The Singles (81 page)

When Lily was still alive and nothing was a mess.

Cupping my chin, Mom bends her face close to mine. “I could never get any kind of satisfaction in you being unhappy. Surely you know that already.” When I nod, she clears her throat. “You said you have something else to tell me?”

Panic washes over me, but I force the words out before I’m unable to say them. “The day Lily died—it was my fault. She called me to pick her up, and I refused to do it. I told her to walk home.”

Mom blinks several times, and the next thing she says obliterates me. “I already know what you told her.”

––––––––

N
either of us breathes as we stare at each other. “What do you mean you already know?” I finally manage, and my mother releases me. She sits back down, keeping her stare straight ahead. Looking at the window like she had the day I told her I didn’t want to go to Lily’s funeral. “Mom?”

“You called here last year when you were drunk,” she explains. “It scared the hell out of me getting a call from you that late, but I listened to everything you had to say. You were inconsolable, crying about how Lily’s death was all your fault.” Mom takes a sip of her coffee and then wraps her trembling fingers tightly around the mug.

“I don’t believe that, just in case you were wondering. I blame Lily’s death on one person—and that’s neither you nor the boy from your college. I know it probably seems like I did, but I handled your sister’s passing ... badly.” She looks over to me, her eyes touching mine again and gives me a sad smile. “And I’m sorry for the way I handled things.”

So am I, but I push forward. “Did you tell Dad what I told you?”

She moves her head from side to side. “Some things are just better left unsaid.” With those words, Mom gets back up, smiling at me with tears racing down her face. “I’m starving. Maybe ... we can go grab something together? Just the two of us. And then after that we should probably figure out what to do about Thanksgiving.” She laughs sheepishly. “I haven’t even bought a turkey.”

Nodding, I swallow past the giant lump in my throat to say, “I’d love that.”

With the air clear between us, Thanksgiving goes smoothly. It’s just Mom and me, and we skip the traditional meal in favor of steak that she burns on the grill, but I don’t mind. As I prepare to go back to school on Sunday morning, she hugs me tightly. “I love you, Evie.” She clasps my face between her hands and kisses my forehead before adding, “I know you’ve doubted that, but I do.”

“I love you too.”

***

I
return to Founders feeling like a thousand pounds have been lifted off my shoulders and I jump into the last full week of classes determined to, as Nathan always put it, make finals my bitch. Rhys doesn’t come back, but I try to tell myself that it’s for the best as I leave Professor Cameron’s office a few days before my final exam.

“What’s for the best?” a voice speaks up from beside me, and I look over to take in Nathan’s unruly red hair and bright blue eyes.

“That I transfer next semester,” I say gravely, and when his eyes bug, I grin. “Haven’t you learned by now—I’m too lazy for all that.”

“How are you feeling about the final?”

Grasping the bannister, I walk quickly down the stairs. “Hmm, considering Cameron just told me that my interpretation of the melismatic passage in “Vittoria Mio Core” reminds her of a baby goat—” I turn toward him, holding my thumb and forefinger apart and squinting at it—“I guess you can say I’m just a little bit nervous.”

He laughs, but when he sees that I’m one hundred percent serious, he shakes his head. “A baby goat? That’s a new one, even for the succubus.”

Putting Professor Cameron’s comment—which Mac later assures me is tame—out of my head, I practice like crazy over the next couple days. When it’s time for me to go back in front of the vocal department professors again, I’m nervous and shaking.

“You’re going to do great,” Corinne promises me, sipping slowly on her Red Bull as I get dressed for my performance. “Just don’t forget to breathe. I’d give you more advice than that, but since I can’t sing ... just breathe.”

The corners of my lip drag into a grin, and I face my roommate, holding my arms out. “Do I look professional?” She quickly takes in the sight of me from my cream-colored flats, to my slim chocolate brown pencil pants, and finally to the lacy blouse that matches my shoes, and nods. “Alright, if I’m not back before your next final, good luck!”

“You too. Seriously, you’ve got this.”

