignity and pride I used to possess. “…to get you in trouble.”

  I hope I’m an adequate enough liar to make this total humiliation worth it.

  “I’m half tempted to ask you to say this same thing to my parents so they’ll leave me alone about it, but…” He strokes his chin in mock thoughtful consideration.

  My heart stops.

  His head cocks further to the side, and he smacks his gum in his mouth. Bryce tugs at the front of his letterman jacket. “How many people do you think can fit into the back of the hearse?”

  I gasp in relief when I realize he’s not actually going to ask me to talk to his parents.

  “Um…” I resist the urge to close my eyes and do my three deep breaths to reset myself. “Three people could sit on each side facing each other. The floor isn’t totally smooth because caskets need to be locked in place, but I still think three would work. Four on each side would be tight.” Maybe he won’t get that each side means the numbers are doubled. “So, that’s six or eight.”

  He snorts. “I figured that.” He steps closer, still chomping his gum. He’s also doing that weird pulling-his-shoulders-back thing like I’m a guy and we’re in some sort of pissing contest. “You really think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

  Ye
p. Totally. “No. I sometimes don’t say things very clearly.”

  This really better save my relationship with Bree because I’m dying here.

  “Sounds good, Graveyard Gabe.” He cackles.

  I try to make my smile look real. So hard. I know I fail, but I hold it anyway. We both know why he gave me that nickname, and we both know I hate it. “So. Clever.”

  His laughter dies, but his smile widens. He knows exactly how painful this is for me, and he’s enjoying it way too much. The second he breaks up with Bree, I’m going to find some really creative way to pay him back.

  Bryce slaps my shoulder as he walks past me like I’m one of his stupid followers. “Sounds great, Addams. I’ll have Bree make sure we all have your number. See you tomorrow.”

  Yeah.

  Asshole.

  After school, I’m tapping on my phone to send Bree a text when Bryce’s car screeches to a stop next to me.

  “You want a ride?” Bryce yells over Bree in the passenger’s seat.

  “Um…” Hell, no. “I like to walk, but thanks.”

  Bree finally looks up at me but there’s no familiar smile, just a weird staring look. “Thanks for offering us a ride to prom. Sorry I was kind of bitchy yesterday. We haven’t caught up on all the drama with my parents.”

  “Call me later?” I ask. I hate how much desperation and hope there is in my voice. Maybe I need more friends. Though, if finding friends were easier for me, I might have more than one. I don’t know.

  “Sure, yeah.” Her eyes dart around, and her hands are clutched in her lap.

  There are things she hasn’t told me about her life, and I don’t know if they’re new things or if she’s always told me less than I assumed she did.

  Bryce pulls away, and I let my feet drag on the sidewalk. I’m not sure when I stopped knowing what to do for my friend.

  Just as I reach the empty parking lot in front of my house, I get a text from Hartman.

  I’d like to see you.

  I can’t answer. He might want to move forward and be a couple or something. He might want nothing else from me. Talking to him is unavoidable, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put off our conversation a little bit.

  When I push open the front doors, Matthew stands behind the front desk in a suit.

  I pause and glance around at the empty space. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hello to you too.” Matthew smiles. “Your dad just needed someone here while he and your mom ran errands.”

  “Angel?”

  “Afternoon off.”

  “So, you’re the showpiece, huh?” I ask.

  “What does that mean?” He smooths down his tie, giving himself a double chin as he looks down. “I have this feeling you just put me down without me totally being aware of it.”

  I rub my forehead. “I don’t know what I mean.”

  “About last night with Hartman.” Matthew puts his hands in his pants pockets.

  I rub my forehead with my fingers. “I really wish we could all just erase that. Can we erase that?”

  “Doesn’t work that way.”

  “I know.” I know. But I so wish it would.

  “He’s dealing with a lot, Gabe. Cut the guy some slack. His plane landed, he drove his mom home, he came straight here but the house was dark. I pulled in just after he stopped, and he asked to come inside.”

  Hartman being here doesn’t feel quite as strange as it did last night.

  “Do you even think he wants slack from me?” I ask. It’s my weird way of asking my own cousin if he thinks Hartman cares enough about me to care what I think about him. My life sucks.

  Matthew nods. “You are terrifying, Cuz. Don’t forget that.”

  I snort.

  “I’m serious. He probably came over here in some kind of wild romantic gesture, but the house was already dark. Then you yelled at him in the stairway before giving him a chance to get his thoughts together.”

  He even looks serious. Maybe he is serious. Did I just totally overreact?

  I need Bree. Not Matthew.

  “I need a nap,” I tell him. Especially if I’m going to have to play nice and be a chauffeur tomorrow night.

  “His life is upside down, Gabe,” Matthew says quietly. “But he’s a nice guy. Talk to him.”

  “Yeah.” But then I’ll be back to the feeling that whatever might be starting between us is so fragile. Walking around fragile things makes feeling normal close to impossible. “See ya.”

