The Complete If I Break Series

by Portia Moore

  “Didn’t you need to talk to me about something?” she says, remembering her other reason for being here.

  “Yeah. I’ll walk you to your car,” I say begrudgingly. Lauren smiles at us, amused. She probably thinks we’re six year olds.

  “Be right back,” I say, pushing my weight off the sofa and following Lisa out.

  “Later, Mrs. Scott,” she says to my mom as we pass through the kitchen on the way to the back door.

  “Goodbye, Lisa,” my mom says before we’re out the door.

  “So what’s up, Chuck?” Lisa says as we walk around to her car.

  “Why’d you do that in there, Lisa?” I ask her, irritated. She rolls her eyes.

  “What did I do?” she asks as if she has no clue.

  “Putting me on the spot in front of Lauren. You know I don’t play anymore.”

  She waves me off nonchalantly. “Grow up, Chris. Really, what are you, a twelve year old with a crush?” she says, mocking me.

  “Forget it. I’ll talk to you later,” I say angrily, walking away from her.

  “Ugh, Chris, come on. I didn’t think it was that big a deal. You used to love to play. She wants to hear you play. We get to have a few drinks and a night out in the process. Most people at Ardeby’s are so drunk on Saturdays that you could play a dying cat and they’d be into it,” she says, blocking my path.

  I frown at her.

  “Come on. You wanted to talk to me about something. What is it?” she says sincerely.

  “Can you be normal Lisa and not over-the-top Lisa,” I plead, and she grins.

  “Normal Lisa it is,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “Okay. Let’s get in your car.”

  Once we’re in, she looks over at me expectantly. I’m not nervous. Lisa doesn’t make me nervous. She’s one of the least judgmental people I know, but to admit out loud what’s been going on with me is still scary. It’s the same reason why I haven’t called the doctor Aidan suggested. I have to do it eventually. If Lauren starts talking to a therapist before I do, that’s really going to make it look like I’m not taking this seriously, and I am.

  It just seems like a big step, trusting someone with my mental wellness. It didn’t go so well the last time but this is Lisa, my best friend since preschool. We don’t have any secrets.

  “I’ve started to remember things,” I say.

  I look over at her and instead of her normal reassuring smile, her expression is tense.

  “Remember what, exactly?” she asks quietly and I feel myself grimace.

  “Why do you look so nervous? You’re making me nervous.” I laugh, and she shakes her head, covering her face.

  “Sorry. OK, go ahead,” she says, and gives me a reassuring smile.

  “Things about Cal and Lauren,” I admit, and her smile widens.

  “Anything good?” she says suggestively.

  I frown.

  “I mean like how you guys met, when you got married. Get your mind out of the gutter, Chris,” she says the last part teasingly.

  “No. They don’t seem like milestones or anything. Well, I think one is the first time he told her he loved her,”

  “Awww,” Lisa feigns a swoon and I try to ignore her. I tell her about the bits and pieces I’ve seen and about the memory I had last night. She listens attentively and doesn’t interrupt. She’s quiet until I look over at her and wait for her reaction.

  “How do you know what you’re seeing is real?” she asks. That’s the million dollar question. “It feels real. So real that when I’m awake, it’s hard to tell the difference, but I don’t really know.”

  “There’s only one way to know,” she says, and I know what she’s going to say before she even says it.

  “You have to ask Lauren,” she says it anyway.

  “I don’ think that’s a good idea,” I say with a sigh.

  “I don’t want to confuse her or send her mixed signals,” I admit.

  “Oh, but giving her cooking lessons and talking on the phone with her for hours definitely isn’t doing that.” She laughs sarcastically.

  “She told you that?” I ask, surprised.

  “She told me about the cooking thing. Your other best friend told me about the hours-long conversations,” she chuckles.

  Aidan’s like a freakin’ girl.

