The Day That Saved Us

by Mindy Hayes

  “It’s a moot pact. There’s nothing we can do. It’s not your fault. It’s not mine. It was broken for us.”

  “I can’t lose you, Pete,” he says softly. “I don’t know how to live life without you. From day one, you’ve been by my side. Every memory I have has you. I don’t know what a memory feels like without you in it. And I don’t want to.”

  And that’s exactly why we shouldn’t be together. I don’t want to be his crutch or just some comfort. We need to be on our own, away from each other, to discover who we are without each other. Nothing in this life is certain, even relationships. Especially relationships. That truth is shattering when it’s the only truth you believed in. Love, friendship, marriage. Every relationship I knew—believed in—was solid. How easily a truth can be obliterated.

  I rest my hand on his cheek, and he leans into it, closing his eyes as he inhales. He places his hand over mine and turns in, kissing my palm.

  “You could never lose me for good, Brodee. You’ll always be my best friend. That will never change. But you have to see we’ll never be the same. You have to feel it, too. What we built in Hatteras is dead. We can’t change that or fix it. Right now we need to let each other go and get past this, but it’s going to take time.”

  “Our story isn’t over yet,” he insists.

  Tears roll down my cheeks. “Our story never got the chance to begin.”

  His jaw clenches. He exhales, fighting against the emotion inside of him. He loses. A tear streams down his cheek. Angrily, he swipes it away.

  We stand, and he takes me into his arms. I cling to him. His lips caress my cheek over and over. Each kiss I savor more than the last. Each kiss marks a goodbye.

  Goodbye, once upon a time. Goodbye, Hatteras. Goodbye, happily ever after.

  Goodbye, Peyton.

  Brodee lets me go. He doesn’t smile when he looks me in the eyes. He tries to, but the muscles in his face revolt. “If I were a stoplight, I’d turn red, just so I could stare at you a little bit longer.”

  I know he’s trying to bring levity and light into a crappy situation. I know the pick-up line is supposed to put a smile on my face. All it does is make me cry. I try to smile through the tears.

  Brodee kisses me one last time before he steps down off the porch and doesn’t look back.

  THE OCEAN IS my solitude.

  Whether I’m on the water or listening from a distance, the waves whisper to me. They call me home. It’s why I need to be here today. It’s the only home I know now.

  As I straddle my board and wait for the next wave, the sun pauses on the horizon, peaking softly above the seamless ocean line as it rises. The beach is pretty quiet this morning. Only surfers occupy the water. It’s too early for anyone else to be here. I take the time to appreciate the stillness. With all that’s changed in the last week, it’s been difficult to find a moment of peace.

  Brodee left this morning. I didn’t see him off. I didn’t have it in me, but I was up. So, I watched from my bedroom window that faces his bedroom, the way I’ve done so many times before. I watched as he looked to my window. I stayed in the shadows so he wouldn’t see me. Seeing me watching—caring—would only make it harder. I watched as he frowned and looked down, dejected, as he walked out of his room. I watched as he shut off his light switch and darkened the light in my heart.

  I believe we’re made of bits and pieces. Pieces of everyone we know that make us who we are. We go throughout life giving and taking pieces of each other, building the basis of ourselves. We grow and transform. Some people get bigger pieces than others. I’d never realized how large of a piece Brodee was. Without him, half of me is missing. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back.

  “Peyton-Parker,” Harper says, paddling up next to me. She says my name like it’s meant to be one word. Always. “Are you going to take the next wave? You’ve been sitting here for like thirty minutes. You’ve missed so many good ones.”

  Looking to her, I slowly blink. I know she’s talking to me, but my brain hasn’t caught up to answer. Time doesn’t exist on the water. Hours could pass and the only reminder I’d have is the progression of the sun in the sky.

  “I guess I just zoned out. It’s going to be nice out today.”

  “Yeah. Should get up into the seventies later.” Harper squints as she looks out for the next wave, straddling her surfboard. The tan skin creases at the corner of her eyes. Water leisurely drips down her neck.

  “How many have you gotten?” I ask.

