Once and for All

by Sarah Dessen

  “That’s the thing, though.” He exhaled, looking down. “I wasn’t trying to get what it was about him. I just felt that finally, maybe, I was starting to understand you.”

  Oh, God, I thought, and just as suddenly felt a pang of pure fear, a reaction to this idea of opening myself up again to all the things that could then hurt me. Lightning didn’t strike twice, except when it did. How could I allow myself back into that place of sunset walks and once and for all without expecting what had already followed? It was scarier than anything. Except maybe not doing it, at all.

  “Excuse me—”

  “Around back!” Ambrose hollered, turning to face the crowd making its way from the lot. “The reception is in the backyard!”

  “You’re yelling at the guests,” I said quietly.

  “Sorry!” he shouted. Then he looked at me again, his face serious. “I wish you had stayed there, in front of me, that night. That you hadn’t taken off.”

  I wish for a lot of things, I wanted to say, and yet I’d told him otherwise, and now it seemed wrong to change my mind. “But I did. And now . . .”

  I didn’t finish this sentence, and he didn’t either. We just stood there, guests streaming past, following the crowd ahead of them in, finally, the proper direction. In the night there would be dancing dogs, clowns, giddy toasts, and teary good-byes. All of this ahead, yet to unfold. Beginnings were always the best.

  “I’m sorry,” I said to him. “About not telling you. And leaving. And everything else.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” he replied. He swallowed, looking across the lot. “Next time I’ll know to say how I feel first. Not bury the lead.”

  “And I,” I added, “will be upfront about the things that really matter. No surprises.”

  We looked at each other again. A man in a bow tie behind Ambrose paused, looking around him, then started to follow the path, going the right way.

  “Well,” he said after a moment. “The good news is we will be really good to whomever we date next. You’re welcome.”

  “Right back at you,” I said, then smiled. “Take care, Ambrose.”

  “You, too,” he replied. “Bye, Louna.”

  Then I walked away, across the lot to my car, and that was that. A proper good-bye. No one dashing away or leaving angry. No yelling or sudden, shattering disappearances, with everything left unfinished. It was new for me, as so much had been with Ambrose from the start, and it felt like this should make me feel better, more at peace. But as I climbed behind the wheel, I began to cry.

  After all that, I needed something before seeing Ben. I decided it was coffee.

  Jump Java was quieter in the evening, and luckily Leo wasn’t working. There wasn’t even a line. But Phone Lady was still there, at a table for one, talking away.

  “Tall latte with extra foam,” I told the barista, an Asian girl with a cute pixie haircut. As she nodded, turning to start making it, I decided I’d have a doughnut, too. You want what you want, and sometimes, it’s sugar.

  “That’s just the thing,” I could hear Phone Lady saying, her voice louder than ever in the less crowded space. “I never thought I would be dealing with all this. I had everything worked out, down to the minute. Yeah. Best laid plans . . .”

  I looked at the clock by the espresso machine: it was just after seven. I was supposed to go by Jumbo Smoothie, pick up Ben, and then we’d head to dinner with some of his friends before hitting yet another party. Normally I liked the idea of a whole night still ahead of me. But right at that moment, I felt tired. And Phone Lady was still talking.

  “No, I’m thinking I need to focus on me. You know, self-care. Everything’s been so hard lately, and I just can’t devote time to another person. Right?”

  The pixie barista turned back to me, sliding my cup across the counter. I was just about to ask for that doughnut when the door banged open. A group of women in workout wear carrying yoga mats came in, all talking at once.

  “Anything else?” she asked me.

  “Um, no,” I said, glancing behind me. Too many people in too small a space—the doughnut could wait. “Just this.”

  As she rang me up, the door opened again and more women in spandex and NAMASTE T-shirts entered, clearly from the same class. Distantly, I could still hear Phone Lady, which meant she had to be practically shouting.

  I paid for my drink, grabbed a lid, and started to wind my way to the door through the ladies now lined up behind me, dodging flip-flopped feet and yoga bags. Despite my efforts, someone bumped me from behind just as I was passing Phone Lady’s table, sending me stumbling into the back of her chair. When I hit it, she jerked forward, her phone falling from her grip and clattering across the floor.

  “Oh, God, sorry,” I said, putting down my drink on an adjacent table and going to fetch it. “That was all my fault.”

  “It’s okay, I’ll get it,” she said quickly, right on my heels.

  “No, let me,” I said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  She was still behind me, though, as I reached the phone, bending down to pick it up. “Don’t . . .” she said.

  I knew the second I held it in my hand something was weird. It wasn’t just the screen, cracked, black and dead, or the way it felt cold in my hand. You can just tell when something doesn’t work, or never did. All that talking, all those days. But no one was ever there on the other end.

  She was still standing right behind me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my back before I slowly turned around. “Here,” I said quietly, holding it out to her. “Sorry again.”

  “It’s fine,” she said, grabbing it from me. “Don’t worry about it.”

  And then she was walking away, back to her table, her dead phone in her hand. Maybe she put it back to her ear right away, or waited until I was gone. I wouldn’t know. I was too sad to look.