  “You don’t think I should teach her how to cook?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “Chris, you’re missing the point. I think you should do what you feel like doing. If these things are making you feel right, do them,” she says enthusiastically. It would be great advice, but when it comes to acting on impulses, Lisa is definitely not the person to ask for advice. She does whatever she wants and rarely thinks about the consequences.

  “I don’t want to send her the wrong message,” I say firmly.

  “What message are you trying to send, Chris? Because to be honest, I don’t think you know,” she laughs.

  “Now get out of my car before I really am late,” she says.

  “That’s it. No sage advice, no words of encouragement?” I ask, disappointed. She pauses for a moment and looks up as if she’s in deep thought.

  “Bacon cheeseburgers,” she says, and I look at her, confused.

  “What?”

  “You knock two meals out in one, bacon’s in the breakfast group and burgers in the lunch group.”

  I shake my head and get out of her car.

  Lisa says I’m confused, and I am. I’ve never been this confused in my whole life. It’s like I’m being pulled in two different directions, my thoughts fighting against one another. My mind is constantly changing. I spend the rest of the day with my dad, unloading the supplies my parents picked up from Denton. We end up working through dinner, silently frustrated with each other. By the time we’re finished, my mom and Lauren have already eaten dinner. My mom is in her room, tired from the day, and Lauren and Caylen in theirs. I shower and come down to eat dinner and see that my dad’s finishing up his meal. We both sit, eating quietly, not much conversation between us at all.

  I wonder if this is going to be our new normal. I hope not. I love my dad and at one time he was my best friend. But more and more, I feel this deep seed of resentment and contempt growing towards him. I thought I was over the fact that he kept the secret about my condition from me, but I still haven’t been able to shake it. I’ve forgiven my mom but it’s like there’s a barrier keeping me from doing the same with him and the advice he keeps trying to give me about Lauren is just making things worse.

  He gets up from the table and rinses his plate. He looks over at me as if he’s going to say something, but doesn’t. I want to talk to him but I don’t because I know he wouldn’t approve of what I’m about to do. After he’s left the room, I clean up my area and look in the fridge. There’s ground beef, eggs, bacon, lettuce, tomatoes and cheese. I take all the items out and set them up on the counter. The one piece of advice I did take from Lisa is the dish for our first cooking lesson, and, if things go okay, I’m going to tell Lauren that I’ve started to remember things.

  At least I think I’m starting to remember things. I am going to try to downplay the romantic aspect of what I remember as much as I can. I want to be her friend. Being her friend is okay. If I’m her friend, I can be there in the way she needs me to be. Being her friend won’t hurt Jenna, and if I’m her friend, the urges I have to be around her, to see her, hear her voice won’t make me feel so guilty.

  Lauren and I will be friends.

  Just like Lisa and I are friends.

  Jenna doesn’t like the fact that Lisa and I are friends, but it’s something she’s dealt with. I pull out my phone and text her to see if she’s up. I hope she is or I’m going to feel like an idiot with all of this stuff laid out. If she’s not, I’ll make a burger and take it for lunch tomorrow. I turn on the kitchen radio but low enough so it doesn’t disturb anyone else in the house or wake up Caylen. My phone alert goes off, it’s Lauren responding. I text her to see if she
’s ready. A few minutes go by and she walks into the kitchen, a curious smile on her face. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing a pink tank top with pink and black flannel pajama pants. She almost looks like a teenager, her face youthful and vibrant. She could easily pass for a senior at my school and she’s…I don’t know how old she is.

  “Hey,” she says, walking towards me. She eyes the ingredients on the table and lets out a laugh.

  “Meatloaf?” she asks. I scratch my head. Okay, this is going to be harder than I thought.

  “No. Bacon cheeseburgers,” I say nervously.

  “I was just kidding,” she says, flashing me a wide smile that makes my heart speed up.

  Lisa’s smile doesn’t make your heart speed up like this.

  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” I say, giving her a playful nudge with my elbow. I ignore the warm sensation that shoots through my body the moment I touch of her. I notice her face flushes but her expression doesn’t change.