  “You’ve seriously been in your own world, huh? That was my third one, babe.” She pauses. “Have you ridden any yet?”

  “I caught one.” I shrug.

  To think, the summer is over and in one day we’ll be on our way to USC; it makes me more than melancholy. As ready as I am, this summer changed me, changed us. I’m terrified to live in the real world without the crutch of my home, though it feels less like a home now. A home should be a solace. Instead, mine’s broken chaos.

  We float just beyond the break, the water gently rocking our boards until we see a good one coming.

  “Oh, oh,” Harper exclaims. “Get ready for it. Go, go, go.”

  I paddle hard until I reach the wave and stand, making the drop. With the wind in my face, I ride the wave. Just when I think it’s going to be clean sailing to shore, I wipe out. Tumbling under the water, I can’t find the surface. The waves keep crashing down over me. I’m starting to lose air, but I tell myself not to panic. I think of the only thing I can to calm down. Brodee. I repeat his name over and over. He’s my solid ground. He has the power to save me. I stop struggling and wait until I feel myself begin to float to the top. I finally break through, gasping.

  Stumbling up the beach, I cough and spit out salt water. My throat burns. Once I reach our towels, I drop my surfboard on the sand and peel off my rash guard. It’s suffocating me.

  I lay back on my towel in my bikini, letting the sun dry off my skin and breathe. Then I hear Harper jogging up. She sets down her board.

  “Are you okay?” she asks with concern, kneeling down. “You took a pretty rough spill out there. I wasn’t sure you were going to surface.”

  “Yeah. I’m good,” I say, clipped. “I just need to catch my breath for a second.”

  Instances like this are a good reminders that, as much as the ocean is my home, sometimes it doesn’t want me to get too comfortable. It doesn’t have my back. I’m on my own out there. How metaphorically true of my life. I’m all on my own now.

  After lying there for a few minutes, Harper asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What makes you think I have something to talk about?” I keep my eyes closed and my arm shielding my face.

  “You can’t hide anything from me, Peyton-Parker. You’ve been really quiet this morning.” I hear her shift down, lying down beside me. “Over the years I’ve surfed with two different Peytons. There’s pumped, motivated Peyton who’s like a kid on Christmas morning when she gets good waves, and then there’s pensive, quiet Peyton who’s trying to solve world peace while on the water. I thought when you called last night about surfing, it was because these waves were supposed to be perfect, but something tells me it’s more than that.”

  I turn my head. The sand shifts beneath my towel. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Just to me.” She smiles gently. Her lips are pink from biting them.

  After taking a breath, the pit in my stomach grows. I’m hollow. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

  Harper’s eyes grow sad. “Maybe it’s for the best. It’s time to learn who you are, to take charge of your life, and live for you.”

  “Yeah,” I say distantly. “Maybe.”

  “You have me, you know? I’ll always be here to remind you of your strength and your worth. No matter what happens. It’s going to be okay.”

  “I want it to be okay with him.”

  “And maybe someday it will.” For some reason I doubt that. My brain has tried over and over to st
rategize ways to keep us from tearing apart, but not one solution gives me Brodee.

  I hear my dad’s voice then, Peyton Jane, there’s beauty in a new beginning.

  I hope he’s right.

  THE BLARING SOUND of my alarm clock wakes me. The room is still dim, my dark curtains blocking out most of the morning light. I reach over to shut it off, but another arm beats me to it. A more feminine arm. I look over at Brooke, who curls into my side and hums. With her apartment flooded, I forgot I let her sleep over last night.

  “Why did you set an alarm on Saturday morning? It’s too early,” she sleepily groans with her eyes closed. Her long brown hair falls across her face. I brush it back and gently remove her arm from my chest before sitting up.

  “I’m going on a run.”

  “On Saturday morning?” She curls her arm around my waist, trying to pull me back into bed. “Run later. Sleep now.”

  I stand up, untangling myself from her and the temptation. “Gotta keep my routine. You can stay here. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

  She groans, but rolls over and falls back asleep. It’s six o’clock. Brooke won’t come back to life until around noon.