  CHAPTER

  26

  “WHAT DO you think?” my mom asked, moving the daisies a bit more to the center. “Perfect, right?”

  It was. All of it, from the table set out on the back deck with our best wedding linens, votives, and vases, to the spread of stuffed olives, spanakopita, and pimiento cheese, my favorites and William’s specialties. For dinner, there would be thick steaks topped with onion rings and mashed potatoes that were mostly butter and cream, just like I’d requested.

  “It’s great,” I said, even as she continued to putter, moving a fork a millimeter to one side, then back again. Through the kitchen window, I could see William, his apron on, standing with Matt at the kitchen island. As it was for Ben and John, this dinner would be Matt’s first formal introduction to our little family, such as it was, and it felt both strange and nice to see our numbers double after all this time.

  “You’re nervous,” I observed, as my mom moved the fork again.

  “Nonsense,” she replied, not looking at me. “I just want everything to be perfect for my only daughter’s birthday party.”

  “Sure you do,” I said, as she again glanced around the house to the driveway, where John was due any moment. “You know I’m going to like him, right?”

  “Oh, I know,” she said, although she didn’t exactly sound fully confident. “It’s just my first boyfriend in eighteen years. Kind of a big deal.”

  “Huge,” I agreed. She shot me a look. “I mean in a good way! I’m going to be gone soon. You can’t only hang out with William. Especially if he’s part of a couple now, too.”

  With this, we both looked into the kitchen again, where William was pouring glasses of wine, one for him, one for Matt. He must have sensed our attention, because he turned, blushing slightly, then looked flustered. Matt, however, waved cheerily. I waved back.

  “To be honest, I never thought something like this would happen for me,” my mom said now, coming around to stand beside me. “You just get to the point where you think, well, that’
s over, you know? That part of my life. I was okay with it. I had what I thought I needed: you, and William, my work. It all made sense.”

  “But maybe,” I said, reciting what I now knew to be one of her favorite lines from Workholes, “we don’t always know what we need.”

  She beamed at me, proud. “Exactly.”

  William slid open the glass door, sticking his head out. “We’re on target for everything to come together by six, just so you know. You both ready for the guests?”

  “You make it sound so formal,” I said.

  “It’s a celebration!” His phone beeped; he pulled it out, glancing at it. “And as such, I think you might need shoes. I don’t cook for barefoot people.”

  “I have flip-flops in the kitchen,” I said.

  “This is a party,” he insisted. “Throw me a bone. Please?”

  I looked at my mom, who shrugged so innocently it was obvious she was in on whatever he was up to. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” he said, as his phone beeped again. “Just want everything to be perfect.”

  My mom looked at me. “You might as well humor him. When he gets like this, there’s really no other option.”

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go get some real shoes.”

  As I started inside, passing Matt, who was arranging cheeses on a platter, I heard William say something to my mom, his voice low. She replied, also quietly. Thick as thieves. Some things never change.

  I climbed the stairs two at a time, glancing at the clock as I went. In my closet, I scanned the various options lined up against the wall, trying to decide which ones went best with what I had on. Then I saw the black sandals under that same colored dress, their beaded straps folded neatly around them. If I really was moving on, I thought, it was time to do it in all ways, not just some. I stepped closer, picking them up, and slid my bare foot into one. It still fit perfectly, the worn spot at the toe from all the walking that night instantly familiar, even as I’d long forgotten it.

  I’d just finished buckling them when I heard voices outside my open window. Walking over, I expected to see Ben, or maybe Jilly and Michael Salem, who were also joining us. But the yard was empty, whoever had arrived already out of sight under the front porch overhang. When I headed back downstairs to greet them, though, there was only William, shutting the front door. When he saw me, he jumped, startled.

  “You’re supposed to be upstairs,” he said, shifting what I now saw was a box in his arms, on the top the name of a bakery just down from the office.

  “It only takes so long to pick out shoes,” I said. “What’s that?”

  He looked down at the box as if he’d never seen it before. “This? Oh. Nothing.”

  “Looks like a cake,” I pointed out.

  “It might be a cake,” he said. “It could also be any number of other things that come in boxes.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Looks like a cake,” I said again.

  “Fine.” He sighed, shaking his head and looking at the ceiling. “If you must know—”

  “I must,” I said. I always got such a kick out of seeing William squirm. It was like the best birthday present ever.

  “—I made you a chocolate chip cheesecake last night for your birthday. It was perfect, until I tried to put it into the car to bring here and dropped it all over the console.”

  “I love your chocolate chip cheesecake,” I said.

  He gave me a pained look. “Are you trying to make me feel awful?”

  “William.” I smiled. “It’s fine. I love any kind of cake, you know that. I’m just glad we’re all together.”

  “Well, this is from Sweet Tooth, so it’s going to be good,” he pointed out, nodding at the box. “Thank goodness Ambrose was just leaving the office and could run out and get one. He’s a lifesaver. I just hope he has good taste in desserts. I left it all up to him.”

  “Ambrose?” I said. “That’s who was just here?”

  “Well, you weren’t supposed to know,” he said, “but clearly my shoe subterfuge was as lame as I suspected.”

