Pictures of You (17 page)

             
I cringed. I hated hearing her say his name. She sounded so possessive of him. I guess he did belong to her now, but that didn’t make me feel any better. I tried to keep my cool. “Spinach quiche. Done. Should I bring a dessert?”

             
“No, the dessert is taken care of. Oh and Tem-Tem? I need to know if you’re bringing a date. It would be helpful to have a head count.” I heard a condescending note in her voice. She loved it. She loved that, as far as she knew, I haven’t dated since John. And she loved being the one John wanted. The one he chose.

             
“My boyfriend might have something that night. I’ll let you know soon.” I bit my lip. I hated lying—and I usually wasn’t the lying type—but I couldn’t stand it when she was smug.

             
“Your
boyfriend
?” She was clearly shocked. There was a long pause, followed by a laugh. “September, you and I both know you don’t have a boyfriend.”

             
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I hung up, rage mounting inside me. Hot, angry tears fell from my eyes. I pushed them away, hoping Chris wouldn’t see.

             
“September, are you okay?” he said, hovering over me, looking cute and awkward.

             
“I’m okay.” I shook my head. “No, I’m not okay.”

             
“What’s wrong?” He lifted his arms. They formed an oval shape for a second. Apparently he was debating on whether to come in for a hug or not. That’s something we hadn’t done yet—hugged. And then he dropped them.

             
I turned away, embarrassed by the tears. I hated crying in front of an audience. Chris had only seen me cry one other time.

             
“September, come on, what’s wrong?” I managed a moan. Suddenly his strong arms wrapped around me. I caught my breath. It felt amazing just to be held, for the first time in ages, but especially by Chris. Maybe it was because we were becoming best friends. Maybe it was that weird sexual energy between us—that mutual attraction we had to ignore. I wrapped my arms around his waist and sobbed violently into his shoulder. He smelled of residual shaving cream mixed with heavy-duty cleansers. And he was warm. So warm.

             
“Is it about the anniversary party?” he asked, pulling away, brushing my tears away with his thumb.

             
“That’s a big part of it. I just can’t bear the thought of showing up alone. Chris, I can’t.”

             
“Remind me why this boyfriend of yours can’t go.”

             
“He’s not my boyfriend. I just said that to April to get her off my back. He has something pretty big that night.” I blew my nose on a scratchy paper towel.

             
“I wish I could take you.” He looked so helpless.

             
“I know. It’s okay. I’m going to be okay,” I said, hoping if I said it enough times, it would be true.

             
“Is there something else?” He lifted my chin. I was surprised by the tenderness in his touch.

             
I looked away. I hated lying to him about Adrien. “It’s a lot of stuff. Knowing I’m going to have to see John again. Last time was torture. I wanted to die…And well, girl stuff,” I said, unable to tell the whole truth.

             
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said, squeezing me, holding me close again. I nodded, tears filling my eyes again. Would I ever stop crying? I was turning into Niagara Falls. “But you’re a tough girl. You’re going to be fine. I promise.” He brushed my hair away from my face and kissed my forehead.

             
A kiss? Another first with Chris.

***

Abby,

             
Remember when you went to junior prom with Eric Barley and I didn’t speak to you for two weeks? I couldn’t believe you’d agree to go with the guy I’d been crushing on our entire junior year. You knew it would hurt me, but you went anyway. And I was forced to go with Timothy Smith. Ughh. I still remember his slimy wet hands and the way he burped in my ear while we slow danced. And then remember when I lost your parakeet—what was his name? Bernie? I agreed to take care of him while you and your family went to Florida and I let him out of his cage and he flew out the front door? I remember you were so upset you didn’t talk to me for a week. Well now I would do ANYTHING to take those three weeks back and spend them with you. Time is precious. I know that now. Can’t we bend the rules and spent those three weeks together? Can’t you be with me for just a little while?

             
Okay, I guess this is also supposed to be a gratitude journal.

Ten things I’m thankful for.

1. Sunsets. I saw this AMAZING one tonight
(with that cute boy I was telling you about).

2. Chris. He’s my new best friend.
I mean we’re not as close as you and I were—there’s no contest—and no one could ever take your place, you know that. He’s my closest friend these days. He’s really been there for me since you and John deserted me. Not that I’m blaming you for leaving. I know it wasn’t your fault.

3. Indian food. Mmmm…

4. Cameras. That’s a given.

5. You
and every minute I got to spend with you.

6. Q-tips. Only you know how much I secretly love cleaning out my ears.

7. Rock music. 1980s rock music specifically.

8. Tiger. Don’t worry, Abby,
I’m taking good care of him.

9. Mac and cheese.

10. Forgiveness. I’m finally starting to forgive the man who killed you. I’m reading this powerful book on forgiveness. Actually, Chris loaned me a few books on forgiveness. He snagged them from his mom’s library. (She was molested by her dad, apparently, so she had a lot of forgiving to do of her own.) I don’t know how, but I’m finally forgiving. It’s something I need to do. To heal my wounds before they take over and fester—I’m not going to let this ruin my life. I mean, it’s going to take time—it’s not an overnight process. It’s not easy, but if it gives me some peace, it will be worth it. Happiness is a choice. I’m doing it for me...I’m doing it for you.