  I throw on a T-shirt, grab my iPod, slip into my running shoes, and head out the front door. Plugging in my ear buds, I make my way around the first block. With each pounding step, I turn up the volume of my music to drown out my thoughts. Thoughts of the past, thoughts of the future, thoughts of my tangled life.

  I do this every day like clockwork. It’s a new day, fresh start. The goal is to go an hour without thinking at all. Nothing but music, heartbeats, and the pounding of my feet. Just how I like it.

  ABOUT AN HOUR later I make it back to my apartment. It wasn’t a very successful run. My thoughts of her were relentless today. One after another, they knocked into me like flashes of light, in time with the beat of my feet on the pavement.

  Beat. Her laugh.

  Beat. Her smile.

  Beat. Her kiss.

  Beat. Her tears.

  Beat. Her goodbye.

  I give up to return to Brooke. She doesn’t erase them, but she helps to conceal them. The flashes become dim flickers when we’re together. The ones you can’t tell if you actually saw or if your mind just imagined them.

  When I walk into the kitchen to get my protein shake, I’m surprised to find Brooke standing on the linoleum next to the coffee maker, waiting for it to heat up. She’s pulled her hair to the side in a low ponytail and wrapped herself in one of my zip-up hoodies.

  “Did you have a good run?” Brooke asks and stands on her toes to kiss my cheek.

  It’s no ocean wave, but since I’m not close enough to the beach for that, it’ll have to do. “Yeah. Thanks.” I turn my head and kiss her mouth. “Morning,” I say against her lips.

  My phone buzzes in my shorts pocket.

  Skylar: When do you plan on getting in?

  Me: I’m leaving after my last final on Wed.

  Should be there around 6 or 7.

  “Who else is awake at this painful hour on a Saturday?” She pours herself a cup and cradles it between her hands against her chest like it’s her personal heater.

  “Skylar. He just wanted to see when I’d be home.”

  “Oh.” The disappointment in her voice is not lost on me.

  I’ve done everything I can to avoid ‘the talk.’ Brooke is a Durham local, and we haven’t exactly determined what will happen to us when we graduate. I’m moving back home next week for a month before heading to Boston for a job. And she’s…well…not.

  We’ve been together for a year, and I know she’s waiting for me to either ask her to go with me or end it, but I’m not ready for either. The only thing I can think about is the fact that in less than one week I’ll be graduating. In one week my best friends will be getting married. In one week I’ll see…her.

  Four years doesn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things, but these years at Duke feel like a new lifetime. Everything is different. Everything, that is, except for Skylar and Harper.

  I’ve thought about asking Brooke to be my date to their wedding, but I don’t know what Peyton has planned—if Tyler will be her date or if they’re even still together. Though, if that status had changed, I’m sure Skylar would’ve said something to me by now. I don’t want to make things any more complicated than they already are.

  My phone buzzes in my hand.

  Skylar: Cool. Excited to see you, man.

  Harper misses you, but she’ll never own up to it.

  I chuckle.

  Me: I miss her too. Hey.

  Is Peyton bringing Tyler to the wedding?

  Skylar: Harper says yes.

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket and turn to Brooke. “So. I have this wedding coming up next week.”

  “You don’t say.” She flutters her eyelashes and smirks, showing the dimple in her right cheek.

  “I was wondering if that’s something you might be interested in going to with me.”

  She presses a hand over her heart and gives me her best Southern accent. “Well, I do declare, Mr. Fisher. Are you asking me to be your date to your best friend’s wedding?”

  I laugh lightly and wrap my arms around her waist. “Is that a yes?”

  “Of course. Will I finally get to meet your family?”

  I internally cringe. “They should be there, yes.”

  “Good.” She gives me a peck. “It’s about time.” My unease doesn’t go unnoticed. Not that I was trying to hide it, but it’s impossible to mask. “I know you don’t really like talking about them, but it’s going to be fine. Parents love me.”

  It’s not Brooke I’m worried about. It’s me. I have a hard enough time being around my dad and Olivia in their new life. I’m not ready to introduce Brooke to the dysfunction that is my family.