  “Okay, we’ll start by washing our hands” I say, quickly distracting myself from the moment. I turn on the water and hand her the soap after squeezing some out for myself. We both scrub fairly quickly and head to the counter where the ingredients are.

  “Now this may sound stupid, but remember, I’m a novice,” she says nervously.

  I lean on the counter. “There are no stupid questions,” I assure her and she laughs nervously.

  “What are the eggs for?” she asks timidly, and I try to hide my smile.

  “It makes the meat stick together,” I explain, putting half the ground beef in her bowl and the other half in mine.

  “Do we have to use eggs?”

  “Uhm. You don’t have to unless you’re adding bread crumbs,” I explain, and she frowns.

  “Okay. No eggs.” I laugh. I take the carton of eggs and put them back in the fridge.

  “This is going to be your simple, on-the-go, less-than-twenty-minutes burger, okay?” I say playfully, and she nods.

  “As you get better and become familiar with different seasonings and all of that, you can add more things, but for now, let's keep it simple.”

  “I like simple,” she interjects.

  “Salt, pepper. I like onions, and you’re good to go.”

  “Sounds good,” she says, seemingly interested. I take a half of an onion I’d already chopped and pour some in my bowl of meat.

  “Onions?” I ask.

  She nods giving me the okay.

  “So, you’re basically going to take the meat and pat it into a circle, like what a burger looks like. I’ll show you with mine,” and I start to shape the meat as she watches intently.

  “Now you try.” She picks up the meat and starts to shape it.

  “Mine doesn’t look as neat as yours.” She pouts. Her patty is cracked on all sides.

  “Instead of just smashing it, press down in the middle and in from the sides,” I clarify. She takes another handful of beef, starts to mold it and it looks exactly the same as her last one did.

  “I told you, I suck at this,” she says disappointed. I take a hunk of my ground beef and show her again how I did it, this time more slowly. She tilts her head watching me again and after a minute she picks up her oddly-shaped hamburger, adding more meat to it and tries again.

  It’s way too much meat. I finally take her hands and show her. She pauses when I do, we both do, but her laugh breaks the tension that’s mounting between us.

  That’s definitely a friend laugh.

  She finally manages to make two pretty perfect patties.

  “Spectacular,” I say, and she takes a small bow.

  “So the only thing next is to season them,” and she nods. “It really only takes a few pinches of salt and pepper on each side.” I demonstrate on mine. She grabs the bowl of salt and pepper I measured out earlier and does the same, mimicking the number of pinches I used. I can’t help but grin.

  “Now you can fry these on the stove or cook them in the oven. I think baking’s probably easier for you to start off,” I say, grabbing the baking pan.

  “You put foil down on the pan.” I grab a can of cooking spray. “Spray it so it doesn’t stick, you could use butter if you don’t have this.” She nods. I put the burgers on the sheet and in the oven. “You set it for 350 degrees and you’re done,”

  “What’s the second pan for?” she asks. I hand her the pan and foil.

  “Do that just the way I did. You can tear off eight pieces and lay them on the pan.”

  She lines the pan with the foil and I hand her the block of bacon. When she starts to tear off the bacon she makes a grossed-out face and I laugh.

  “Okay,” she says when she’s done. I take the tray and pop it in the oven.

  “Depending on how thin the bacon is, you’d have to keep a closer eye on it so it doesn’t burn but since this bacon’s pretty thick it can cook for about the same amount of time as the burgers." She nods and then smiles.

  “That wasn’t bad,” she says excitedly.

  “You’re a natural,” I joke.

  “I wouldn’t go that far, and I had your help,” she says modestly.

  “We’re not done yet. You have to actually taste it,” I remind her. We both sit down at the kitchen table and wait for the food to finish cooking.

  “I appreciate this. I know you work with your dad early in the mornings. You should be asleep now,” she says, fidgeting with the strings on her pajama pants.

