Chapter 16 #2
Briefly, I falter. My mom is the one who found me on the apartment floor. Not crying. Trembling on my knees, desperately trying—and failing—to fix London’s bracelet. It took almost an hour to convince her I was fine enough to go to work.
Distractions are needed. So I won’t think. Or finally break down.
“I talked to her,” I say. “And my dad.” That wasn’t a fun conversation. At least I had an excuse to make it short: the bus arriving.
My hand reaches for the restroom door. Max is quicker. She squirms around me, blocking it.
“Talk to me. Now.”
I sigh, almost resigned. “I’m fine.”
“You’re lying to yourself and me,” Max argues. Her arms cross over her chest, brows knotting. “You’re never around anymore.”
“Says the girl who’s so busy with all her college friends,” I say, scoffing.
Max’s nose wrinkles with anger. “That’s not fair. I can’t just—”
Her voice cuts off abruptly. It’s not the first time she’s swallowed words around me. I hate it as much as the commiserative looks people give me. Like they’ll ever know how I feel.
“Can’t what?” I challenge her.
“You keep disappearing, Auggie. You don’t talk to me. You never answer my texts or calls.”
Something clicks in my brain. In Aides, I never have my phone. It’s always in my room when I come back. But not while I’m there. Of course I miss Max’s calls.
But I’ve never explained to her why. “Listen, Max, there’s—”
“And you keep forgetting things,” she cuts in. “Like Hal. The girl I was dating—”
“Wait…was dating?”
“Yes. I told you it was over the other day!”
My face falls. Everything in my head is still shadowy. Thanks to Lethe.
Thanks to Cary.
“Sorry, I know,” I try. “There’s a reason—”
Max’s cheeks redden. She doesn’t let me finish. “We promised each other we wouldn’t do this. That we’d stay in contact. You said you needed time and space. I gave you that.” Hurt curls across her features. “But you’re not getting better. You’re giving up. Your life didn’t end when London died.”
Hearing his name—how similar her words are to Cary’s—ignites a smoking fire inside me. For months, years, I’ve been trying to blow it out. Contain it.
What for?
At the start of senior year, I had a mandatory meeting with my school counselor. I’d barely survived junior year. My parents wanted to ensure I graduated.
The entire time, I sat quietly in her office. Nodding as she went over the stages of grief. All I wanted was to leave. Escape. But as she talked, I could identify the stages I’d already experienced, even if they weren’t in order:
Denial, which lasted about thirty seconds after standing over London’s corpse.
Depression, the unending swell of it.
I was a long way from bargaining and acceptance, but the feeling I was avoiding most was anger.
Before the accident, I was hopeful. Nice. Reasonable. Patient. I was who I thought people wanted me to be.
I kept whatever else brewed beneath that silent.
Not anymore. I’m too drained, too hurt, too broken to be Before August.
“I made a lot of promises,” I spit. “To you. My parents. Myself. Him.” My shaking hands ball into tight fists. “Guess what? Not everything in life goes the way we want. Sometimes, the choice isn’t ours.”
She blinks, stunned.
“You haven’t given me space or time, Max,” I continue. “You’re always pushing me. What? My grief isn’t moving fast enough for you? For anyone?”
Her teeth clench. “We’re trying to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for anyone’s help, Dr. Cho!”
She recoils. That look is in her eyes again: Who are you?
But it’s more than that. There’s rage and betrayal. Her voice comes low and uneven. “I miss my best friend.”
The flame inside me burns away the edges of Before. “I miss him too,” I say hoarsely. “But he’s not here anymore.”
Max pushes off the door and storms past me.
I wait for a beat, then turn around. I think she might be there. The Max who came to visit me every day. When I couldn’t get out of bed. Who made sure I finished high school. Who asked me to move in with her and carried a mattress up three flights of stairs so I’d have a new home.
It’s not Max, though.
It’s Angela. A mix of concern and pity scrunches her expression.
I reach for a bracelet that’s not there. Shame tenses my spine. To my feet, I say, “Sorry. I swear I’m not like this.”
Another lie. This is who I am, isn’t it? This is what I’ve let grief make me.
“August.” Angela’s in front of me now. She squeezes my biceps, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “Go home. Take the day off.”
“But my shift.”
“We’ve got it covered.”
Panic floods my throat. “Angela, I need my job.”
I can’t go back to my parents. To that house. I don’t know where I stand with Max. If she’s already mentally started packing what little I have into cheap cardboard boxes. But if I have a job, I can at least find somewhere else to live.
“No one’s firing you. It’s okay,” Angela promises with a sad smile. “Whatever it is you’re dealing with is bigger than pizza. And I can’t have you feeling this way in front of my customers.”
I want to tell her I always feel like this. That it’s not going anywhere.
Instead, I nod.
On my way out, I pause at the front counter. Max refuses to meet my eyes. She pretends to be busy wrapping napkins around silverware.
I shoulder through the front door without looking back.
Sunbeams cascade through branches thick with green leaves as I walk to the bus stop. State Street Promenade is shaped by the appetite of tourists. Shops are alive with browsers. Diners fill restaurant patios. Noises spill like waterfalls from the gelato shop onto the sidewalk.
When a faded blue beanbag lands at my feet, I look up.
A girl around my age smiles. She’s freckle-faced and fawn-skinned, billowy bronze curls hanging past her shoulders. She picks up the beanbag, then runs back to her boyfriend. A gasp scratches my throat.
He’s tall, narrow-waisted. Salt-crusted brown hair that comes to his chin. Eyes as green as ivy. Skin browned by the sun. But it’s not him.
It will never, ever be him, a haunting voice in my head says.
They kiss, then continue their game of cornhole.
People move around me. But I’m frozen, alone. I could walk the promenade with my eyes closed and not fall. I’ve spent my life here and it has never felt like this. Like I’ve lost my place in its arms.
I did this. To myself. To the ones I love.
Everywhere I turn, the ghost of my life with London follows me. Nothing in Santa Barbara is mine anymore. I have nowhere to go to escape.
Nowhere but—
I plunge my hand deep into my drawstring bag, searching. Blindly, I brush a phone charger, earbuds, my work shirt…
“Shit!”
Something pricks my finger. The sharp edge of a card. I pull it free.
Just like when Henri gave it to me, the card is blank. Black and glittery in the sunlight. A thin trail of my blood runs down the surface.
My breath hitches.
Something else is there. Embossed text so slight it’s unnoticeable at first glance. A trick card you find at a novelty magic shop.
Grimacing, I smear my blood over it until I can fully read what it says.
Henri of Aides
Deathless & World Traveler
1028 State Street
Santa Barbara, CA