Chapter Twenty-Two
“you broke me first”
by Tate McRae
Meera
It’s only when I wipe the tears streaming down my cheeks with the back of my hand that I remember Lucy still has my flannel shirt.
There’s a chilly breeze tonight as I walk down the street, away from the beach and the party and Sushant and Lucy and everyone, and I have to wrap my arms around my body to keep from shivering.
In Madre Maria, broken hearts feel like a blizzard.
How did I let this happen? How did the Universe let this happen?
I put a hand to my forehead and stare at the heavens—or whatever heavens-equivalent my Angels reside in—trying to make sense of this situation.
The Plan was always to date Sushant and dethrone Lucy.
I don’t want to date Sushant anymore. My conversation with Appa led to the epiphany that Sushant’s not the one for me.
But where does that leave things with Lucy? Why do I want to…kiss her? My mind is eager to replay that minute-long kiss when nothing mattered except Lucy and her perfect skin and perfect mouth, but I tell my mind to go fuck itself. That was a foolish thing to do.
I scoff out loud. The streets are empty, and I kick a pebble out of my path, my hands in the pockets of my jeans as I walk faster, desperate to outrun my mind. The sooner I get home, face-plant into bed, and fall asleep, the sooner I’ll get the alcohol out of my system and start to think clearly.
Because I kissed Lucy. And I…liked it. And that is the opposite of thinking clearly.
Am I not straight? I thought I loved Sushant. Why, then, would I want to kiss his girlfriend, aka my sworn enemy?
Someone’s car honks behind me, and I cross over to the sidewalk. I’ve been walking in the middle of the street. But they honk again and come to a stop beside me.
“Hi,” Julien says from the driver’s seat. As soon as he sees my face, his own face falls.
I squint at him—his headlights are really bright, not to mention his teeth, which practically glow in the dark. “Julien? What are you doing here?”
“Driving back from the party after dropping Natalie off at home. Are you okay, Meera?”
I look down at my flip-flops and laugh. “Is there a point to lying and telling you I’m fine? I’m an ugly crier, after all.”
“I would never call you ugly,” Julien replies, chuckling, “but, yes, I can tell you’ve been crying.” He leans to the side and opens the passenger door for me. “Let me drop you off at home.”
He doesn’t look drunk and he was sipping kombucha at the party, but he could have had alcohol before that. I narrow my eyes and ask, “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not a drop.” His grin widens. “I’m doing an alcohol detox. I feel so good!”
I try not to roll my eyes as I get into his car. When the door slams shut, I buckle myself in, then lean back and groan loudly, smacking my head against the soft leather headrest.
Julien gives me a funny look as he resumes driving. “What are you doing?”
“It’s an American technique that prevents hangovers,” I say as I bump my head against the headrest again.
He raises an eyebrow and puts his left blinker on. “Really? I must try it the next time I drink after my detox. How long does one do it for?”
That gets a laugh out of me. “I was being sarcastic, Julien. I didn’t have the best night, and I screwed up in the most screwed-up way possible.”
He brakes and hands me his phone. “Put in your address in Maps and tell me what happened. You’re confusing me, and I do not drive well when I am confused.”
That’s the second time he’s made me smile since I got into his car.
Someone should give him an award. I type my address into the app and let out a breath.
Nobody knows the whole story except Valeria and Ron, but maybe I need an unbiased perspective to make sense of all this.
“Julien, what I tell you can never leave this car. You can’t tell anyone—not even Natalie. Especially not Natalie.”
“I promise.” He parks the car and turns in his seat toward me, waiting patiently.
Sighing, I fill him in on everything. My former friendship with Lucy, the Plan, all the sabotage I pulled Julien into, my realization that I don’t love Sushant, and…the kiss.
“And then Sushant saw us, and Lucy bolted after him—”
“He saw you kissing?” Julien claps a hand to his mouth. “Oh mon dieu, he’s like the hair in the soup!”
I squint. “What?”
He thinks for a moment. “It’s the French way of saying…How do I say it? That he showed up at the worst time.”
“Well, yeah.” I shift in place, then add out of the corner of my mouth, “I’m sorry I tried to use you to break them up.”
Julien snorts with laughter. It’s jarring to see someone so French and posh make that noise. “Meera, the Plan didn’t work anyway. You don’t have to apologize.”
“Thanks.” I play with the strap of my seat belt. “I don’t know why I did it.”
