Thursday, May 25
Alone in the quiet of a life and a house that no longer feel like mine, I play Liv’s voicemail one more time while every cell in my body throbs and aches.
She doesn’t sound desperate, just tired and very, very sad. It doesn’t matter what she said to me, why we fought. Her voice comforts me. I can almost smell her vanilla perfume, her spearmint gum, her essential Liv-ness. I can almost feel her head resting on my shoulder, the closest we get to hugging.
Liv has always been vicious and dramatic. And I would always meet her in the afterglow with a joke, a shrug, a peace offering.
I wasn’t supposed to walk away. Maybe I’m a runner, but not from Liv. Never from Liv. Even if she deserves it.
I have to drive to Philly.
I have to talk to Liv in person, and we have to make up. Too much time has passed already, the damage of which I can’t even begin to quantify. It makes my pulse race and my throat feel like it’s closing up.
I drag myself back into the bedroom to get dressed even though my head feels magnetically drawn to the center of the Earth and my hands are too stiff to button my jeans.
I need my sister.
She’s the only person who can help me through this, help me untangle this mess I’ve made and maybe find a way I can save myself from this situation. I don’t want to sink back down into the deepest, darkest place I’ve ever been—but right now, it doesn’t feel like I have any control.
The ride from Evergreen to Philly is treacherous, and while sitting in traffic on the Walt Whitman Bridge, I dry heave into an old coffee cup, feeling like someone has lodged an ice pick through my left eye. Nothing comes up. The morning light reflecting off the cars around me is so blinding I spend the last mile driving with partially closed eyes. My throat is as raw and ragged as my dignity when I pull down the narrow side street where Mike and Liv live.
I forgo parking altogether and leave my car running in the middle of the street with the hazard lights on. Each step I take feels like a headfirst collision between a broken, exposed bone and the sidewalk. I’m somehow both sweating and freezing cold. Maybe Liv’s sixth sense kicks in—but more likely she can hear my labored breathing when I finally make it halfway up her porch steps.
The front door swings open and she appears, still in her pajamas, frizzy-haired and wide-eyed.
“Nadia, what the hell?”
“Liv,” I pant. “I’m sorry.”
“You look . . .” She blinks twice, hard.
“I’m sorry I missed all your calls,” I say, pressing a hand to my chest to try and calm my heart. “I’m sorry I went away and didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I went to college and I’m sorry I missed your twenty-eighth birthday because I had that big meeting in Vegas. I’m sorry—”
“Slow down,” she says, reaching out for me as she comes down the steps to meet me. “Are you okay? Your forehead is drenched—”
“I’m fine, please just listen. I have to tell you everything—”
“You can tell me everything, just come inside—”
Our voices crash together, one over the other, but I can’t slow down. I have a horrible, horrible feeling. Suddenly, I’m scared. “We don’t have time to sit! I really need you—”
“Why don’t we have time? What’s going on?” Her voice cracks as it reaches a fever pitch. “Are you having an episode?”
“Stop! Stop saying that! I’m not insane.” I grab on to the railing for support and start the story, from the beginning, as best I can. “Marco invited me to Italy and I-I didn’t think it would be like this. But I’m in love with him or something, and I lied to him and now I just . . . I . . .”
The sound dims in my left ear. Then, it becomes overwhelmed by ringing. I press my hand flat against my ear. Shit, that hurts.
Liv grabs ahold of my arm. “Hey, slow down . . .”
“No!” I yank away, out of her grasp.
My throat is dry. So dry. I’m thirstier than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m so thirsty that if I don’t drink water right now, I’m afraid of what might happen. I just need to tell Liv that I’m thirsty.
“Nadia?”
I can do this. I can say it. But the sun is so bright, it’s glaring off her front door, and there’s a car alarm going off. I can smell everything, and I hate it. I just need to focus on getting something to drink.
“I need water,” I try to say, but my teeth snag on the words and my lips are too slow.
“What do you need?” She sounds so panicked. I must have gotten some of the words out. I try again.
I need water.
“Nadia.” Her eyes, a stunning shade of green like the Ionian Sea, have doubled in size. She reaches for me, hand trembling. Why is she panicking? She’s so ridiculous.
I’m fine!
“Nadia, what’s happening?”
I said I’m fine! I’m just thirsty. I need water.
“Michael,” Liv yells over her shoulder. She’s always yelling, deep from inside her diaphragm. She’s so loud, sometimes it feels like she’s stolen everyone else’s voice so she can take up the whole room. But she never usually sounds like this when she yells. Right now, she sounds scared. No, actually. She sounds terrified.
I can hear Mike, too. His voice is deep and pleasant, and his arms are so steady under me. Why are you touching me? I’m thirsty, I try again. I have to say it. I can’t give up.
But suddenly, all I want to do is sleep.