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I’m so tired of that question.
“Mason,” I say through a deep breath, trying to steady the thought that there will never be a time or place where I will feel okay. “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?” He’s so close I can feel the whisper leave his lips. And I can’t shake the image of him sleeping—whimpering her name like he was reliving the same scary nightmare I do. His smile is long gone, replaced with nothing but concern. “Talk to me, Bailey.”
And I want to. I want to talk to Mason. I want to leave right now, sit on my bed and watch Bob Ross and tell him everything. He’s the only other person who knows what’s it like to live in the constant shadow of Vanessa’s brightness. Who knows what it’s like to be stuck in time with the memory of someone whose last words were a lie.
“Mason,” I say, following his gaze over my shoulder, where Cade approaches.
I don’t know why my stomach feels tied in knots when I see him. He’s wearing his favorite dress shirt and a tie with molecules on it that I gave him at Christmas last year. I used to love game days because he looks so good.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says through a tired smile. Mason takes a step back while Cade slides up to my side, kissing my temple and resting his hand on my back. “What’s up, bro?”
“Not much. Just leaving, actually. Good luck at the game tonight.” Mason’s eyes don’t move away from us until he turns down the hall. I can hear a sort-of laugh bee-buzzing as he adds in a “bro” at the end.
The End
Cade only communicates in heavy sighs and grunts until we climb into his truck. The auto-start has warmed it enough that the first thing I do is pull my beanie off. He tosses the key fob in the center console and rests his head against the chair, tilting it toward me with a frustrated stare.
“What’s going on with you and Mason?”
I let a laugh slip before I realize he’s serious. Swallowing the remainder of the laugh, I blink in response to the question. “What are you talking about?”
“Back there.” He gestures toward the school. “What was that about? You guys looked like you were having a pretty serious conversation.”
“Cade,” I say before my lips clamp down in a thin line. “Mason’s my friend. He was checking on me after . . .”
I have no idea how to finish my sentence.
He scoffs, rolling his head toward the windshield. “Okay, so what was that about? Going after Spencer? Over a pin?”
Anger bubbles hot in my chest, overheating my limbs.
“Cade.” I say his name like it’s the most important word I have. Like it’ll make him understand the weight of what I need to say. For months, I’ve tiptoed around my grief like I’m walking across a lake after winter’s first freeze. Now it’s like I’ve broken the ice; I’m slipping under and screaming. “Something happened that night.”
“Why can’t you let it go?” He doesn’t have the same “I’m sorry” eyes from the breakup, but they’re just as tired, and they pierce me before the words unravel every thought I’ve been holding in.
Let it go. Like it’s so easy to ignore the lie, pretend that whatever reason she had for dishonesty didn’t directly affect me. How knowing would end the agony of wondering if there was anything I could have said or done to change the outcome of that night.
To know where that lie landed in our friendship.
If it would change us.
“Because she was my best friend,” I finally say. “And someone knows where she was going that night.”
“Yeah, okay.” Cade reaches for my hand, eyes locked on me and filled with desperation. “I get it. I get that you’re upset and you want answers. But you can’t go around assaulting people—”
“—I did not assault Spencer.”
“You ran the guy down, Bailey.” Cade’s thumb rubs against the top of my hand. “At some point you’ve got to move on, babe. Move forward.”
“No.” The word comes out before I have a chance to think. It feels like relief to finally say it. “She was my best friend. We were laughing and talking and joking like we always do, and then all of a sudden she wasn’t. And I didn’t ask her why. And I didn’t tell her to stay even though something was bothering her. I didn’t stop her, even though we’d been drinking, and I’ll never stop wondering if it was me or the champagne or my text that—”
“Okay, okay.” Cade’s hands slip away from mine. He’s rubbing both through his jet-black hair, mussing it as he stares out to the snow freckling his windshield with tiny flakes. “Bailey, what if you never know? Is this something that’s going to live with you forever?”
My heart stops, because I can hear what he’s saying with the question.
Is this who you are now?
“I don’t know. Maybe? Is that a bad thing? That I want to know?”
He shakes his head, “No. It’s not bad, Bailey. It’s . . .”
I can read the subtext here too. It’s just not what I want.
I think about all the times we talked about our future, schools we could go to. Plans we were making. How it still doesn’t make sense, only now I’m seeing why. It never had anything to do with schools or our future or how little I cared.
It’s how I wasn’t fitting into the mold he had in mind for what his future looked like.
“Why did we break up, Cade?” I ask.
He turns, thrown by the question. Hesitating before repeating the words he’s already said. “Because I wasn’t sure about schools. And I thought it would be easier if we weren’t making those kinds of decisions with each other in mind.”
“Come on,” I said. “Just say it. It’s okay. It’s me, right? You didn’t want to make decisions with me because I’m the thing you weren’t sure about.”
His chin tucks down to his chest.
We aren’t in rewind anymore but fast forward. Barreling at warp speed through the last three months, four months. Everything I’ve been hiding from with Cade is staring me right in the face.
