The Day That Saved Us (37 page)

Carter breaks my haze when he says, “How is it that I’m here before you guys. I’m never on time. I should get a gold star for this.”

“How about an ear flick instead?” I reach out and make contact.

He rubs his ear and laughs. “Ouch, doofus.”

Mom hugs Carter and pets the back of his head. “Hi, son. You do deserve a gold star, but I’m fresh out.”

“Happy Birthday, Mom. You don’t look at day over thirty.”

“Suck up.” I snort.

Mom grabs Peyton by the shoulders and appraises her. She’s trying not to cry.
Hold it together, Mom.
“You look so pretty, honey.”

Peyton blushes, and it makes her look even prettier. “Thanks, Tate. Happy Birthday.”

My mom takes her into her arms, and Peyton looks at me over my mom’s shoulder. The grip she has on Peyton is deeper than a normal hug. I can tell Peyton is having a hard time getting air. She knows I told my mom, and she’s not happy with me.

“Anyone else here yet?” I ask, slipping my hands into my pockets.

Peyton pulls away from my mom and answers me, “Harper and Skylar are trying to find a parking spot. I’m pretty sure his parents drove with them.”

“Well, let’s get in there so we can get seated.”

The dinner is delicious. Mom is happy, which is all I wanted out of the evening. Peyton is carefree. She laughs with everyone and pretends nothing has changed. For the night, her sickness is forgotten. Though I wonder when she plans on telling everyone else, I don’t ask. That’s her decision, and I’ll respect it as much as I hate to.

As we all leave, filing out of the restaurant, Peyton finds her way to my side.

“Thank you for not say anything tonight,” she whispers close to my ear.

“Don’t mention it. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it from my mom.”

“It’s okay,” she forgives me. “I get it. And I’ll tell the rest of them. I promise. Just not yet. Let me process it first.”

I agree with a nod.

“I know I didn’t seem like it, but I really appreciated you being there this morning. It meant a lot to have you with me.”

For a second I look at her. I absorb the sincerity in her eyes and breathe it back out. “You don’t need to thank me, Pete. I’d do anything for you.”

She smiles, close-lipped. This is our life now. Meaningful gazes and words unspoken. “It was really good to see you.”

I tip my chin down. “It’s always good to see you, Pete.” I wink and offer my mom an elbow. The riptide that Peyton is, I have to get back to Brooke.

“You ready to go?” I ask my mom.

She thanks everyone and takes my arm. As we walk along the road toward her car, she says, “Peyton looked really great tonight.”

I nod and keep my gaze forward.

“She was keeping high spirits.” She’s trying to sound encouraging. “That’s good, right?”

“Well, she was also putting on an act since she’s refusing to tell anyone what’s going on.”

She slowly nods and heavily exhales. “I take it she asked you to keep it a secret.”

“She needs time to process it before anyone else knows, and I promised I would respect that. So, that means you too. I wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Mum’s the word.”

ON MY FLIGHT
back to Boston I try to distract myself with an inflight movie, but I find my mind wandering back to Peyton. Halfway through the movie, I still don’t know what it’s about. So, I try reading a book—one of Peyton’s dad’s books—but I can’t get my brain to focus. I’ve read the same sentence at least five times. And it’s the opening sentence of the first chapter. All I want is be in Boston with Brooke and immerse myself in our life together. I need our piece of happiness now more than ever.

“HOW WAS YOUR
visit?” Brooke kisses me when I walk through the door. I wrap my arms around her waist and press her again my chest, desperate never to let go. “Oh, hey there.” She chuckles.

“Peyton has cancer.” It tumbles out. I don’t even think to gently deliver the news. Though I don’t think there is a gentle way to deliver that kind of news. It plagues even the shortest sentence. It’s all I can think about.

She pulls back. “What?”

I move Brooke to the futon and recount my visit, from the moment Peyton told me about it, through her appointment, and my mom’s birthday dinner.

When I’m done Brooke says, “Well, hopefully one of the ovaries will be salvageable. She’ll be okay.”

I nod and try to lift a smile. It doesn’t feel right on my face. I shouldn’t feel this upset. It’s treatable. She’s not going to die. She’s going to have surgery and be just fine. Somehow my heart doesn’t believe that.