  “I’m used to getting up early. I don’t mind,” I tell her as my eyes gradually drift down to her chest. I immediately look away. She’s not dressed in anything revealing but this is the least amount of clothes I’ve seen her in. Well, right in front of me. I’m reminded of the memories I’ve been having. I’m trying to think of the best way to bring it up, which one to start with, and how much to leave out.

  “I wanted to ask you something,” I say, trying to hide the nervousness in my voice. Her focus shifts from her pajama pants to me.

  “Actually, I wanted to tell you something and ask you something,” I say, clearing my throat, my nerves winning out.

  “I—I think I might have remembered something—one of Cal’s memories.” Her eyes widen, she immediately seems more vibrant and alert.

  The sound of his name does that to her. I rethink the idea of telling her. At first it was that I didn’t want her to hold on to something that’s long gone, to fan flames that need to be put out, but this time I feel, well I think I’m irritated, but that wouldn’t make sense. I have no reason to be irritated…unless I’m jealous.

  “What did you remember?” she asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look in her eyes and see the hope in them. There’s a difference in her.

  “Not a lot. Just me or Cal talking to Dexter,” I say, and I see the hope drain from her expression. She looks down at her lap and back up at me, apparently trying to hide her disappointment. A part of me feels like a jerk, the other part of me is relieved.

  “That’s great,” she says, a small smile on her face.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “They had an argument.” I know her next question is going to make me tell the truth. Should I give her a little of her hope back or leave things out and possibly ruin her night?

  I don’t want to ruin her night but I don’t want to see her eyes light up like that again.

  Well, I do, just not for him.

  Now there’s no question about it. I’m jealous and that is one of the worst things I’ve ever felt.

  “About what?”

  Do I tell the truth or a white lie? I try to weigh the benefits of both, but it’s hard to think clearly when her hazel eyes are looking into mine, trying to read them, possibly searching, still looking for him.

  “About you.” The truth wins out. I can’t lie to her when she’s looking at me like that. I’m already hiding things. If she asks me something directly, I’ll tell her the truth. I wouldn’t want her to lie to me so I won’t do it to her. Lying and omi
ssion is what got us into this and it’s scary how easy it’s becoming for me to want to do the same.

  She looks taken aback.

  “Why were they arguing about me?” she asks, a little puzzled. I might as well just get it out.

  “Dexter didn’t want him to marry you.” She’s quiet after I say that. She laughs to herself and rests her head in her hand.

  “That’s not surprising. It seems most people didn’t,” she says sadly.

  “Well Cal was pretty adamant. He didn’t give a shit about what Dexter thought.” The words come out of my mouth so fast I don’t even realize what I said until afterwards, but they make Lauren smile. She looks like she feels better.

  “He didn’t give a shit what most people thought,” she mutters.

  She likes that about him. I sort of envy that; I’ve never been able to feel that way. I do care what people think, especially the people I love and care about, sometimes to a fault.

  “The thing is, I still don’t know if what I saw was real or a dream,” I say, reminding myself of why I even brought this up to her in the first place.

  “Of course, I mean, how could you?” she says, matter-of-factly.

  “Their argument was at some type of event. I remember seeing a banner in the background. It said “Crestfield Cares.” There were grey and black balloons,” I say hesitantly.

  She sits up and starts to think and shakes her head. “I don’t know, it could’ve been. We went to so many events for their company. Some I didn’t even go to,” she says apologetically. I guess I’m going to have to be more specific. I let out a sigh.

  “You were there,” I admit, and she perks up a bit.

  “The rest of everything was kind of hazy.” I smudge the truth. “But I remember you were wearing a grey dress and he drove you somewhere near water after the party.” After a few seconds her eyes light up in recognition and she grins. I can tell she’s fighting a wide smile.

  “Yeah. I remember that night,” she says with a smirk. “It was a company party he took me to a couple of weeks before he proposed.” Her smirk turns into a full-on smile then she starts to blush.

  Yup, she remembers that night.