“Your wish is my command.”
“How was the night with Jesse?” Ava asked. She was stirring her cup of coffee with a thin straw, already buzzed from the Kahlua she’d spiked it with. We were sitting in the campus lunchroom, scoping out the college guys on their way to and from class. Neither of us were students. I’d failed out twice, and Ava had never shown a desire to go. But college meant hot guys, and we were all over that, specifically at noontime every Friday.
“It was okay.” I sipped my drink, wishing I had something stronger than a vanilla latte. Like a glass of vodka, maybe. “It was… fine.”
“Are you in love with him?” Ava teased. She leaned forward, her elbows supporting her chin in her hands. A football jock passed us, his eyes flicking toward our table, his gaze on Ava. I watched, amused, as he nearly collided with the wall before vanishing around the corner. I couldn’t blame him. Dressed in a denim mini skirt and a sequined top that accentuated her cleavage, Ava was an eye-catcher. The slender Latino legs and dark rolling hair helped matters. Not that she needed any help in that department. I wasn’t ugly, but I was no Ava.
“I’m madly in love with him,” I said. “He’s everything I ever dreamed of. Cheap hoop earrings and all.”
“Could you imagine what Carter would think of that?” Ava said with a chuckle. “He’d have a stroke.”
“I know. I’d never hear the end of it.” A girl hanging on the arm of her nerdy boyfriend passed us, making sure to sneer at Ava as she walked by. Ava only smiled and waved, batting her thick eyelashes at the girl’s boyfriend. He looked away, face flaming red, and I watched the girl sock her man in the arm with her fist. “Does she know you?” I asked. Ava laughed.
“Her boyfriend does.”
“You’re bad,” I said. “You’re really bad.” She smirked and leaned back in her seat, crossing her legs.
“Baby, life is too short to be good.”
“Touché.” I raised my coffee cup and toasted her. Across the lunchroom, a small group of guys came in through the side doors, talking loudly and laughing about something. Ava and I watched them, content with the show.
“Oh, hey,” Ava said after a moment. “Isn’t that…” I turned my attention back to the group of guys, and before I could acknowledge her question, the person she was referring to spotted us, waved, and came over.
“Khloe, right?” Ty said. “Wow. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I said, caught off guard. “I didn’t know you were a student.” I felt lame suddenly, a total loser. Not only was this man a paramedic, but he was also in school while I was bartending during the week and getting drunk on the weekends. Ouch.
“Oh yeah, I’m almost graduated, in fact,” Ty said kindly. He didn’t seem to care that his group of friends had already vanished out the door without him.
“What are you going for?” Ava asked. I knew she didn’t care, and I wished she’d shut up so he wouldn’t feel obligated to stand there and make small talk with us.
“I’m pre-med,” Ty said, and his eyes met mine. All at once, I felt my entire face flush with heat. How stupid I must have looked to him at the bar going on and on about my lost dream of becoming a surgeon.
“Of course, you are,” I muttered. Neither of them seemed to hear me.
“Listen, Khloe, I have to get to my next class, but do you maybe want to go out sometime?” Ty asked. I looked up from my drink, startled, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. I had assumed, if anything, that he had a girlfriend to do that with.
“Um,” I said, and Ava kicked me under the table, sending shooting pain up my shin. “I’m not really in a good place,” I told him. “In fact, I’m still trying to get my life together. I’m not sure if now is the right time.”
“Oh,” Ty said. He straightened up. He was still smiling, but not as widely. “I understand. That’s okay.” He took a step back, lifting his hand with a slight wave. “Maybe I’ll see you guys around.”
“Khloe!” Ava hissed as I watched him walk away. “You’re an idiot.”
“What?” I turned back to her, trying to push Ty’s smiling face far from my thoughts. “I’m not an idiot.”
“He’s totally crazy for you, and you won’t even let him take you on a date?” she snapped. I sighed and sipped my coffee.
“I’m not his type, Ava,” I said. “He just doesn’t know it yet. And besides, I don’t need a guy in my life. They’re like an anchor that never stops dragging you down.”