“I’m going back for the surgery in a couple weeks.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“If you want, but I don’t even know how much time I’ll be able to get off work. It may even just be a day. It might not be worth it for us to both worry about buying airline tickets, especially with your new job.”

She nods in understanding, but something tells me she’s not happy about it.

“Are you hungry?” Brooke asks and heads toward the kitchen. “I’ve got some dinner in the oven. Should be done in about twenty minutes.”

I’m not hungry at all, but I say, “Yeah. Sounds great. I’m gonna go take a quick shower.”

“Good idea. You’ll feel better after you’ve washed the travel off you.”

The travel. Yeah. That’s what’s wrong with me.

Once I’m in the shower, I turn the water as hot as it will go so I can feel something aside from sadness. The steam fills the shower and fogs the glass. I want to burn the agony and fear from my body. My mind chants over and over.

Peyton is going to be okay.

Peyton is going to be okay.

Peyton is going to be okay.

A LOT OF
my days are spent going through the motions. I wake up. Go to work. Come home. Spend time with Brooke. Go to bed. Repeat.

Brooke has been patient with me. I can tell because every time she talks to me, it’s like she’s talking to a child, trying to pull answers out. It wasn’t apparent to me that I was acting any differently, but every day she asks me how I’m doing and if there’s anything I want to talk about. I smile and tell her I’m fine. Because I am. Peyton’s not.

When my thoughts drift to Peyton I might as well call it quits for the day. I can’t get my anxious thoughts to shut up. What if her condition is worse than Dr. Levanstine thinks it is? What if something goes wrong during the surgery? What if I lose Peyton in every sense of the word? Then it feels like I can’t breathe and nothing helps to bring me back.

So, I haven’t let my thoughts deviate from my daily life. I redirect them to numbers and reports and Brooke. She can still bring me peace.

I look at Brooke sitting at our tiny dinner table in our tiny dining space across from me. We’re eating the chicken parmesan she cooked for us, and she’s looking at me like she’s waiting for a response.

What did I miss? Did she ask me a question?

“Did you hear me?”

I have my fork halfway to my mouth.
Crap
. She was talking about work and a girl named Gabi, who has been trying to make her job hell. But that could’ve been five minutes ago, for all I know.
Was she still talking about work?
I can’t fake this one.

“I’m sorry, Brooke. I spaced out for a second. What was that?”

She calmly sighs. “I asked if you gave more thought into getting a dog.”

Wow
. I was way off. A dog. Yeah. A dog might be nice to have, but neither of us are home enough to take care of one.

“I don’t know if it’s such a good idea when neither of us is home for the majority of the day. We can’t leave a puppy to fend for itself.”

“Well, what if we got a rescue dog? One that’s already been house trained, that just needs a good home. I’m not far from work. I come home most days for my lunch breaks anyway. So I could feed and walk the dog then. Just think of how fun it would be!”

I can’t think beyond work and Peyton right now. The stress of a dog to take care of would be too much. Or maybe it would be exactly the distraction I need. If I’m not focused on Peyton, my days might go more smoothly.

“Okay, yeah. I think it would be good for us. You want to go look at the shelter this weekend?”

Brooke jumps up and wraps her arms around my neck. “Ah! Yes! I’m so excited! This will be so good for us, something for us to take care of and do together.” She pulls back and kisses my cheek. “And I think it’ll help put a smile on your face again.”

What’s that supposed to mean?
I smile. I smile all the time. Maybe it’s been hard to find a reason to smile recently, but I’ve only been back from Charleston for a week. I’ve only had a week to try and process what Peyton’s going through. It’s hard being so far away, helpless from a distance. I can’t do anything for her from here. My brain tells me I wouldn’t be able to do anything even if I was there. The fate of her life is out of my control.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been out of it,” I say and pull her into my lap.

“It’s okay. I know you’re worried about Peyton. It’s understandable, but everything will work out.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “You know?”

When Brooke looks at me, I feel like she really sees me. I’m not sure she’ll like what she sees once she exposes all of me.

I nod because I can’t do anything else. Then I kiss her and help clear the table.

THE NEXT DAY
a package comes in the mail from my mom. It’s a cardboard box of memorabilia. Some old photo albums she thought I might want to keep with me as well as my diploma from Duke.
Am I supposed to frame it, or…?
I’ll probably just put it in a box in my closet.

Brooke sits in our living room on the futon, flipping through the old pictures.

