Chapter 20 Queen of Denial
QUEEN OF DENIAL
MATS
I’M IN MY ROOM STUDYING WHEN THERE’S A KNOCK ON MY DOOR.
Yes?
Ethan pokes his head in. Yo, Mats. Are we allowed to let women in to see you now?
What are you talking about?
He smirks. Cleo’s here. But I wasn’t sure if we were still protecting you from attention of the female persuasion.
You didn’t leave her on the front step, did you? I demand.
Guess you’ll have to find out. Fucking Ethan. He disappears, and I hurry downstairs.
Luckily, Cleo is in the living room, watching the Minnesota Wild game with Bergy and Swanny. I can hear her complaining about a call before I even see her, and it makes me smile.
But when she turns to face me, her smile isn’t as sunshine-y as usual.
Hey. Everything okay? I ask.
Yeah, fine. I just wanted to talk. Have you got a few minutes?
Of course. Let’s go to my room.
Make sure the Wild win, she calls back to the guys, and they grunt in agreement. Cleo fits in here so easily; everyone can relax around her.
We sit side-by-side on my bed. But she doesn’t say anything, which is pretty unusual.
So, what’s up? I prompt.
I need a hug. She looks at me with a seriousness I’ve not seen before.
I wrap my arms around her and pull her into me.
At first, she’s almost stiff in my arms, but eventually, she relaxes and lets her head fall against my shoulder.
I can smell the soapy fragrance of her skin and feel the solid muscles in her arms, but instead of being aroused, I’m worried.
She seems smaller, less energetic than usual.
After a minute of holding her in silence, I’m really anxious. What’s wrong, Cleo?
She pulls away and shakes her head. Just a bunch of family crap.
I tense at the mention of her family. Of course, there’s a good reason that we never talk about Jordan. She’s forgiven my part in what happened to him, but we’ve never discussed it. Maybe we should have.
Is this about your brother?
No. Of course not.
I can recognize the lie because Cleo is so transparent. She’s unable to meet my eyes and her leg is twitching.
You know, you can talk about him, if you want. Maybe he’s not my favourite person, but he’s your family.
She sighs and leans back. Okay, fine. My brother found out that we’re going out. He’s pretty pissed, and now he’s not speaking to me.
That seems exactly like something Jordan would do; blame me and Cleo for his own issues. But it hurts a bit, to know that she can’t be as open about us with her family as she is with everyone else in her life.
It’s not news to me that he can be an asshole. So, what’s the problem?
She focuses on my floor. It’s not a big deal. Just a logistical thing.
What logistical thing? I’m not used to having to pull every bit of information out of Cleo; she’s the original over-sharer. My unease grows.
He was supposed to pick me up and take me to my mom’s birthday thing on Sunday. She pulls at the cuff of her shirt. But now he… can’t.
That’s easy to fix. Take my car, I offer.
Her head jerks up, and I try to read her expression. She looks worried? Scared?
No, no way. I mean, that’s really nice of you, but no. What if I wreck your car or something? It’s a nice car.
Are you a bad driver?
I’m decent, but still, no. Thank you, though. She gets up, walks to my desk, and starts mindlessly flipping a pencil.
Do you want me to drive you there and back? I pull out my phone to see what I’ve got going on this Sunday. I’m supposed to be volunteering at the shelter, but I could maybe switch things around.
Fuck no, you can’t drive me. They’d all see you. She sounds panicked.
Cleo, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here? I reach out and pull her over by the wrist. She stands between my knees and looks down at me with a solemn expression.
Will you promise not to get mad? she pleads.
Shit. This does not sound good.
No, I won’t. But it takes a lot to get me upset.
She turns her face away. I know you don’t like lies, though.
It’s pretty clear you’re lying to me now when you say there’s nothing wrong, so we’re already well down that path. But I’d like to think we’ve built up some trust.
Okay. Well, it’s not just about Jordan, or getting a ride. She holds her breath for a long moment, and then the words whoosh out of her. My dad has gotten involved. And he doesn’t want me to go out with you either.
Usually, I’m the kind of guy girls like to bring home to their parents, but not lately.