Grabbing my coat and an oversized knit beret to protect my ears from the chilly day, I head over to the music department. As I sit outside the smaller auditorium and wait for my turn to perform, I play on my phone, checking my email out of boredom and nervousness.

And then my heart stops when I find a message from Rhys.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: Fri, Dec 06, 2013 at 3:37 PM

Subject: Wrecked

Evelyn,

I’ve sat here typing and re-typing this message. My words have been angry, bitter, and guilty, but what it all tells me is this:

You have twisted yourself around my mind, and nothing—who you are or who I am—is enough to take that away. Even if it were possible, I don’t think I’d want it to happen. I can still feel you, taste you, smell you. You are everywhere, and I’ve thought about you until it seemed like you were the only thing that exists.

You have wrecked me—body and soul—and I know that can only mean one thing.

I am in love with you.

I am so in love with you I can’t even think straight anymore.

So the question is—what happens next?

My fingers are shaking so much that I nearly drop my phone as I read his message a few more times. He loves me. This isn’t the first time he’s told me that—he said as much the day he walked out of my room—but this is the one that really counts, the one that lets me know that maybe he and I aren’t done. It’s the one that gives me hope. I start to send him a message back asking when we can actually talk and sort through this, but then Professor Cameron comes out of the auditorium.

“We’re prepared for you, Evelyn,” she tells me, motioning me inside. While she takes her seat amongst the other professors, I stand on the side of the stage, removing my coat. I’m tucking my fingers beneath the brim of my slouchy beret when I see a familiar body duck into the auditorium.

Rhys.

He’s here.

His searching sea blue lock on mine and then he gives me an encouraging nod. “Take off the hat,” he mouths before going to sit behind Professor Cameron, who turns and hands him a clipboard. My hands are so numb I barely feel my fingers as I place my hat by my coat.

The performance is similar to my midterm—I take the stage and state my name and sing each piece of music—but everything else seems to fade as I look out at Rhys.

When did he get back? Why didn’t he at least warn me he’d be here? And most importantly, will he stay?

When he leaves during my last song, my chest burns. My heart is beating erratically by the time I sing my last note, and Professor Cameron gives me one of her tight-lipped smiles.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Miller. Your final grade will be posted in the student portal shortly after the end of the semester.” With those words, she releases me, and I burst into the hallway breathing harshly.

My phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I pull it out and glance down at it. A surge of uncertainty mixed with anticipation and fear goes through me at the sight of Rhys’ simple text.

Will practice room #4 work for you?

Taking the path that I’ve walked so many times already this year, I get down to the basement level in thirty seconds flat. I’m almost afraid that he won’t be here yet, but when I open the door to the room where I first fell all over myself for him, Rhys is sitting behind the piano. He’s playing a song—“Yesterday” again—and I stand perfectly still in the doorway, letting his voice and the music and my own feelings wash over me. When he’s finished, he looks up at me, his eyes full of emotion.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” I whisper brokenly, and he shakes his head and scoots the bench away from the piano, giving me a clear view of every inch of him.

“I couldn’t stay away.”

Words like this are dangerous, and I run my hand over my chest as if it’ll smooth out my heavy breathing. “You didn’t say goodbye,” I say carefully. “But I understand why you left.”

“Evelyn—”

“What happened with your niece?” His eyes follow me as I walk slowly toward him. My chest tightens with every step, and I swear I can hear my heart beating in my ears—it’s racing that fast, pounding that hard. “Your brother’s ex-wife isn’t going to get custody of her, is she?” I question, and he shakes his head.

“No. No she’s not.”

Then, taking a deep breath that sends a shiver through my entire body, I close the distance between us. He reaches his hand out to me, and I take it, gasping for air when he pulls me between his strong legs. I cup his face gently between my hands, looking down at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry that I led you on and that I—”

“Stop apologizing.” He twists his head to the side and kisses my wrist. “God, don’t ever apologize for that. I know why you didn’t tell me—knew why even as I stood there angry with you—and all I could see were my own problems. That makes me fucked up, doesn’t it?”

But I move my head from side to side, my hair falling over his face. “I think we’re both fucked up and a little broken, but I think we could be alright.”

