Henry
“Oh,” she says tonelessly.
“It’s not a big deal.”
She inspects her nail polish, which is black and glittery. She disagrees—that’s obvious. And who can blame her? My whole demeanor has changed.
It’s a big fucking deal.
She turns in our chair to face me, crisscrossing her legs. “So, what happens if she doesn’t get a reply?”
I rake a hand through my hair. “She keeps texting. Or she calls my mom, who’s close with her mother. As many times as I’ve asked my mom to stay out of it, she’s got loyalty where Whit’s concerned. And a whole lot of sympathy.”
“Whit,” Piper repeats, making the name sound like an expletive. “Why’d you guys break up?”
“There were a lot of reasons.”
“Okay. Give me a few.”
When I’m quiet, she stretches a hand toward me, pressing her palm to my cheek. The gesture helps me understand her motivation. She’s not asking to be invasive. She’s concerned. I guess that makes me a sinking ship, visible from shore.
I drop my elbows to my knees, dragging my hands down my face. Our pasts were bound to catch up to us eventually. I’ve encountered Damon and met Gabi. Piper’s gonna learn about my breakup. We can’t go on pretending we didn’t have lives before this summer.
Still, I hate talking about Whitney.
Leaning into the chair’s cushioned back, I gesture for Piper to come with me. She does, taking my hand, twining her fingers through mine in a show of support that, mortifyingly, raises a lump in my throat.
I swallow. “Whitney and I are very different people. It was all good at first, but eventually she wanted me to become someone I’m not.
It…it wasn’t working. Still, I was too chickenshit to end it.
She was the first girl I’d been serious with, you know?
I kept putting it off, hoping things between us would get better.
And then she ended up pregnant.” I pause, then revise.
“We ended up pregnant—it’s not like she managed it on her own. ”
Piper goes very still. “Oh. God.”
I push out a breath, trying not to rouse the anguish I’ve spent months wrestling into submission.
“We were always careful. I was always careful, even though she’s been on birth control since she was fifteen, for cramps or whatever.
But one night I didn’t have anything, and she promised it’d be fine. ”
Chill, Henry, she said. It’ll be okay.
I figured she would know, since she was the one who was using the pill, and knew her cycle, and always said she was in tune with her body.
I shouldn’t have taken the risk. I should’ve insisted we find a condom or put things on hold for the night. I should’ve been smart. Responsible. Safe.
I was none of those things, and as a result, I nearly lost West Point. I nearly became another link in the too-young-to-parent chain Mom and Dad started. And Whitney…baby or no baby, she paid severely.
Jesus—my heart is pounding.
Piper opens our joined hands, then studies my wrist, my palm, my fingertips, squinting through the darkness. She’s quiet for so long, I start to wonder if her mind has been properly blown, if she’s decided that she’s heard enough.
But I’m not sure I want her to let me off the hook. I can’t be perpetually shackled to this anchor of regret, dragging it through every moment she and I share.
She links our hands again, looking up at me.
So I continue. “Whit and I had a huge fight after she showed me the positive tests. She couldn’t stop talking about how she’d have to quit dance and give up college and how we should’ve used a condom after all.
Like, no shit. I couldn’t shut up about West Point, how you can’t apply if you’re married or if you have a legal obligation to child support.
There was yelling. A lot of crying. I was scared shitless.
I can’t even imagine what she was going through. ”
“Henry, I’m so sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be, though, because here’s the worst part: When she told me she thought we should end the pregnancy, the first thing I felt was relief. Not worry or sorrow, but relief. What an asshole, right?”
“You’re not an asshole. It was a shocking, stressful situation. I’m sure you handled it the best you could.”
I shake my head. “You’re giving me too much credit.”
“No,” Piper says softly, reaching up to touch my face. “I don’t think so.”
Whitney and I were over, but I didn’t feel right about bailing on her, so I asked if I could go with her to the clinic.
She made an appointment for spring break, when her parents would be at work.