I keep my voice neutral. Why would he say that? We’ve never even met. Does he think I’m mistreating you in some way?
Cleo groans. No, of course not. He knows nothing about you. He’s just taking Jordan’s side.
Something is not adding up here. But does he know what Jordan did?
She tenses, suddenly alert. What did he do?
I’m about to answer when the déjà vu of this question strikes me. Why are you asking again? You said you talked to Jordan and got this settled.
Her eyes widen and she takes a deep breath before answering. Yeah, that’s the thing I lied about. You and I were just getting to know each other, and things were getting so good. And I have asked Jordan—many, many times—but he’s been pretty shifty. So, I still don’t know exactly what happened.
I’m lucky that I made no promises, because now I am getting upset. I pull my hands away from hers. When you said you had gotten over your anger about what went down between me and your brother—what actually happened?
She sits beside me and grabs at my hands, but I shake her off.
Please, Mats, don’t get mad, she pleads. Once I got to know you, I knew you were too good, too principled, to have done what Jordan said.
My voice is deadly calm as I ask, And what did he say I’d done?
She doesn’t hesitate, because she has no confidentiality agreements stopping her. He said you made up a bunch of racist bullshit and complained to the coach. Then you used your role on the Athletic Council to get him kicked off the team.
Finally, here’s the true reason that Cleo used to hate me, and I’m not even shocked. The fact that this piece of shit goes around telling everyone whatever he likes is infuriating, yet exactly what I would expect from him.
What does surprise me is how removed I feel from this conversation. I’m completely detached as I ask, And why would I go to all that trouble?
Because the two of you were in competition for ice time and you wanted to get rid of him, she recites, like a memorized poem from elementary school.
It’s like fighting with both hands tied behind my back. I can’t mention the incident with the player from another team, or the bullying Jordan did to his own teammates.
Cleo, you know hockey. Does that make sense to you?
I know Jordan can be an asshole. Sometimes it doesn’t take much for teammates or coaches to get ticked off at him, she says.
I have to cut through all the brainwashing her brother has done. Who’s a better hockey player? Me, or Jordan?
You, of course. She bites her lip. It’s like she’s fighting her own common sense. But you’ve gotten better since you got to Monarch. If Jordan got college-level coaching, he would have improved too, like I have.
If he’d listened to coaching, maybe. But what’s the point of arguing this?
She must realize that no coach would take one player’s word over another’s without solid proof.
And why would I deliberately weaken my team by getting rid of another good player?
The best way to get noticed is to play for a winning team.
All her common sense disappears when it comes to her family.
Then something else twigs. All the messages she exchanges with her dad, talking about her goals and her upcoming games. The guy lives an hour away, and as far as I know, he hasn’t come to a single game. Their relationship seems warped and one-sided.
I exhale with a growing sense of futility. Cleo has issues with her family that I’m never going to be able to overcome.
So, how does all this get resolved? I ask flatly.
It would be easy, if I knew what really happened. She looks up at me hopefully.
Do you think I’m not telling you because I don’t want to? Cleo, you know why I can’t.
Frustration boils up in me. One of the things I like best about Cleo is her straightforward nature. But our whole relationship has been built on a pretty shaky premise, that she believes in both me and her brother. That’s impossible.
I don’t want to come between you and your family, I state firmly.
You’re not, she insists. But it’s all more of her magical thinking. I feel like I’m in a car skidding out on ice, and there’s nothing I can do to avoid an accident.
Really? Because if we were a normal couple, I could drive you to your mom’s party. In fact, I could even go with you. Honestly, I don’t care if I go or not, but I don’t like the fact that it’s impossible. I’m Cleo’s dirty little secret, which feels gutting.
Her blue eyes are wide and glossy. I’ve never seen her cry before, but she’s close.
Fuck. I know. And I want that—so much. But it’s impossible, she says in a tiny voice.
It’s only impossible because she’s making it so. We’re inches apart, but there’s a chasm forming between us now. If both of us reach out, we could still touch each other—still save everything we have.
So, what’s your plan for Sunday, when you see your family? I ask coldly.
I think when I see Jordan in person, I can settle everything between us. Get to the bottom of what really happened, she begins.
