In This Moment (15 page)

   
“No,” he says gruffly. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.” His intake of air is rapid. “What I wanted to tell you was that I don’t feel the way my mom did… or does. What happened after the accident wasn’t fair to you. If I had been home more maybe… I don’t know what I could have done, but
maybe
.”

   
Maybe.
It’s a word that’s full of hope, but it’s wasted on me. Mrs. Kearns blames me for her daughter’s death and it’s not like I disagree. I left my unconscious best friend to die in the driver’s seat of
my
car. I should have been driving. I was
supposed
to be driving.

   
But I wasn’t, was I?

   
There are no take-backs, do-overs, or maybes about it. Every time I realize that, I’m sent back to that car—to that moment of clinging between life and death. And then I drop her hand again and it all becomes new.

   
“You couldn’t have done anything to change what happened, Daniel,” I say quietly, my heart aching for everything that we both lost. “And your mother has a right to the way that she feels. I-I don’t hold it against her.”

   
“This is probably not the best conversation to have in the middle of all these people, but maybe we can have coffee or something sometime soon.” He glances around the covered hallway and back to me. “And anyway, the rain is letting up.”

   
He’s right. “Well, if you talk to Cole, tell him…” What do I want him to tell Cole? “Tell him good luck from me.”

   
“Why don’t you tell your guy all by yourself?”

   
“He’s not
my
guy.” I tuck my phone into my bag and walk into the lightened rain.

   
Behind me, a voice calls. “Aimee!”

   
I turn, feeling a little sick to my stomach. Daniel’s got the blue hood of his jacket pulled back up around his face.

   
“Were you being serious?” He asks.

   
I squint against the wetness. “About what?”

   
Daniel smiles. “About Jillian wanting to get a nose job?”

   
I let out a held breath. “Yeah. I was being serious. She told me that she wanted to get a nose job after graduation.”

   
Daniel touches his nose absently. “Huh. She never mentioned it to me.” Then he’s gone—walking in the opposite direction.

Aimee

I could say that the girls don’t bother me, but that would be a lie. The
y bother me. A lot.

   
Every time Mara or someone else mentions Cole’s playboy reputation, I cringe. He certainly didn’t get it by keeping his hands to himself or his penis stowed safely in his pants.

   
I know that I have no right to jealousy, but I still don’t like being constantly reminded that Cole has many fuck-buddies.

   
Has
or
had
.

  
I’m still working that part out. I brought it up the other night because all of a sudden, I couldn’t
not
bring it up anymore. Maybe that was stupid of me. And maybe he gave me an answer but I’m not really sure.

  
The emptiness inside my room Friday night is like a sucker punch straight to the gut. I’ve gotten accustomed to Cole showing up at the townhouse after practice with his cocky smile and his bag slung over his shoulder. The realization of how miserable and lonely my life was before he came into it makes me feel even more ridiculous. It’s only been a couple of weeks, but I know that I’m already clinging to moments spent with him—struggling to keep ahold of something that I’m not even sure is mine to begin with. 

   
Without Cole around, everything drags. Jodi wants me to go out with her and Kyle but the only thing worse than being me right now, is being me as a third wheel. I decide to stay home and organize my closet instead. It’s scintillating stuff.

   
By Saturday morning, I’m completely sick of myself. I’ve been reduced to refreshing the browser on my computer every three minutes so that I can track his Twitter feed. I’m becoming a real-to-life stalker.

   
Mara comes into my room at ten, takes one look at my face and the screen of my laptop and says, “Let’s go.”

   
I don’t even ask her where we’re going. I just find my sandals and step into them because there comes a point when all that matters is that you’re moving.

Cole

I protest, but only half-hearted
ly when the guys want me to go out with them Saturday night. The race is over and after two days of living inside my head, I need a way out.

   
“There’s this bar on University Avenue,” Brady tells us after he’s given the cab driver instructions to drop us off in Midtown. I’m in the backseat wedged in between Nate and Quentin. “It’s a complete shithole but the drinks are cheap and there will be girls.”

