Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
CLAY
T he timing was good at least. If I was going to ruin my life and spiral down into despair, at least I had Senior Project Week to do it in.
While the seniors worked on their final projects, teachers had the week off. In theory, we were available to supervise students and give them feedback on their work, but all of my students had taken the opportunity to work off campus at a Shakespeare festival that would be premiering As You Like It in a few weeks.
Some of them had found jobs painting sets or sewing costumes, and a few were learning theater production from the lead producer and would be working through the summer during performances.
All of that made for the perfect setup for wallowing, which was what I’d been doing all week. Eating bags of chips and greasy take-out burgers. Running miles and miles. Drinking too much coffee and not sleeping for days. Now it was Saturday, but it felt like any other day.
The junk food made me feel nauseated and hungover even though I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, but the coffee made me hollow and jittery. I was punishing myself, and the worse I felt, the better I felt, strangely.
I really wanted to avoid having to think, but I’d done some of that as well, evidenced by the full journal I’d written over the past few days. Some of it was illegible due to late-night writing in the dark, but the upshot of my soul-searching was that Ally was correct and I was the idiot who’d listened to her but didn’t hear her.
Of all the people in the world, Ally deserved the knight on the white horse. Not sure how or why she imagined I might be that knight, but she was smart enough that I shouldn’t doubt her.
Now I just had to figure out how to take a chance.
“Go away,” I said to no one. Well, not no one. I said it to whoever was out there pounding on my front door, but it didn’t matter who it was because I didn’t intend to see that person. Might as well have been Walt Whitman himself, telling me to get into the woods and inhale some fresh air. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to listen to him or anyone else.
I’d been on my couch for the past twenty-four hours at least, minus a couple bathroom breaks and a few staggering trips to the kitchen to refill my coffee cup. Even that was a failure. If I’d been smart, I’d have brought the pot over to the couch so I wouldn’t have had to get out from under the gray blanket.
Yes, the same gray blanket I’d wrapped around Ally that first night we’d spent in my yard. It still smelled like her, and I wasn’t ready to give that up yet, even though I’d all but given her up. Even though I’d sabotaged us.
The banging continued. I did my best to ignore it. If I didn’t acknowledge the person outside, eventually they’d get bored and take off.
Well, a normal person might do that. Unfortunately, Jefferson Dalbotten was not a normal person.
So not normal that he figured crawling in through my kitchen window made perfect sense. I’d left it cracked in order to get some circulation going—even I knew the place was feeling musty after just a day of me staying inside here moping—and apparently Jefferson took that as an invitation to push the sash up all the way and make himself at home. I ignored the rustling in my kitchen the same way I’d ignored the knocking.
Eventually, the man strode into my living room, after having made himself a fresh cup of coffee and having poured one for me as well. Then he walked right past me and opened my front door, where my brother, Shane, stood leaning one shoulder against the frame.
“Jesus, both of you?”
It wasn’t going to be a problem. One, two—twenty—it didn’t matter how many bros, real or otherwise, showed up at my doors and windows. I didn’t feel like talking to any of them, and it was dark enough in my house that if I sat still long enough, they might forget I was here.
Good thing I had that attitude because my parents walked in after Shane. That was new. I eyed him to see why he’d organized a fam bam and he returned my look with a stony stare.
“I think it’s time you had a little more support,” Jefferson said.
“Yeah? That’s for you to decide?”
My mom knelt down next to me. “Well, I’m glad he did. Honey, how could you not tell us how bad things got?”
I rolled my eyes. “Can we not do this?” I looked accusingly at Jefferson, then at Shane. They looked back at me as though I was the problem. I’d never considered it because keeping things to myself just felt like I was saving everyone else the trouble of dealing with my issues.
My dad, ever stoic, nodded. “We’re not here to do anything. We’re just here to let you know we’ve got your back. All the time. Anytime.” His voice cracked on the last word.
I had no idea what Jefferson had told them—I presumed he’d told them all of it—but it had the effect of visibly shifting something in my parents.
“That’s all we came to say,” my dad said, moving toward the door. My mother bent down and hugged me. A wave of flowery perfume washed over me, and it struck me for the first time as vaguely comforting. Something I didn’t mind feeling.
After the door closed behind my parents, Shane’s weight landed on the arm of the couch, judging from the way it shifted. At least he knew enough not to sit down right next to me. I’d either vomit coffee on him or slug him. “That was pretty good, for them,” he said.
Arm over my forehead, I nodded in agreement.
“Getting back to the question of why we’re both here,” Jefferson started, “my sister called me. I went to see her, made sure she was okay. Then I called Shane.”
At the mention of Ally, my heart sank. “Is she? Okay?” The sandpaper in my voice made me stand and stagger to the kitchen for a glass of water.
“She’s upset, understandably. But she gets what’s going on with you. She’s smart that way,” Jefferson said. “By the way, congrats on finally making a move on my sister. Took you long enough.”
I returned to the room to find him half grinning, half grimacing. “How long have you known?” I asked as I got back under my blanket.
