Then Everything Happens at Once, page 16
“You could come with me,” he says.
My fingers freeze around the left earring, head hanging to the side. His hand reaches over to pull my earring free from the tangles. Fingertips touching my cheek, making my jaw slack.
“Oh, please.” My voice is some pathetic whisper. “And do what?”
He jumps off the trunk, exhaling, and the vapor calls my attention. Freddie kicks at a discarded piece of wood, moving in front of me.
He turns away from me. “Lots of stuff.”
“Like what?”
His back is to me now. His hand moves up to his neck, massaging it, then he vapes a little more. It’s dark out here. I look around, a chill creeping up my back. What if this is the kind of place where lowlifes come settle drug debts or something? They’d find us and they’d have to kill us. They’d shoot us dead right before I can find out what kind of stuff Freddie wants us to do on his houseboat.
Freddie turns to me, and there are three feet between us. “As if I’d buy a houseboat.”
I don’t want to be talking about houseboats. I don’t know what I want, but it’s not this.
He offers me his vape, and I take it because that’s the closest we ever come to his mouth being on mine. A puff later, I give it back to him.
“Why aren’t you out here with Lara?”
“I felt like being out here with you,” he says. “Although, this vibe is really making me regret it. I wish you’d just get over whatever it is you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried about anything.”
“Why do you care so much about who I’m with all of a sudden?” He doesn’t look at me. “You never cared before.”
“I did, though. I’m just a phenomenal actress.”
The weirdness is out here with us. It makes my head light, but it’s like my heart beats too hard from within it. Maybe this is what happens before one passes out. Or maybe this is a stroke.
Freddie’s next to me now. We lean against his car, side by side, when I feel the warmth of his hand against mine. Accidental skin brushes that send me over the edge. Will I be forty-five and still feel like this around him?
He takes a step forward, almost like he’s about to walk away, but instead, he turns and he’s nearly in front of me. My eyes trace him from the bottom up. I’m so obvious about it, too.
I want to touch him so badly right now.
He stares at me, and I can’t stop looking at his lips. The weirdness is still smothering me. His lips—I am internally shouting at them to come closer. I can’t even think properly.
“You know I’m not actually getting a houseboat in Vancouver, right?” he says.
“You were just trying to make me mad.”
“Maybe.”
Freddie’s fists close around the front of my coat, pulling me closer. We’re almost at eye level.
What is this? Is this magic? I want it all to stop.
No, I don’t.
He grabs for the middle button of my coat, undoing it.
There are only four buttons on this coat, and the two top ones were already undone. Freddie reaches for the last one. It’s so quiet that I can hear the sound of cars zooming on the highway in the distance. His hands slide over my hips. I don’t like it. It’s too close to the squish above it. He watches me. My chest goes up and down all exaggerated. My fingers tremble, lose sensation. I am so terrified that he’ll move his hands up and recoil from the shock of me not feeling like the kind of girls he’s used to.
Panic starts collecting on my skin, in my stomach.
My gaze travels up. Almost meets his. I want to tell him to keep going, and that I’m sorry for being so awkward all the time, and to please not think I’m gross.
I look away, pulling my coat tight around me.
He sighs and backs away. “Sorry. It’s okay if you’re not into it.”
What am I doing? What’s my problem? This is what I want! I don’t care who I have to push out of the way to get to it—even if it’s myself.
“I am,” I say. “Obviously, I am.”
He turns, shoves his hands deep into his pockets. I take a step closer. I’m going to die right here.
Finally, we’re looking at each other.
That look—his eyes narrowed, too dark—it’s a look I’ve never seen aimed at me before. His lips are shiny. Did he lick them? Mine are covered in strawberry balm.
“Bay,” he says. I’ve never heard him say my name from this close before. It sounds different. “Are you good?”
I’m not that girl. I’m not that girl who can’t deal and wants to run away.
Who would I be if I wasn’t wearing this body?
I wouldn’t be me. I wouldn’t be here right now.
And here is exactly where I want to be.
My hands curl around his wrists. Then I guide his hands to me, against my chest. He makes a noise then, like a sigh that sounds angry, and I feel it in places I had no idea noise could have an effect on. He presses against me, but the car is there to keep me steady. Now that his hands are on me, and his face dips into the crook of my neck, it’s better. I can release some of the breath I’ve been holding.
I don’t even know what’s happening. Or what I’m supposed to do. My hands hang loose at my sides now.
It’s so stupid that I might spontaneously combust. That my whole body is one massive shiver. Just because a guy’s touching my boobs through layers of clothes.
Freddie. Is. Touching. Me.
Buttons. More buttons. This time, it’s my shirt, and it’s my own fingers moving up, undoing the first two. Because I’m okay with what’s underneath. The hot-pink bra I bought specifically for this possibility is there, and I know it looks good because I spent time in front of the mirror before I left, checking out my cleavage from different angles.
“Bay, are you—”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” I’m all breathy. I don’t recognize myself, and it’s the most freeing thing ever.
We’re looking at each other again, so long that I feel anxiety build within at the realization that he’s seeing me.
