Letting You Know

by Nora Flite

  “That was amazing!” She cried out, and it took everything I had not to kiss her on those ruby lips.

  Laughing, I hugged her instead, rubbing our cold cheeks together. “You hit it, good job!”

  “I hit it!” She repeated, giggling.

  The loud clap of the machine reverberated, another pigeon shooting out. This time, when a gun cracked in the air, it wasn't Leah's.

  We watched as the disk shattered again, Bethany's aim perfect from where she stood with the weapon lifted. Nicholas cheered, they both embraced with overt joy.

  I saw him kiss her cheek, before he glimpsed my smile. Then he paused, watching me over her shoulder as she hugged him hard.

  “Good job!” Leah shouted.

  The pair broke apart, Bethany smoothing her hair as she basked in the compliment. “Thanks, you did great, too.”

  “I guess I get extra points for toppling like a tree,” Leah said, blushing in good humor.

  The blonde laughed, covering her mouth politely. It was as if she had started seeing Leah, the situation so unlike the first few meetings.

  Before, my ex had been stiff; perhaps a bit cynical, if I let myself think about it.

  Sad, Bethany was... sort of sad, that first day.

  It was an odd realization, one I wanted to mull over deeper. Why would Bethany feel anything but distaste for me?

  Are my memories so muddled, that I'm forgetting what the girl I used to love was actually like?

  Maybe I've turned her into an entirely different person... But why?

  To cope?

  Bethany looked my way, the subtlest of movements. A cat could have adjusted its ears and been more obvious. Noticing how I was staring must have pulled her out of her bliss.

  There, again, I see it. When she looks at me, there's an awful sadness there. A vulnerability that I can't...

  I don't want to understand.

  But maybe I need to.

  It reminded me of that horrible day, seeing how she stared at me. To be so raw, so truly torn apart by what was in her heart.

  I knew that look, it had haunted my nights for weeks. No, I realized with shame, months. I dreamt of Bethany for months.

  I was still dreaming of her when she and Nicholas were apparently getting together.

  My mouth went hard, coiling into a wrinkle of ugly distaste. I knew I had to look resentful, how could anything else be reflected on my face when I thought about... thought about...

  Bethany, in spite of my clear emotions, didn't look away.

  Just as she hadn't that day, a time that felt so long ago.

  Six Months Earlier

  Chapter 12.

  “Are you sure you don't want to come tonight?” The question came from my roommate, Carlo. He was stretched out on the old sofa that we'd found in the back alley when we'd moved into our apartment.

  We'd only graduated two months ago, but Carlo had immediately gone back home. Without a job lined up for either of us, it had seemed only natural to flee with our tails tucked

  I, however, had no intention of leaving the state.

  With help from my grandparents, I'd managed to wrangle the apartment, and convinced Carlo to come back out to LA and move in with me.

  It was an easy enough transition. Carlo had been my roommate in the dorms. Seeing that we managed to get along smoothly, we thought each other to be the perfect match.

  Much better than strangers, anyway.

  “Yeah,” I said, glancing at him while his dark eyes followed me around the living room. “Bethany is flying in today, I need to go pick her up. Didn't we already go over this?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, crossing his ankles, sinking deeper into the cushions. “But, you never gave me a reason why you couldn't take her to karaoke after picking her up.”

  Sighing, I rubbed the side of my neck. “Look, last time, she didn't exactly enjoy herself. She probably won't want to go back, and I sort of need her to have a good time this round.”

  Lifting an eyebrow, like he had gleaned the first hint of how to solve a puzzle, Carlo frowned at me. “You need her to have a good time? Does this have anything to do with the fact you two have been, what's the word the ancients use? Fighting?”

  I grimaced. “We aren't fighting.”

  “Listen, a kid can always tell when their mom and dad are fighting,” he said, steepling his fingers together.

  Rolling my eyes, I leaned on the wall, checking my watch. “We aren't your parents, Carlo.”