Hell would freeze over before he admits anything that tarnishes his own image. What about your dad?
I’ll work on him. He’ll come around. He’s great; I actually think you guys will really get along. I just won’t talk about us this visit.
Yes, Cleo will suddenly have stealth skills in lying to the people who know her best. But why should I doubt her? She’s fooled me all this time.
So, you’re going to pretend we’re not going out to appease your family? I ask.
She shakes her head. You’re making it sound like some big cover-up. You don’t know what it’s like when I go home. I’m lucky if anyone asks anything about me at all.
How sad, that she does so much for people who do so little for her in return.
And what happens after that, when you’re back here? Obviously, Jordan still talks to friends at Monarch. How are you going to keep him from finding out we’re still together? Do we have to put on a fake breakup now?
She pulls at her hair. Fuck. I don’t know. I just found all this out in the past twenty-four hours. Cut me some slack, Mats. I’ll figure it out.
I cannot tolerate her indecisiveness any longer. Does she have no idea how all this makes me feel? The trouble with being stoic is that people forget that I have feelings too. That I care. That I hurt.
It took time for me to trust Cleo because I was fresh off a painful breakup. And it felt like she knew me, she understood and appreciated my strengths and flaws. But all that time, she was able to hold another image of me in her mind, as the kind of asshole who would screw over his teammate.
You know, I actually imagined that you weren’t capable of lying.
You’re so sincere and transparent. I keep my voice devoid of the churning emotions I’m feeling.
But I was completely wrong. Not only can you lie to me—after I specifically asked you about the issue between me and your brother—but you actually seem to believe your own lies.
She gapes at me. I’m surprising myself with my own bluntness. But the last few months have taught me the importance of being true to myself.
Here’s the truth: It’s impossible for you to believe that I’m a good person and your brother is a good person. One of us has done something very wrong.
She doesn’t acknowledge this fact, so I go on. Cleo, every moment with you has been beautiful, special, fun.
That chasm between us is widening now, tearing us apart with every word I say. Soon, we’ll be on opposite shores.
What I liked best about us was the honesty. The way I could be my imperfect self, and you could too. We accepted each other for who we are. But it was all based on deceit. We can’t build caring and trust on such a crappy foundation.
She grabs my arm and holds on tightly. No, Mats, please. I don’t want to break up. You’re amazing, we’re amazing together. I’ve never been this happy in a relationship, ever. Please, we can figure something out.
But it’s Cleo who can never see more than one or two steps ahead.
I’m the planner, the one who can see a future where her family comes between us.
Either it will be me resenting her for prioritizing their needs and emotions, or Cleo resenting me for driving a wedge between her and the family she longs to please.
I stand, and she rises with me. As I detach her hand from my arm, the loss of her warmth is palpable. I’m already missing Cleo and she’s still right in front of me. How much worse will it be tomorrow? And all the days after that?
Her voice is low and broken, so unlike her usual strength. Please… don’t do this.
For a moment, I’m tempted. Who cares about her family? She’ll figure it out someday. Until then, we’ll be happy together, even if we have to hide things a little.
No. Our joy is made from sunlight and truth and openness.
I have to. I wish she could understand why, but Cleo’s beliefs about her family are so twisted that I can’t penetrate them.
Cleo’s face contorts, like she’s torn between arguing and giving up.
The energy draining from her body is almost visible as she slumps.
Then she looks up at me, her eyes blazing with intensity.
It reminds me of the first night we kissed, when she wanted to remember the moment in case it ended too soon.
I stare back at her, memorizing her clear blue eyes, her full lips, her expressive face, her blonde braids.
I can see the exact moment she decides not to fight. It’s like a light goes out in her eyes.
Yeah, you’re right. I fucked this up, and I’m so sorry, she admits. She picks up her coat and walks out, closing the door softly behind her.
I’m empty and exhausted. I lie down on my bed and stare at the blank ceiling. This feels even worse than breaking up with Lana, because of how short my time was with Cleo. We have so few shared memories and experiences, so I’ll have to treasure each one.
We had the potential for so much more. Now all I have is dust.