I don’t know how I got home after that. I don’t remember. I remember BJ saying “finally” and I remember Tom putting his arm around me and pulling me away, and I remember the smell of him—patchouli, bergamot, lavender, oak moss—I think I was breathing him in, crying into his chest.
I had one of those sleeps where your head hits your pillow and then you’re gone. It was the crying, I think. I haven’t cried how I cried tonight in years. And the sleep acted for me almost like a momentary eraser.
Because then I woke up and it was morning.
Past morning, actually.
Tom’s lying next to me, watching me. His face looks quite sad, quite serious.
“Hey.” He gives a smile that’s really a frown.
“Hi.”
He brushes some hair from my face. “How are you feeling?”
The question feels foreign, and for a second I wonder what happened—what did I miss—why would I be feeling bad? I force my mind back—past the big sleep, past the car ride home, through the crying—why was I crying so much? This happens in a matter of seconds. Why was I crying? BJ.
The answer’s always BJ.
What does that say about us?
There is no us.
I grab Tom’s hand, turning it over in mine to inspect it. He got in two solid punches—a couple of grazed knuckles and it’s a bit swollen.
I sigh. “Sorry—”
He shakes his head.
“I’ll get you some ice—”
“No, I’m fine—”
I ignore him and kiss him quickly before scurrying downstairs. I’m in a T-shirt of Tom’s. It smells like him. I lift the neck of the shirt to my nose and I breathe him in, and I feel a tiny bit calmer.
I walk into the kitchen downstairs and my whole, entire family looks up at me. They’re all assembled there—all of them—standing around the marble counter.
Even my mother, who I’ll remind you no longer lives here.
“Are you okay?” My sister rushes towards me.
“What?” I frown.
“The papers, the socials, the internet—it’s everywhere—”
I feel myself frown a bit. Marsali approaches me gingerly. “They’re saying you had a physical altercation…”
I say nothing, instead moving past my sister to get the ice.
“Well?” Bridget blinks. “Is it true?”
I say nothing again, instead finding a tea towel and dumping a bunch of ice into it.
“Did he hurt you?” my father asked.
Not in any way you can see with your eyes. “I’m fine,” I tell him.
“What ice for then?” Bushka asks with pinched eyes.
I consider the question. “BJ is less fine.”
Marsali’s eyes widen. “BJ’s upstairs?”
I shake my head. “Tom’s upstairs—”
“You just said BJ’s upstairs—”
“No, I said ‘BJ is less fine.’ Because he was hit by Tom, who’s upstairs, with a bruised hand—so if you’ll excuse me—” I glance at my mum in Cult Gaia’s brown, Serita cut-out, cotton-blend maxi dress. “Interesting choice for an almost-winter’s morning…”
She looks down at herself. “You don’t like it?”
I look her up and down again. “No, actually I love it.”
“Thank you, but wait—” My mother’s shoulders slump as she frowns at me. “So you’re fine?
“Yes.”
“The papers said you’re over—”
I nod. “We are.”
My mother looks confused. “But you’re fine…”
I nod curtly.
“Well, what did I schlep all the way over here for in the early hours of the morning for then?”
Bridge checks her watch. “It’s noon.”
“And don’t you just live across the park?” I wonder out loud.
“Some parents might consider her fineness a positive—” Marsali whispers.
My mother rolls her eyes at all of us.
“I’m glad you’re fine, darling—honestly I am. You and BJ will work it out, you always do.”
I give them a tight smile. “Not this time.”
I turn on my heels and jog back up the stairs to Tom. Bridge scurries after me.
“Not this time?” She blinks. “What do you mean not this time?”
“I mean we’re over now.” I keep on up the stairs.
“Bullshit.”
I ignore her and keep walking. “I’m serious.”
“No, you aren’t,” she calls after me.
I pause and look back at her. She loves him, always has. He’s been around in some capacity all her life. She grew up with him too. Vacation with the Ballentines, sleepover at Allie’s. She took him cheating on me as hard as I did—harder, in some ways. Took her longer to welcome him back. I think it would frighten her, for BJ and I to be really over—he’s so important to her. And she’d choose me, I know she would. But she wouldn’t want to have to.
“He’s using again,” I tell her.
She gasps quietly. She stares at the carpet for a few seconds. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “He pushed me.”
Her head drops as she walks up the stairs towards me and unsolicited, throws her arms around me, squeezing me tightly. “I’m so sorry—”
“Stop it,” I tell her, not moving.
“You need this,” she tells me.
“I don’t—”
“I’m upping your dopamine and serotonin levels.”
“Please stop.”
She grunts and lets me go, shaking her head. “Why are you acting like you’re fine?”
I meet her eyes, look at them for a couple of seconds. “I’m not fine.”
I go back to my room, climb onto my bed and crawl towards Tom. He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. I hold the ice against his hand and lean back into him. He rests his chin on my shoulder.
“Parks—” I look back at him. “We could be real,” he says. “This could be real.”
I think about this. “What are we now?”
He sniffs a laugh and presses his mouth against the corner of mine.
“—Fucked if I know.”
“Not real though?” I clarify.
He kisses my shoulder absentmindedly. “I don’t know,” he says, his mouth muffled by my shoulder. “What am I to you?”
I lean back into him, pursing my mouth at the question. “The oxygen mask”—I glance back at him—“that falls down from the ceiling of the planes.”
He hugs me tighter.
“That’s good enough for me.”
10:12
Henry
Oy
Hey
I love you
I love you too
Always will.
I know.
Pain in the arse.
I’m sorry, by the way. That all that happened.
Yeah, me too.
You’re still my best friend forever though, Hennypen.
More than Paili?
More than anyone.
Are you okay?
I don’t know.
What can I do?
Don’t let him overdose.
Promise.
