“I’m going to figure it out,” I say after a while. “Bye, Clara.”
“I hope you do. And Miles…” She pauses, taking in a breath. “I love you.”
My chest suddenly feels tight. Suffocating. This feeling has been happening a lot since Carter died and I can’t seem to get rid of it. It makes my breathing quicken, and it feels like something heavy is weighing on my chest, like I can’t get up.
It shouldn’t feel like this. It’s supposed to feel normal. I’m not supposed be suffering like this. All consuming.
I can’t bring myself to say anything other than ‘You too,’ as I end the call, my hands slightly shaking.
I need to get my act together. It feels like everything in the universe is telling me to but as much as I believe Wren can help me what if I can’t help her? What if this whole fake dating thing blows up in our face and ruins her more than she started out? Or worse; what if the uncomfortable feeling that makes me shift in my seat whenever I’m around her isn’t nervous jitters and it’s something else. Something that, if I ever put into play, could ruin everything before it even begins.
I pull up my phone to find her Instagram account to DM her, but I an IMessage from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hiii, it’s Wren. We should meet up soon to talk.
My heart swells. She read my mind. My fingers fly over the screen. At least she’s finally using my number. I change her contact and text her back.
Me: Yeah, sure. You can come over to my place. Does Friday work?
Wren: That’s perfect. See u then.
I can’t ignore the way her texting style makes my stomach flutter. Fuck. Since when did I start to get butterflies over a girl? That’s new for me but I’m not surprised. In the short time that we’ve known each other, I’ve felt more and more out of control of my body.
My mind seems to wander when her mouth moves, especially when she’s saying something sarcastic. She doesn’t just let me get what I want because she must be able to tell that I want her. I want her in any way I can have her. She’s like a magnet.
A destructive thought is telling me that what Wren said earlier was true. Maybe I am hyper fixating on her to avoid my problems. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’m almost twenty and I can’t even deal with the death of my best friend in a healthy way. There will be worse days than the day I lost him, so I need to get over this feeling in my chest. I need to get to the other side.
*
When I get home, no one is there. Xavier is at practice and Evan is probably doing some rich boy shit somewhere. The darkness of the house just makes the gnawing feeling worse. It closes me in, suddenly making the dark thoughts clearer. I try to ignore it.
Although we haven’t got a full plan, yet, I know I’m going to stick to it. I'm going to have to. I can’t let her dreams die because I’m willing to let my dreams slip. I can’t do that to her. If I have one drink tonight, I won’t have any until Friday. That way I’ll be able to let these feelings simmer and when it comes to talking to her in a few days, I should be fine. That’s how these things work, right?
Just one drink.
CHAPTER 8
WREN
Since my parents' divorce, five years ago, Melanie Hackerly has been on the quest to establish herself as a woman that can never be shaken. The woman that can conquer all. She wanted to be the type of person people write articles about, the type of woman that could have hundreds of girls lining up to play her in a biopic. That was her plan for so long that when she was injured and went into teacher training, she’s still found some loophole to get her to whatever stage she needs to be on in five years.
As kids, Austin, and I, never really saw anything wrong with my parents’ relationship. They seemed happy. Whole. We had weekly family outings; birthdays were always a blast and we had regular vacations. There was nothing that we could see to tell us they weren’t in love.
Their love was nothing idolise and aspire to; it just was. They kissed and said goodbye on their way to work, they always tucked us in until we reached our teens until one day they just fell out of love. It was quick and simple. There were no arguments or name-calling, they just stopped. My dad told me it wasn’t our fault - because it never is - and they went their separate ways.
Soon after, my mom remarried to another recent divorcee, Mike, who has two kids from his last marriage. My mom moved out of our family home into a Spanish-style house just out Salt Lake in Centreville. My dad still lives in our family home, our childhood bedrooms still covered with the sameOne Directionposters I’ve had for as long as I could remember.
I know I’m not supposed to take sides in the divorce but if anyone were to ask, I’d say I’m on my dad side. No doubt. It’s not like my mom has done anything wrong particularly. She hasn’t deceived us in anyway, but it felt like for a lot of my life, she wasn’t a mom to me. She was always my coach before ever being a mom.
My dad was the only one who let me be a kid. He let me read instead of working out. He let me eat ice cream after dinner, get dirty at the park and he let me wear my pyjama’s all day when mom wasn’t there. He didn’t parade me around like a show pony, he just let me be. That’s all I ever wanted from her.
When they split, Austin was nineteen, so she wasn’t living at home anymore while she was at NU. My parents had shared custody of me, so I alternated between staying with mom and staying at dads. I always called dads house ‘home.’ It’s where I felt most comfortable. When I was with mom, it just felt like I was third wheeling. Mike’s kids were living on their own since they were older than Austin and me. So, every time I was there, they were all over each other. It felt like I was constantly interrupting their extended honeymoon. Like I was an unnecessary flea floating around them. Like I was watching her new life unfold without me in it. Luckily, as soon as I got into NU, I was able to move in with Kennedy and Scarlett. Still, pulling into her driveway now, their house feels foreign.
*
“What are you going to do about skating?” my mom asks, pouring me another glass of orange juice. I knew the other shoe would drop. She’s been dancing around mentioning it for the last half an hour.
Mom’s house is a lot smaller than our old one. Everything fits so neatly together, here. Our old house was a mess of toys and random furniture pieces that my dad wanted to get. It was always chaotic, and I loved it that way. Our refrigerator was filled with pictures that Austin and I drew, things that we made at school and photos from our vacations. But here, everything is so neatly put together that you would never expect anything more than two divorcee’s living here. The kitchen and living room are connected, with a large French door leading out to their patio with the pool and hot tub. We’re sitting out on the patio, enjoying one of the rare sunny days left of September.