   
Girls.
I don’t want to, but I automatically check my phone. I sent Aimee a text after my race this morning but she still hasn’t responded. A memory of my dad waiting on my mom years ago when she was supposed to meet us at the movies flickers in my brain and it’s the fucking slap over the head that I need. Here I’ve been consumed with the damn idea of Aimee Spencer for days and she can’t even bother to text me back.
She doesn’t see me the way that I see her.

   
The bar is as shitty as Brady promised and by round three, Nate and Quentin are ready to give up and head back to the hotel. Not me. I’m half-lit at this point and there’s a girl. She’s been hovering around me all night and she’s got nice tits and a cute smile. When she asks me back to her place, I find myself following before I can think too hard about it.

   
Her name is Christine and she’s from New Hampshire. According to the pictures in her room, she’s a big fan of Nietzsche, and I can’t decide if I find that cool or pretentious. Christine has brown eyes and curly hair the color of wet sand. As she’s pulling off her shirt and her lacy black bra, I try to keep my gaze focused on her body so that my brain doesn’t keep pumping out images of long dark hair and blue eyes so wide and sad that I could swim inside of them.

   
The sex with Christine is fine but as soon as it’s over and I’m lying in her bed staring at a poster filled with Friedrich Nietzsche’s words, I feel a pain in my chest like I can’t breathe. Being with girls has always been my go-to, but now everything feels… wrong. Christine runs her hands over my abs and asks me to stay for the night. She’s hinting at round two, but I’m not into it. I know that I’m defeated in ten million ways but really, only one way that counts. So I tell her that we’re heading back early in the morning and I say it like this is something that I’ve just remembered.

   
Like a sitcom bimbo, Christine completely buys what I’m selling, which only makes things worse. She even drives me back to the hotel and asks me to wait while she punches her number into my phone and sends herself a text from me.

    “
So we’ll be able to stay in touch,” she says.

   
When she leans in to kiss me goodbye, I can tell that she’s still pretending that this might be going somewhere and I hate myself just a little bit more.

   
As I’m riding the elevator up to the hotel room that the four of us are sharing, my brain is sluggish with alcohol, but I’m clear enough to know that I need to delete Christine’s number from my contacts. I pull my phone out of my back pocket and thumb the display screen to life. That’s when I see the fucking missed texts from Aimee and my stomach falls about eleven floors.

Sorry. Mara and I went home for the day and I left my phone behind. I’m so proud of you!

    And then, a second message sent two minutes after the first.

BTW, I’ve got one. The Two Owers. The epic story of two hobbits complaining about how their feet hurt the whole way to Mordor. Now you’re it.

    I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. As usual, I’m the asshole who fucked up.

Aimee

For the first time in a long time,
home
wasn’t so bad. Dad grilled burgers and we played Scrabble on the back patio and no one talked about anything important, but at least we talked. And when Mara and I got back to the townhouse last night, I had a missed text from Cole. All in all, it wasn’t such a terrible Saturday.

   
“Do you think this thing with him is crazy?” I ask Mara on Sunday morning.

   
We’re both cross-legged on the couch. She’s eating a green apple and I’ve got a bowl of Lucky Charms balanced on my thigh. Unlike my sister, my motto on breakfast foods is that they don’t count unless they contain at least twice the recommended daily allotment of sugar.

   
Mara sets the apple down, crosses her arm across her chest, frowns. “Who are we talking about, Aimee?”

   
“Cole,” I say it like his name has been eating up my tongue for days. “Do you think that it’s crazy for me to hang out with him?”

   
“No. I think you’re crazy
about
him. There’s a difference.” Mara looks me in the eye. “And don’t start hyperventilating or anything Aimee, but he’s crazy about you too.”

   
“How can you be sure?”

   
Mara answers my question with a question of her own. “How can
you
be so blind? Cole Everly looks at you like you you’re made of rainbows and he’s over here almost every single night
not
getting laid. Aimee, what do you think that means? Jeez. The guy’s done a complete one-eighty in the past couple of weeks and it’s all because of you. I think the only thing left for him to prove himself is to carve your initials into his skin with a penknife.”