He kisses me. Not like a feather brush of the lips. It’s like he wants to leave with my bottom lip. I taste him. My body is on fire, and inside my head, all is quiet.
Twenty-Six
I wake up on Sunday morning and it’s still dark out. Rain whips against my window, and my phone tells me it’s late morning despite the sky’s appearance. I sit up and perch cross-legged on my bed, replaying last night in my mind, alternating between hyperventilation and smiling like a maniac into my pillow. Right now, in this moment, I feel like everything in my life has led me to this moment. Everything seems so important.
My phone has zero texts from Freddie, but it has a couple from Lara and from Alex, and—
Oh no—I said I’d call Alex right back last night, then I disappeared.
[Alex] I don’t want to come right out and tell u I’m bummed u never called me back last night so I won’t. ☺
[Alex] Is everything OK?
While a playlist that matches my weird mood fills my bedroom, I stare at the ceiling and reflect on the last couple of days. It feels wrong to text Alex back when I’m lost in Freddie Land, but the more minutes go by—minutes where Freddie isn’t texting me—the more I’m wondering how his presence last night so easily swayed me away from Alex.
It’s like my brain rewired itself, and now I’m no longer in Freddie mode.
I’m thinking more clearly.
[Baylee] I’m so sorry! Everything is fine.
I’m obviously going to lie, but only because the truth is super awkward and not really appropriate. It was just a kiss, right?
That’s a lie. Not just a kiss—not for me, at least.
One thing’s for sure: the likelihood that it’s only me pacing around my house, blowing up a kiss to mean everything, is very high. So I’m going to leave the earth-shattering feelings about kissing Freddie buried deep inside, next to the other big, pathetic feelings I’m always juggling, and on the outside, I’m going to act the way I should be acting. Chill.
[Baylee] Rianne stayed over. Something happened at home, and she needed to talk. We went to bed so late. I was going to send you a text. I had it all typed out. But I didn’t even press send.
Soon it’s like the lie spreads itself out through my mind, anchoring to reality, and it starts to feel legit enough that I almost send Rianne a text to check on her.
[Alex] Well, what r u up to today? Feel like a Bookworm donut?
[Baylee] I always feel like a donut.
I press send before giving enough consideration to that statement.
[Alex] I work until 4 but come by. We can hang out afterward. If u want. ☺
[Baylee] I do. I’ll see you in a bit then.
[Alex] 😁
I stay holed up in my room, catching up on homework and connecting to the C-High Portal to review my social sciences assignment instructions. What should’ve only taken me an hour or so ends up taking me almost three because my mind wanders back to last night, and I end up furiously scribbling in my journal about the thought that is really consuming me right now. It’s more than a thought—it’s a full-on fact: Freddie is home, totally embarrassed and wishing he could go back in time and not come over last night.
The texts from Lara are still there, unread. I move to swipe left with the intent of sending them to the garbage bin, but instead, I’m tapping on her name.
[Lara] I know you asked me to leave you alone but I need to talk.
[Lara] Can we please talk?
I need to talk, too, so badly. But I don’t have anyone to talk to about the things that matter.
[Baylee] Why do you want to talk?
[Lara] I don’t want us to keep being mad at each other.
[Baylee] Well, I’m kind of busy. Sorry.
[Lara] What do you mean?
[Baylee] I have stuff to do today.
[Lara] What stuff?
[Baylee] I’ve got plans. I need to go get ready.
[Lara] You’re busy all day?
[Baylee] Maybe. I’m not sure yet.
[Lara] Doing what? 🤔
It must be odd for her to have to be fit into my life, to be confronted with a Baylee who is out doing other things. I’m always available, always dependable, always ready and willing. I thought these were qualities of mine, but maybe I was just like that by default, because I had nothing else going on.
It would be nice for people to feel like time with me—like my attention—is special, not just a given.
[Lara] Can you not find an hour today to talk to me?
[Baylee] I don’t want to talk about you and Freddie.
[Lara] I know. But you’re my best friend.
[Baylee] I bet Taylor would love to hear all about Freddie.
[Lara] She’s driving me up the wall. 🙄 Besides, there isn’t much going on with Freddie . . .
[Baylee] What do you mean?
Now she’s the one taking forever to reply, forcing me to think about the fact that if I hadn’t been with Freddie last night, then maybe he would’ve been with her. Maybe I got in Lara’s way. Do I feel bad about it?
What I feel are residual tingles in every place Freddie’s touch landed. What I feel has nothing to do with Lara. Shouldn’t I feel bad?
[Lara] He’s been ignoring me.
[Baylee] Oh.
[Lara] I sent him four texts and he hasn’t bothered to respond.
There’s a difference between Lara and me. I refuse to be that girl, the girl firing off desperate texts, begging for attention. I might feel like that girl on the inside, but I won’t let myself become her on the outside. She can text-bomb Freddie, but I won’t be doing that. I’m going to hold out and see if he comes to me. It’s so much better if he comes to me.
[Lara] I’m not sure how to feel about any of this.
