9. Mistakes
9
Mistakes
WINTER
THEN
I’d never sat on my bathroom floor. I’d never noticed how high the ceiling was or how uncomfortable the tiles were. But I’d also never locked myself in a room with a bottle of rum to ugly cry on my birthday either. So, I guess tonight was a night of firsts.
Throwing my head back with a sigh, I watched the room spin and clumsily wiped the tears burning my eyes. The party was still raging downstairs. Twenty-One Pilots boomed out of the living room speakers, making the walls shake and barely drowning out the sound of glass breaking in the distance.
I hoped it was my mom’s crystal vase.
I hoped it was something she loved.
Oh, right, sorry. She doesn’t have a heart.
I’d decided that being abandoned on my birthday earned me a few hours of bitterness. I sure hoped Mommy dearie wouldn’t mind that I invited the football team over to spend those hours with me.
I didn’t know why I’d expected this year to be different. The note on the fridge was the same. So was the empty house. The previous year, her excuse to avoid pretending that she was happy about my existence had been work—at least she’d left me with my siblings that time. But since she’d just lost her job, she’d had to be imaginative.
She’d really thought this whole thing through, even found something she couldn’t invite me to in case my dad asked why she took off on my birthday. She knew damn well Jaden and Maika’s grandmother didn’t want a relationship with me. She’d made it clear that I was in no way blood related to her son Harry, therefore not a part of their family.
Lauren was probably going to blame it on Harry’s mother’s heart condition, say that Claire was getting old and the kids needed to spend as much time with her as possible, and my sweetheart of a dad would buy it. Of course he would.
He’d had to go out of town for work this weekend and promised to celebrate with me when he returned, which I knew he would, but waking up to an empty house and finding that note had ruined my day before it could even start. You know how they say you only remember the bad comments?
My mom’s the bad comment I will never forget.
I played the note over in my head.
Went to visit your dad’s parents. You’re an adult now. I trust you to be responsible while we’re gone.
I tipped the bottle back, letting the alcohol course down my throat. I winced at the taste, squeezing my eyes shut so tight a tear fell out. I’d never been much of a drinker, but, hey, like she said, I was an adult now. Well, technically, I’d be an adult at midnight, but who cares? She sure didn’t.
There was a knock on the door.
“Someone’s sick in here,” I shouted.
The person strangled a curse and walked off.
Technically, it wasn’t a lie.
I was sick. Sick of school, sick of being denied by my own mother, sick of never feeling good enough. Maybe spending the last few months of my senior year in Florida wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. When my mom told me I had to move there for a bit, I wasn’t keen on the idea, but now?
Anywhere was better than here.
Another knock, this time louder, made me jump. He really couldn’t take a hint.
“I said someone’s sick!”
“Winter?” a familiar voice asked.
Ah. Shit.
“Nope. Sorry. No Winter here.” I took a sip and muttered under my breath. “What kind of whack name is that anyway?” I always did wonder what my mom was thinking. She could’ve chosen something more common like Sarah or Jennifer, but nope, she’d given birth to me in Canada, a place where it snowed almost all year long, and called me Winter—freaking Winter.
“How fucked-up are you?” He tried to turn the knob. “Open the door.”
“Go away, Caleb.”
“You told Allie you were going to the bathroom two hours ago. We were worried.”
“I’m fine. Go back to the party.”
There was a beat of silence.
“I can just get the key your mom keeps in the kitchen drawer, you know?”
Downside of being friends with someone since you were three: they know everythin g, even the stuff you don’t want them to.
I considered my next move for a few seconds and groaned in defeat, pulling myself up to unlock the door. The knob twisted open, and I drooped back down, leaning against the tub and cradling my knees to my body.
Caleb stood with one foot in the doorway, not completely inside but not out into the hallway either. He took in my breakdown, zeroing in on my mascara-tinted cheeks, red eyes, and finally, the glass bottle at my feet.
“Hiding from your own party, huh?”
I scoffed. “I highly doubt they miss me.”
“What happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“All this. You throwing a last-minute party. The drinking. This… This isn’t you, Winter.”
And you think I don’t know that?
When I didn’t reply, he walked in, closed the door, and sat down on the floor next to me. “What’s wrong?”
