Chapter Fourteen #2
She sighed, looking over at him. She’d applied sunscreen earlier that morning, but not the amount she would’ve if she’d known she’d spend the afternoon sitting out on the deck like this.
She could feel the sun warming her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her forearms where they rested on her lap, but she couldn’t find it in her to move.
“I was so ashamed,” she said. “I just couldn’t face you.”
“Ashamed?”
Micah swallowed. She couldn’t even get into all that, or she knew she’d really lose it, start openly sobbing right here on the deck where Tatiana and her posse could probably see the whole thing.
She already felt better for having talked to John about a lot of this stuff, but there were still parts of their history that felt so raw, even now.
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked.
“Sure.”
He said it so quickly, so easily, but still she hesitated. She knew he wasn’t expecting what she was about to ask him. She had no idea how he was going to respond.
“Your dad,” she said. “He…”
“He died,” John said. “About four years ago.”
That definitely hadn’t been what Micah expected him to say.
For one thing, she figured he had to know that she knew that already.
Hailey had called to tell her that they’d sent flowers for the funeral, which had upset Micah because it was the first time she was hearing the news that John had lost his dad, much less that there’d been a funeral and it had already passed.
Micah liked to think she would’ve flown back for that, although maybe that was giving herself too much credit.
She’d started several text messages to John, thinking she’d reach out, tell him she was sorry, see how he was doing…
and then she’d wonder what made her think she had the right to text him at all, and she’d delete whatever she’d written.
“I heard,” she said now. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah.”
This was such a bizarre situation to have this conversation in.
Probably she should drop it—wait until they weren’t lying out in the sun in this seemingly idyllic cruise setting, the sapphire-blue water catching the sun and sparkling in the distance, the breeze ruffling John’s hair and giving him a windswept appearance that reminded her of when they’d been teenagers and his hair had always been a mess.
It felt like they were teenagers again, somehow, both dressed in their jeans and black T-shirts, him with his Converse, her with her platform boots, like two emo kids dragged on vacation by their parents but determined to stick to their aesthetic.
“You know he was an alcoholic,” he said. “And it did a number on his liver, in the end.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that.” That hadn’t been what she was going to ask, either.
She had already known that about John’s dad—a few things John had said over the years, the one time she’d met his dad and noticed the bloodshot eyes, a few things her own father had insinuated here and there.
And then there was John’s promise to himself, to never let a drop of alcohol cross his lips, because he said he knew that stuff could be genetic and even if the odds were good that he could drink in moderation and never have a problem, he’d be damned if he’d take the chance.
I treat it like a peanut allergy , John had told her once.
They’d gone to a party freshman year where she’d had a single beer and gotten so tipsy John had carried her on his back all the way home. She remembered admiring his conviction.
But she remembered other things, too. Like the time they’d been in band together, and one day John’s clarinet hadn’t been where it was supposed to be in the classroom cabinet.
They’d looked everywhere, but eventually the teacher had called home to tell John’s dad that he’d owe a hundred and fifty dollars to have the clarinet replaced.
John had missed the next two days of school, which wasn’t like him—and when she called his house, there had been no answer until finally someone picked up the phone and then hung it up immediately, as if just to stop it from ringing.
“Oh,” the teacher had said to Micah the second day John was out. “Tell your friend that his clarinet was located after all. It was in my office.”
When John finally came back the next Monday, she was excited to tell him the news. “In his office the whole time,” she’d said. “Like he never thought to look there? What a loser.”
She thought he’d laugh with her about that, but instead he’d sat down on the curb and just started to cry.
They weren’t small tears, either—they were big, racking sobs that shook his whole body.
She’d never seen John cry like that. She’d never seen a boy cry like that.
He put his head between his knees and just kept hiccup-sobbing while she stood there, not sure what to do.
Until eventually she sat down next to him and rubbed circles on his back until he calmed down.
Afterward, she tried to ask him what was wrong, if he was okay, if it was about the money or if he was mad at the teacher, or—
But he never wanted to talk about it.
And apparently he didn’t want to talk about it now, either, because he just looked over at her, his gaze dipping briefly to her mouth—so briefly she thought she might’ve imagined it, or conjured it in some wishful thinking.
His eyes were dark and a little sad when he gave her a smile.
“You ready for ElectricOh!’s big reunion show tonight? ”
She smiled back, wishing she could always feel his gaze on her like that, warm and kissing her skin like the sun. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”