Another Day
Page 46
“I’m sorry,” I say. I’m not sure what for. I’m just sorry.
“Do you even care that I had a shit day? Did it even occur to you to ask?” he challenges.
“What’s wrong?” I ask now.
“This conversation,” he says, this time slamming his locker in the direction of closed. “That’s what’s wrong.”
It’s not just this conversation. I have done a hundred things wrong. I have become the kind of person who worries about being caught, not about what she’s done.
I don’t want to be that kind of person.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask quietly.
“I’ll see you later” is Justin’s response. Which is something, but not very much.
The bell rings and people start to hurry. A few take a moment to look at me, to see if I’m going to give them a meltdown worth talking about.
I disappoint them in the same way I disappoint everyone else.
Lunch is tense.
I missed Justin between first and second periods—I don’t know if this was deliberate on his side, or if my timing was just off. When I saw Preston between third and fourth, I asked if he’d managed to contain all the rumors. I made it sound like I was joking, but he saw right through me. He assured me that the gossip had moved on, as gossip tends to do. I know this is true, but it would be just my luck to be the exception.
I want to save the seat next to me for Justin, but when Rebecca brings over her tray and sits there, I can’t think of how to ask her to move down without sounding weak. When Justin comes over, I can see him looking at that taken space as if it’s evidence. He sits a couple of seats away.
At the very least, I want a hello from him.
Our friends notice this. They notice it, but they don’t say a word.
I should be figuring out a way to save things, to make him feel better about me. But instead I have the stupid, unhelpful thought: A would never do this to me. Even if we disagreed. Even if we fought. A would never ignore me. A would never make me feel like I no longer exist. Whatever body A is in, A would always find a way to acknowledge me.
There’s no way for me to know this as a fact. But I’m certain of it as a feeling.
“Rhiannon?”
It’s Rebecca’s voice. She’s asked me something.
I leave my thoughts for a second, return to the table. I look over to Justin and see that he’s paying attention to me now. He saw me drift off. Once upon a time, he would have assumed I was thinking about him. But I don’t see any of that in his face now. He lowers his eyes back to his lunch.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. But this time it’s to Rebecca, for not listening to whatever it is she has to say.
You have to fix this.
That’s what I’m telling myself all through the rest of the day.
A is going to leave me. A will never be mine. A will never be able to be a normal part of my life.
Justin is here. Justin loves me. Justin is a part of me. I cannot ignore that.
He is angry, but he is angry because he’s confused, because I’m making him miserable. He knows something is off. He knows me well enough to know that.
He is not making things up. I am really doing this to him.
Which is why I have to stop.
Which is why I have to fix it.
He doesn’t seem surprised to find me at his locker at the end of the day.
“I know I’ve been out of it,” I say before he can dismiss me. “I know I haven’t been paying attention a hundred percent. That has nothing to do with you, I swear. And I’m grateful to you for calling me on it, because sometimes I’m so out of it I don’t even realize I’m out of it, you know? But I’m back. I’m here now. I want to know what’s going on with you. I want to be a part of it. I want us to take as much time as we need to get back on track.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
I watch as he puts his books in his locker. The back of his neck taunts me. His shoulders draw me in.
“Do you want to do something?” I ask.
He closes the locker. Turns back to me.
“Sure,” he says. And in his eyes, in his voice—I sense it.
Relief.
I ask him where he wants to go.
He says his house.
I know makeup sex is supposed to mean making it up to each other after having a fight. But right now I feel like it’s makeup sex because I’m making it all up. I have transformed myself into such a devoted, pretend girl that even I can believe the imitation is real. I know actions speak loudly to Justin, and he is speaking loudly back. I am grateful for the communication, for the way the intensity makes my body feel. But my mind is in another room.
In the heat of it, in the rush of it, he feels safe enough to say, “Don’t leave me.”
And I promise. I recognize how vulnerable he is, and I swear.
Afterward, I ask him about his shit day yesterday, and he barely remembers why it was so bad. Just the usual reasons, and the weight of them feeling so usual. He doesn’t mention me with another guy, and I don’t find it underneath his words, either. I think I’m in the clear.
He asks me to stay for dinner. I call my mother, who seems irritated but doesn’t say no. Justin’s mother also seems irritated when she comes home and Justin tells her I’m staying—but that irritation is directed at him, not me. I tell her I don’t have to stay, that I know it’s last-minute, but she says she’s happy to have me here, and that it’s been too long since she’s seen me. When Justin and I first started dating, she treated me like this stray he’d picked up. Now that we’ve been dating awhile, I’ve been upgraded to pet status—part of the family, but not really a member.