[Baylee] I’m not sure either. I haven’t talked to him. Maybe he feels bad going behind his best friend’s back.
The three dots appear, letting me know she’s responding to me. I fire off a quick text before she finishes.
[Baylee] Sorry it’s complicated. But I guess you would’ve known complicated is exactly what you were signing up for, right?
The dots disappear.
Twenty-Seven
Before stepping into Bookworm, I pause out front of the Burger King next door to catch my breath. An incoming video call through messenger flashes through my screen. It’s Lara. I debate whether to pick up long enough for the call to go unanswered. But then she calls again, so I fish my earphones out of my purse and plug them in.
“Hi,” Lara says.
“What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“Just, out.” All she can see behind me is the brick wall of the passageway between Bookworm and the rest of the stores in the strip mall, which leads to the bus stop.
“Are you with someone?”
“Not right now,” I say.
“I’m surprised your mom is letting you go out. My parents forbid me to leave the house until this virus stuff gets figured out,” Lara says.
I shrug, but the truth is, my mother thinks I’m in Freddie’s garage. I didn’t tell her I’d be taking the bus to hang out at Bookworm, because it would’ve likely taken me thirty minutes to convince her to let me go. She was busy with my sister and the million phone calls with her shift supervisor about the upcoming work schedule, anyway, and barely noticed me leave.
“Okay, well, can we talk?” Lara asks.
“I already said I don’t want to talk about Freddie,” I say.
“Well, can we talk about us not being friends right now?”
“That would require us talking about Freddie.”
“But Freddie and I haven’t even done anything yet,” she says. “We were just—”
“Yes, I know. ‘Feeling’ each other out.”
“You talked to Freddie?”
“Yes,” I say.
“When—today?”
“No. Just . . . before.”
“What did you guys talk about?”
Is she using me to try and get close to Freddie?
“I thought you and I were supposed to be talking about our friendship.”
“Okay, fine,” she says. “You’re right—we can’t talk about one without the other. I’m just really confused about this. I don’t understand where his head is at.”
She thought she’d be different. She thought she was special, but she’s realizing she’s not. So she’s looking for me to do what I usually do when this kind of thing happens—make her feel better. I always told myself it was because I was skilled at choosing my words, at being a good friend, but I’ve always known it’s more that my sheer presence, seated right across from her, reminds her that no matter how shitty she feels about herself, at least she’s not a desperate fat girl with zero prospects.
“What’s the point of this, Lara? What are you trying to talk to me about?”
“Well, I’ve decided to stop talking to Freddie,” she says.
“Oh.”
“I thought you’d be glad,” Lara says.
“Lara, the damage is done. You knew what Freddie meant to me, and you still went behind my back to try and take him,” I say. “Do you get that?”
“I do, and I’m sorry for that. I really am, but at the same time . . . he wasn’t yours. I know you wanted that more than anything, but it wasn’t going to happen. That’s not my fault.”
The nerve. The nerve! I wrestle for a moment with the idea of letting her know exactly how wrong she is. Just for a moment.
I’m about to answer, but then she adds, “You even told me, when you thought we were talking about Taylor, that she couldn’t get mad at me because it’s not my fault.”
“Okay, fine,” I say. “Well, I guess I’m mad for no reason, then.”
“I didn’t say that,” she says. “I get that it sucks. I wish I hadn’t started thinking of him that way. It was a surprise. I’m sorry, Baylee.”
“Okay, then.”
“Sometimes you get caught up in the moment, in the feelings, and you have to follow them. I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, but even though I knew better, I just . . . got caught up.” She looks for me to understand, but I keep my face blank. “I was thinking about what you said before, about the boyfriend-relationship stuff. I guess I have been acting like always having a guy is the most important thing in the world.”
“And now you don’t think so?”
“Now I realize it might be a bad pattern,” she says. “It’s definitely not worth all this. So, I’ve decided to stop talking to him.”
“Wow—well, thank you, Lara. That’s really mature of you.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“I’m not stupid, Lara,” I say. When she flashes me a look of confusion, I add, “You’re not having this new realization. You didn’t stop talking to him—you just told me he stopped talking to you. You’re just trying to save face.”
She narrows her eyes, just enough to make her disagreement evident. Lara sighs dramatically, then rakes at her hair until she’s pulled it into a lovely messy bun on top of her head.
“I should go,” I say.
Her face changes, and she picks up the phone, her attention fully on me again. “Wait. So that’s it?”
“I don’t want to argue with you,” I say. “I’m late—I have to go.”
“Are you at Bookworm?”
“Yes.”
“Who are you meeting at Bookworm? The Alex guy?”
“No,” I say. “The Alex girl.”
Lara looks surprised, but then her face changes like something clicks. “No wonder that Andre guy didn’t know what I was talking about! Why didn’t you tell me she was a girl?”
I shrug.
“You’re embarrassed about it?”
“No, I’m not. I told Rianne about Alex.”
“You told Rianne, but not me?”
“You and I are not exactly talking right now,” I say while Lara is unable to wipe the fact that she’s offended off her face. “At least, we weren’t.”