It starts in my chest—this sinking feeling—like losing a saved file or realizing you didn’t back anything up after hours of working on a project and your laptop dies. It spreads, a virus through my arms and legs and fingers and toes. And those fingers that were wrung around my beanie are now limp in my lap as our tears echo between us.
The cord in my heart has been ripped out of the socket, and I can’t stop living in the memory of a relationship that was broken any more than I can live in the memory of a person who isn’t here.
When Cade finally looks at me, he’s “I’m sorry” eyes all over again. His tone changes. It’s not exhausted anymore, and it’s desperate. He says he wants to forget this whole fight, he kisses my forehead, and he’s doing and saying all the right things. Like he didn’t pull back the scab that sat in the place of my heart where I kept this breakup. Slipped a knife over scar tissue that I’ve tried so hard to heal.
Cade has his mouth to mine, like he’s trying to resuscitate my heart. But he’s breathing life into lungs that won’t work anymore. Vanessa’s words ring in my ears like they’re the pulse between me and Cade and everything else. It’s called a breakup because it’s broken.
“I can’t.” My hands find either side of his face. My forehead pressed against his, eyes closed, and his chin tilts toward mine. And I know what happens next. We kiss, and we kiss again, and I let myself slip back into comfortable love, and I forget all the reasons we shouldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I say, hopping out of the car before I hit rewind again.
V
Bailey: Cade and I just broke up.
I mean.
Not that we ever officially got back together, but yeah.
V: ouch. omg bailey.
are you okay?
want me to come over?
we can have a repeat of last time.
get drunk.
eat candy.
want me to call mason?
he can get us beer i think.
Bailey: You have no idea how much I wish this was a reality.
That any of this was actually possible.
V: breakups are so hard.
Bailey: You know what’s messed up?
I’m, like, numb I guess.
Like this whole time maybe I knew it wasn’t going to last.
I wasn’t walking around like Cade and I are End Game. Breaking up this time is like seeing a grade from a test I knew I bombed.
But I’m not heartbroken the way I was the first time.
Still . . .
V: still?
Bailey: I don’t know.
Frustrated?
Pissed I can’t do this with you.
V: okay.
i’m coming over.
i’m not taking no for an answer.
get ready.
you. me. booksmart. pop rocks.
Breathing
My fingers are numb by the time I walk through the door to my house. Cade followed me for a while in his truck, asking if he could please drive me home, but eventually he got the picture and drove off.
After that it was me and my friend winter—every snowflake dotting a path home like Hansel and Gretel following a path of bread crumbs to warmth.
Even my toes burn, tingling like they’ve fallen asleep up to my ankles, and when the warmth of my home hits, it feels worse. I shake off the chill, throwing my coat on the floor even though I know Kat-Mom will yell at me for it later.
I bend at the knees to grasp my toes so they’ll stop the burning when Jacky-Mom walks in from the kitchen wearing a pair of jogging pants and an oversized shirt that says, “This is my work-from-home shirt.” Judging by the look of her unkempt hair, she’s been doing just that. Sitting in her office most of the day, snacking on gluten-free pretzels and enjoying the silence of winter.
“When will this stop?” I ask. “The hurting. I need to know when it stops.”
It feels like watching an avalanche form. I’ve done nothing to stop the growth of snow backed up in my heart. Nothing to stop the snowfall from accumulating. Now I’m staring at the drift as it tumbles at Mach speed, and I’m in a direct path of its chaos.
And it happens. I clutch my knees, tears pouring out of me like snow passing down the mountain. Pulling my emotion trees from their roots, dislodging the ways I’ve ignored all these feelings for so long. I sob, giant body-shuddering sobs.
It doesn’t matter that Jacky-Mom never answers, because I know the truth is clear.
It will never stop hurting.
She’ll never be back.
We’ll never laugh again.
Or eat Pop Rocks or scream our wishes out to sea.
She’s gone.
ESTHER
Esther: Hey! I don’t have to work tomorrow, and I was thinking . . .
I’ve never been to one of the hockey games. Do you want me to go with you? We can make signs!
It’ll be fun!
Bailey: Yeah. That would be fun.
But Cade and I kind of broke up today.
Esther: OMG BAILEY!
ARE YOU OKAY?
What happened?
I’m so so so so so so so sorry.
Do you want me to come over?
Bailey: I promise I’m okay.
I’m eating ice cream.
And my moms just pulled out the board games.
Can I text later?
Esther: Absolutely.
Let me know if you want some company tonight.
Bailey: I’m probably going to hang out with my parents.
Thank you though.
I’ll text tomorrow.
Incandescent Stares
That night, after hours of board games with my moms and a long call with Esther where I gave her the gruesome details of the breakup right down to those final moments in the car, Mason came over.
I had the trundle bed pulled out before he even knocked, hair filled with snowflakes before he stepped into my room. Watching him shake off his coat like a wet Labrador, the knot in my stomach fades, and I realize I’ve been looking forward to this.
We could pick up our almost conversation at the lockers.