“How long have I known you had a thing for her? I dunno, fifteen years? How long have I known about the two of you...Well, I saw you that night at Genie’s, remember? It was pretty obvious.”
“I like to think I have a poker face.”
“Yeah, you fucking don’t,” Shane said.
I refused to move out from under the blanket except to take another sip of my water. Somehow the two cups of coffee hadn’t made me feel more awake. Just more morose.
Yeah, pretty sure it was more than two cups. Then, late at night, an attempt to sleep, feeling terrible about myself, more fitful sleep, more coffee. I’d lost count, but somewhere along the way, day had turned to night and that had predictably turned to day again. Not that I could tell much with the shades drawn.
No sooner had I put the glass on the table did Jefferson move it aside, just out of my reach. “Here. Drink this instead.” He yanked a bottle of orange juice from his pocket and handed it to me.
“You’re a magician now, Jeff?” I grumbled.
“No, I’m your friend, and you’re an asshole.”
I threw an arm over my eyes, blocking him out. “Correct. Now that we all agree, can you please leave and let me wallow in peace? I know I fucked up. I just needed to figure out what to do about it, and I haven’t sorted myself out yet.” I was exhausted.
I heard Shane grab handfuls of fast-food wrappers and crumple them into a ball. The smell of grease and sauce made me sick to my stomach.
“Stop that,” I ordered. The room went silent. For a moment, I wondered if Shane was still here. Then I heard the sound of him pulling the blinds open a crack. When I chanced a peek through heavy-lidded eyes, the room was light enough for me to see Shane, but not much else.
Shane plunked his solid frame into a chair opposite the couch, crossed one foot over his knee, and sipped his coffee while he assessed me. “You look like a therapist. I don’t need a therapist,” I said.
“Debatable. And you need me.”
Jerking my hand up with the open juice bottle in it, I spilled a good amount of juice over the side. Great, now I’d have to clean the carpet. “That was your fault.”
“For making you drink coffee until you were jittery?”
“For coming here. For existing, basically.”
I glared at him because he was annoying the shit out of me, looking well-rested and pleased with himself. And why did he need to look so damned perky? “Why are you so damned perky?” I demanded.
“Went for a long run this morning. Something you oughtta do.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Seriously, you’ll feel better and then we can talk.”
I slumped back on the couch, dipping into a shadow that I hoped would camouflage me completely. Maybe Shane would think I disappeared and go find another errand to do. Or another soul to save. I was beyond salvation.
It didn’t occur to me to wonder why Shane was the only one in the room talking to me until Jefferson showed up again with my running shoes in his hand. At least I think they were mine. I couldn’t take the two of them moving around so much. The fatigue was real, and they were making it worse.
“Here. Put these on and let’s go do some speed drills,” Jefferson said.
Exhaling an aggravated sigh, I pulled the blanket fully over my head. That only magnified the scent of Ally’s shampoo and made me feel sadder, so I threw the blanket on the ground. I squinted at the two men tag-teaming me in my living room and assessed whether there was any chance they’d go away if I didn’t do what they wanted.
The odds were down near zero, since each of them was easily as stubborn as me, and I didn’t have the stamina to out-stubborn them.
“Fine. I’ll run. But we’re not talking.”
Jefferson held out his hands like a minister. “Fine. Wear your headphones, I don’t care. Just get moving.”
I didn’t bother changing out of my grungy gray sweatpants and the Green Valley High tee with the brown bear on the front even though I’d probably get hot. Hunching over my shoes, I laced them up and tried to find any excuse for why I needed to be alone in my misery. But Shane didn’t give me enough time to come up with anything before he was slapping a baseball cap on my head and shoving me out the door.
All the running I’d been doing had taken a toll on my muscles. I was sore and achy with new blisters on several toes. As promised, Jefferson didn’t try to make me talk. I plodded along a couple paces behind him, working the soreness out of my legs, which felt like leaden tree trunks. All of me felt like it had taken root in stale dirt and grown old. That was the effect of self-sabotage.
But as my feet hit the ground, I felt differently than I’d felt the past few days, running alone. The fact was, I wasn’t alone. Not like I had been in my twenties. My life was different now—with different, better people in it—and I had to allow for the possibility that I was different too.
I took care of my mental health. I took my meds. And in just a few weeks’ time, I had opened my heart to the possibility of loving the only woman I’d ever wanted, and she wasn’t scared off.
Until I got in my own way.
Jefferson kept a brisk pace and I forced myself to keep up, though I still trailed him by a couple yards. Every so often he’d glance back and make sure I was still there, but with music playing on his AirPods, he didn’t seem to have much interest in me. Which was perfect.
After fifteen minutes, my legs started to feel semi-normal and I picked up my pace a little, almost coming up next to Jefferson before he edged ahead, going faster. Fine. I could play this game.
I lengthened my stride the way I taught my team to do when they wanted to inch up on an opponent without using too much energy. Then, once they drew up parallel, they could pour on some speed and blow right by. It was a morale killer and was often the difference between first and second place in a race.
Without realizing it was happening, the fog began to dissipate from my brain. As I took in a lungful of air and blew it out, I felt like it made room in my body for a deeper breath. It felt good. I inhaled and started feeling human again.