“Do you even care that I had a shit day? Did it even occur to you to ask?” he challenges.
“What’s wrong?” I ask now.
“This conversation,” he says, this time slamming his locker in the direction of closed. “That’s what’s wrong.”
It’s not just this conversation. I have done a hundred things wrong. I have become the kind of person who worries about being caught, not about what she’s done.
I don’t want to be that kind of person.
“Can we talk about this?” I ask quietly.
“I’ll see you later” is Justin’s response. Which is something, but not very much.
The bell rings and people start to hurry. A few take a moment to look at me, to see if I’m going to give them a meltdown worth talking about.
I disappoint them in the same way I disappoint everyone else.
Lunch is tense.
I missed Justin between first and second periods—I don’t know if this was deliberate on his side, or if my timing was just off. When I saw Preston between third and fourth, I asked if he’d managed to contain all the rumors. I made it sound like I was joking, but he saw right through me. He assured me that the gossip had moved on, as gossip tends to do. I know this is true, but it would be just my luck to be the exception.
I want to save the seat next to me for Justin, but when Rebecca brings over her tray and sits there, I can’t think of how to ask her to move down without sounding weak. When Justin comes over, I can see him looking at that taken space as if it’s evidence. He sits a couple of seats away.
At the very least, I want a hello from him.
Our friends notice this. They notice it, but they don’t say a word.
I should be figuring out a way to save things, to make him feel better about me. But instead I have the stupid, unhelpful thought: A would never do this to me. Even if we disagreed. Even if we fought. A would never ignore me. A would never make me feel like I no longer exist. Whatever body A is in, A would always find a way to acknowledge me.
There’s no way for me to know this as a fact. But I’m certain of it as a feeling.
“Rhiannon?”
It’s Rebecca’s voice. She’s asked me something.
I leave my thoughts for a second, return to the table. I look over to Justin and see that he’s paying attention to me now. He saw me drift off. Once upon a time, he would have assumed I was thinking about him. But I don’t see any of that in his face now. He lowers his eyes back to his lunch.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. But this time it’s to Rebecca, for not listening to whatever it is she has to say.
You have to fix this.
That’s what I’m telling myself all through the rest of the day.
A is going to leave me. A will never be mine. A will never be able to be a normal part of my life.
Justin is here. Justin loves me. Justin is a part of me. I cannot ignore that.
He is angry, but he is angry because he’s confused, because I’m making him miserable. He knows something is off. He knows me well enough to know that.
He is not making things up. I am really doing this to him.
Which is why I have to stop.
Which is why I have to fix it.
He doesn’t seem surprised to find me at his locker at the end of the day.
“I know I’ve been out of it,” I say before he can dismiss me. “I know I haven’t been paying attention a hundred percent. That has nothing to do with you, I swear. And I’m grateful to you for calling me on it, because sometimes I’m so out of it I don’t even realize I’m out of it, you know? But I’m back. I’m here now. I want to know what’s going on with you. I want to be a part of it. I want us to take as much time as we need to get back on track.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
I watch as he puts his books in his locker. The back of his neck taunts me. His shoulders draw me in.
“Do you want to do something?” I ask.
He closes the locker. Turns back to me.
“Sure,” he says. And in his eyes, in his voice—I sense it.
Relief.
I ask him where he wants to go.
He says his house.
I know makeup sex is supposed to mean making it up to each other after having a fight. But right now I feel like it’s makeup sex because I’m making it all up. I have transformed myself into such a devoted, pretend girl that even I can believe the imitation is real. I know actions speak loudly to Justin, and he is speaking loudly back. I am grateful for the communication, for the way the intensity makes my body feel. But my mind is in another room.
In the heat of it, in the rush of it, he feels safe enough to say, “Don’t leave me.”
And I promise. I recognize how vulnerable he is, and I swear.
Afterward, I ask him about his shit day yesterday, and he barely remembers why it was so bad. Just the usual reasons, and the weight of them feeling so usual. He doesn’t mention me with another guy, and I don’t find it underneath his words, either. I think I’m in the clear.
He asks me to stay for dinner. I call my mother, who seems irritated but doesn’t say no. Justin’s mother also seems irritated when she comes home and Justin tells her I’m staying—but that irritation is directed at him, not me. I tell her I don’t have to stay, that I know it’s last-minute, but she says she’s happy to have me here, and that it’s been too long since she’s seen me. When Justin and I first started dating, she treated me like this stray he’d picked up. Now that we’ve been dating awhile, I’ve been upgraded to pet status—part of the family, but not really a member.
