Chapter Twenty-Eight December 31 #2
“No.” I say it with everything inside me, as if that one simple word had been buried under the weight of a lifetime of bad decisions, begging to come out. “No,” I repeat. “I broke up with him after you texted me on Christmas.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” he says.
“I know you didn’t. But I wanted to. What’s the point of—?”
The front door opens, and John turns quickly. Every single pulse point in my body throbs. My mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching. I try to move away from John, but I appear to be in a frozen state of shock.
“What’s this boy doing here?” Dad asks, Mom behind him. He probably saw John’s car in the driveway and drew his own conclusions even before turning the knob.
Mom closes the front door as Dad removes his boots. He comes up to where I’m standing. Even in crisis mode, Dad is careful not to dirty his precious floors.
“Answer me right now,” he demands in Arabic.
A loud moan from the family room disrupts the impending volcano eruption here in the foyer. Mom walks past all of us and gasps when she finds Theo on the couch, passed out drunk.
“Why is Theo sick on the couch?” she asks in Arabic, looking back at me like all of this is somehow my fault.
“He’s drunk,” I say.
Dad turns to John. “Did you let him get this way?”
“What?” I snap at my father. “You can’t be serious.”
“No, sir,” John replies. “I was trying to get Theo home safely. He was at a party.”
“If you were a good friend you wouldn’t have let him get this drunk in the first place. You should have been looking after him,” Dad says.
I watch as John’s face goes white at the accusation.
“He wasn’t even at the party with Theo. Theo did this all on his own,” I say, my words coming out fast and furious.
“You know New Year’s Eve is a hard day for him.” Dad’s tone is sharp, his glare sharper. “And his mother tells us he’s still heartbroken over what you did.” Dad’s eyes burn into mine. “Did you leave Theo for this boy?” he asks in Arabic, like he’s connecting the pieces.
“George,” Mom calls from the family room. “He’s in bad shape. I’ll call Petra and let her know he’s spending the night.”
“Why is this boy in our house?” Dad asks me again, this time in English.
“Oh my god! Do you even listen? John brought Theo here from the party. Theo clearly couldn’t drive himself home.”
“Why here?” Dad’s eyes flick from John to me. “So he could have an excuse to see you? Make a fool of Theo, to turn you against him? This is what a friend does?” he asks, now staring at John as if he’s some sort of criminal.
“I should go,” John says quietly.
“No. Don’t go. You didn’t do anything wrong.” I take a step toward him before turning back to Dad. “I asked John to pick Theo up from the party. Andie told me Theo was drunk and needed to leave. John only came here because Theo practically forced him to.”
“I don’t understand your story.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re just choosing not to listen. Because you don’t want to believe Theo is anything but the perfect future son-in-law.”
“Khalas. Tell him to go home,” he says in Arabic, his words quieter but fierce. “We’ll take care of Theo.”
“I get the message.” John nods. He turns and walks back to the foyer, puts his shoes on, and opens the door. He looks back at us. “Sorry for any trouble I’ve caused.”
The door closes, and the rage that has been simmering inside me for months rises and spews out of my mouth.
“You can’t talk to people like that!” I tremble.
“John didn’t do anything wrong. He saved Theo from getting hurt or from hurting someone else.
If you would just step outside your own prejudices, you’d see that John is the good guy here.
John is the one deserving of your respect.
John,” I pause, swallowing before locking eyes with my father, “John is the one I love.” The words pour out of me before I can stop them.
Dad’s eyes narrow as his face stiffens. “You do not speak to me this way. That boy doesn’t belong here. He is not for you. Love,” he spits. “Give me a break. You sound like a stupid child.”
“I hate you.”
“Lennon,” Mom cries from the couch, where she’s propping up Theo’s head.
I grab my coat and jam my feet into my runners before storming out the door, without a plan. My heart steadies at the sight of John’s car idling in our driveway. I pound on the passenger window, simultaneously relieved and afraid. He reaches over and unlocks the door.
“Sorry,” he says as I get inside. “I need the car to heat up before driving. Otherwise—”
“Take me with you. Please. I can’t spend another second inside that house.”
John shakes his head, his eyes red. “I can’t. I can’t,” he says, his words breaking both our hearts.
“I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to spend another New Year’s Eve without you. I don’t want to start another day without you. What’s the point of all this? Knowing you’re here, you’re right here, and I can’t be with you.”
“I know.”
“Why did you let me go?” I ask, my voice quiet. “Why didn’t you fight harder for me?”
“If I fight, no one wins,” John says, looking down at his lap.
I lean back in the seat, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I feel like I’m in a cage. And it’s a beautiful cage with vines and roses.
Every day I wake up to the sun streaming in, and for a moment, just before I open my eyes, I forget that I’m locked inside this cage made of petals.
Locked away from experiencing the world outside. Locked away from you.”
Horns sound in the distance. I glance at the dashboard.
Midnight. I turn to John, running my hand along his jaw and feeling the scruff against my fingertips.
I close my eyes, breathing him in as he leans in closer, his warm breath on my lips.
My eyes open to find his shut tight, a few tears running down, stopping at his mouth, right above his scar.
“You never told me how you got this,” I say, wiping his tears away, my thumb lingering on his lip.
His eyes lift to mine. “It’s not important.”
“It left a permanent scar. Something significant must have happened,” I say, almost regretting the words even as they come out. I push too hard. Sometimes my need to know things, to have an answer, outweighs the part of my brain that considers other people and their feelings.