“But he’s a doctor,” Ava said pointedly as if that was the only thing in the world that mattered. “Doctors are rich.”
“He’s not a doctor,” I said. “He’s a pre-med student.” I looked back over my shoulder to see if I could spot him again, but he was already gone. “No men,” I said. “I don’t need them.”
“Really?” said Ava. “Because it seems to me you were pretty quick sliding out of your panties for Jesse.”
“Jesse isn’t my boyfriend,” I said. “He’s just…”
“Your booty call?” Ava asked, and I glared at her.
“Better a booty call than a boyfriend.”
“I’m just saying.” Ava raised her hands, palms forward as if surrendering. “When a guy like Ty hits on a girl like you, Khloe, that’s a good time just to take it.”
“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said but laughed. Ava had no problem telling it like it was. “He’s better off without me. I’m not exactly a saint.” Ava shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t pursue the conversation further.
“Do you ever think about going back to school?” she asked instead, looking pensive. “Getting your GED and signing up for classes here?”
I sighed and sipped at my latte. Bland. Too bland. Turned off, I pushed it aside, wondering if I could swipe a sip of Ava’s spiked coffee.
“I hated high school,” I admitted. “I don’t know how college would be any different.”
“It’s lame,” Ava muttered. “A whole bunch of stuck-up snobs waltzing around campus like they’re better than everyone else. It doesn’t seem worth it to me.” I couldn’t help it. I rolled my eyes.
“As opposed to what?” I asked. “Sitting around the house drinking booze and getting high?”
“Well, I enjoy it.” Ava laughed, but I didn’t find the humor. Despite my desire to drink and pop pills, I wasn’t an idiot. I knew it wasn’t good. But admitting it wasn’t good and actually quitting were two very different things.
“Carter wanted me to go back to high school and graduate with him,” I said. “He pushed and pushed for it.”
“He wasn’t your parent, Khloe,” Ava said. “It wasn’t up to him.”
“You’re right,” I said. “But he was my family. He only ever wanted what was best for me.” She shrugged, disinterested. Ava wasn’t exactly an advocate for the best interest of other people, mainly, just for herself. Everyone else was just kind of there.
“If you had enrolled in school, what would you want to study?” she asked.
“Nursing. And then eventually, medical school.” I thought of Ty. “Funny how that worked out, huh?”
“Okay.” Ava raised her hands, questioning. “So, do it.”
“It’s not that easy,” I said.
“Make it that easy, chica.” She leaned forward again, her eyes meeting mine. “This is America. I have faith in you. Get your GED and get into college.” Suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the serious tone the conversation had taken, I turned away from her to scope out the place, changing the subject.
“I brought Carter’s journal,” I said. “I take it everywhere with me. It’s been hard to read. I miss him.”
“I know you do.” Ava reached across the table and rested her hand gently on top of mine. It was rare to see her express sympathy, so when she did, I had to soak it up while I could. “Will you read some to me?”
“Do you even want to hear it?” I asked, and she shrugged.
�
�He might have been a little shit-head, Khloe, but he was still our friend.” This, I knew, was true. Despite the way Ava and Carter had locked horns, he still cared about her. I knew Ava was a difficult one to befriend, but he’d managed to squirm his way into her life just by being himself, and she’d almost been okay with it.
“All right,” I agreed. “I’ll read some.” I pulled the leather-bound journal from my bag and rested it on the table, letting my fingers run over the faded top. Ava nodded her head, encouraging me, and I opened it and began to read.
January 1, 2015
Sometimes, I don’t understand what’s happening to me. I don’t know where these feelings come from or why. I was born into a God-fearing family, I go to church every Sunday, and yet somehow, there’s still something wrong with me.
I want to tell Khloe about it, but I’m afraid she might not understand. I’m the one who’s supposed to be support for her. What would she think of me? What would she think if I told her the truth about me being a faggot, or gay? Different?
