“I do too.” I think that’s the end of our conversation when he asks, “Do you ever feel guilty? About what happened, I mean.”
“Yeah.” It’s probably the dumbest question in the world. “I feel guilty all the freaking time.”
“Me too,” he says, sounding so genuine I almost believe him. His words are quiet but strong, intense in a way I’ve never heard him before.
I don’t know why, but I feel myself laugh. “Yeah. Right,” I say, because we both know it’s a lie. Logan looks perfectly happy all the freaking time. There is no way he let the suicide get to him. Not like I did.
“What?” Now he locks eyes with me, looking almost offended.
“You are the last person on earth who I would guess is guilty about his death,” I say, taking a huge sip of my orange juice. “I mean, look at you. You act like he never even existed.”
“You mean like you do?” He leans toward me in his seat, his gaze all strong and serious.
“Huh?” I say. I don’t know why, but I almost laugh some more. This whole conversation is so surreal. Ben’s death devastated me. Fucking devastated me. Of course I feel guilty, and all of a sudden I hate that we’re even talking about this.
Ben is dead. Ben is gone. And yet somehow, four years later, he is still controlling my life.
“Are you kidding me, Cali? You live your life as if you got over his death a long time ago. You’re always acting like you don’t care, like nothing bothers you, like nothing ever--”
“And that was all an act,” I say firmly. This is getting ridiculous.
“So why do you assume my complete happiness isn’t an act too?” Logan does not take his eyes off of me for a second.
Almost instinctually I open my mouth to protest, but then I snap it close. I stop as soon as his words sink in. Logan was pretending the whole time too? How come it never occurred to me that Logan could be acting happy as a way to forget, like I was acting not to care? How come I always assumed he got over the suicide a long time ago, that it wasn’t haunting him as much as it was haunting me? How come I never asked him about it? “I--” I start to say, but the words refuse to come.
Logan leans back in his chair, sighing. “Thought so,” he says quietly.
“But why would you feel guilty?” My voice is kind of heated now. There is no way Logan has suffered more than me. He has to be lying. He has to.
“Cali, I--”
“Tell me.”
He just shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says, his voice breaking just a little. “It hurts too much to talk about.”
I stand up, heat coursing through my body. My blood boils. Everything feels so strong all of a sudden, like a match next to an explosive and now I’m going off and there is no stopping me. “He was my brother, Logan! My brother! I’ve spent four goddamn years all alone trying to make sense of what happened, trying to stop blaming myself but not succeeding for a second. I’m fucking miserable inside, can’t you see? I pretended not to care and to be someone I’m not because it’s the only way I could keep the guilt from consuming me, and it worked okay until you came along and started getting too close and now I’m me, the real me, and you are fucking amazing for making that happen but the real me is also vulnerable, and you can’t just say that you know something about Ben’s suicide and then not tell me. Please, Logan. Please. What the hell happened that night?” My voice threatens to crack, but I hold it, keep it strong, and the anger just pours out of me.
Logan stands up right after me, and his eyes burn into mine as he says, “Ben was my best friend, Cali! He was like a goddamn brother to me. He… he was my family when my parents weren’t around. He made my life okay. He made me feel okay. I needed him like best friends need each other, like brothers need each other, and I was never there for him when he needed me. I fucking screwed it up, and that’s on me. You aren’t the only one struggling, Cali, and you have to stop acting like you’re alone in this, like I’m the bad guy, because you aren’t and I’m not. Ben’s death ripped me apart, so don’t you dare pretend like I don’t know what suffering means, because I do. I know as well as you do. So for the love of everything, stop acting like I’m here to hurt you. I’m here to help you, Cali. I want to be your friend, I want to be your--” He stops then, just stops.
My body trembles and I feel like I’m on fire and I just shake my head. I try to say something, to tell him what he means to me and that I didn’t mean to get so pissed off, but I can’t find the words to say it. So I just turn and walk away, saying nothing at all.
~
I WAIT in the lobby for a long time. I slump in the nearest chair to clear my head, sigh, and check my phone for the first time since Friday night. There are eleven new texts from my mom, and it takes me a minute to work up the courage to read them.
Cali, we need to talk.
Cali, are you there?
Answer me.
Remember we have that lunch tomorrow.
Please don’t try anything.
I really want to talk to you, sweetie. Please.
Cali…
Cali, why aren’t you answering?
You better not be thinking of going to that poetry conference.
Cali, this is not a joke. I’m getting worried about you.
Answer me.
I read through each of their texts without holding my breath, without even closing my eyes. I should really feel guilty, feel angry, feel just plain upset at myself and at them, but to my parents? I feel nothing. I read their texts and I feel nothing.
And I hate it.
I hate how Ben dying sucked everything out of our relationship.
I hate how they don’t appreciate me, and how as hard as I try, I can no longer appreciate them back.
I want things with them to be better, but I don’t know if they ever will be.
A few elderly people huddle in the chair across from me nearest the fire, gossiping too loudly about someone named Sherry and how they suspect she was cheating in Bingo the other night. The whole lobby is full of people, standing and drinking coffee, waiting by the entrance to the convention, getting breakfast in the hotel restaurant. An undercurrent of conversation sweeps through the whole room and here I am, slumped in some weird chair, the one person at the convention who is totally alone.