“Look at that bowl cut.” She giggles, almost squealing with delight. “You were such a lady killer. Oh my gosh, and that fanny pack!”

I come around the futon to sit beside her and peer over her shoulder at my neon orange fanny pack strapped around my waist. “What can I say? All the ladies loved me.”

“Is that Peyton?” Brooke points to a picture of us sitting on a tire swing on the next page. We couldn’t have been more than six years old. Peyton’s arm is wrapped around my neck, nearly strangling me, but we’re both grinning at the camera.

“That would be her.” It’s crazy how long ago that feels, and yet I remember like it was yesterday. She’s wearing shorts overalls and a jean jacket. So much denim. She’s got big bangs and her hair is braided in two.

Brooke flips to the next page and there are more pictures of Peyton and me. My seventh birthday party. It was Spider-Man themed. We’re wearing Spider-Man birthday hats and I’m wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt. There’s another picture of us inside a fort we’d built out of sheets and kitchen chairs and pillows in her living room.

“When you said you grew up together, you literally meant you grew up together.”

“Since we were born,” I reply.

Brooke gets quiet. “Did you and Peyton ever…” She doesn’t finish, and she doesn’t have to. I’ve done everything I could so Brooke would avoid asking this question, but I’m still surprised it took her this long. Technically, Peyton and I never defined what we were, so I could get around it. But somehow that makes me feel like a liar, and I don’t want to do that to Brooke. Labels mean nothing to Peyton and I, but we had something.

Brooke keeps flipping through the pages, avoiding eye contact.

“The last summer before college, but it didn’t last long.”

“Wait.” She looks up. “So, you and Peyton
did
date.”

‘Date’ makes it sound so juvenile, so insignificant. “I wouldn’t say that we dated per se. We tested the waters, but it didn’t work out.”

The wheels churn. Brooke begins to see it. The pieces are falling into place, and I wish they weren’t. Her eyes turn down at the corners. “Because that was the summer your dad and her mom started having an affair.”

I nod once, curtly. I don’t want her to push any more. This can’t end well. But I can’t end the conversation. It’ll only give her an opportunity to ask more questions later. We just need to get it all out there and be done with it.

“So, when you say you tested out the waters, what exactly does that mean?”

How can I even begin to describe that summer? It was the summer we fell in love. It was the best and worst summer of my life. It was the summer that changed us.

“Did you love her?” she asks when I don’t answer quickly enough.

I can’t deny it. “Nothing ever came of it, Brooke. I remind her too much of my own father. It would’ve been weird. Nothing will ever come of that relationship.”

Her hands grip the photo album. “Brodee, you two are grown adults now. Your families may have been close, but you weren’t raised as siblings. You love her. What’s stopping you now?”

Whoa, whoa.
I turn toward her and take the photo album from her clenched fingers, set it on the coffee table, and clutch her hands in mine. “None of that matters, Brooke. I love
you
. I’m with
you
.”

Her eyes remain glued to mine. She searches for answers.
What more does she want from me?
“But if your parents weren’t married, if that summer never happened…”

If that summer never happened…

I would never have let Peyton go. I don’t answer Brooke. I don’t have to. She knows. My face gives it away before I can cover it up.
Suck
.

“Oh my gosh.” She breaks away. Her fingers clench the roots of her hair as she stands. “Oh my gosh.”

“Brooke…”

“Don’t. Don’t say my name.” She spins around. “You
still
love her.”

“No, stop that.” I stand. “It’s not like that. I came to Boston with you.
You and me.
We’re going to start our life together here. All of the adventures that we talk about, we’re going to live them, side-by-side. I love
you
.”

She stares at me, searching my face. “You didn’t deny it.” Tears pool in her eyes, an ocean of hurt ready to overflow.

Because I can’t. I can’t lie. I’m a horrible liar. I can’t lie to Brooke. But I can’t lose her, too. “Peyton’s my best friend. I’ll always love her. But you’re my future, Brooke Whitaker. This. Here. Us.” I motion between us. “This is what I want.”

She’s pacing the floor, avoiding eye contact. Her voice is a tangle of hysteria. I don’t know what to do with a hysterical Brooke. “It’s all so clear now. Why you hate Tyler so much, not just because he’s a complete jerk who doesn’t know how to treat women. And the way you look at her when you think no one is watching. All the pictures you’ve kept of her. Why this cancer is tearing you apart. Gosh, I’m so stupid. How could I be so stupid? That I fell for it all. To think you could have a best friend as gorgeous as Peyton and not feel a thing for her.”