  I step into the family offices and stop. I haven’t exactly told my parents that I’m going to chauffeur, or that I’m not going with Hartman. I didn’t text him back. I sort of yelled at him last night. I’m pretty sure our date is off.

  It was so very stupid to let Mickey talk me into trying on dresses.

  Staring at the TV with my parents and my little sister is an incredibly sucky reminder of the current state of my life. But here I am, staring at some show with guns and serious faces and countdowns.

  I don’t care about these characters, but it’s better than the pukey feeling I get when I think about Bryce or Bree or Hartman.

  “Are you excited about prom?” Mom asks as Dad fast-forwards past the commercial.

  “Um…” Now is when I should tell her that there’s this weird misunderstanding between Hartman and me, but she just looks so…hopeful. “I’m all set.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The dress looks sooooo pretty on her!” Mickey says, her eyes too wide.

  “I have my dress, and”—I glance back and forth between Mom and Dad a few times—“I’m excited to drive for the night.”

  Dad hits Pause. “What?”

  “I thought it would be fun to take the hearse?” I really should have kept the question out of my voice here too…

  “You can have the Subaru, or even Hartman’s car is nice,” Mom says.

  Dad’s brow furrows. “There are only two seat belts, and the back is big enough to…to…”

  “To what?” I cannot even fathom where he’s going with this.

  “Only two people can ride in it because of the number of seat belts.” His mouth opens and closes.

  Mickey leans forward. “You could have a picnic in the back of the car!”

  I’d like to tell Dad I plan on taking a lot of people, but he’d never allow it.

  “What will you do with all that…space…in the back…” He’s choking on his words, makes a few quick glances toward Mickey, and then it hits me what he’s trying to get at.

  “Ew! Dad!” I grab my knees to my chest. “Geez! I barely know him!”

  His face slowly relaxes as he watches my reaction.

  “You know him well enough for a picnic!” Mickey says. “You could make sandwiches and have strawberries!”

  I stare at my sister’s hopeful little face. Aunt Liza has filled her brain with far too many romantic ideas. “I’ll think about it.”

  Besides, Hartman’s probably not coming. I just don’t want to have a conversation where Mom and Dad ask me questions I don’t know how to answer. And the worst thing I can imagine in this moment is my parents’ sympathy over guy problems. I don’t want to have guy problems. I much preferred life when I did not have guy problems. Though, maybe with how I’ve hardly spoken with Hartman, I don’t have guy problems. That should make me feel relieved instead of like I’m shriveling up.

  “Well, you should have some sort of curfew or something,” Dad says.

  All I can think is that Bree and her group probably won’t have one. “How about we just stay in contact?” I suggest. “I’m…” How to play this? “I’m a little worried about Bree’s boyfriend, so I’d like to stick close to her.”

  Mom frowns a little. “The same one you got suspended over?”

  “He’s…I don’t know…” I glance toward Mickey, not that I’d give Mom and Dad the full info even if my little sister weren’t here. “Newer to her, I guess.”

  Dad unpauses the TV. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.
”

  And between now and tomorrow, I’ll need to find a good way to explain Hartman’s absence when I leave for prom.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I slip it out.

  I’ll be at your house at six, Hartman says. In my tux. My question is, do you still want to go with me?

  My heart leaps into my throat, and I stare at his words. I’m hurt and sort of angry, but…

  Maybe give me a chance to explain everything? he asks.

  He is going through a hard time right now…

  Are you still driving? I text.

  If that’s what you want. Yes.

  Yes. Yes. I bite my thumbnail and stare at his text.

  Mickey snickers and waggles her brows. “Are you talking to your boyfriend?”

  I just smile back at her because I’m not sure, but maybe yes?

  Chapter 22

  Nerves have taken my stomach hostage and dried out my throat and mouth. Who knew that getting dressed could make someone feel a little like they could throw up?

  A soft knock on my door is followed by Mom, carrying her flat iron. “I figured Bree would be here.”

  And just that fast, the nerves switch into a sinking kind of dread. “I’m…” Picking her up, which I can’t say because I only have enough seat belts for me and Hartman. “Meeting her there. No biggie.”

  “Is everyone doing dinner first, or…?”

  “We’re doing drive-in burgers for fun,” I tell her.

  Mom plugs in the iron. “It’s already hot. Sit real quick, and we’ll give your hair a smooth fifties feel, okay?”

  I sit and Mom starts smoothing over my hair when my phone sings “Uptown Funk,” and I grin because it’s Hartman. And then I force my smile to disappear because we haven’t really talked since I yelled at him in the turret. Texts count, but don’t count.

  “Hi,” I say through my suppressed smile.

  He lets out a sigh, and I’m afraid to breathe or move or do anything—not that it’ll change whatever he’s about to say.

  “I’m going to be late,” Hartman whispers. “I’m so, so, so sorry, Gabe. So sorry. I know I’ve already screwed up, and I know I’m making it worse. My mom saw me in my tux and lost it. I just…I can’t leave her yet, but I’ll meet up with you as soon as I can.”