I scroll through some of my other texts, an alarming amount are from Lindsay. Cali! what’s up?
have you heard about Jessica and Mac?
BTW, I’m sure you’re looking cute today!
answer me. c’mon. I want to talk to you!
unless you’re busy getting it on???? ;)
jeez, way to leave me hanging!
Cali, where have you been? we miss you
some of us are going to the dungeon at three. come if you’re around
Cali?
hope you’re doing ok
As I read them, I feel a surge of something--guilt, maybe?--and I realize for the second time what a complete asshole I’ve been to Lindsay and everyone. I treated them like shit, Lindsay especially, because I could. I told myself that she and everyone else were just shallow, pathetic wastes and I was the only sane one, but really doesn’t it make me the shallow one for thinking that? And it’s not like they’re any worse people than I am. They care about me, they really do, and I just ignored them. For all I know, they could be as lost inside as I am.
why do you even like me? I text after a while, feeling suddenly sick about what an idiot I’ve been.
because you’re you. you’re cool. Lindsay responds almost instantaneously.
you mean because I’m popular?
There’s a pause.
no.
well you shouldn’t like me. I’m not a good friend.
that’s not true
it is. I’m a bitch. and I’m sorry--for everything.
you did nothing wrong, she says right back, and I feel my heart sink. She isn’t getting it. But even through the text, I can tell she’s lying, and something about that is kind of a relief
. She deserves to hate me. She deserves a better friend. She doesn’t deserve someone like me.
yes I did, lindsay. you really are a great girl, you know that right? you deserve to live your life. don’t worry about me. I’m fine.
A pause. you sure?
I smile. I’ve never been surer about anything else in my life.
ok… I’ll try. but let me know if you need anything!
I will.
Then, I close my phone and look around me. The whole lobby is bright and buzzing with the laughter of convention attendees, and I swear everyone else here is happy but me. My heart is still pounding from my conversation with Logan and I keep replaying his words again and again in my head, realizing how selfish I am to have been acting like I’m the only one affected by Ben’s death, like I cared more about Ben than anyone else.
My heart starts hurting at the thought, and I hate myself for not comforting him when I should have, for not realizing he’s just as broken as I am, for not doing anything to fix it.
I’m about to close my eyes and try to nap all of the feelings away when a familiar voice startles me.
“Have I ever told you that I hate you?” a voice says behind me. I spin around to see Ruby standing in front of me, hands on her hips, smile on her face. She’s wearing black country boots and one of Jaden’s t-shirts, and behind her is the man himself, drop dead good looks and all: Jaden.
Ruby watches me closely. “You okay?” she asks but I don’t answer her.
“What are you two doing here?” I say, narrowing my eyes at her to let her know I’m not in the mood.
Ruby sits down beside me. “Not even a hello?” she says. “I’m offended.”
I have no idea why she’s here, but I’m glad to see her. I missed her, and I realize now just how much I need her presence. She is my best friend, and I need her. So before I know what’s happening, I reach out, stiffly wrap my arms around her, and I hug her. It feels weird and awkward and I’m reminded just why I’m not of the hugging type, but it’s okay because I know Ruby doesn’t judge.
She looks confused as soon as I pull away, and then her face melts into a smile. She winks at me, and I roll my eyes because I know her well enough to realize my hug just increased her ego by three billion times.
“So you’re here because…?” I say.
“Well, you kind of ditched me. I got your note and knew you were at the convention and since Jaden was missing a certain roommate of his as well, we decided to come road-trip down here and check on you two. You know, just to make sure you weren’t abducted by aliens, and to ensure that you had successfully gotten it on.”
I glare at her the second she says ‘gotten it on.’ “You’re horrible.”
“And you love me for it.” It’s the truth. “Anyway, now that we see you’re here, on to the important business. Where is the man of the hour?”
“Not here,” I say, and I drop my gaze to my feet when I remember our conversation. I bet Logan is still at our breakfast table, probably waiting to pay the check like the perfect freaking gentleman he is, and as much as I want to go back to him, to tell him I’m sorry and it doesn’t matter if he keeps these things about Ben to himself--that I understand completely--I can’t. I don’t know why, but I can’t.
Ruby eyes my suspiciously and I think she can tell something is up, but she doesn’t press me. “Moving on, how many times have you and him done the deed? Have any hot, steamy hate sex stories you care to share? We’re all ears.” She motions to Jaden, who just sighs.
“I’m sorry about her,” I say to him.
“Me too,” he says, but when Ruby eyes him, he just beams at her and that seems to settle her down.
“And no.” I shoot Ruby a warning look. “No hate sex here. So sorry to disappoint.”
“What? I want my money back. Seriously, retirement home residents get more action than you guys do. Jesus.” Then she adds, “Jaden and I would know nothing about that” and grins up at him and it looks like they’re about to kiss, so I sigh loudly to voice my displeasure.