  “Yes, they will.” I smile and pull back. “I’m gonna go shower. Get ready so we can go do something.”

  “I’m going to need a new dress for the wedding,” she calls to me as I walk down the narrow hallway to the bathroom to get cleaned up.

  “I’m not going dress shopping,” I holler back. “Take Deanna.”

  “Oh, c’mon.” Brooke follows me into the bathroom. “I want your opinion. This is for your friend’s wedding, and I’m meeting your family. Please. I need to know how I should dress.”

  “My friends are pretty easygoing. You’ll look good in whatever you wear, Brooke.”

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.” I turn on the water, remove my shirt, and turn back to her in the doorway. She pushes out her bottom lip in a fake pout. “Fine,” I chuckle and shoo her out of the bathroom. “We’ll go pick out a dress. Go get ready.”

  WHEN WE GOT back from Hatteras all those summers ago, Peyton and I promised to stay in touch, and we did at first. We saw each other every few months, in between semesters or on random weekends. But our every few month visits eventually became the occasional holiday: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years. The last time I saw her was Christmas Eve. Twelve months ago. I think about how long it’s been, and the faded aching in my chest comes to the forefront. I wonder where we’ll go from here. When I see her will enough time have passed so the possibility of an ‘us’ becomes an option? Will she look at me the way she used to, or will too much time apart make us nothing but strangers?

  This time I make a pact with myself. If nothing has changed, I stop this for good. I’ll give my heart fully to Brooke. I’ll ask her to come with me to Boston. Maybe I’ll propose. All I know is I can’t keep waiting for something that will never be. I refuse to be my father, waiting my entire life for my opening. If it’s not meant to be, I need to move on. I have to let Peyton go.

  WHEN I REACH their dorm room I knock twice. Harper opens the door and looks startled; not quite the reaction I expected. Surprise? “Brodee, hey!” She opens the door wide enough for Peyton to see me. “Look, Peyton,” she slowly says with strained enthusiasm. “Brodee’
s here.” I don’t like the sound of Harper’s voice. Peyton’s eyes widen, but she stays on her made bed as I enter the room.

  “Hey,” I say, nervous that this surprise visit was a bad idea. We haven’t seen each other since we said goodbye a month ago.

  Peyton gradually crawls off her bed—still not smiling—and uneasily walks up to me. Not even a hint of happiness crosses her lips. This was a very bad idea. Why did I come? It’s too soon. I should have called first. She isn’t ready to see me. But I was ready to see her. I couldn’t go any longer. I missed her too much. I needed a cheesy pick-up line. I needed one of her half-smiles that always illuminated her eyes. I needed her comforting silence.

  We stand toe-to-toe for an exorbitant amount of time, staring at each other. I see so much in her eyes—too much. Sadness. Regret. Fear. Pining. It all jumbles together, forming one overwhelming ache in my chest. Then she flings her arms around my neck and it instantly diminishes. Her body shakes. At first, I think she might be laughing—manically—but then she gasps, and I know that sound. I’ve heard it enough to know she’s crying. I hold her tighter. I hear the door quietly open and close, Harper most likely leaving and giving us some time alone.

  “Shhh…Pete, why are you crying?”

  She shakes her head, unable to answer me, or refusing to. I can’t tell which. Her face is buried in the crook of my neck, soaking my skin. If her tears were a hurricane, I wouldn’t survive. I hate to see her pain. I lift her trembling body off the ground, walk to her bed, settling her in my lap, and intensify my grip around her. Her inability to form words is scaring me.

  “Pete, talk to me.” I run my fingers down the back of her head, over her long blonde hair. When I try leaning away to look into her eyes, she holds on with more strength. “Okay,” I quietly say. “We’ll just sit here. I’ve got you now.”

  When I think about the last time she clung to me like this, I worry more. She hasn’t cried like this since her Dad died. I’m not sure what that means for us. It can’t be anything good. Her tears feel desperate and broken. What hurts most is that I can’t do anything to take away her pain. So I sit without a word, clutching her to my chest.