I still didn’t utter a word, bringing the bottle to my lips. His disapproving eyes stung but not nearly as much as the ache in my chest did. So, I kept drinking.
“I’m not going to stop bugging you. Might as well spit it out.”
I sighed. When I’d called Allie that morning to tell her my mom and siblings were going out of town and I wanted a party, she was so excited she hadn’t bothered to ask why. Not that I would’ve told her if she’d questioned my change of heart. I’d pushed my feelings down, eaten breakfast alone, and pulled myself together the best I could. But right now, all I wanted to do was tell someone. Anyone.
Maybe just so I could get some sleep that night.
“It’s my family. They… hm… They didn’t leave tonight.”
“What?”
“They left this morning. When I was still sleeping. My mom took my siblings on a trip. I—”
“Wait.” He paused. “She left you?”
I nodded, terrified to meet his eyes.
“Did you… spend the whole day alone?”
The pity lacing his voice cut right through me.
“Yeah, but it’s okay. I had homework anyway.”
He didn’t know what to say, which was understandable.
“Twenty bucks say she won’t even come and pick me up at the airport when I get back from Florida,” I cackled.
“I’ll do it.”
I frowned, assessing my best friend.
“I’ll come and pick you up, no matter what, I promise.”
His kindness felt foreign to me, unprecedented.
That’s when the waterworks hit.
My heart betrayed me. It shattered the walls I built around myself, the lies I’d tried so hard to believe. The drizzle turned into a storm, and I started to sob.
“I’m sorry.” I covered my face in embarrassment, “God, I’m such a baby.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. It’s not a big deal. So what if my mom hates me? Some people don’t even have a family, and I’m over here crying like an idiot. I—”
“Hey!” His hand flew up to my jaw, and he lifted my chin up. “I don’t care if somebody else has it worse. You can’t tell the guy with a cut that his blood isn’t real because someone’s hemorrhaging next to him. If you’re feeling it, it matters. End of story.”
His words comforted me but also validated my pain, which only made me cry harder. Caleb wrapped one arm around my shoulder, and I released my knees, leaning into my best friend’s chest. I cried and I cried into his cardigan, and he let me.
“Sometimes, I think I hate her,” I sobbed. “But then I realize I hate me more.”
The alcohol spoke for me, but it understood my pain better than I did. I’d never talked about my feelings toward my mother before— really talked. I’d mentioned it to my friends a few times, of course, but I’d never dived deep, tear-my-wounds-wide-open-and-pour-salt-into-them kind of deep. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like you want to blame your parent, but you can’t because… deep down, you’re so desperate for their affection, so you blame yourself instead. You blame your mere existence. And you wonder how anyone could ever love you if…” I sniffled. “If the one person in the whole world who’s supposed to doesn’t.”
Speechless, he looked at me for long seconds.
“You’re wrong.”
I stared at him through the tears.
“It’s easy.”
“What?”
“Loving you.”
I’d had Caleb tell me he loved me many times over the years, but in a playful way—one of those you know I love you when he annoyed me type of thing—but somehow, combined with the way he was looking at me, this one felt different.
Overwhelmed, I mumbled, “What?”
He hesitated for a second and grabbed the rum bottle right off the floor to chug what was left of it as if to give himself courage.
He sucked in a breath. “It’s true. You’re funny, beautiful, you’re kind. Winter, you… You’re amazing.”
Words failed me. But his didn’t. He said the three words—the ones that have the power to destroy any friendship in minus two seconds.
“I love you, Winter. I’ve loved you since we were kids. I… I was scared to tell you, but you don’t deserve this. Your mom is awful. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” He wiped one of my tears away with his index.
In that moment, my hazy thoughts blurred everything: my actions, my feelings, the lines. The alcohol in my veins stole what was left of my common sense. I leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed me back. Stop, this is wrong. So wrong.
When we ended up naked on my bed, in the dark room where we once played hide-and-seek as kids, an alarm went off on his phone. He stretched his arm and pulled it out of his jeans pocket on the floor. He turned the screen over to me.
Midnight.