The last word caught in my throat, and I shut the book, my gaze meeting Ava’s. She stared at me, looking unusually caught off guard. For a moment, both of us were silent, trying to soak in what I’d just read.
“Did you know?” she asked finally. I swallowed and shook my head, unsure of how to react to this. I’d been under some naive impression that I knew everything about Carter’s life as he did mine. Apparently, I’d been brutally wrong.
“I had no idea. He never told me.”
“Well.” She leaned back in her chair and lit up a cigarette, drawing annoyed scowls and disgusted sneers from the students around us. I glanced at the clock knowing it was only a matter of time before we’d be kicked out. Again. “I mean, it’s not like I’m surprised or anything,” she said. I stared at her, slack-jawed.
“Really?”
“What?” Ava shrugged, looking like this was public and common information that I should have clearly known already.
“C’mon, Khloe,” she said. “No straight man takes care of a woman the way he took care of you.”
“We were best friends,” I muttered. Ava leaned forward, her arms on the table.
“You were friends, all right? Friends, not lovers. No straight man takes care of a woman as he did you.”
“We were friends!” My voice rose, calling the attention of more stares.
“Oh, shut up.” Ava rolled her eyes again, a signature move of hers. “Carter treated you like a Hermana. You were not his sister.” I dropped the journal onto the tabletop, still trying to wrap my head around this newfound information. This confession had hit me like a blow to the face. Carter had always been the ladies’ man, the guy who women wanted to date, and the men wanted to be friends with. He had been charismatic, charming, and handsome.
“Holy shit.” I stared at the book. “Carter was gay.”
“It explains so much,” said Ava. “When is the last time you remember him actively pursuing a woman?” I thought about it, my forehead wrinkling with effort.
“Fifth grade?” I said. “Yes. Elementary school.” Carter had been crushing hard on a fourteen-year-old in our school. Angela was her name. Big-boob Angela with the silky blonde pigtails and dimples. Stupid, stupid Angela.
“She’s pretty,” Carter said. We’d been at recess, swinging on the monkey bars, and my eleven-year-old old self had disagreed. Just because Angela spent her time painting her nails instead of digging in the dirt didn’t mean she was any prettier than I was.
“She’s a sourpuss,” I said bitterly. Giggling, Carter had reached over and mussed up my ugly brown hair.
“Don’t worry, Ladybug,” he said. “You’ll always be my best friend.”
“Forever?” I asked.
“Forever and ever,” he agreed. “You’re my BFF and Ever.”
It was Sunday morning when I called Melanie Drake, hoping I would be able to pick up Gracie for some one-on-one bonding time. For the first few days after Carter’s death, I hadn’t been able to face seeing the Drake family, especially Gracie, who looked so much like her brother, it hurt to see her. But eventually, I knew that enough was enough. The Drakes were my second family, and I couldn’t keep my self-pity up long enough to lose them. I had already lost Carter, I couldn’t lose Gracie too.
“She’d love to see you,” Melanie said. “Gracie needs you now more than ever.”
The ‘Khloe and Gracie Date’ had been a thing for as long as I could remember. From the moment Gracie had been old enough to bond with people, she’d been attached to my hip, often clutching my hand lovingly or drawing me pictures of stick figures standing under the yellow sun. She had also been close with Carter. She cherished and looked up to him for the great big brother he was. I didn’t know what kind of things went on in the mind of an eight-year-old, but I swore I would do what I could to ease her pain, and she could mine too.
“Double chocolate chip or raspberry twist?” I asked as Gracie climbed into the passenger seat of my car and buckled in. I waved to Melanie, who was observing from the front porch, a dim smile on her face. From where she stood, I could see the skin clinging to her bones. She looked frail. Sick. Pushing aside my sudden worry, I plastered on a smile for the kid and reached over to muss her hair.
“Double double chocolate chip,” she said. She sat up and waved to her mom, looking giddy with excitement. Her wavy blonde hair had been pulled back and woven into a French braid, allowing her flawless, eight-year-old features to glow.