   
“I’m not sure that I’m ready for things to change yet,” I admit slowly. “I’m not sure if I’m ready, period. I haven’t put myself out there in a long time and what Cole and I have is good. If…” I close my eyes and swallow hard.

   
“If what?”

   
“I’m just afraid to lose what we’ve got. I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I don’t have so many friends that I can just risk them willy-nilly.”

   
“I hate to break this to you Aimee, but you’re going to lose him one way or the other because this chasing game that you guys are playing can only go on for so long.”

    “I’m not sure that it’s
like that with us.”

   
“It
is
like that. I know it. He knows it. And I think that deep down you know it too,” she says. “Let me put it to you this way—it’s like the two of you are standing barefoot on an enormous pile of hot coals. A person can only do that for so long. Eventually, you either have to jump off or start moving your feet.”

   
Strangely, the analogy sort of makes sense to me. “Okaaay… there’s also the fact that Cole is way out of my league. He’s so bright that he burns. He could—” I catch a quick breath. “He could have his pick of any girl that he wants. I just don’t understand why me. Why would he want to be with me?”

   
“Where is this coming from?” She’s looking at me like I’m crazy. “Why wouldn’t Cole want to be with you?

   
“Because,” I say, feeling exasperated and shaky. “I don’t have friends. I don’t do anything. I’m home almost every night, like you said,
not
getting laid. I’m weird, Mara.”

   
Mara’s mouth straddles a smile and a grimace. “It doesn’t have to be like that. Before the accident you were—”

   
I interrupt her before she can finish whatever she was going to say, because I can’t listen to it. “Mara, the way that I was before was all because of Jillian.
She
was the one who was good at parties and guys and all that kind of stuff—not me. I was always meant to be the sideshow act.”

   
Mara doesn’t say anything for a minute. “Do you remember Collin what’s-his-name? The guy from middle school…”

   
My forehead crinkles. “Collin
Peskowitz
? And yeah, I remember him. I just can’t believe that you do.”

   
Collin Peskowitz. I was eleven, and by my standards back then, Collin was sort of epic. He was amazingly braces-free, had great hair that he spiked up with gel, and in the summer before sixth grade he was learning to play guitar while the other boys in our grade were busy expanding their range of fart sounds and playing touch football.

   
The look on her face is terribly serious. “That was all you, Aimee. Jillian Kearns had nothing to do with it.”

   
I know that Mara is referring to the fact that I confronted Collin at the Dreffin’s annual Fourth of July picnic and told him in front of everyone, including my parents, that I liked him and that he had exactly one hour to decide if he liked me back. That was the night I got my first kiss under a sky full of fireworks.

   
I shake my head to chase away the memory. “That was a long time ago.”

   
“Somewhere along the way your brain came up with this story that Jillian was the superhero and you were the sidekick, but it’s not true.” My sister sighs. “I was always in awe of you. You used to be so confident and fearless.”

   
I used to be a lot of things.

Cole

“Let’s go out,” she tells me and I think I’ve misheard her.

   
I hold my phone a little tighter. “Are you saying you want to go
out
out—like to a club or dancing or something, or are you trying to coerce me into giving you a ride to the grocery store?”

   
Aimee laughs on the other end of the phone and my stomach does this crazy flip. It’s Monday afternoon and this is the first time that we’ve talked on the phone and I’m trying not to make too much of the fact that she actually called me instead of sending me a text.

   
“Hmmm. Maybe somewhere in between? How do you feel about the arcade and gyros on the beach?”

   
“I’m a fan.” I pause. “There’s also a hamburger guy that parks his cart over by the pier if you feel like living dangerously.”

   
She laughs again. I want the conversation to end on a high note and I don’t want to give her a chance to change her mind so I quickly tell her that I’ll be at her place by seven. We say goodbye and I that’s when I start to count because I’ve got four hours to go until I see her, but somehow it feels like ten.