  “When were you going to tell me that?” He gasped, mockingly covering his mouth. When I finally cracked a smile, he sat up with his own cocky grin. “So, for real. What's going on with you guys?”

  I didn't want to have this conversation, but at the same time, it was difficult to resist Carlo and his blunt questions. “We... we're sort of having some disagreements on things lately.”

  “Such as?”

  “Bethany was... supposed to move out here. At least, that was what she told me the plan was.”

  Carlo smoothed his short hair with a palm, his tone going soft. “But that isn't the plan now, is it?”

  “No,” I agreed reluctantly. “It doesn't seem to be. She's stressed about—she thinks I'm not working hard enough, that if she comes out here, it'd be too big a risk.” It all spilled out in a rush, a water balloon that had been punctured.

  He straightened on the couch, staring at me curiously. “So she's decided you aren't worth the risk.”

  I had no response to that.

  “Mn,” Carlo mused to himself. “You're hoping to prove to her while she's here that it is worth it, I take it.”

  “That's what I hope, yes, okay.”

  “How long is she staying?”

  “I'm not sure,” I admitted, shrugging into my ears. “She didn't say. This was sort of a spontaneous visit. Bethany can only afford to come out here a few times a year. She came for graduation, so coming back so soon is kind of strange.”

  The way she sounded when we talked was odd, too...

  My friend stood, moving over to me until he could grab my shoulders. It surprised me, made me tense up uneasily. “Deacon, listen. It's not my place to pry—”

  “But you will anyway.”

  “—Bethany and you seem to be in a sort of... shaky place. And if I'm honest, you've seemed that way since I've known you.”

  Wrinkling my forehead, I fought down a flicker of defensiveness. “What? No we haven't.”

  “No? What do you call her chiding you over your homework not being done, or lecturing you over your grades?”

  “She just wanted me to do well,” I mumbled, looking away from his intense dark eyes.

  Carlo squeezed my shoulders hard, drawing me back to him with a wince. This time, I recognized the concern in his face. “Deacon, you obviously don't want to hear this. I don't think you ever did. But Bethany is... she isn't that nice to you. I mean, she's pleasant enough, but I have to admit, she hasn't struck me as very supportive.”

  “I don't need support,” I blurted, untangling myself from his hold. Carlo dropped his arms to his sides, not hiding his hard scowl.

  “I'm only trying to help you, man. She's your first girlfriend, maybe you just don't have the perspective you need to understand... but people who date, who say they're in love...”

  I blushed, realizing he had heard her and I whisper that to each other. We'd both tried to keep our public affection hidden. Did I want to hide it? Or was that her request?

  “...People who do that,” he went on, softening his tone, “they're always there for each other. They don't pick on each other, even if it seems to be for a 'good reason' or something.”

  Inside, I knew he meant well. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, though. The very idea that Bethany wasn't good for me was too much, like lemon juice on a scraped knee.

  Unable to handle it, I turned away, heading upstairs towards my room in silence.

  “Deacon,” he said behind me. I paused on the steps. I didn't allow him to say more.<
br />
  “You don't know her like I do,” I muttered, acid edging in on my tongue. I couldn't even look at him, I felt awful for denying his help. I had to defend this, though. If I didn't, I might see the cracks in what I felt was a perfect relationship.

  He was silent in the wake of my cold shoulder. With nothing but hot shame burning the back of my neck, I vanished up the stairs.

  ****

  The flowers in my hand shook, my grip too tight from nerves. They were her favorite, pink tulips; I'd made sure of that much.

  I'd planned it out in my head. When she came down the escalator, I would walk up behind her, surprising her with the flowers and a kiss. I needed to be smooth, to be perfect.

  I just had to be.

  The moment I glimpsed her blonde hair, my already fast beating heart began to swell. The fear of the performance, of avoiding any mistake, roiled in my blood.

  You can do this, just be patient.

  Bethany stepped off the automatic stairs, a small bag in her hand. As she passed me, I held my breath, forcing myself to count a few beats before I followed behind.

  Amazingly, she didn't sense me until I tapped her shoulder, flashing the tulips into her surprised face.

