“You’ve only ever been with me and I don’t want you to regret that. To feel trapped with me because of what happened.” I say it as softly as I can. “I’m letting you go, Mads.”
Her jaw drops as tears begin to roll. “No. No . . . I didn’t mean it. I was just upset. We can work through this.” She twists her body and finds my cheeks with her hands, closing her mouth over mine, her salty tears coating my lips.
I’ve already made up my mind. Still, how do you pull away from someone you love this much when you know it’s probably the last kiss you’ll ever share? And when it deepens, and one of her hands slides under my shirt, I know that I don’t have a choice. Open house or not, I’m tempted to have just one more time with Madison in this bed, for old times’ sake. But then I’ll chicken out.
So, I break away from her mouth to lock eyes with her. It’s the least I can do, not turn away from her, as I’ve been doing all these months. “You’ve been a hundred feet away from me all summer and I’ve made no effort. It’s only going to get worse and I can’t deal with that guilt, on top of everything else. I just . . .” I swallow the lump but it won’t budge. My eyes begin to burn as I force out in a whisper, “I’m sorry.”
Whatever restraint she held onto before breaks down and a torrent of tears releases. “Please. I can’t lose you, too,” she gets out between the sobs.
Can’t she see it?
She already has lost me.
■ ■ ■
My mom leans into my car window. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive out with you? I can fly back.”
“I’m good, Mom.” I test the feel of the steering wheel under my fingertips. My Honda Accord. The car that Sasha would have been driving that night, had I not swapped for my dad’s monstrous SUV. It would have caused considerably less damage to the Cleary family’s car. Maybe more of them would have survived.
Maybe I wouldn’t have.
I’ve sat in a car only a dozen times this summer, and on only a handful of occasions have I been behind the wheel. Never for more than a twenty-minute drive. Now I’m about to get on the road for almost six hours. I’m “moving on.”
“Okay, well . . . do you have everything?” Mom’s eyes drift to the backseat, where the cooler of ready-made meals that she spent the last week preparing sits. I haven’t exactly been eating well these past few months and she doesn’t trust that I’ll miraculously begin taking care of myself once I’m back in Lansing. Probably a safe bet.
“I’m good, Mom.”
“How long before your new roommate gets there?”
“Next week.” Derek’s cousin, Rich, is coming back to Michigan State for his graduate degree. He texted me a few weeks ago, looking to rent Sasha’s room. It took me eight days to respond but, in the end, I agreed to let him move in. I’m still not sure if that was a good idea, if having a complete stranger might not be better, but at least I won’t be alone.
“Well, that’s good. That’ll give you some quiet time while you finish those exams. And take it easy with football practice.”
“Yup.” I avert my eyes. She’s always been able to read a lie in them.
She leans in to give me a kiss on the forehead. “Call me when you get there.” A pause and then, “Things will work out between you and Madison. Don’t you worry.”
My eyes drift to the “Sold” sticker crossing the sign on their front lawn. The Danielses’ house sold in two days. Twenty-day closing. A bit fast, but I guess they just really want to get away. The next time I’m back here, a new family will have settled in nicely.
Mom steps back, giving my dad some room to maneuver his way in. He actually rescheduled his morning meetings to be here when I left. I haven’t decided whether I think it’s because he wants to say goodbye or because he doesn’t believe I’ll actually leave.
“You’re doing the right thing, Cole. Heading back there, picking your life up again. You need to do this.” With a pat on my shoulder, he steps back, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dress pants.
I pull away, the reflection of those two houses standing side-by-side in my rearview mirror.
The memory of children’s laughter a hollow echo in my ears.
■ ■ ■
Almost four months vacant. I’m actually surprised no one broke into the apartment.
I let my duffel bag slide off my good shoulder. It hits the kitchen tile with a thud that echoes through the space. At eleven hundred square feet, it’s a decent-sized place for two college guys. Right now, it feels too big.
Too empty.
We lucked out, grabbing the lease on the apartment from one of the seniors on our football team. We’re ten minutes from campus and above a popular neighborhood pub. We’ve never minded the noise. The day Sasha and I picked up the keys, two years ago now, we weren’t here for more than four hours before we threw a house-warming party. The night ended with noise complaints from neighboring houses and cops at our door, but luckily, no underage drinking charges.
Last year, the party was twice as big.
When my phone rings, I answer it without looking at the screen, expecting my mom. She has already called me three times on the way here.
“Did you make it?”
My heart starts racing at the sound of his voice. Then I put two and two together. “Rich?” I forgot that he sounds so much like Derek.
“Yeah, man! Listen, I was hoping to get the key off you tonight. Maybe we can grab a drink downstairs.”
“Tonight?” I haven’t seen Rich since the night of the accident. I also haven’t touched a beer. I’m not ready for this. “Sure.”
“’Kay. See you soon.” I hang up the phone, the empty feeling in the pit of my stomach growing.
Hauling the rest of my things in takes no more than fifteen minutes and I’m left wandering the space, the emptiness screaming out so loud I can barely hear myself think. That’s when I find myself standing over the big brown box that Susan Daniels gave me, small switchblade in hand. I’ve been staring at that box for over a week now, afraid to open it.
I slice open the clear tape that seals the contents—knowing I’ll find as much of my childhood as Sasha’s inside. A mishmash of things that I recognize well: A never-worn Notre Dame jersey that Sasha bought nine years ago, when Cyril and my dad took us down to a game. Ironic that we ended up playing for one of their rival teams. A well-used Nintendo game box with every version of Halo ever made. I kicked Sasha’s ass in every single one of them. He had to replace the controllers twice after whipping them against the wall in anger. A binder with his baseball card collection, including his prized Mickey Mantle card.
Beneath a bunch of ticket stubs from games and concerts that we had seen together—it’s not so much that Sasha was a nostalgic guy as he just got into the habit of tossing those into his sock drawer—is a folded piece of paper.
When I open it up and find the four lines in a child’s large print staring back at me, a chill rushes through me. I haven’t seen this in years. Sasha, Derek, and I wrote the friendship pact in second grade, after I got pissed off at Sasha for lying about a doctor’s appointment and ditching me to play with Derek. We didn’t talk to each other for four days. An eternity, back then. When we finally made amends—thanks to the intervention of our mothers, who were tired of seeing their sons moping around every night after school—we made the pact.
Friends and brothers forever.
We will never lie to each other.
Your stuff is my stuff and my stuff is your stuff.
We will never leave a man behind.
Slightly dramatic, especially for three seven-year-olds. The words blur behind my unshed tears but I’m chuckling. That last line must have had something to do with the G.I. Joe comics we were obsessed with. The three brown stains on the bottom, where we jabbed ourselves with Susan’s sewing needle and signed with our bloody fingerprints, added a nice touch.