Page 102 of Keepsakes and Kismet

Somehow, I’m not surprised when I feel a sudden warm pressure on my shoulder.

“Can I climb into bed with you?”

I must look pathetic, but no matter my state, I’ll never decline her skin against mine. I roll to my side, and she sits on the bed against the headboard. Lifting my head, I scooch closer and rest it on her thighs.

As if Zebra knows I’m safe now with Peyton, she ambles down the cat stairs in front of my bed and slowly exits the room.

I risk a glance at my girlfriend, peeking through my sticky eyelashes. She doesn’t look at me with the pity I’ve become used to from most everyone else in my life, but there’s concern in her gaze. I can only imagine what she sees. Her boyfriend, wretched and weeping, with his head in her lap. Like a child.

When she speaks again, her voice carries an unfamiliar melancholic lilt. It doesn’t belong in my Pey’s tone, and I hate that I’m the reason it exists.

“Why are you sad today, Callum? It might help to say it out loud,” she coaxes, gently stroking my hair.

I close my eyes and inhale slowly, soothing myself with her cinnamon scent that perfumes the room. I wonder if I’m strong enough to talk about this with her. I don’t even know where to start, because how do I summarize the most painful day of my life?

Leaning down to press a kiss on my eyelid, she whispers, “You’re safe with me. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. I’m not okay. Will she stay anyway?

As if she can hear my innermost thoughts, she tilts my chin up, and I open my eyes to gaze into hers. “I’m not going anywhere. What we have… It’s bigger than our pain. Don’t let trauma define us.”

Moonlight spills in between the blinds of my window, and glowy, blueish light illuminates the room. In this light, she looks angelic. Holy.

Say anything, just start talking.

“I feel… he was…”

There’s too much going on inside of me; all five of my senses are clamoring for attention. I close my eyes again, shutting one of them down.

“I see him every time I close my eyes at night.”

His chipped-toothed smile, from taking a ball to the face in freshman year, hangs in a gallery behind my eyelids.

“Who, Callum?”

All this time, I’ve never spoken his name. Dr. Jain has said it plenty of times, but I haven’t let myself. So for the first time in over half my life, I breathe it out loud.

“Tyler.”

I thought it’d taste sour, saying his name. But it’s tinged with an unexpected sweetness. A bitter tragedy glazed with syrupy nostalgia.

“What happened to Tyler?” Peyton asks.

His name sounds therapeutic, falling from her lips, but it also sounds my alarms. I’m worried about how openly talking about him will affect me. My mind is racing, and it terrifies me, how brains can just… stop working.

I open my eyes and find hers. “He was my best friend. We grew up together, playing in the same soccer clubs as kids, going to the same high school and both making Varsity as Freshmen.” I shake my head. “He was so talented, Pey. He would’ve gone pro. Everyone thought so.”

She trails her fingers across my chin. “He sounds amazing.”

“He was.” I pause. Then words rise in my chest and rush out of me like an uncontrollable tidal wave. “So nice to everyone, too. He was revered in school. Not just because of the athlete thing we both had going on, but the way he made everyone feel included, and also… he was so funny.” The corners of my mouth turn up as I remember the class clown side of him. “He would’ve loved you giving me shit. He would’ve loved you.”

“I would’ve loved him, too.” She doesn’t stop stroking my face, tracing both of my eyebrows now.

I pull in a long, shuddering breath. “The Harvest Festival used to coincide with Fall break, you know. When we were in high school, classes were cancelled for it. But even though the school was closed, Ty and I still went to the fields and kicked the ball around, doing juggling contests, playing one on one. We wanted to be the best, and pros don’t just skip days.”

My legs feel tight so I stretch them out, flexing my feet.

“After a while, Tyler started feeling a little sick to his stomach. I thought he was just messing around. I told him that he couldn’t handle the cold weather like I could. I was such a fucking idiot. I should’ve known it was a sign. I knew to look out for his epilepsy aura.”