"Was that your girlfriend?"
"No. I don't have a girlfriend." I frown, wondering why she was eavesdropping on me.
"What about the girl from the car?"
The girl from the car? Then I remember the conversation with Mei. "Oh, yeah, no. We're done. Mostly because she's screwing our bass player. But she didn't really matter to me."
"Not like the girl on the phone. The one that you love."
"Why do you care?"
Leslie stops scuffing the rocks on the grounds to give me an exasperated look. "Come on, Josh. You can't be that obtuse."
"It was my sister. I had some great news and had to share. Kim's my go-to when I have news. She's always the first one I tell."
"That's nice. I don't really talk to my sister. She hates me, but I don't know why. My parents tell me it's in my head." Leslie looks up at me, tapping the side of her head. "I know there's a lot up there that's not right, but I'm not imagining that Meredith hates me."
"I can't imagine life without my sister. I don't know how I would have gotten through everything if we didn't have each other."
Leslie's eyes fill up. "That's how I always thought it should be with Meri and me. Like, we're sisters. But she doesn't have any patience for me. Never has. I think she's still pissed at me for being born and taking away her only child status. And my parents are tired of refereeing, so they just take her side. I feel as if it's another way I've let them down. Your parents must be so happy that you and your sister are close."
I suck in a deep breath and start talking before I have too much time to think. "I imagine if my parents were here, they'd be pleased. On the other hand, I'm not sure Kim and I would have the same relationship if my parents were still alive."
Leslie's eyes go wide as her mouth drops open. Quickly, her hand covers her lower face. "Oh my God, Josh, what happened? When?"
I run my fingers through my hair, still not used to the new shorter length. I don't want to have this conversation, but I know I can't avoid it any longer. "They were killed by a drunk driver." Maybe I can leave it at that and not have to tell her the rest.
"When? How? Oh my God, I'm so sorry." Leslie reaches out and lays her hand gently on my arm.
I look away, biting my lip as the pain is as real as it was that Sunday morning. "It's been almost ten years, but it still feels like yesterday. In fact, before I called Kim, I had the urge to call my mom. And then it hit me all over again."
"Ten years ago? Like when we were at camp?"
I kick the dirt as if it will dissipate some of my anger. "The day after. I slept in, too tired to go to church with them. I'd been up most of the night, trying to figure out why I couldn't connect with you on social media. On their way home from church, some asshole with a blood-alcohol level three times the legal limit plowed into them, going the wrong way on the highway."
Tears fill my eyes. I can usually tell the story without crying, but this is different. All I can feel is the hurt and betrayal I felt that morning before my world ended.
"Josh." She tries to hug me, but I pull away, shrugging her off.
"Don't. You weren't there for me then. You don't get to be here for me now." Childish for sure, but no one ever accused anger of being rational. And try as I might, I still can't separate the anger and pain of losing the most important things in my life in a span of two days. There's a rational part of me thatknowsLeslie's reasons, but I can't separate it from the deep-seated pain I felt as a teenager.
"I … I didn't know."
"No, because you'd already ghosted me." I turn to face her. "Let me ask you this—if you'd known, what would you have done?"
Her mouth opens and closes, trying unsuccessfully to form words.
"I'm guessing you wouldn't have done anything differently. It wasn't like you had anything to give me," I hiss. I needed something. Anything. And she couldn't. Wouldn't.
Leslie reaches up hesitantly and touches my cheek. "No, I wouldn't have been able to do anything differently. I wasn't in the right place. In fact, I was in a very wrong place. But that doesn't mean that I can't be sorry for your loss. And sorry that I wasn't the person you needed."
"I did need you. And I was so angry with you for a long time. You know, my last few conversations with my mom were about you. And I hated that. I hate that. I should have told her about the stuff I learned at camp. I should have thanked her for teaching me about music. I should have told her I loved her. Instead, I was whining about how I thought you were blowing me off. Mom, God love her, told me I was overreacting. That she never could imagine someone not wanting to talk to me." This is a huge part of what's bothering me, that I wasted my last conversation with my mom on someone who didn't matter. I whisper, "I should have told her I loved her."
Emotions take over, preventing coherent thoughts. All I have in this moment are feelings. Big feelings. Crushing feelings. Feelings I've been trying to ignore for way too long. But now that I've said it out loud, it's like a weight begins to float off of my chest.
Now Leslie is holding my face in both her hands. I want to look away, but I can't. "Josh, she knows you love her. And she knows you love music. And I'm so, so sorry for … everything."
I look into her eyes. They're dark with her emotion—sorrow, regret, caring, empathy. She knows she messed up. But in reality, we were both in a dark place in our lives. It's hard to hold a grudge when you know someone was struggling as much as you were. It's time to let go.
