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“—but I respected you moving out here to do what was best for you. I knew you and Anika would get closer once you started rooming together, but I didn’t think I would be so squeezed out.”
Veronika glances out the window, as if bored. “I’m surprised you noticed anything, considering you were always with Theo.”
I don’t like where this is going. Someone’s going to say something stupid, something unforgivable. I’m still anxious from the three questions Jackson asked that pretty much started this mess. I’m openly scratching my palms on the table, hoping Jackson will notice and cease fire. But he doesn’t even acknowledge the waiter, who comes by to take our order and just as quickly steps away so as not to get caught up in the cross fire.
“Theo was always there for me,” Jackson says.
Veronika claps. “Good going on Theo, then! You both were in the same city. I stopped making as much of an effort with our Skype dates and texting you back once your relationship with Theo hyper-drove into this serious thing we couldn’t possibly understand but were simply expected to. I get it. I was with you during all your rejections and heartbreak in high school, and you picked up some cute guy on the highway and it was magical and totally worth blogging about. I get the obsession, but don’t pin this all on me. You’re at fault too, Jackson.”
He blinks at her. “You have no interest in actually being friends, do you? Don’t pity me because of Theo.” His voice cracks; mine would roar.
Veronika shakes her head. “There’s no pity. Don’t try and twist this into me hating you because I didn’t love your boyfriend as much as you did. I’m sad for you, of course, but I didn’t know the guy. We played cards once, and it was nothing but inside jokes between you two.”
There are so many emotions rocketing through me during this ping-pong: jealousy over and curiosity about the inside jokes (even though we have our own, probably ten times as many); rage for how she’s making you sound so insignificant; sympathy for Jackson, who, like me, is grieving and, also like me, could really go for friends who didn’t act like assholes during this particular time; confusion as to why Anika hasn’t shut this down and how everything could spiral out of control so quickly.
“I was making him feel welcome and comfortable,” Jackson says.
“That was our job,” Veronika says, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t trust us to try and get to know him. You hogged him to yourself. We honestly felt like you only felt obligated to hang with us because you were in town.”
Jackson turns to Anika. “You thought this way, too? With everything she’s saying?”
“God no, definitely not everything she’s saying.” Anika shakes her head, then shrugs. “But I agree with a lot of it. I love you, Jackson, but you put this relationship before everyone and everything else. I’m not mad at you. College and distance will do that to people. But we’ve had a lot going on over here, too, before Theo . . . We’ve had a lot going on and we felt weird not being able to tell you. But honestly, we couldn’t risk your not putting in the friend time it would ask of you. There would be no coming back from that.”
“Let’s drop it,” Veronika says. “Let’s just keep texting over who’s seen the latest episode of whatever dumb show we’re all bingeing on and keep our tragedies to ourselves.”
Now I’m positive that I don’t like where this is going, has already gone. I’m fidgety; I scratch an
d scratch my palms. I try to relax the tic in my neck, rotating it like usual, but it’s traveling down to my shoulders and spine, so I’m doing all sorts of stretches. I flick my wrists, weirdly tense as if I’ve been up late writing essays; I crack all my knuckles and even double-check to make sure they’re all cracked. I’m discomfort personified.
“Definitely don’t tell me if it’s about your recent breakup with the latest love of your life,” Jackson says. “I saw your status switch from In a Relationship to Single on Facebook; I’m all caught up there. At least he’s still alive.”
“Jackson, don’t,” Anika says.
Veronika’s face twists in a way I would’ve never assumed possible from all the deliriously happy photos I saw of her online. “Did my Facebook status mention I broke up with the latest love of my life because of the abortion I had to have? Did my Facebook status tell you all about how I wasn’t ready to be a mom and he wasn’t ready to be a dad and how we agreed this was a bad time, that we would go to the clinic together and he would hold my hand through this? Did my Facebook status tell you he didn’t show up and hasn’t responded to any of my texts? My texts certainly weren’t very nice, but the campus psychologist I’ve been seeing to deal with my guilt seems to think they were fair.” Veronika gets up. Her eyes are wide and she’s trembling. Anika clears out of her way. “I didn’t wish you any ill,” she says, leaning over the table. “I know you must’ve been hurting in ways I don’t know, but even when Theo was still alive, I lost a part of myself and lost a little person who was growing inside of me and was going to look like me. You will never get to be Uncle Jackson. I’ll never get to be this kid’s mom. Next time you see my relationship status change on Facebook, maybe check in and ask me if I’m okay.”
Before any of us can say a word, Veronika whirls and runs out into the night. There’s silence, a blast of wintry air. The door closes behind her.
“I had no . . .” Jackson is crying and, damn, I’m almost there with him.
It’s fair to say he had no idea, but it’s also fair to admit he could’ve known. I see myself in him more than ever right now; it’s almost as if we’re made of the same messed-up clockwork, ticking and ticking out of balance.
“She’ll punch me if I chase after her, right?”
“Is a punch really the worst thing that can happen to you right now?” Anika asks him.
Jackson’s head drops.
“If you’re not going to go after her, I should,” Anika says. She leans over and gives Jackson a quick hug. “Let me know when you’re leaving town. We should try and . . . well, not do this again, but we should catch up.” She waves to me. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more.” She rests her hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Happy birthday.” She rushes off.
“I suck,” Jackson says. He wipes his eyes with his sleeve.
The waiter cautiously steps over. “Are you two going to order?”
I tell him we’re going to leave and apologize for the holdup. I leave a ten and usher Jackson out. I’m relieved my anxiety is going away, probably because I’m freezing to death once we’re back outside. I have to force Jackson’s arms back into my dad’s coat while he’s crossing the street, heading in the complete opposite direction from the train station.
“I’m the worst,” Jackson says. “I had no idea, but I could’ve called.”
“You don’t suck,” I tell him. “That whole thing sucked. We will never know what she’s going through. But she also has no idea what we’re going through. This isn’t some competition about who gets to be more upset.” Damn, grief is complicated enough without wondering how someone else is handling their own shade of it.