I could tell him all the things that led up to the moment with Spencer. Pull from the texts I stole from his phone. Tell him how tired I am, and how holding the glue of Vanessa’s memory together with a bot is exhausting. Reveal every gruesome detail of my breakup with Cade.
But we don’t do any of those things.
Instead, I set my laptop on the nightstand, Bob Ross queued and ready to go. This time we watch side by side between throw pillows and a stuffed sloth I’ve had since I was a kid.
And I keep waiting for the uncomfortable part. The conversation part. But he presses play and Bob goes on like he does in every episode. My nerves dissipate like the snowflakes falling beyond my window. We laugh when Bob says something related to trees being happy, or filled with squirrels, or crooked so he was going to send them to Washington.
Bob starts a new painting by coating the canvas in a base color, then adding details as he goes. A mountain range here, a stream filled with fish there. We watch as he outlines the first tree and moves to the second. “Gotta give him a friend. Everybody needs a friend.”
“I’m glad we’re friends, Bailey.” Mason looks over at me, smiling through his eyes and hovering on a beat.
There’s a moment here where his smile disappears, and I can feel a shift between us as instant as a sparked flame.
The color of a flame is indicative of a few things. Temperature, the type of fuel, and how complete the combustion is. His eyes move on me, an alkane blue flame, complete combustion that is perfect and pure and studied. We know exactly what this is.
But as his eyes move down to my mouth, that same blue flame transforms to yellow. It’s breathless and starved of air, incomplete combustion. There’s tension here, and his stare—incandescent. Incomplete energy filled with so many emotions it’s hard to describe it any other way.
It’s the kind of moment you wish you could snapshot. Hold on to. Take away with you because you know in ten years, you’ll only remember it in fragments. And I’m champagne right now. Bubbles rising through my stomach and dancing their way all over every inch of my skin.
Bob’s still jabbering in the background, but we’re silent, and I swear I can feel the space between us getting smaller, like we’re going to get closer and closer until we’re not just sharing sad breaths but happy ones too.
I can hear a question in his eyes like it’s being screamed. Can I kiss you?
My first thought, the one that comes right to the surface, is that I want this. I want to kiss Mason. I want to forget about this whole hell day. I want to kiss the only person I’ve been able to adequately grieve with because maybe if we kiss it’ll fill whatever void I’ve been walking with.
My second thought, the one that comes right on the heels of the first—like that void is being smashed with brick—is that this would change everything.
We’d always be an incomplete combustion.
The weight of this shift hits me. How this feeling, this moment right here, would be perfect if it weren’t my best friend’s boyfriend. It’s not incandescence anymore but all guilt, and the startling realization that maybe I wasn’t the best friend I thought I was.
“Me too. I need a good friend,” I say, emphasis on the word friend. Flattening all the bubbles between us, throwing water into the flame of the moment I never want to forget as long as I live.
Going Home
I spend breakfast on Saturday thinking about what a terrible friend I am because Vanessa’s boyfriend has slept over three times this week. So when Jacky-Mom asks me if I want to take a drive, I jump at a distraction.
She’s mostly quiet as we pull out of our driveway and leave the neighborhood.
It’s not like neighborhoods in a subdivision. Yeah, our streets are paved and homes are spaced far enough apart that you can’t see one house from the next. But there are more trees than people, and the paths between them are worn by foot instead of machine.
I can feel her pulse in that weird way you know someone wants to say something, but they don’t know how to say it. Her lack of words lingers between us like snow between air and earth.
I rub my hands together, holding them to the vents.
“I need to apologize.” She stares straight ahead, but I can tell she’s looking at me out of her peripheral vision.
“For what?” I ask.
“I don’t think I’ve done the best job helping you through all of this.” I can tell it’s hard for her to say it, because she keeps pushing blond tendrils of hair back behind her ears. “People like us have a harder time letting go of things.”
“Mom. I promise we don’t need to do this,” I urge her. More than likely it isn’t even a conversation she wants to have, but something Kat-Mom told her we needed to do.
She doesn’t take the out.
“When your dad got sick, everything happened really fast. We got the prognosis, and a few weeks later he was gone. Those weeks were hell because I felt like all I could do was wait—either for him to die or for you to be born.” She turns up the hill. Fog has settled between the trees and the ground and the farther we get, the thicker it seems.
“I, um, got really depressed after you were born.” Mom didn’t even cry when her nana died, but as she changes gears, I see little droplets of tears forming in her eyes.
I rest my hand on her arm, and she doesn’t shake it off.
“To everyone else I seemed fine.” Her voice is so timid and small it sounds like it doesn’t belong to her. “I was running a company day in and day out, and doing everything I could to be a good mom because I felt like if I failed at either I was failing him. But every night after I put you to bed, I cried myself to sleep.”
She turns the steering wheel, swallowing hard before going on. “Grandma and PopPop wanted you to stay over. It was the first night you weren’t with me, and I realized while I was sitting there that I was so lonely. So sad. And I’m at the table just crying my eyes out when there’s a knock at the door.”
