Then Everything Happens at Once, page 29
“I swear you’re doing this on purpose,” I tell her.
Nine p.m. on the dot, I lower the volume of my sister’s instrument and sign into the group chat Rianne arranged. Everyone’s supposed to be there, including Lara.
Everyone pops up into the meeting around the same time. Squares on my phone show Rianne, Trey, Lara, Rav, and Freddie. The chat turns into a bunch of gossiping about what everyone is up to, who’s totally given up on school, who’s hooking up with who. We go through the typical questions, asking each other what we think will happen, if we think we’ll be going back to real school in September, if the second wave of the pandemic will be worse than the first. No one asks about Freddie and me, which I am grateful for. It’s difficult to reel it back in, to try and make it private again, but that’s exactly my goal. If we don’t talk about it, if we’re more careful, then maybe it’ll fade back into the darkness.
The whole time, my eyes are on him, but it’s easy for me to slip back into my role, becoming the Baylee whose internal tingles and sparks for her friend make no appearance on the outside.
“Ri, get your gramps on camera!” Lara says.
“Are you kidding? This is his bedtime. It’s almost eight,” Rianne says. “He gets up at four a.m. to eat dry toast and half a grapefruit. He’s very particular.”
We talk about Rianne’s semi-viral videos for a while.
“Hey—I have an idea,” Lara says. “We should join the drive-bys for hospital workers. What do you guys think?”
“Yeah,” Freddie says. “I would.”
“I’d be down,” Trey says.
“My grandpa would so drive me!” Rianne says.
“I’d be driving by now if I could have taken my damn G2 when I was supposed to,” Rav says.
“It’s bullshit,” Trey says. “I had mine booked for two weeks ago, and it got canceled. Fred’s going to be the only driver for a long-ass time.”
Freddie shakes his head. “Damn, I got lucky.”
Rav groans. “I guess I have to get my mom to drive me. I’m so mad, bro! I could be driving by now!”
“I know, bro,” Trey says.
“Okay, so my dad says there’s a drive-by planned for Sunday,” Lara says.
“I bet my mom would take my sister and me for the ride,” I say.
[Freddie] We could go together, you know.
[Baylee] I know. I just don’t want to . . . say that out loud.
[Freddie] Oh, OK. I get it.
The conversation veers back to all the canceled driving tests for a while.
I get a text from Lara.
[Lara] How are you?
[Baylee] I’m okay. You?
[Lara] Same.
[Baylee] I saw the worst 5-minute Craft ever earlier. Like, so bad that it made me angry.
[Lara] Send it to me. I want to be angry, too.
[Baylee] The drive-by thing was a really good thing to suggest.
[Lara] Thanks. Are we talking again, yet?
[Baylee] I don’t know, are we?
[Lara] I think we should. I think there are some broken pieces, but I don’t think we should be throwing the whole thing away.
[Baylee] So, you want to recycle it?
[Lara] I think it can be repurposed. I feel like with a glue gun and some twine, it can become good again. Right?
[Baylee] I can’t even believe you’re suggesting we 5-minute Craft our friendship. 😬 Your cleverity just blew me away.
[Lara] It was good, wasn’t it? 😎
Trey insists on making everyone listen to this new song he’s obsessed with. I spend some time listening, then I consider Lara’s texts.
[Baylee] There’s actually something I want to talk to you about.
[Lara] What is it?
[Baylee] It’s about that girl I was talking to, Alex. And the letter you wrote Freddie.
[Lara] Oh OK. Well . . . Taylor wrote most of it.
[Baylee] I figured.
[Lara] Can I just say that the whole Freddie thing . . . I guess it wasn’t really about Freddie on my end.
[Baylee] I figured that, too.
[Lara] But anyway, do you want to video-chat?
[Baylee] Yes.
I cross my legs on the couch next to my sister, then Lara’s face appears on my screen.
The next evening, Freddie and I are side by side on the garage couch.
[Lara] I know it’s awkward but you really need to have a conversation with him. You guys need to both be on the same page.
[Baylee] You’re right. I know.
I look over at Freddie, ready to start the conversation, but then he shifts his weight and his shirt rides up a little. I give him a sideways glance, starting from the bottom up. Inside, the butterflies start to flutter their wings, and goose bumps travel over my skin. I don’t say anything for a while, totally content sitting here with my tingles and sparks.
“What?” Freddie says, noticing.
“Nothing.”
I look away. I start typing a message to Lara, intent on telling her this isn’t the right time, when a feeling comes over me, pulling my gaze to Freddie’s.
We look at each other, and I wait until he makes a move, letting the anticipation build.
So many minutes go by, minutes of me wondering how kissing Freddie continues to be so thrilling.
“Freddie,” I say, pulling my face away from his. “What do you think will happen to this when school starts again, when things start going back to normal?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel like anything will happen to it. We’ll just keep it secret, like you want.”
“But what if we meet other people?”
He shrugs.
“Would you be jealous?” I ask.
“Would you be jealous if I met someone?”
I nod. “I think I would be. A little.”
“Same.”
