November 23rd: All fucked up

“That blows, man.” Ty exhales slowly, blowing his hair out of his face. “That really... Something about you two. I don’t know what it is. Crazy tension, though. It makes crazy tension.”

I sigh. “And I don’t want to spend my life with crazy tension. But... I don’t know. It’s my kid, too.”

And even if it isn’t, I can’t really back out of this now – everyone thinks it is. I’ve told this lie to everyone I know. I might as well go through with it.

“You know what I think it is?” he asks.

I glance over at him. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

He stares intently at the wall. “I think,” he says carefully, “that you’re both right.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“No, let me finish this.” He bites his lip, his eyes narrowing. “You’re both right – about each other. You’re right. She’s testing you. She’s seeing if you’re worth... Going there with. If you’re worth having around. Of if you’re just going to turn into her father if she puts too much pressure on you, or if you’re going to split. But she’s right about you, too. Neither of your realize you’re doing it. But with you, it’s like...” He sighs. “How do I put this? It’s like you’re waiting for someone to care back. Does that make sense? Like... You’re waiting for someone to see how much you help everybody and... For them to send that back to you, I guess.”

I chew on my lower lip. “You really think so? You really think that’s it?”

He nods. “And it’s like, you’re both so intent on catching the other one playing games... That you don’t really realize how badly you’re fucking up, yourself.”

It makes sense, almost. Except I don’t do that. I don’t even need help.

Do I?

* * *

Ty sips at a glass of orange juice, staring sleepily out the window. “You’re driving,” he announces.”

I groan. “It’s too early to drive.”

“Not my fault. He gets discharged at eight thirty, we’re going to be there at eight thirty.” He makes a face and pours the remaining juice into the sink. “Have I ever mentioned that I hate pulp?”

“Maybe you should’ve read the carton,” I say drily.

He rolls his eyes and takes a seat on the counter top. “My mother called my cell. Last night. While you were gone.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Did she now.”

“Yeah.” He tents his fingers and stares at them. “Said she’s working on him. My father. Said she thinks he’ll come around soon.” He snorts. “Yeah right.”

I set my coffee on the table, sighing. “He’s just surprised. And hurt. He’ll get over it.”

“I guess.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

I stand up and grab my coffee. “You ready?”

He glances up at the clock, chewing his lip nervously. “I guess. I don’t know why, but this scares the crap out of me. Going to live with him. I’m way too young to be living with my boyfriend.”

“We’re growing up, aren’t we?” I remark, absentmindedly sipping my lukewarm coffee.

He nods. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think we are.”

* * *

Eight thirty in the hospital parking lot. A redheaded, grinning, laughing Garrett being pushed out in a wheelchair. “I feel like a new mother in a Lifetime movie,” he confesses, standing up. He grips his side for a moment, his hand gripping the bandage visible beneath his shirt. But he’s smiling.

Ty wraps his arms around him, laughing, and kisses him on the cheek. “We’re too young to have kids.”

“Hey, X is getting a head start.” Garrett shoots me a devilish grin.

“At least my ass hasn’t been hanging out of my clothing for a week and a half,” I retort.

He laughs for an instant before his face contorts with pain. “Getting stabbed in the chest is such a bitch. Could’ve at least aimed for my arm or something...” He coughs, trying to smile, but the pain is still visible on his face.

Ty helps him into the van, his eyes never leaving Garrett’s. Once he’s safely buckled in, Ty turns to me.

“Thanks, dude,” he says softly, still clasping Garrett’s hand in his. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Talk to Alice?” He gives me a hopeful look. “For me?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know... Things are complicated. I’ll think about it.”

He opens the door. “Good shit. Tomorrow, man.”

I nod. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

Manuel spoons macaroni and cheese into his mouth. “Amy called.”

I raise my eyebrows. “When?”

“This morning,” he says, his voice garbled.

I roll my eyes. “And you waited to tell me because...”

“Is it really that important?” He shrugs. “It’s just Amy.”

I want to yell at him, but I don’t know what to say. He’s right. It is “just Amy”. Amy, my ex-girlfriend. Amy, the one who moved away. Amy, no longer a part of my life. Amy, the girl who has nothing to do with me. Just Amy. So why do I care if I missed her call?

“Just tell me next time,” I say, sighing. “I like to know when people call me.”

He stares at me, shoving another spoonful of macaroni and cheese between his lips. “Thought you were marrying Alice, anyway. Why do you want to talk to Amy?”

I poke my own dinner with a fork, some burned leftover grocery store quiche we ate sometime last week. I don’t think it was meant to cook in the microwave. “Manny, dude, thanks for your help, but I can take care of myself.”

He shrugs. “Just think you’re stupid about girls.”

“Looked in a mirror lately?” I mutter irritably.

Manuel looks down at his plate. “Why the hell do you do that?”

I raise my eyebrows. He stabs his macaroni disinterestedly with his fork.

“You can’t admit it when you’re wrong. Or when you’re being stupid. You stick your foot down your throat and then you tell everyone else how fucked up they are.” He mashes the pasta into the plate, a disgusting orange mound. “I did what I could, okay? What I had to. I’d do it again.”

I shake my head. “That’s disgusting, Manuel,” I spit, pushing my own food around my plate. “How do you sleep at night? Knowing what you did? Are you proud of yourself? Think you’re some kind of hero?” I poke the charred mass with a knife.

“No matter what I did you’d be angry with me!” he squeals, suddenly in tears, throwing his plate on the ground. It shatters with a sickening crash. “Nothing anyone does ever makes you happy! No matter what I do!”