“Why you did the Plan?” He thinks for a moment. “Because you wanted revenge.”
“No, not that. Why I…” It’s hard to even think the words, let alone say them. Every time I think of what happened, my heart flutters and my stomach lurches in both the best and worst ways possible.
Understanding flashes across Julien’s face. “Ah. Why you kissed Lucy.”
Slowly, I nod. A tear falls down my cheek.
“Here. Your nose is leaking too.” Julien gives me a handkerchief that smells like men’s cologne. I’m hesitant, but he puts it in my hand, so I thank him and blow my nose on it, making an ungodly noise.
“I know why you kissed Lucy,” he says when I surface from the handkerchief. “You have feelings for her.”
“But I hate her!” I exclaim. “And—and I’m supposed to be straight.”
His eyes narrow. “According to whom? Who says you are supposed to be this or that?”
“Julien—”
“No, really. Why can’t your heart decide who you want to love? Why does your love have to fit into that one label you assigned to yourself years ago?”
I exhale slowly as my eyes shut. “You’re right. I guess…I’m not straight.”
“And that’s okay,” he assures me, putting a hand on my knee.
“I know. I have two dads, after all.” Another tear falls down my cheek. “But maybe I just liked kissing Lucy. It doesn’t necessarily mean I have feelings for her.”
Julien moves his hand from my knee to my shoulder, and I open my eyes to look at him. He’s smiling. “What is it you say in English? ‘There is a thin line between love and hate’?”
“That’s not the case here,” I insist, teeth gritted. “It can’t be.”
“Meera, maybe you created the Plan not to get revenge but to get close to her again. Because maybe you loved her all this while without knowing it.”
It dawns on me as he says those words that he’s probably right. That my constant fixation on Lucy ever since the abrupt death of our friendship means more than just resentment or hatred.
It means that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her, missing her.
It means I’m in love with her.
But after the way her life has crumbled to pieces, though it wasn’t all due to my efforts, it’s selfish to say what I feel for her is love. Because when you love someone, you don’t consciously or knowingly hurt them or even try to. Ever.
“If I did this out of love, then I loathe myself,” I say finally. My eyes are foggy with fresh tears. “I shouldn’t be allowed to love someone ever again.”
Julien starts the car with a purr and shrugs. “I think you need to sleep on all this. It has been a long night for you.”
I rest my head against the window. “It really has.”
We don’t talk for the next few minutes, until he pulls up in front of my house.
The living room lights are on, which means my parents are still up.
I put a hand out in front of my mouth and exhale, then wrinkle my nose.
The kiss seems to have sobered me up, but my breath still smells like vodka and beer.
Julien rummages in the glove compartment and hands me a mint. “Voilà.”
I pop the mint into my mouth as I get out of the car; then I lean my arms against the open window and smile. “Thanks, Julien. For listening, and for promising not to tell.”
He mimes zipping his lips shut. “I will take it to the grave.” Once he drives away, I force myself to take a long, deep breath and unlock my front door.
Dad is sitting on the reclining leather chair in the living room, eyes closed, with the same book on his lap. When I take off my flip-flops and close the shoe rack, he rouses at the sound. “Oh, hey.” He stifles a yawn. “How was the party?”
“Good,” I answer, avoiding his gaze. I might not be that close with Dad, and he definitely isn’t psychic like Appa, but he’s still my father. One glance exchanged, and he’ll know something’s going on.
Somehow Dad figures it out anyway. “You okay?” he asks, standing and cracking his back. He pushes his glasses up his nose and quirks an eyebrow at me.
“I’m fine,” I answer quickly, faking a yawn. “I’m going to sleep.”
He looks at me, frowning, then sighs and gestures for me to go upstairs. “Good night.”
“Good night, Dad.”
The second my bedroom door shuts behind me, I crawl into bed, still in my shorts, and bury my face into the pillow, drenching it only moments later. When I raise my head to wipe my tears, my eyes land on the whiteboard with the name of the Plan in block letters and the four bullet points I made.
Right. I should erase that.
I stand, but before I can reach for the eraser, a pebble hits my window.
I yelp, then look back at the closed door, hoping Dad’s asleep by now and didn’t hear that.
There’s only one person it could be—Lucy.
She saw my message in the sand, and she wants to talk.
And although there are so many unresolved questions in my head, I can’t do this right now.
I can’t face my feelings tonight. Maybe not ever.
Especially not with what’s written on this whiteboard.