  I turned, looking out the glass panel by the door. The street was quiet, no one in sight. What did I want to see, anyway? We’d wrapped things up as neatly as could be expected after all our messy threads. End of story. Once and for all.

  “William?” Matt called out from the kitchen. “I’m wondering about crackers or baguette with this artisanal blue. Can you weigh in?”

  “Coming,” he replied, setting the box down on the hallway table just as the doorbell rang. Immediately, my mom came inside from the back deck, smoothing her hair. I took a look through the glass: standing there was a dark-haired man in a sport jacket, holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

  Behind me, William and Matt were huddled over the cheese plate, their voices low. I heard William laugh, the sound a comfort as always, then looked at my mom again, the smile that broke across John’s face as she opened the door to face him. So much happiness at once; it was almost too much, like a bright light that made me squint.

  This was how it was supposed to be, I thought, as I walked over to the Sweet Tooth box, looking down at it. Carefully, I eased it open, immediately smelling sugar: the cake was round and chocolate frosted, dotted with white icing roses. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LOUNA, it said in an arc of perfect lettering on the top. And below, smaller: MAKE A WISH.

  I blinked, immediately feeling a lump rise in my throat. I left it all up to him, William had told me. I thought of that night with the candles, how frustrated I’d been by Ambrose’s insistence on blowing them out his way, and then of the wish wall at Maya and Roger’s wedding, the second chances I’d asked for. I’d made so many wishes, though, that hadn’t come true.

  My mom was coming down the hallway now, John in tow: I saw she was holding his hand, her cheeks pink, happier than I’d ever seen her. “This is Louna,” she said, taking my arm. “Louna, this is John Sheldon.”

  “It’s lovely to meet you,” I said, as the doorbell rang again.

  “Happy birthday.” Up close, I saw what I’d thought was one big bouquet was actually two smaller ones. He handed me a bunch of daisies, then gave my mother the other, gorgeous, frilly peonies. Her favorite. Nice. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Of course,” I said, as the doorbell rang again. “One second, let me just get this. I think it’s my boyfriend.”

  As I left them, I realized this was the first time I’d referred to him this way out loud. It felt strange in my mouth, in a way I hadn’t expected, something I tried to swallow as I went down the hallway to the door. When I opened it, Ben was standing there with a bunch of balloons, more flowers, and what was clearly a tennis racket, wrapped in pink paper decorated with hearts. He had his phone in his hand and snapped a picture of my face before I could even manage to smile.

  “Hey,” I said, blinking. “Is this the surprise?”

  “One of them,” he replied, stepping forward and kissing me on the cheek. No dive bomb: I saw it coming, and didn’t flinch a bit. “Sorry I’m late. There was all this traffic. A dog darted out in the road and some guy followed and got hit trying to grab it. Total gridlock.”

  Instantly, I felt cold. “A dog? Was . . . is everyone okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, holding out the flowers to me. Roses this time, dark red. “It had just happened when I drove by. All I saw was a bandana in the road.”

  He stepped past me then, inside, but I just stood there in the open door, frozen to the spot. Behind me, I could hear my mother, William, and their dates talking, the happy sounds of people meeting who have something important in common. The world always goes on, even when your own part of it stops. I knew this better than anyone. I was aware, too, how quickly you could lose the things you thought would be around forever, or at least long enough for you to change your mind.

  “Louna?” Ben ask
ed from behind me. “You coming?”

  MAKE A WISH, the cake had read, and right then I knew what mine was. Please, God, I thought, as I stepped over the threshold, hurrying down the stairs. When I got to the sidewalk, I reached down, unbuckling my shoes. Then I left them behind as I ran, barefoot, toward the growing sound of sirens.

  At first, all I could see were red and blue lights, flashing. Traffic had slowed to a crawl in both directions, a single officer trying to wave people through one lane at a time. On both sides of the street, people had gathered, either alone or in clumps, eerily silent as they watched the paramedics working on someone by the curb.

  My heart was in my mouth, the beat filling my ears, as I rounded the corner, dodging around two women with strollers. One had a hand to her mouth, the other her baby in her arms, its chubby cheek pressed against her own. “Careful,” she called out to me, her voice sharp; part admonishment, part warning. But I’d been that way all this time, and it hadn’t changed a thing. Maybe it was better to barrel through life, breaking fragile things and catching on every jagged edge. Neat or messy, calm or crazy, I still ended up in this same place.

  Finally, I reached the intersection, stumbling to a stop. I was vaguely aware of my feet hurting, skin split in places as I stood on the curb, scanning the stopped traffic all around me. Emergencies shouldn’t feel the same, with similar colors and noises, when each one is so unique, all its own. I thought of myself all those months ago, standing in the emptying hallway at school, gradually more and more alone as I stood on the edge of knowing and not, a place I’d later tell myself I would have returned to a million times over if I could. But now, I realized it was really no better, that uncertainty. Even when there’s still hope, it’s hard to see, especially with tears in your eyes.

  “Miss!” I heard as I stepped off the curb, in between two cars. I could feel the heat coming off them, the warmth of the pavement under my feet, one of which was definitely bleeding now. A policeman blurred in my side vision, still yelling at me. “You can’t go there. Turn back!”