“Happy Birthday, Winter.” He smiled, but all I wanted to do was cry. Crawl into a ball and sob until I couldn’t breathe. Cry until the sting between my legs disappeared. My head was spinning, pounding along to the beat downstairs. I couldn’t believe I’d just done this, crumbled under the pressure of wanting to get my first time out of the way. I would’ve chased any high to get me out of this low, to feel wanted even for a second. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. I nodded, but the tears rolling down my face didn’t lie. He was an amazing guy. The right guy.
Just not my right guy.
I realized the expectations weren’t true—life is rarely perfect, firsts aren’t always made of fairy tales, and the guy I’d known forever? The guy I’d cried to when my fourth-grade crush George Bay had gotten a girlfriend? The guy I’d never, ever thought I’d kiss? Well, I’d slept with him and I didn’t know myself anymore.
But I did know one thing: I didn’t sleep with him for the right reasons.
It wasn’t because I loved him.
It was because I loved that he loved me.
NOW
Lying in bed, I adjust my pillow with a heart so heavy I’m surprised my body hasn’t sunk into the mattress yet. The apartment is quiet. Allie and Caleb went home, Haze is long gone, and Kendrick and Will passed out shortly after the Never Have I Ever disaster. Allie’s been blowing up my phone, asking me why I never told her about that night. I was honest with her: I was ashamed, plain and simple. A lapse of judgment, a drunk mistake. That’s all it took to completely wreck a lifetime of friendship.
The clock reads 2:00 a.m., and as exhausted as I am, I can’t close my eyes. Not when he’s somewhere out there, doing God knows what alone in the middle of the night. I stare at the one-sided conversation on my screen.
Winter: Where are you?
Winter: Please come home.
Winter: Haze, please. I’m worried sick.
Nothing.
I don’t even think he opened them.
There’s so much he doesn’t know. I can understand why he might feel betrayed that I kept a secret from him, especially one that he had to find out this way, but I never intended to lie to him. I just thought I’d spare both of us the heartache, because, to me, it was nothing but a bad memory: The night where I lost both my virginity and my closest friend, all in a span of hours. Definitely not my brightest moment.
When I think I hear the front door open, I hold my breath, begging, praying , that I didn’t imagine it. That he’s really here. Home. Safe.
A sharp sound.
Then a low curse.
“Fuck.” He ran into something. Probably the empty boxes we left by the door.
Yep. That’s Haze.
My heart jolts as I climb out of bed, swing open the bedroom door, and hurry down the hall. There he is. Standing in the dark kitchen. Relief overwhelms me. We didn’t hang curtains to conceal the city lights yet, which allows me to see his tired features and the twinge of pain glimmering in his eyes. He’s wearing the black T-shirt he left in. It wasn’t a warm night. He must’ve been cold as heck.
None of us say a word.
“Where were you?” I’m the first to speak.
“Nowhere.” He shrugs and tumbles down the hall. I mirror his every step.
“That’s not an answer.”
“I needed some air.”
“Until 2:00 a.m.? I was worried out of my mind, Haze. I swear to God—”
“Relax, this is Canada,” he snorts. “You can sleep with the keys in the door here.”
I roll my eyes so hard they enter a new dimension. He walks into the bathroom, flicks the light switch on, and lowers the light’s intensity to its minimum. The faint orange lights above the tub come on, illuminating the room as he twists the tap and waits for the water to cool. That’s when I see his hand. His knuckles are scraped. It doesn’t look too deep, more like a surface wound, but it’s enough to send me spiraling.
“What the hell happened?” I gasp and close the door.
“I’m not sure.” He places his hand under the freezing water and smirks. “I think there was a wall behind my punch.”
“What? You punched a wall? Are you insane?” I scold him. “Can you move your fingers?” He does but not without a slight wince. “Does it hurt?”
“Nah. It’s all right. I found something to numb it.” He gives me a lazy grin. He’s been drinking, that much is clear. He’s not wasted, but he definitely had a few more drinks after he left.
“We really need to talk about what happened.”
His cocky smile fades away, leaving a stern face behind.
“No, we don’t. So, you had a past before me. Big fucking deal.” He continues to watch as the water drowns his hand.
“You say that, but you’re mad. I know you are.”
He doesn’t reply at first. Just sighs.
“I spent the whole night trying not to be,” he admits.
“Why did you do that?” I flinch at his bruised hand. “You could’ve broken your hand. You could’ve gotten really hurt.”