My pace slowed to a jog because I didn’t have anything else to prove. Taking more deep breaths felt more important than speed. Jefferson caught up to me and I slowed even more until both of us were trotting at a cooldown pace. It wasn’t until then that I looked up and realized he’d taken me on a loop down the road and back along the path near the lake. We were already back at my house.
The scent of bacon hit me as we walked down my driveway, and despite the lingering nausea from lack of sleep, the idea of food didn’t repel me. Shane had made a fresh pot of coffee while we were gone and started some eggs and bacon in a skillet. Hash browns cooked on a flat-top grill on the adjacent burner.
Wordlessly, Shane handed me a glass of water. I took it into the bathroom and swallowed down my antidepressant before returning to the kitchen.
Ally was right. My psychiatrist was right. I needed the meds. I needed to think and feel for myself. I was the one who battled it every minute of every day. Not them. If I needed medication to be okay, then I could accept it.
Shane flipped the fried eggs with a spatula in his left hand, separated them, and slid them onto three plates. Pressing down on the hash browns to make them sizzle against the pan, my brother was a great cook. He knew how to get the right amount of crispiness on the potatoes. Those went on the plates next. Last was the bacon, a thick slab, which we all preferred well cooked.
Jefferson raided my refrigerator for ketchup and hot sauce as well as the cream for our coffee.
Then the three of us took our plates back to the living room. With the first sip of coffee, I nodded at them. A run, a cup of coffee, my antidepressant meds—that was the recipe for every good day I’d ever had. At least until I started spending time with Ally.
No one said a word. The only sound was teeth working through the thick bacon and crunching through slices of sourdough toast. About halfway through the meal, I’d caved and let Shane open the blinds about halfway so a horizontal strip of light brightened up the room.
I scooped a final bite of eggs onto the remaining corner of toast and popped it into my mouth, realizing when I looked up that both Shane and Jefferson were staring at me.
“What?” I asked through the mouthful.
Jefferson tipped his head at Shane, giving him the go-ahead to speak. Then he picked up his coffee mug and leaned back in the leather chair, settling in for something that looked like I might hate it.
“You gonna be okay?” Shane asked.
I forced a half smile onto my face and nodded, maybe with too much enthusiasm to be believable. “Sure. Of course. When am I not okay?”
Yeah, I’d overdone it. Both of them squinted at me and grimaced like I was hard to look at.
“Right now,” Jefferson said, pointing at me. It felt antagonistic. I was tempted to thank them both for cooking and running and then ask them to leave.
“Listen, it was nice of you to come, but?—”
“I should have said something to them earlier,” Shane blurted out, standing up and pacing around the room. He shoved a hand in his hair. I couldn’t figure out why he was so agitated when I was the one who’d been ambushed.
“Explain.” I still wanted to kick them out, but I’d at least listen to whatever he had to say. Shane was an insightful guy. It was bound to be interesting.
“Mom and Dad.”
“Still not following.”
“I knew how they were with you, but I was too wrapped up in my own self-loathing at the time to be much help to anyone else. And frankly, I didn’t know everything.”
My fault for not telling him, but he was my younger brother, and it wasn’t his job to look out for me. He was the one with symbrachydactyly. Not me. He was the one who had no choice but to have his disability thrust into the spotlight every time he shook hands with someone new.
I was the one who had it easy because my issue was something I could hide from the world. I was the one who looked out for him .
“It’s managed,” I said.
“I’m not talking about the depression,” he corrected. “I’m talking about how they minimized its existence. They didn’t understand it.”
We’d never talked about it. I dealt with my shit on my own. It wasn’t his problem to solve.
“I get it, feeling like a stranger in your own body sucks.” He held up his hand, something he rarely drew attention to—that’s how evolved and fine he’d become with his disability. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like to be fighting against your brain.”
There were so many things I’d thought about saying to my parents and my brother over the years, desperate explanations of how I felt. But I never said anything. That wasn’t their fault. I needed to own it.
And I could do better. I could talk to them now. Let them in. Stop resenting them for not understanding when I didn’t understand it myself.
“Thank you.” I looked at Shane for a sign of what else he needed to hear from me, worried I’d let him down as an older brother.
He nodded and came over and put an arm around me. He knew when it was best to stop talking and give me space.
Shane and Jefferson cleared the plates and sauce bottles off the table, and I picked up the coffee cups. We carried everything to the kitchen and dumped it in the sink. Dishes could be dealt with later.
Shane glanced up at the clock on my wall, drawing my attention to the time. I was right—it was early in the morning, but it was later than I thought. Half past nine.
“You are still going to the carnival tomorrow, right?” Shane asked.
Right. That.
“I should talk to Ally first. I don’t want to just show up there without clearing the air.”
Jefferson pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. A single pink ticket. “Yeah, or you could just show up there and figure it out.”
No. I wasn’t ready for that. I needed to think some more, make sure I could really do what Ally had urged me to do before I pushed her away. And hell, maybe she wouldn’t even want me now.
No, that was wrong. She said I could trust her and I did. I just needed to prove it.