  “Deacon! Oh, you didn't have to get me these.” Her smile was tight, on the verge of breaking. I ignored that, I ignored anything that could even hint that she wasn't delighted by me.

  Taking her hand, I wrapped her fingers around the stems. Leaning in, I pressed a gentle kiss to her rosy cheek. “I didn't have to, I wanted to. How was your flight?”

  “Oh, fine,” she mumbled, her gaze drifting away as we began walking. “Long, I had a dumb layover in Phoenix. I could see the heat waves outside through the windows.”

  “It's pretty warm here, too,” I laughed. “Let's get your luggage and head to the car, I'll blast the air conditioner.”

  “Oh,” she mumbled, tripping on her tongue. “I uh, didn't... we don't need to do that, I mean.”

  Stopping on the tile, people brushing around me, my eyes fixed on her dubiously. A rush of nausea hit me, her guilty face too plain. “You didn't bring any luggage? Bethany, how long are you staying?”

  Her toe dug at the floor. “Just the weekend.”

  It was like being kicked in the gut; my whole body felt cold, my muscles tight like I'd been running. I knew what this meant, my brain was burning to inform me.

  She's not here to see me, to fix things... she's here to... to...

  “Hey,” she said, cutting into my thoughts. “Relax, I just—let's just worry about that later. Okay?”

  Worry about what she's going to say to me before she leaves, worry about that later? Haha, does she think I can brush it aside?

  “Yeah,” I said, feeling like a coward. “That's fine. You're right. Let's just go back to my place, we can get some food.”

  Her smile didn't reach her eyes, and I was acutely aware of the gap of space between us as we walked out of the airport.

  The car ride was worse.

  “So,” I asked her, pushing against every bit of me that wanted to break down and ask her what she was really thinking, “how have you been?”

  “Fine,” she said absently, staring out the window at the buildings. “LA gets uglier every time I see it.”

  My face didn't move. Inside, my organs were twisting.

  “What about you?” Turning in her seat, she let her eyes fall on me. I wasn't entirely sure she was actually seeing me, though, in that moment.

  “Living,” I said, chuckling with barely controlled cynicism.

  “Any work yet?”

  I crushed the steering wheel hard. “No, not yet. I'm pretty sure I've convinced a gallery space to take my paintings in, though.” I had to pay them to do it, of course, I thought to myself in harsh misery. “Hopefully I'll hear from them in a few weeks.” That, or I'll be asking my grandparents for help again.

  “Mn.” It was a simple sound, but it was obvious she wasn't impressed.

  Bethany rarely was with me these days.

  The rest of the drive was quiet. She turned the music to the classical station, covering for our inability to talk to one another.

  What does she want from me? Why come all this way, for just two days?

  My suspicion wasn't one I wanted to poke at. Like a fresh wound, it was too raw, too painful to explore.

  When we got to my apartment, we continued to go through the motions. She'd been there a few times since I'd moved in, but I still gave her a pretend tour.

  Carlo wasn't around, one thing I could be grateful for among my depressing day.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, imagining she had to be by now.

  “Yeah, the flight didn't have much in the way of options.”

  Nodding, I wandered into my kitchen, digging through the cupboards. Carlo had torn through my food as usual, leaving me with scant supplies.

  Not that I often had much these days. As wonderful as my grandparents had been about sending me money to help out as I looked for work, it went to paying my exorbitant LA rent more than anything.

  I'd learned to live on the cheap abundance of peanut butter sandwiches. No jelly, that was too extravagant.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, standing in the doorway.

  “I'm going to make us some dinner,” I said, scrounging up a box of dry pasta. Ugh, and I have nothing to serve with this.

  “Oh.” She paused, folding her arms, blue eyes staring at the far wall.

  I knew that tone. “What?” I asked, setting the box down on the counter.

  “Nothing,” she sighed. “I guess I just assumed you'd want to do something nice while I was here.”

  “Ah.” My entire body felt warm. “I—you're right, let's go out somewhere.”