“Brooke. Brooke…” I try to soothe her as I cautiously approach. “Brooke, look at me.
Look at me.
” My hands carefully reach out to her. When they make contact with her shoulders, she lifts her head. “You’re not stupid. There’s a reason I never said anything. Please will you sit down and let me explain? Please.”

Without a word, she exhales and makes her way to the couch like I’m about to deliver the sentencing at her trial.
I’m
the one on trial.

Do you love her? Guilty or not guilty?

Okay, fine! I’m guilty!

I sit beside Brooke and begin.

“Peyton was my world. I’m not talking about love and devotion. I mean…we did
everything
together. Our families hardly did anything separately. We had dinner together on the weekends and sometimes during the week if one of our moms didn’t feel like cooking. We attended each other’s games and recitals and parties. We vacationed in Hatteras every summer.” I could go on, but Brooke doesn’t need to know about the late night conversations at our bedroom windows or sleepovers when Peyton was mourning. She doesn’t need to know about how we used to go surfing nearly every weekend or how I helped nurse every one of Peyton’s broken hearts from elementary school through high school.

“Our families were never separate entities. When people referred to us it was: The Fishers and Parkers. It was never one or the other. It was always both. Our families were a package deal.” I squeeze her hands. It feels like I’m enlightening myself more than her. A miniature me sits attentively in the back of my brain, waiting to see how I’ll explain to my heart what I’ve longed to decipher. “So, yes. When Peyton and I spent our last summer together before we went off to college, things shifted. We couldn’t imagine our lives without the other because we never knew what it was like to live separate lives. We started to feel things we never had before because our lives were changing for the first time. And yes, we fell in love, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

It wasn’t meant to be.

It wasn’t.

My heart slowly, gradually, irrevocably accepts it.

Brooke trails her fingertips along my jaw. “I believe you.” Her lips brush a whisper of a kiss across my mouth. “But I see now. We’re not meant to be either.”

“Brooke…Please. I love you. I love you so much. Don’t you see that?”

“Even if you’ve let her go, I’ll never feel like your first choice.” She shrugs and tears slide down her cheeks. “I’ll always be second because if nothing was standing in your way, you would be with her right now. Not me.”

My eyes close hard, and my fists clench. She’s right.

Her voice is a broken mess. “You can’t tell me I’m wrong.”

I want to. There’s nothing more I want in this moment. If it were up to me, I’d make Brooke first. I’d tell her all the things she wants to hear. How Peyton means nothing to me, and Brooke is the only one I see, my soulmate. We could continue living blissfully ignorant in Boston and forget my family. But…I fear that would only make me my father.

If I were to marry Brooke, move to some suburban neighborhood, and have a family with her, would I still love Peyton after all those years? Would I give it all up if I had the chance? The sinking feeling in my gut tells me I might. I’m not strong enough. I thought I could be.
What am I doing? What am I thinking?
Brooke might not be my wife, and we might not have children, but if Peyton were to show up on our doorstep and confess her feelings, I wouldn’t think twice.
I’m already my father.

I’d rather die alone than be him. I might not be able to lie to Brooke, but I sure can believe my own lie, making myself believe I could actually be free of Peyton Parker.

I open my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I
do
love you.” Because I do. I just love two people. I have to let Brooke go. I have to stop this now.

“I wish that were enough.”

And I stop trying to fight for her. I understand why she’s letting me go, which only makes it hurt worse. I’m the one to blame. I’m the reason she’s crying. I hate that I couldn’t be enough. I hate my heart for not allowing me choose.

With the finality of her words, I want to hold her in my arms one last time. For the first time I feel the need to ask her permission, but I don’t. When I take her into my arms, pulling her close against my chest, she comes willingly—instinct. I squeeze my remorse and love into her, knowing it’s not enough, but needing to do it anyway. Nothing else is said. There is nothing more to say. We don’t stay that way for long. Brooke pushes off my chest without sparing me a glance and walks to our bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Brooke decides to move back to Durham the next day, and I feel more emptiness than ever when she’s gone. I can’t tell if it’s the loss of her or because I lost her for something my heart can’t control.