I sigh, knowing this warrants being a little more specific.
“I’ve been thinking about that girl,” I say. “Alex.”
“Oh. I see,” he says. I give him an uncomfortable half smile. He nods, seemingly understanding. “Well, I guess this thing would have to stop.”
“Forever?”
“I don’t really know,” he says. “I guess we’ll just have to check in with each other and see?”
“Okay,” I say. “I think checking in is a good idea.”
There’s been so much to learn about in the last months, but I think above all, the lesson is in being careful. Careful physically, but also careful with other people’s feelings. Careful with my own.
Freddie and me being together but not really together—friends with benefits—it’s a thing I was never supposed to be content with. I know that as a girl, I’m supposed to be very clear about the fact that any connection to another person is supposed to happen with one goal in mind: to find the one, to find true love. All the butterflies, the drama, the dates, the sex—it’s all supposed to be in pursuit of a romantic love story. I think a love story would be cool, and I truly hope there’s a soul-mate type of person out there for me. But at the same time, I’m totally cool having fun like this. This thing with Freddie has made me realize that’s totally okay.
There’s always worry, though. Worrying about Freddie’s feelings and what would happen if he wasn’t okay with this anymore. Worrying about the possibility of him having real boyfriend-girlfriend feelings for me, or me somehow developing those same feelings for him. No matter how unofficial this thing is with him, it could still get complicated and messy.
The truth is, right now, I’m self-centered, a little selfish, and a little too concerned with doing what I want, when I want. But I know there’s potential for another version of me to step forward. A version who wants other things, who conjures up Alex in her dreams, who fills with butterflies at the simple, late-night thought of holding her hand.
For now, though, the only love story I can handle is the one with myself.
Epilogue
It picks up again months later, with a series of desperate texts that Lara convinced me would be viewed as bold, and not at all as pathetic.
[Baylee] I know this is so random, but do you think there’s a chance she might want to hear from me?
[Pen] The balls you have messaging me. Damn.
[Baylee] I know.
[Pen] Why do you even bother? It was months ago.
[Baylee] I’m taking a chance. I don’t want to think back and wish I’d tried harder to make it right.
[Pen] You knew Alex for like, ten minutes. Why don’t you just move on?
[Baylee] It’s not like it’s easy to just move on. Alex is really awesome.
[Pen] What do you think I can do about it?
[Baylee] I just want to tell her some things. I can’t reach her, and I thought maybe if I earned your respect by manning up, you might be willing to help me out with something.
[Pen] Good point. I am definitely a fan of girls manning up.
And that’s how a handwritten letter makes its way by mail to Pen’s apartment, and then it gets hand-delivered to Alex. A very vintage way to communicate. Something I hope will mean something to Alex.
Dear Alex,
Remember me?
Oh . . . that was dumb.
Of course you remember me. I’m the stupid girl you wasted all of March and most of April 2020 on.
I could literally fill a whole journal with excuses and justifications for how I ended up wasting your time. But I guess the thing to know about that is that you were never the problem. It was me. And I’m not just being all “it’s not you, it’s meeeee” about it. It’s not supposed to be dismissive. It’s just supposed to be the truth.
I really feel like I missed out on the chance to be around you, and not all of it was covid’s fault.
I’m totally conscious of the fact that it only lasted two months, and more months have passed between then and now, so maybe I’ve mostly faded away in your mind. Everything is constantly changing. It all makes so much sense for us to have moved on.
You haven’t faded away for me, though. You’re still pretty much . . . there.
I guess what I’m saying is . . .
Don’t wanna leave you really
I’ve invested too much time
To give you up that easy
To the doubts that complicate your mind
Anyway . . .
I’m kind of hoping feelings and apologies mean more when they’re handwritten. And also when they contain some of Pat Benatar’s banging lyrics.
I would just love to talk to you, to hear about what you’ve been up to. I also hope you and the people around you are safe. I hope you’re all okay.
Baylee Marie Kunkel
If this was a book, it would be taking place exactly one year from Chapter 1, on a frigid February Friday night. I’d like to report that the silky black cami I have on is tucked into my jeans right now, but come on, I haven’t changed that much in a year. She’ll always be there, that mean voice in my head, telling me to suck it in, to sharpen my hearing to be able to hear everyone around me having reactions to my size. I’ve decided to carry on despite the negativity, cherishing the moment she temporarily shuts the hell up and fades away.
School has been a mess, moving to and away from virtual as they open, close, then reopen the school buildings. Given the unpredictability of it all, and the very real, ongoing concerns with my sister, my mother allowed me to opt for permanently virtual schooling through an official virtual school that’s apparently been around for twenty years. Lara convinced her parents to let her do the same, and we enrolled in the same classes. This would 100 percent never have happened in the old world—neither my mother nor Lara’s father would’ve ever allowed such a thing—but this COVID-19 stuff changed nearly every rule there ever was.