  “No, no, it's clearly not what you wanted to do.”

  “Bethany, come on,” I pleaded, lifting my hands palm up. “Don't be like that.”

  “Like what?” She snapped, glaring at me with disgust. “Upset that you didn't think enough of my visit to want to go out somewhere nice?”

  “We can go out!” I said, exasperated and confused. I'll have to use my credit card, even if I can't really afford that... but... “Come on, it's fine. Let's just go somewhere nice and try to have a good time.”

  She lifted an eye brow at me. “'Try' to have a good time?”

  “Have,” I blurted. “Have a good time. Jeez, give me a break here, I'm just—I don't know why you're so on edge with me.”

  “I'm not.” She was lying, we both knew it.

  I'm lying, too, in a way. I'm pretty sure I know why she's on edge...

  Again, I pushed that fear down and away.

  Reaching out, I went to touch her arm, but she yanked out of reach. That stabbed at me, a cold shard that made me sweat. She doesn't even want me to touch her.

  “Just forget it,” she muttered, stomping out of the room. I could hear her heels as she went up the stairs.

  Baffled, unsure what to do, I leaned against the counter. The pasta box, bumped by my arm, tumbled to the floor.

  I didn't pick it up for a long while.

  ****

  Carlo found me when he stumbled home after two in the morning. I'd set myself up on the couch, no blanket or pillow to my name. I didn't need them anyway. It was too hot still in the apartment...

  And my mind was buzzing.

  “Hey,” he said, sitting down beside me without asking if it was alright. “Where's Bethany?”

  “Asleep upstairs,” I mumbled. She'd refused to talk to me when I'd tried several times. Finally, when I brought her a bowl of pasta, adorned in only salt and butter, she'd told me to take it away.

  She'd told me to leave her alone.

  Ever since, I'd been sitting downstairs, the bowls of pasta growing cold on the coffee table.

  Carlo spotted the food, I saw his eyes go there curiously. Whatever his reasoning, he didn't ask about them. “So. You guys fighting?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You wa
nt to talk about it?”

  Talking about it will make it real...

  “Come on,” he said gently, breaking through my cold funk. “I'm your friend, man. This is my job. It doesn't pay well, sure, but...”

  I almost smiled, yet my mouth felt too heavy to manage it. “I think... Carlo, I think she might be planning to break up with me.”

  He was silent, considering me with his inky eyes. It made me uncomfortable, I was used to him having something on the tip of his tongue to say.

  Shaking his head, he scratched his cheek , looking away. “Jeez.”

  That made me laugh, though the sound was hollow. “Jeez? That's what you have to say?”

  “Sorry, sorry. I'm a little dulled, been drinking. Honestly though, Deacon, when you say it out loud like that... are you actually shocked?”

  “Of course I am,” I said stiffly, eyeing my hands. My fingers bent in, making fists. “How can I not be?”

  “I don't know, she just... you already know how I feel about it. I think the world of you, Deacon. You're one of the most stand-up guys I know... You deserve someone who isn't so...”

  “So? So what? What is she?”

  “She's not ready to take a risk, I think,” he said. “No offense, but you're not stable right now. You don't have a job, you're as bad off as me. Most people, they can't handle that.”

  “We've been together since high school,” I mumbled, unable to look at him. “She knows me, she understands why I'm out here. Risks... please, she doesn't want to take a chance out here with me? You can't be right.”

  He just shrugged, studying the tension on my face. I tried to ease it away, but it didn't want to budge. “Carlo, come on. Why wouldn't she stick it out with me, after everything?”

  “I don't know, I really don't. Like I said, I'm just guessing here. But to me, based on how I saw her treat you before, she expects a lot out of you.” He opened his mouth, hesitating. I knew his next comment would be one that would sting.

  “Deacon, I don't think you're what she wants.”

  My mouth was dry, it tasted like cardboard. Standing on stiff legs, I picked up the bowls of pasta. “You're wrong,” I whispered, unable to find enough strength for the volume. “You have to be wrong.”