Chapter 13
I didn’t actually ignore his texts. But I gave very basic “k” and “kk” responses where I could, and an actual “can’t, sorry” response to his asking to meet up. After a couple days of that, he stopped.
The weekend had arrived, and with it presumably more hockey parties and girls that would be easier to sneak in at night and out in the morning.
I went out with Chloe and Abby on Friday night, getting drunk enough to want to stay in with Emily on Saturday night and order in. She mentioned Bonetti’s, but I swayed her to Chinese instead.
I spent Sunday at the library trying to get a handle on the reading for the upcoming week. Marlo had mentioned in last week’s Grief Group that focus could be an issue for those in mourning, and for us to be aware of that as we dealt with our academic load this semester.
Was it grief-based lack of focus that kept my mind turning to Logan Fields as I botched my Chem lab on Tuesday? Or just regular old thinking of a hot guy?
I told myself that it was going to be enough to deal with mourning brain this year, to not introduce any other reason to split my attention.
And yet, at the worst possible times, I’d remember the feel of him on top of me in my dorm room.
And then the flash of rage when he’d dropped my hand and hustled me away from his housemates only two nights later.
By the time Wednesday night came, I was feeling a little more confident that I’d be able to just think of Logan as a fellow Grief Inc. buddy and feel nothing more than that.
Until he sat down next to me and I smelled him. And heard his sigh. And felt him tense when we talked about ways we’d seen our families and other relationships change with the losses we’d suffered. And had to physically restrain myself from touching his arm whenever it was his turn to share.
I couldn’t get out of the Union fast enough, but had to pee after class, and found Logan waiting outside the women’s room when I was finished.
“Can we talk for a minute?” he asked.
“Did you just stalk me to the bathroom?”
He shrugged. “It was a safe bet you’d come here. I think we all have to use the bathroom, or just gather ourselves, after those two-hour sessions,” he said.
As if proving his point, Connor walked out of the men’s room, looking like he’d been put through the wringer. And he’d barely spoken during class.
“Fuck, I don’t know why I signed up for this thing,” he said as he joined us. “Oh yeah, Coach gave me no fucking choice, that’s why.”
Logan and I both laughed, and Connor went on, “You guys want to hit the food court? I figured everybody could hear my stomach in there.”
“I couldn’t hear it,” I said.
“Not over mine,” Logan said. “Yeah, I’m with you. Megan? Hungry?” He seemed happy about Connor coming, and I wasn’t sure if it was because there was a better chance I’d stick around and talk to him, or because he welcomed the idea of Connor as some sort of buffer.
“I’m in,” I said. We all left the hallway with the meeting rooms and moved to the first floor, where the large food court was.
“Unless you two wanted to be alone? Did I just invite myself into something?” Connor asked as we entered the food court area.
“No, you didn’t interrupt anything,” I quickly said. Logan didn’t answer either Connor’s question or my response.
We slung our backpacks on the chairs at a table, then set about choosing which vendor we each wanted. Connor headed to the Pizza Hut. Logan held back until I went to the Burger King, then followed me there.
“So, about last week,” he said while we stood in line.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s over and done. Like I said that night, I was pissed for half a second, but you did us a favor by changing your mind.”
“I didn’t change my mind. Not at all,” he said.
I gave him an “oh, please” look and then placed my order. He tried to pay for mine, but I didn’t allow it. When we’d both made our orders and were waiting for our food, he came at it again.
“Look, yeah, I dropped the ball. But not for whatever reason you were thinking,” he said.
“And what reason do you think I was thinking?” The circular logic was verging on making me dizzy.
He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Fuck if I know. Or can put it into words. I’m a guy, Megan. I’m not equipped to articulate the nuances of a woman’s mood.”
I laughed, his words amusing me because they were so true and he was so earnest.
“But I know vibe shifts. And there was definitely that,” he added.
“Brought on by your vibe shift,” I clarified.
“No doubt. Which actually had nothing to do with you.”
“Hard to see that,” I said.
“No, it’s true. I couldn’t put it into words that night. And then I didn’t want to put it in a text. I thought maybe I’d see you at a party over the weekend.”
“I was blissfully drunk and making out with a guy Friday, so nope, didn’t seek out a hockey party.”
He winced, and I tried to ignore the flash of satisfaction I felt. Childish. And, of course, I didn’t add the part about comparing that guy’s kisses with Logan’s.