Shaya lost her spot at day care when Mrs. Morales hesitated to send her back when day cares opened up in the fall. So I am still the nanny, except now Shaya comes to my house, and we spend our days on the main floor with my sister, who is out of school indefinitely now. Mrs. Morales started worrying about Shaya being deprived socially, the same concerns my mother had about my sister. So now there’s a three-year-old nonstop chattering as she plays with blocks on the floor while my sister rolls around next to her, busting Shaya’s towers nearly every time with a precise whack of the hand. I do my homework on the coffee table, Lara often up on a tablet screen working on the same assignments as me.
Freddie and I naturally cooled off when more and more time started passing between us getting together. Part of me suspects he might have started talking to someone, but I’d be a hypocrite if I let my pangs of jealousy out in the open.
Crestonvale Square is still fairly well frequented, probably due to our latest provincial lockdown having just been lifted a couple of weeks ago. We came here last weekend for Beck Field Trip Day to watch people skate and enjoy the outdoor light shows, and my sister ended up sleeping the whole time because she just wasn’t in the mood for it. That’s when I realized what happened to Sweet Little Things. The sign is still up, but it’s dark. Inside is empty, tables and chairs stacked and pushed against the wall.
[Lara] Is she there yet?
[Baylee] No. OMG I am so nervous. I feel like I’m going to puke.
[Lara] Take some deep breaths. Watch a couple TikToks. Calm the hell down.
[Baylee] You’re making it worse.
[Lara] Should Rianne and I come?
[Baylee] OMG NO. I would literally pretend I don’t know you.
“I guess we should start by paying our respects,” Alex says.
She stands a few feet away from me, and we both lean against the fence, facing Sweet Little Things. Her hair is all one color now, her natural black-brown, and it’s shaggier than I remember. She’s wearing a black surgical mask.
“We should,” I say.
“Sweet Little Things, the best banana split I’ve ever had.”
“Sweet Little Things, the only time I’ve ever seen a banana split in real life,” I say. “I can’t believe this place closed.”
“I know.”
“Remember when we thought this would only last a couple weeks?”
She snorts. “This has been such a wild ride. And not in a good way. I have maskne.”
“Really?” I ask. “Can I see?”
We face each other now, and given that we’re outside, we remove our masks. Her cheek piercings are gone, nothing but perfect dimples left behind. There are no zits that I can see.
“Your face looks . . . great,” I say.
“As does yours.”
I’ve spent the last month trading DMs with Alex, taking it slow. She wouldn’t meet with me until now, which I understand, but it hasn’t been easy. I’ve been completely consumed by her internally, while treading carefully on the outside. There’s no guarantee she’ll feel anything for me again. But on my end, it’s very clear where I stand. I have to steady myself from the rush of feelings and sensations moving through me with her being so close.
“Shall we take a walk?” she asks.
“Yes!”
My stomach rips itself up internally with a fresh somersault of anxiety.
“You want to hear something weird?” I ask, and she nods, tipping her head sideways to meet my gaze. “My stomach does this thing when I’m nervous, like it’s trying to eat itself. Can you hear it? It’s so loud!”
She pretends to listen carefully. “I hear nothing.”
“Oh, good.”
“I pee a lot when I’m nervous.”
“Really?”
“I have to pee really bad right now,” she says.
“Really?” I flash her one of my coyest smiles, and she nods, that twinkle in her eye making an appearance. “That’s really . . . sweet.” The look she gives me sends vibrations through me.
“You have hand sanitizer, right?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say. “Do you need some?”
She shakes her head and slips her mask back on, so I do the same. Then she walks up to me, reaching for my hand. My eyes rest on our fingers clutched together, totally in awe of the power a simple touch can have. My mask camouflages the over-the-top grin that pulls my lips wide, so I don’t even need to reel it in.
All I can do right now is give the universe a bucket of gratitude for allowing this to come back and happen again.
Acknowledgments
I have to start with my agent who has had my back since way back when, Linda Epstein. Your ongoing support, even during that ridiculous hospital-pandemic-critical-care time when I was convinced I’d never write again, has meant the world to me. The process is just a hell of a lot nicer with a fierce advocate by your side, and I thank you for being the person who protects my interests and gives me much-needed advice.
I am ever so grateful for my editing team. First, to Jill Davis: The relationship we built during the editing of Girl Mans Up is something I was really looking forward to continuing with Then Everything Happens at Once, but that, alas, wasn’t meant to be. I am so grateful to your role championing TEHAO, setting everything in motion to ensure it became a real book. To Megan Ilnitzki (and Jenny Ly): I thank you for picking up TEHAO upon Jill’s departure and for the assistance and insight you (both) provided to tease out the story I was trying to tell during the editing process. Your guidance led to this book that I’m unbelievably proud of—the book I wish I would’ve stumbled upon as a teenager.
A million thanks to HarperCollins for the support. I am so proud to be sending another book out into the world via HarperCollins. To the entire team responsible for the cover of this book: I just can’t say enough about how fabulous this book looks. Thank you to Joel Tippie (designer), Laura Harshberger and Mark Rifkin (managing ed), James Neel (production), Shannon Cox (marketing), Patty Rosati and team (school and library marketing), and Anna Ravenelle (publicity).