***

              That night I dreamed of Abby. In it we sat on her leopard-print bedspread, laughing, thumbing through a
Rolling Stones
magazine, listening to U2.

             
At first I was happy to see her. I tricked myself into believing she was somehow alive again. It was sunny. The sky unusually blue, the clouds a glowing orange-pink. Strange for midday. It was surreal. Salvador Dali surreal.

             
“Abby,” I said, “I miss you so much. Don’t ever leave me again. Promise me.”

             
“You know I can’t make that promise,” she said frowning, touching my arm.

             
Her words slashed through me like a razor. I ached to be with her. To spend the rest of our lives together, eating frozen burritos, fighting over clothes and boys, going to rock concerts—even when we’re eighty. Just like she said we would.
Nothing would change us,
she’d said years earlier.
Best friends forever
.

             
I reached out to touch her. I grabbed one of the braids of her fiery hair. “I miss everything about you. Even the annoying things. Even the things I once hated.”

             
She laughed. “So you’ve forgiven me? For stealing John?”

             
I shook my head, confused. “You didn’t steal John. April did.”

             
“Are you still mad at me for leaving you? For dying?”

             
As she spoke, she morphed into Adrien. He sat on the bed, inches away from me, his face screwed up, turmoil and despair in his green eyes. “I love you, September, but love is not enough.” He reached across the bed and slid open the nightstand drawer. Inside was a black handgun. He picked it up and cradled it for a moment. A scream stuck in my chest as he placed it under his perfect jaw. “Goodbye, September,” he whispered before pulling the trigger.

17

             
“Hey September, wake up!” I heard someone say as they shook me out of my sleep. Reluctant, I half opened one eye, overwhelmed by the lacerating sun. Above me I saw Mary’s amused face, her ink-blue hair swinging as she shoved me around. Still in her gray striped pajamas, she looked as grumpy as I felt.

             
“Ouch. You’re hurting me. Leave me alone, I’m tired,” I grumbled, shoving my pillow over my head.

             
“You have to get up. That hot guy’s here.”

             
I sat up abruptly. “Adrien?”

             
“Yeah, him.”

             
“What’s he doing here?” I looked at the glowing red numbers on my alarm clock. 9:40.

             
“I don’t know, but he looks all
happy
. It’s kind of annoying. And anyway,
who
just shows up at 9:30 in the morning?” she said as she left the room. Like me, Mary was not a morning person. In fact she usually rolled out of bed at eleven or noon.

             
My heavy eyelids protested as I forced myself out of bed. What was Adrien doing here? Did he want to hang out again? Maybe he enjoyed our day together as much as I did. Mary said he looked happy. That was a good sign, maybe my plan was working. I grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the shower. I called out, “Mary, tell Adrien I’ll be out in a minute.”

             
“Okay, whatever,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

             
“No need, I heard,” Adrien called from the other room. I laughed as I climbed into the shower.

             
After a quick rinse off, I spent an extra fifteen minutes primping. I put on my favorite blue-green top which complimented my fair skin and a casual brown skirt that matched my brown eyes. I flat-ironed my hair to perfection, brushed my teeth twice and carefully concealed the zit growing on the side on my nose.

             
“You look nice,” Adrien said when I greeted him in the kitchen. He wore my frilly ladybug apron over a lime green t-shirt and moss green pants. What was it with this guy and green?

             
“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

             
“He’s making us waffles,” Mary said, beaming. She was still in pajamas, traces of yesterday’s makeup smudged around her eyes.

             
“I hope that’s okay,” he said, giving me one of those smiles that made me liquefy inside. He did look happy. Happier than I’d ever seen him. His whole countenance was lit up like a bright summer day.

             
I took a seat next to Mary at the table. “No, by all means. I’ve never had a guy make me breakfast. This is—wow.”

             
Mary and I sat in awe, watching Adrien pour thick batter over the sizzling waffle iron. She scooted toward me and whispered, “He’s a keeper.” I half-smiled. If only that were true. If only keeping him was an option.

             
“So September, what was all that screaming about? Did you have another one of those nightmares?” Mary asked, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl, rolling it around on the table. The scent of fresh waffles and homemade syrup permeated the room, making my stomach bellow like a cranky grizzly.

             
I cleared my throat. “Smells great, Adrien.” He turned and grinned a boyish grin.

             
“Was it another Abby dream?” Mary persisted.

             
Adrien threw me curious glances over his shoulder. I looked away, trying to act nonchalant. He presented me the first steaming-hot waffle. He watched me take the first bite.

             
“Adrien, this is heaven,” I said, my mouth still full of buttery waffle.

             
Mary eyed my food jealously until he slid a steaming plate toward her. She said thoughtfully, “You know, people have
died
choking on waffles. It takes only four to six minutes for the brain to start dying once the oxygen’s been cut off.”

             
“Good to know,” I said, rolling my eyes for Adrien’s benefit. He laughed.

             
She continued, “And I for one don’t know the Heimlich Maneuver. Does anyone here know the Heimlich Maneuver?” I nodded as Adrien raised his hand. “Good. Then as long as you two don’t both start choking at once…” Mary nodded her head once, looking satisfied.