Afterward, I drove her home with the prescription, some magazines, and a bag of her favorite snacks.
She read over the doctor’s directions, took the medication, and sent me on my way.
By then, we weren’t fighting anymore. We were hardly speaking.
“Whit’s mom called the morning after her appointment,” I tell Piper.
“My mom had just gotten home from a twelve-hour shift, and then her friend’s on the phone, losing her mind about how her daughter’s been admitted.
My mom woke me up and drove me back to the hospital she’d just left.
In the car, I came clean about the clinic and the pills, about going to sleep that night even though Whit hadn’t answered the texts I’d sent to check in on her.
I was furious with myself and freaking out about how sick she’d become. ”
“But she’s okay,” Piper says, her voice wobbly. “Whitney’s okay, right?”
“Physically, yeah. Now, anyway. Medical abortions are statistically safer than childbirth. I’ve done a ton of reading on this stuff since it went down.
She was just really unlucky. She hemorrhaged, and then there was an infection.
” I look at my hands, wrapped around Piper’s.
“She might’ve died if her mom hadn’t found her when she did.
And what was I doing? Fucking sleeping.”
“Henry, there’s no way you could’ve predicted what would happen. Even if you’d been awake. Even if you’d been with her.”
“Maybe not. But still…the what-ifs are brutal.”
I made it a point to be around for Whitney in those weeks after she was discharged.
Like being compassionate and accommodating after the fact could make up for everything that had gone wrong between us, not to mention the health complications she experienced.
Every time I looked at her, guilt ate me up.
“I wish it had been different,” I say. “Not that Whit and I had stayed together. Not that she’d stayed pregnant. I just wish the end had been cleaner. It’s a shitty feeling, knowing that she’s dealing with the full burden of what happened while I walked away unscathed.”
“I don’t think you’re unscathed,” Piper says gently.
“I am compared to her.”
“It’s a loss for both of you, though. You can’t measure yours against hers.”
“Sure I can. It all happened to her—she was pregnant, she was sick, she was left behind. I’m a witness—a witness and a runaway. But…I’m still messed up.”
“You have a huge heart, Henry. It’d be weird if you weren’t messed up. You can’t force yourself to get over something like this. Healing takes time. A lot of time.”
I squeeze her hand. “I get the feeling you’re speaking from experience.”
She shrugs. “After my parents’ accident, I spent ages trying to sort through what happened.
I was sure I’d done something to anger the universe.
There had to be a reason Mom and Dad had been taken from me.
I spent hours with the counselor at school and months with a therapist Tati found for me, but nothing they said stuck.
I felt I was somehow at fault—that was the only way I could make sense of something so senseless. ”
I’m blown away by how similar her past mindset is to my current mind fuck. I hate what she’s been through, but I’m feeling a hell of a lot less alone.
It’s wild how powerful empathy can be.
“That line of thinking,” I say. “How’d you get past it?”
“Gabi. She convinced me that what had happened to my parents wasn’t cosmic punishment. Sometimes life is just really unfair, she said one night after I’d spent hours crying. Somehow, her simple logic rose above months of irrational self-blame.”
“She sounds smart.”
“She totally is. So, Henry, I’m going to tell you what she told me: Sometimes life is just really unfair.”
I smile. She’s chipping away at the wall self-appointed culpability has spent two seasons building. “I just wish there were something I could do to turn things around for myself, and especially for Whit. She’s still really struggling.”
Piper’s expression is serious, introspective.
“I wonder if she keeps reaching out to you because she wants to reclaim the person she was before all of this. Or maybe she’s looking for permission to move on from the loss.
Or maybe she’s waiting to be shown that she’s still worthy of the life she wants, even after suffering through this terrible thing. ”
My mom has expressed similar theories and doled out comparable advice. For whatever reason, though, her words have never sunk in the way Piper’s are now.
“If I could go back in time,” I say, “I’d do a million things differently.”
Softly, she says, “Me too.”