“Manuel...” I say slowly, but he shakes his head.

“Just leave me alone. You’ve fucked up enough,” he mutters, rising shakily from his chair and running away.

I stare at the shattered ceramic pieces on the floor, mixed with bits of stale macaroni, and I start to laugh. But I don’t really know why.

* * *

“Hello?”

“Hey. It’s Amy.”

I sit down on the couch. “Hey.”

“I called earlier... Manuel said you were out. It was kind of early.”

“Oh.” I draw spiral designs on an old newspaper. “Yeah. Friend was getting out of the hospital. One of those days.”

She laughs uncomfortably. “Who was in the hospital?”

The image of Garrett and Ty kissing swims into my mind. I’m not sure it’s my place to tell Amy this kind of thing. “Friend of a friend. You never knew him.”

“Oh.” She pauses for a moment. “Well, I’m driving in tomorrow. Going to stay with Sera till Dad and Cindy – you know, his fiancé? – gets up here. Did you want to... You know... Have dinner or something?”

I drop my pen. “Um... I don’t know.” Alice’s face flashes into my head, hurt and angry and tear-streaked and desolate. “I mean, it might...” I breathe in deeply, closing my eyes.

“Xavier? You okay?”

I nod. “Um, yeah. Just... Yeah. Dinner sounds good.”

And it does. It sounds good. It sounds great. And why shouldn’t it? My little American dream is over. The white picket fence and the baby and wife... That’s gone. I’m going to college. I can date if I want to. I’m free. I’m totally free.

... Right?

“Good. I’ll call when I get there or something? We can work out details.”

I smile and nod. “Right. Good. Um, look, I’ve got to go. Call me. Good.”

“You sure you’re okay?” she asks again.

I laugh. “Great. Perfect. Never better. Call me tomorrow night. Around five. I’ll be here. Waiting. Bated breath.”

“Right.” She sounds skeptical. “If you’re sure. Okay. Bye, then. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll call tomorrow.”

I nod. “Tomorrow. Sounds great. Bye.”

I shouldn’t feel this guilty. I shouldn’t feel guilty at all. Should I? Things with Alice are as good as over. Except how do I just leave a baby that’s supposed to be mine? I drop the phone into its cradle and sigh.

“You okay?”

I turn. Manuel is standing on the stairs, maybe five or six steps up, watching me.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment, staring at the ground. “I... I don’t know. I was angry. It... You’re just trying. Same as anybody else.”

I nod. “Yeah. I guess.” I sigh. “It just doesn’t make that much sense. I don’t make that much sense. Are people supposed to make sense?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe... We make sense. We just can’t make sense of ourselves.”

“Maybe,” I say quietly, staring at the phone. I pick up my pen off the ground. “Things are crazy, sometimes. I think I’m crazy, sometimes.”

“I think everybody thinks they’re crazy,” he replies.

I sigh, staring down at my hands, cracked and calloused and old. The hands of a bricklayer’s son. I can’t escape my father. Can’t escape his broken promises, can’t shake that empty place inside where he’s supposed to be. “I think I must be crazy. I do everything I know I shouldn’t. I’m fucking everything up. Why do I always have to mess with everything?” I stab at my palm with the tip of the pen.

“I don’t know,” Manuel says helplessly, shrugging. “I... Maybe you don’t really want this. So you’re trying to get in your own way. Or maybe... Maybe you want it...”

I stare at him, biting my lip. “Maybe I want it so badly that I don’t think I deserve it.”

His eyebrows lower. “But why wouldn’t you?”

“Because I suck,” I say finally, staring at my hands. “Because I just suck.”

And I think that must be it.

* * *

That fact is still ringing in my head when Amy rings the doorbell the next day, wearing a skimpy brown dress and a smile.

“You look great,” I say, forcing a smile. And she does. Her hair is longer than I remember it, brown and red and wavy and down to her waist. Her eyes are startlingly blue.

And yet, I can’t stop thinking about Alice.

Amy grabs my hand and pulls me out the door. I yank it shut behind me, my arm twisting around. But I smile. She smiles back, her teeth a dazzling shade of white. Everything is perfect. Why can’t I just be happy?

She smiles up at me. “You want to drive?”

I shrug.

She tosses me the keys. “Go crazy.”

I smile weakly, collapsing into the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel. It seems like it’s been forever since I drove this car. Since I was with her. And maybe it has been. I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eyes are tired. Older. Weary.

“It’s so good to be back,” she exclaims, leaning over and kissing me lightly on the cheek. I turn the key in the ignition. “I’ve missed this place so much. You don’t think people will still be angry, do you? About what I did?”

Yes, I think to myself. But I just shrug, easing the car out of the driveway and into the street.

“Let’s go to the park,” she says suddenly, quieter. I glance over at her. The park. How many times did we spend hours there, on a blanket on the grass, lips suctioned together, our bodies twisting and turning and writhing, only stopping occasionally to stare up at the stars? I know that’s what she expects. I know that’s what she wants. She wants it to be like she never left. Like she never followed me home, or got pregnant, or ruined some innocent guy’s life, or moved away. Like nothing ever changed.

But I’ve changed.

She smiles at me. “Come on,” she urges. “It’s so pretty there at night. It’ll be perfect”

And it is pretty there at night, the stars shining through the trees, the moon hanging over the lake... It’s beautiful. It was beautiful. Before the Knoll, it was the most beautiful place in the world. Before Alice, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. And before everything changed, it would have been perfect.

But how am I supposed to explain that to her?

“Yeah. Okay.”

Why did I just say that?