Or that there was really no comparison.
“Right. So, after we eat, maybe I can explain what—”
“That smells good. Maybe I should have gotten a Whopper,” Connor said as he joined us with his pizza and the three of us made our way to the table we’d staked out.
Connor and Logan sat across from each other, and I tried to do some quick math on what side I should sit on—face Logan, but be next to Connor, or next to Logan like in class—and decided I’d had enough of smelling Logan for one night.
And Connor was delightfully scent-free. Or maybe the food masked all aromas?
We ate quickly, scarfing down the food. Connor went back and got a Whopper for dessert.
“Can we go somewhere after here? To talk about it?” Logan asked while Connor was away from the table.
“Is there any point?”
“Yes. I think so,” he said.
“I suppose you’re thinking of going back to your house?” I said.
The tone of my voice had him answering quickly, “Or your room, if you’d rather.”
“Here you go. Just so you have to stay while I wipe out this Whopper,” Connor said as he tossed two apple pies on the table between Logan and me.
“We would’ve stayed. You didn’t have to bribe us,” I said as Logan tore into the carton of one of the pies and handed me the other.
“Insurance,” Connor said. He took a bite of his burger, made an appreciative rumble in his throat as he swallowed, then asked, “You two friends or something? Seemed like you knew each other at the first session.”
“Not friends,” I said at the same time Logan said, “Something like that.”
Connor looked from Logan to me and back again. A smile curved up his lips before he took his next bite. “Uh-huh. Totally.” Not believing either of us.
“We met a few days before our first group session,” I said. Logan looked away from me when I said the words, almost as if he disagreed, but he didn’t say anything. “So, there was a moment of recognition; that’s what you probably sensed.”
Connor nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I sensed. Right.” More disbelief in his voice.
Was my attraction to Logan that noticeable? Did the rest of the group know that while we talked about the loss of loved ones, I was thinking about how good Logan smelled?
And more importantly (to me), was Logan sending out the same pheromones?
Connor had his Whopper gone long before I finished the apple pie, and he sat back in his chair, taking the front legs off the floor with the deep lean backward. “So, Straw, mind if I ask what date exactly Mrs. died?”
Logan had finished his pie and was draining his pop, and it made an almost record-scratching sound as the question was asked. But he nodded, wiped his mouth, and said, “July twenty-fifth.”
“And I assume it wasn’t a pleasant last month or two?” Connor asked.
I wasn’t sure where he was going with these questions, and Logan looked puzzled too, but answered, “The last two weeks he was pretty out of it. He’d been on at-home hospice for the month before that. For pain management.”
He took a hard swallow. I watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
“Even more impressive, then,” Connor said.
“What is?”
“He reached out after the accident, which was Fourth of July weekend. Texted me with condolences. Asked if I wanted him to call. I was getting a bunch of those texts, and wasn’t in any shape, in a lot of ways, to talk to anyone.
And he and I weren’t even all that close.
Same class. Both athletes. Same parties many weekends.
Small school, so we knew of each other more than actually knew each other, you know? ”
Logan and I both nodded.
“And had I really thought about it, I mean, I knew he’d left school last fall. Knew what he was going through. But it didn’t occur to me what he was dealing with when he would have texted me. I was too deep in my own shit to even call and see how he was doing.”
“Totally understandable,” Logan said. I nodded, like I knew anything about the situation. And in a way, I did. I knew how isolating your own grief could be. To the point of not seeing what other people might be going through.
“Yeah. I guess. Anyway, after I heard about Mrs.—and I didn’t until I was back here on campus—I felt really bad that I hadn’t reached out to him more.”
“Don’t worry about it, man. He wouldn’t have been in any shape shortly after the Fourth to have a real conversation.”
“Still. It’s been bothering me,” Connor said.
“You gotta let that one go. There’s too much heavier shit to deal with. Especially for you.”
Connor didn’t need clarification on what Logan meant. Being the only survivor of a car accident that took two close friends added a whole other layer to all of the five stages. And beyond.
“Yeah. It fucking sucks, right? All of it?” He made a motion between the three of us, wrapping up Logan’s and my grief with his own. All different circumstances, but a similar bottom line of loss. “Mind if I ask you about your mom’s accident?” he said to me.
I swallowed my last bite of the pie and motioned for him to go ahead.