Chapter 11 Now
Now
“Is the bathroom water gross?”
It had been quiet for so long that his voice made me jump. He picked up the empty jar I’d used as a cup earlier. The mints were still piled on the counter to the right of the sink.
“It had a minty tang to it. Not sure why,” I deadpanned.
He exhaled a single breath that sounded like it was the start of a laugh but didn’t go beyond the one sound. He used to laugh at my jokes.
I turned my attention back to the open binder on the floor in front of me. I was supposed to be writing, thinking of stories about my childhood that would make us seem like a happy, normal family, but every story I thought of felt warped now.
At one point I’d given up, traded my pen out for a pencil, and shaded the entire paper, leaving spots open for stars.
I colored in a single shooting star. It was black instead of white, and I had it crashing into the ground, leaving a crater.
The side of my hand was black from the transfer. I rubbed at it.
Beau moved his feet out of the sink and filled the jar. He held it up as though examining the clarity of it.
“Best not to think about it too much,” I said.
“You’re good at that,” he returned.
“Rule one,” I said.
He didn’t respond, just took a swig. Then he ripped open a packaged mint and dropped it into the water. I wanted to say Good call, but I didn’t.
“Better,” he said after his next drink.
“I have to pee,” I said suddenly. It wasn’t a sudden sensation, though. I’d been holding it for thirty minutes.
“Then pee,” he said. “This is the right place for that.”
I sighed. I really didn’t want to. Not even when we were best friends had I peed in the same room as him. But I knew I couldn’t hold it much longer. “I’m going to need you to cover your ears and go la la la.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I don’t want you listening to me pee.”
“It is a natural function. Everyone does it.”
I put my fingers in my ears in slow motion and then in a serious monotone voice said, “La la la.”
“Indy.”
“This is my rule number one,” I said.
“That we have to plug our ears and sing while the other person pees?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said firmly.
“You’re wasting a rule on this?”
“Not a waste.”
He rolled his eyes but did as I’d instructed. Unlike my la la las, as his continued they became melodic, pleasant to listen to.
“Can you hear me?” I asked as I unzipped my pants in the far stall, which I had locked and triple-checked.
He didn’t respond, so either he really couldn’t hear me or he was pretending he couldn’t.
The window above the toilet was still open, but I didn’t mess with it.
There was obviously nobody out there. I put down a seat protector and sat.
It sounded like his melody had turned into an actual song; it seemed familiar, but I couldn’t make out what it was.
Maybe what he’d been listening to when he came into the bathroom earlier.
The music. That he’d been listening to. I let out a loud gasp.
“What?” he said. “Are you okay?”
“You punk! Plug your ears and sing.”
“I am!”
“Obviously not loud enough!”
His song became louder.
I finished my task, flushed, and buttoned up, rushing out of the stall and to the sink to wash my hands.
He took his fingers out of his ears and stopped singing. “Did you fall in?”
“Your AirPods! You were listening to music when you came in.”
His eyes went wide. “I forgot.” He must’ve been as shocked to see me as I was to see him, if we’d both forgotten about his earbuds. He retrieved them from his pocket. “Entertainment.”
“No,” I said. “Not entertainment. Siri.”
“Siri?”
“I know you have her set up.” Because Beau wasn’t the type to tap the Set Up Later option. He did everything all the way through. Perfectly. I had never gotten to the step of setting up Siri—I had been too impatient. Too ready to start using my phone.
“Yeah, but my phone is out there.” He pointed to the door. “Zipped inside my backpack.”
“Can’t you tap on your earbud and, I don’t know, tell your phone to call someone?”
“I can turn my music back on with my earbud…maybe…we’ve been in here for a while—not sure that app is still open. But Music and Siri aren’t the same program. I don’t think Siri will be able to hear me from in here.”
I dried my hands on the back of my jeans, too excited about this new thought to worry about paper towels. I ran over to the door and pressed my face to the crack. “Hey Siri!” I yelled, then turned back to him. He was still leaning against the counter holding his AirPods.
I waved my hand at him. “Put them in.”
“This isn’t going to work.”
“Just try!”
He put the buds in his ears and tapped on the right one. They let out a chime noise. I nodded in excitement. “Music,” he said too loudly.
“That’s good! Now tell Siri to call someone.”
“Hey Siri,” he said. “Call Ava.”
Ava’s name made my throat tighten, but I held my breath waiting to see if it worked.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Still music. It might’ve worked if these were the newer version.”
I curled my lip and groaned. He took out the earbuds.
“Okay,” I said. “So she can’t hear you through the earbuds? Then come over here and scream through the door. She’s not trained to my voice.”
He sighed but walked over to the door next to me. I didn’t step back fast enough and his shoulder brushed mine. I sucked in a breath and he gave me a sideways look before putting his face close to the crack in the door and yelling, “Hey Siri!”
We were both still as we listened for any response. I wondered whether we’d hear her if she answered. He tried again, “Hey Siri! Call Caroline!”
Another tug in my chest, but no noise. Nothing.
“Hey Siri!” I yelled as loud as I could.
“Hey Siri!” he yelled even louder, a smirk coming onto his face.
“Siri, you little punk! I know you can hear us!”
He laughed this time. “Siri, you’re going to be in big trouble when we get out of here!”
“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” I said, laughing with him.
“You don’t trust Siri?” he asked.
“No! You do?”
He laughed again and turned his back to the door, leaning his head against it.
I did the same. We were now shoulder to shoulder.
I wanted to stay mad at him. I was so mad at him.
But I also could no longer deny, without the distance we’d forced ourselves into over the past two months, that I missed him so much.
More than I realized. But missing him wouldn’t fix anything.
It was easier to be mad. Because the alternative was sad.
And I was worried sad might destroy me. I’d been holding back that feeling for a long time.
I’d been holding back a lot of feelings for a long time.
The only one I had let flourish over the past several months was anger.
And it had flourished. It had blossomed and bloomed and become beautiful.
He held one of his earbuds out to me. “Music?”