“How about triple chocolate?” I asked her. “I’m feeling chocolatey today.” Gracie giggled.
“With sprinkles?”
“Sprinkles galore. So long as they’re rainbow.” I shifted Missus Betty into reverse and pulled out of the Drakes’ driveway. Gracie, despite all we’d been through, was glowing. How easy it must be for an eight-year-old to bounce back after something like the death of a family member. I wished it were like that for everyone. One day, when she was all grown up, she’d remember her two older brothers, the ones who had died too young, too early, and eventually, her memories of them would fade almost entirely.
“I’ve missed you, Khloe,” she said as we drove. She sat up straight and tall, her blue eyes flitting with excitement out the windshield. I wondered if she’d been out much since the funeral, but I doubted it. I could barely drag myself out of the house unless Ava was there to push and shove me out the door. I couldn’t imagine how difficult everything was for Melanie and David.
“I’ve missed you too, squirt,” I said. “How have things been at home?” Gracie shrugged, not seeming interested in much else besides ice cream and sprinkles. It was either that, or she was simply trying to avoid conversation about her brother. I couldn’t blame her. I was even a bit relieved. I couldn’t counsel her if I couldn’t even counsel myself.
“It’s okay,” she said. “Mommy and me do a lot of things at home together, like scrapbooking. Daddy stays down in the basement most of the time. Mom says he’s just tired and that we shouldn’t bother him.”
“Is he mean to you?” I asked her. Gracie shook her head.
“He’s not mean, Khloe. But he’s not nice, either. I don’t know. He’s just there.”
Sounds about right.
I flipped on the blinker and pulled into the local dive—a 60’s themed burger joint called House of Grooves. It had been Carter’s and my favorite place and Gracie’s, too. As she unbuckled herself to exit the car, she caught sight of the journal nestled between the two front seats. She hesitated, her eyes locked on the leather-bound book. I waited, wondering if she would say something about it. After another few trying seconds, she slid out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I followed.
“Two triple chocolate shakes with extra, extra chocolate,” I told the busty server with the fluffy wig. She smiled and winked, sashaying back behind the counter to whip up our treat. Gracie, I noticed, was no longer smiling. Instead, she had her eyes pinned on her hand, slowl
y chipping the glittery pink polish from the nails. “Are you okay?” I asked, sipping my water. She looked up at me, her blue eyes identical to Carter’s. I felt a chill course through me but pushed it aside. Such a serious look for an eight-year-old.
“Yes,” she sighed. She dropped her hands into her lap as the server set our milkshakes down for us. As soon as she was gone, Gracie met my eyes once more. “Did you read it?” she asked. I licked the whipped cream from the top of my ice cream, savoring the richness.
“Read what?”
I already knew. Gracie leaned forward as if preparing to tell me a secret.
“You know,” she whispered. “The journal.” She sat back in her seat and picked up her shake, sipping daintily through the straw. I cleared my throat, caught off guard, wondering how a conversation like this was about to be held with a child.
“Um. Some of it,” I admitted. Gracie nodded, seeming content with that answer. She dug into her creamy milkshake, licking the chocolate goop from the spoon. Appetite suddenly lost, I pushed mine to the side.
“Gracie,” I said carefully. “What exactly did Carter tell you about his journal?”
She shrugged, kicking her legs against the wooden base below the seat. “He just said he wanted you to have it. And read it.” As quickly as that, the conversation was dismissed. I leaned back in the booth, arms folded, watching Gracie devour her frozen treat. All at once, I realized that there was so much more to Carter’s suicide than I had originally thought.
Much, much more.
February 13, 2015
Khloe’s friend Ava came onto me today. I tried to let her down easy, but it was awkward for both of us. I think she thought I liked her.
“Oh, Christ.” I handed the journal to Ava, who was counting her pills. She tossed back three of the narcotics and took the book from me, her eyes reading over the entry. She dropped it back in my lap, her expression contorted with anger.
If I Fall Page 7