He shuts the water off and shakes his head, as if to expel memories out of his mind. “It’s just… the way you looked at me earlier. The fear in your eyes. I…”
“I promise I wasn’t afraid of you.” I step closer. “If anything, I was afraid for Caleb. I knew what you could do to him, and he needs his legs. He’s a soccer player.”
He releases a weak laugh and glances down at his feet.
“I’m sorry I freaked out. I get it. It was before me. You were best friends, and you had a thing for him. It happens. I just—”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t have a thing for him. That’s exactly the problem.” I step forward. “God, there’s so much you don’t know.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Then tell me.”
I oblige and tell him everything. From beginning to end. I tell him I burst out crying after Caleb and I slept together. That I panicked and shut down, telling him to get out and destroying what was left of our friendship in the process. I explain that the next day, Caleb came over begging for us to talk, and I told him the truth: that I didn’t feel that way about him. I confessed to being a sad mess and doing this for all the wrong reasons. He didn’t take it well, as one can understand, and left. We never spoke again after that. Not once during the months leading up to my departure for Florida. This is how Jaden knew we had a fight; he never found out exactly what happened but told me he’d always suspected Caleb had feelings for me.
Haze is at a loss for words, his eyes boring into mine.
“And you’re right. It was before you. Before I met you, and I fell in love with your stupid jokes, perfect smiles and—”
He cuts me off. “I love you.”
Relief pours over me.
“I love you so much, Winter, too much, and it scares the shit out of me because I’m going to fuck it up somehow. I know I am. I’m going to ruin it by being…” He exhales. “ Me .”
“You won’t ruin it.”
He scoffs. “In case you couldn’t tell, I’m a fucking mess.”
I press my forehead to his.
“In case you couldn’t tell, I am, too.”
We laugh quietly, forehead to forehead, for a short moment I wish could last forever.
“You’re not going to ruin us,” I repeat.
“Yes, I am.” A hint of annoyance drips from his voice. The way he says it—like it’s inevitable and there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind—throws me off. “Eventually,” he retracts himself. “Trust me, I’ve spent my entire life fucking up everything that matters.”
“So what? You can change that. What you do next is up to you. You’re not your past.”
“How can you be so sure?” he argues.
“Because past you didn’t have me.”
He chews on his bottom lip as an answer. I cup his face with both hands so that our eyes lock. “I’m going to be there to keep you from going off the rails every step of the way. Every time you get too close, I’ll bring you back. I’m always going to be there, Haze. If you just let me.”
Silence ensues. He holds my gaze for a few seconds. Then he says it.
“I’m going to marry you.”
My heart stops.
I drop my hands to my side. “W-What?”
The look on my face must be something because he laughs the next second.
“Relax, Winter, this isn’t a proposal. I’m just telling you. Someday, I’m going to marry you.”
“Oh… okay,” I say awkwardly.
Oh, okay? Did I just “Oh, okay” a future marriage proposal?
“Why?” He frowns. “Would it really be so crazy if I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you tomorrow?”
“I mean… a little, yes,” I admit. “We’re still so young. We haven’t even lived together for a whole year yet. What if you hate living with me? What if I’m messy? What if I snore so loud you want to throw me out the window? You’d be stuck with me forever, and you’d regret doing something so important on a whim.”
He shakes his head and pulls me into him. “Yes, it’s a big step, but it wouldn’t be on a whim. Nothing about loving you is on a whim, Winter. You’re a no-brainer. Always have been.”
His words crawl back inside my head.
Would it be so crazy if I decided I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you tomorrow?
Images of us growing old together fill my mind, and I’m forced to admit that… no, it’s not crazy. Or nuts. Or insane. Every nerve in my body tells me it’s right. Just not now.
“Tell you what.” I wrap my arm around his neck and rest the tip of my nose atop his. “From now on, we tell each other everything. Even the dumb things we don’t think matter. Even the small details. Let’s promise to never keep a secret from each other again, okay?” I smile. “Then hopefully we can get to someday .”
A sharp pain flashes in his gaze, the kind that flees as quickly as it came but leaves a trace long after it’s gone. I can’t shake the feeling that he doesn’t believe it—that he can change. That his future can be better than his past, if he just tries.
He leans in, taking his warm lips to mine, only pulling away to whisper a faint “I promise.”