Ruby shoots me a look. “Well, we have some shopping in town to take care of,” Ruby says. “I here they have great shopping in LA.” But by the tone of her voice, I’m not sure she’s talking about actual shopping. Probably more along the lines of a certain three-letter word that begins with S and ends in X. “See you later?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks for coming. I think.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re welcome.” She starts to turn back to Jaden, to leave me here, but at the last second she spins back around. Then she leans into me and whispers, “If you and Logan are fighting about Ben like I have a feeling you are, I have one word of advice for you: don’t let Logan go.” I bite my lip. “Also,” she says. “Your parents stopped by our apartment yesterday. They wanted me to give you this.” She hands me a card, squeezes my hand, and then leads Jaden right back down the hallway, down the stairs, and out of sight.
Once they leave, I open it up. A picture immediately slips out, and I have to catch it before it falls to the ground. I turn it over in my hand. It’s of Ben and I when we were little kids and decided to build a snowman, and in it we’re clinging to the snowman’s body from either side, scarfs and wool coats wrapped around us, faces puckered into giant grins. Mom and Dad stand beside us, smiling too, looking like they genuinely cared. The snow is falling and all of a sudden I remember that picture, remember how happy I was that day, that day back when we were a family.
Then, I flip the picture over and read the back. Four words are written on it in Mom’s rushed handwriting:
We miss him too.
~
This feeling is so foreign
so distant
so confusing
so… fake.
She knows it isn’t real
it can’t be
it won’t be.
This feeling is more than just mattering,
or being happy
or being in love.
This feeling is hope.
Hope.
She has hope.
~
LOGAN and I meet up by the entrance just before the convention begins. We don’t speak to each other, just nod to acknowledge each other’s presence. His face looks all tired, like he just ran a marathon or something. That little dazzle I’ve grown to love in his smile is completely gone, and I wish I knew how to bring it back.
Logan continues to look totally sad as we walk into the poetry convention, next to each other but not really next to each other, like a married couple on the brink divorce, and I feel my heart sink.
He blames himself too.
All these years I hated him because I thought that he was okay, that he’d moved on, that he didn’t blame himself for what happened to Ben like I did, and now that I see I was wrong, I wish I could find the words to comfort him, wish I could take back what I said and tell him the truth: that he means so much to me, that I need him in my life, that I’m sorry and I don’t know what I’d ever do without him.
The room is just as large and as breathtaking as it was yesterday, with posters covering the walls, booths scattered everywhere, and a whole block of tables positioned in front of the stage, where a red-haired woman stands. The air smells like some sort of mixture between new books and ravioli, and everywhere around me I hear raucous laughter. The convention looks even more packed than yesterday.
There isn’t much new here today except for different poets attending and a few shifted stations, but there is a guest speaker this time--the woman. Without a word, Logan tugs me toward her, and we sit down at a back table which has an assortment of fancy-looking mushroom and casserole appetizers laid across it. In the center of the table sits a glass bowl of Skittles, though, and it would be laughably out of place if I weren’t craving their fruity goodness so damn much at the moment. So it goes without saying that I grab a handful of Skittles and shove them into my mouth. They aren’t caffeine, but they do the trick.
Logan watches me from
the other side of the table, his expression blank, and it hurts not to see his smile.
I decide to distract myself, so I turn back to face the front of the room where a tech crew checks the mic. The speaker steps up to the podium as soon as they leave, smiles a warm smile, and then addresses those of us watching her. The buzz of gossip and clinking of glasses that filled the room seems to die down as soon as she starts speaking.
“Good morning, ladies and gentleman,” she says. “It’s great to have you all here at the National Poet’s Convention 2013!” A small applause surfaces around the room--Logan and I do not participate--and the woman beams before continuing. “You may know me as Katherine Fischer, poet and blog owner. Poetry has taken over my life in the recent years, which is why I’m incredibly excited to be invited to speak here today. I hope you enjoy listening, and of course have a great time at the rest of the conference.” She pauses. “I want to talk to you today about love,” she says, her eyes scanning the crowd. I feel Logan’s gaze on me but I don’t turn to meet it. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking--not yet. “Love is a big part of poetry of all kinds, and considering all of the poems I write are about love, I like to think I know a thing or two about it. When I was in high school, though, I really didn’t know anything about love. I thought I did, but I was way wrong. See, I had this best friend who I totally adored being around and everything. We meshed perfectly, as friends. I dated around a lot and for some reason my heart was never in any of these guys. Not only that, but it never wanted to be in any of them. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, so I stopped dating for a few months. In the end, I realized I was in love with my best friend all along.” She takes a deep breath. “We’re happily married now, and I couldn’t have asked for a better life. But the point is, after all those years, the one person I really wanted was right there in front of me the whole time. And that’s the thing about love: no matter how hard you search, no matter how fast you run, sometimes, just sometimes, true love is right in front of you all along.” Without even thinking, I turn to Logan, and I guess he does the same. Our eyes meet for one long second, and I swear we’re thinking the exact same thing. I gulp, ignoring the heat that is creeping into my cheeks, and I force myself to pull away.
Two Roads Page 19
