Chapter 40
Jansen
One week. Only one week before we get to the good stuff, and I’m still sleeping half the day, still coughing when I physically push myself, still careful with my laughter. I keep getting better, but it’s not fast enough. I’m not fast enough.
Instead of wallowing, though, I work on Black, getting it as close to move-in ready as I can.
Every time I go to the hardware store, I grab more of what we’ll need for a beautiful winter blaze—Vaseline and cotton rope, woodchips and paper cups.
I’m doing everything I can to be a team player, but when I ask the guys if I can do anything more, they shoot me down, telling me I should focus on getting better.
I think this is as good as I’m going to get for now. And I’m bored, annoyed, and antsy.
I need something. Anything. But I’m trying so hard to be good.
So I take my new-old convertible to Emma’s, knocking on her door like the antsy penitent I am.
She opens it up, her dark bob shocking me just as much as my own reflection does every morning.
“Want to pick out paint colors with me?” I ask by way of greeting.
She has a neon pink highlighter in her hand, music blaring out of her place like there’s a party in there on a Saturday afternoon. With a grimace at whatever is going on in her apartment, she answers. “Yeah. It’s not like I’m getting much studying done right now, anyway.”
I ask about her classes as we drive, glad she’s totally caught up and not being followed by anybody.
For a while there, I was sure she’d lose the whole semester, and I’m grateful that my stupidity didn’t take that from her too.
Even if it ruined her relationship with my sister.
I owe her big time, not just for my life, but for hers too.
Walking into the hardware store with her feels a little weird, like we’re together or something, but I push the awkwardness away, heading straight to the paint section. We’re debating different greens and blues for the hallway when a familiar voice mutters, “Shit,” from behind us.
Emma freezes beside me, but I turn, catching Evie as she backs away, a build-a-cabinet pack in her cart.
We stare at each other, and after what feels like forever, she switches her gaze to Emma, her hand drifting to her head. “Em, what happened to your hair?” she asks, her voice half-whisper.
An announcement over the loudspeaker gives me a chance to figure out what I feel right now, and when it ends, I know where I stand. “Emma doesn’t owe you an explanation,” I say. “You lost that right.”
“Stay out of this, Jay.”
“No, she’s my friend, and you hurt her.”
Her eyes close as Emma turns, looking across the aisle like it’s an ocean instead of three feet.
“Evie,” she says, her voice wavering.
“I’m sorry,” my sister says, tears in her eyes.
But I don’t believe her. “Are you? Really? If you went back, would you do anything differently?”
“Jay—” she raises her voice, telling me off again, but I can’t let her. Not anymore.
“No.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “You have no right to interfere.”
“Answer the question. Would you change anything?”
She stares down at her cart, the new cabinet for her new apartment apparently the only thing worth looking at. Her tongue brushes along her lips, letting me know she’s thinking, and when she answers, she doesn’t look up. “No. If it happened again, I’d do the same thing.”
“There’s your answer, Emma. She’s not really sorry.”
I turn away, the paint swatches forgotten, and march toward the front, only to have my sleeve tugged once I’m halfway there. “I was worried about you, Jay. What they did was idiotic.”
“Maybe. But if you know Emma, you know how smart she is. You’d have to know that she wouldn’t do something so stupid without having a damn good reason.”
Evie steps back, like she’s been slapped, like the thought had never occurred to her.
“Exactly,” I say.
Emma moves to my side, her hand ruffling her now short hair. “You never gave me a chance to explain,” she whispers.
“Em—”
Emma shakes her head, her hair swinging around her face, a chunk gluing itself to her lips.
“Your anger was justified. So was your fear. But you never gave me a chance to even speak. You don’t know everything, Evie.
And if you won’t even let me say my piece?
You don’t steamroll somebody you love, even if you think it’s for their benefit.
Not me. And not Jansen.” Tears trickle down Emma’s face, matching the shocked tears streaking down my sister’s.
“I can’t accept your apology, Evie, even though I want to.
Because true love listens first. If you love somebody, you work with them.
You build a future together. And if you think they messed up, you ask them about it, and once you hear them out, then you decide if they’re in the wrong.
Sure, you might need time to cool down, but you talk it out.
You don’t scream at someone’s sister or shut down the conversation before it even starts. ”
She stands next to the toolboxes, shaking. “I’m sorry. But I can’t forgive you. Not as you are right now.”
Emma spins, rushing out of the store, leaving my sister with nothing but devastation.
“I don’t steamroll people,” she mutters.
“Yes. You do. It helped me when I was a kid, but it also never gave me a chance to figure out how to do things myself.”
“Jansen—”
I yank at my too-short hair. “You still do it. Evie, you tattled to Mom after Thanksgiving, and made her worry when I’m obviously fine. Emma saved my life that night, which is exactly what Clara knew she could do.”
“That girl, she’s bad news,” Evie says, moving from the discomfort of her guilt to the easy fire of anger. “A cheat and a liar.”
I can’t hear that about the woman who holds my entire broken soul. I won’t. “We’re fucking poly, Evie!”
Anger that I rarely feel boils over, and it’s not until the sound echoes around me, a stockgirl glancing at me with wide eyes, that I realize how loud I’ve been.
Swallowing, I try to keep my voice quieter.
“I’m poly. I want Clara to be with my friends.
I need it. You should know better than anybody that two people aren’t enough for the shit life puts you through, Evie.
It wasn’t enough for Mom and Dad. It wasn’t enough for you and me.
Two is too small. But five? With five, we can catch each other, we have caught each other, and together, we can get back up, move together, be together.
I love her, and I love them, and you can either take it or leave it. I’m done with your judgment.”
Her shock and anger dissolve into regret. “I didn’t know.”
“Because you never let anyone explain,” I say, sadness making my shoulders heavy.
Then I turn, leaving my sister crying in a hardware store, wishing more than anything that things were different. Only they’re not, and it’s not my responsibility to fix her.