His hands slide down my sides, his fingers kneading into my lower back as he presses his forehead against my stomach. “I love you, Evelyn. I’ve loved you for a while now, and I don’t care who you are or who I am. It’s not going to make me feel any different.”

Those words terrify me—dig their way into my soul. Those words give me hope. “I love you too, Rhys.”

***

L
ater that night, we sit facing each other on his bed and tell each other everything. He tells me about his childhood and Owen and his many regrets. And I tearfully tell him everything—starting with the stupid argument that had driven a wedge between Lily and me, to the awful words I said to her the day I lost her, to the guilt that had settled on my heart for two years. I tell him about everything I wrecked and everything I’m trying to fix, and when I’m done, he holds me close to his chest.

I hear his heartbeat. Feel his warm skin pressed up close to mine. And I am lost.

“Did you mean what you said in your email?” I whisper much later, and I feel his face tilt down to mine.

“Which part?”

“That I’ve wrecked you—body and soul.”

His lips find my temple, and he chuckles against my skin. “Yes. I meant every word. You have done things to me that I didn’t think were possible. It scares the shit out of me, but I wouldn’t want any of that to change.”

Squeezing my eyes closed, I let my head wrap around the twist of fate that brought us together as our bodies entwine with each other.

“I love you, Rhys. So much it hurts. So much that—”

But he covers my lips with his, drowning out my words. I let him because I’m not sure I can speak anymore. He’s right, this is scary, but it’s also right.

“I love you too, Evelyn.”

The Following Spring

E
arly this morning, I dreamt of my sister. Lily. The girl I lost nearly three years ago. It was the fourth time I’ve dreamt of her since she passed away—the second dream from this year alone—but just like always, seeing her and hearing her voice was enough to stun me. That was probably something that would never change, no matter how often she visited me in my dreams.

For once, Lily didn’t have on the red and white tracksuit she was wearing the day she was killed. She looked completely different—dressed in the navy blue bikini she bought the summer before she died. Instead of a tight ponytail, her golden brown hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot, and she looked relaxed. Happy. She stood at the side of my bed, adjusting the top of her bathing suit and muttering how much she wished she had my boobs before lifting her gaze to mine.

“Now I’ve got your attention,” she teased, jumping beside me on the bed and sitting on her knees. Staring down at my reclining body, she narrowed her eyes sternly. “Were you planning on sleeping all day?” As she flung my bedspreads off the bed, the clean scent of her sunblock filled the air around us. “Oh come on, Evie. You have to get up and get it over with. You’re gonna thank me when—”

You’re gonna thank me when you graduate.

Though I'd hated those words coming from her mouth when she was still with me, there was nothing I wouldn't give to hear Lily admonish me face-to-face one more time. 

“I’m up.” I slid my body into an upright position and rested my back against the headboard. Lolling my head to the side, I gazed at my sister who almost immediately offered me that heart-stopping, breath-catching smile. The one that crinkled the corners of her chocolate brown eyes. The one immortalized in the form of a girl just a few weeks shy of her eighteenth birthday. It was the smile that, even though I was dreaming, sent a harsh blast of pain through my chest.

Still, if this were all I have left of Lily, I’d take it.

I’d rather have 
this
 than nothing at all.

“You just closed your eyes again!” my sister shrieked in mock outrage. I felt her hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. “Evelyn!”

“Lilianna,” I countered, fluttering my lashes apart and giving her a look that would rival the Cheshire cat. She hated being called by her full name almost as much as I did, and she responded to what I said by crossing her bare arms over her chest and twisting her lips to the side. “See, they're open now. Happy?”

“I’ll only be happy when you get out of bed before you screw your day to pieces.” A few seconds later after I swore up and down that I was definitely getting up, she slid off the mattress and padded across the carpet toward the closed door.

That was when panic hit me full-force, and I'd scrambled off the bed to follow her. “Where are you going, Lil?” I demanded, nothing the desperation dripping from my voice. With her shoulders trembling slightly with laughter, she shook her head and tossed a mischievous grin behind her.