Tell Me Not to Go Page 20

  7 Days Without Him

  If someone were to wear the same pajamas for—oh, let’s say seven—days in a row, would their skin start to rot? Excellent. Now I can tell Lizzie I’m conducting a scientific experiment the next time she hassles me.

  Our suite looks like a hurricane hit it. Lizzie is packing up to move in with Jude. I’m shoving my shit into boxes to take to my parents. I’ll be living with them for a bit before heading down to LA.

  I sort through my things, discovering there isn’t much to remind me of “he who shall remain nameless.” We weren’t together long, and since we were supposedly only hooking up, I don’t have many mementos—except the stuffed monkey he won for me in Reno. Meanwhile, I still have one of Luke’s old T-shirts. I throw that in the trash.

  Lizzie peeks in. “Making progress?”

  And then there’s Lizzie—the living memento. Because there’s always that second when she tilts her head just so, or trails off at the end of a laugh, or says something he does. And I’m thrown back into my misery all over again.

  “Do you want me to go?” Lizzie looks crestfallen. I never answered her question.

  “Come on in,” I say, forcing a smile.

  She sits next to me on the beige carpet where I’m sorting through medical textbooks.

  “Leaving behind a lot,” she says, pointing to the stack.

  “Can’t lug it all with me. Trying to travel light.”

  She grabs a box and starts shoving the books in, like she’d rip them in two if she could.

  “Be careful you don’t get rid of something important,” she says, her hands shaking a little as she reaches for more books.

  “Look, I know you want things to work out with me and Jeff, but . . .”

  “I’m not talking about him,” she says, her face red. That usually means she’s trying not to get emotional. “I’m talking about me, stupid.”

  Feels like I swallowed a rock. “Oh.”

  “We have so little time left, and you’re avoiding me. And you’re making me feel like once you get to LA, I’ll never see or hear from you again.”

  I paste on a smile. “Well, if you’d use Facebook . . .”

  She goes silent, slams my biology book down, and then leaves the room.

  In the three years I’ve known Lizzie, she’s never walked out on a conversation. I can count our arguments on one hand. I go cold knowing that this fight is all on me.

  Is this what it’s like having a sibling? Do I approach her? Give her space? Hard to believe I’ve survived this long without people skills. But then again, when things get tough, I usually just walk away. But I can’t do that with Lizzie. She’s not a friend you let go of.

  She looks up when I tap on her door, but stays silent.

  I cross one bare foot over the other. “You gonna talk to me?”

  “Depends.” She folds another shirt and puts it in her suitcase, pretending to be engrossed in the task.

  “On?”

  “On whether you’re going to be a smartass.”

  I inch closer to her, like an animal creeping toward a human holding food in its hand.

  “Okay. I won’t be. I promise.”

  “You’re going to be busy in LA,” she says.

  I grab one of her shirts and start folding. “We’ll still talk. Text. You can come see me.”

  “The next decade is going to be so crazy for you. Med school. Residency. And that’s amazing. But someday, I’ll be ‘your old college roommate’ and we won’t even know each other.”

  The thing is, she’s right. That’s probably what grownups do. Change. Grow. Separate from what holds them to earlier phases of their lives. So exciting. Such a drag.

  “Then we have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  She shrugs her shoulders, unconvinced.

  I met Lizzie at the hospital while we were both volunteering. When I first saw her, she didn’t make much of an impression, other than looking like she walked off an Abercrombie ad. But there was a guy that came in the hospital that night. Someone said he was wearing a weird leather vest with zippers and hooks on it—a BDSM-type thing. And he had broken his penis. One nurse told another, until all the volunteers knew, too. He was the subject of ridicule for that night—a way to keep the tired staff entertained.

  But Lizzie didn’t laugh. Instead, she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Let’s go bring him an extra dessert.”

  Lizzie was my girl-match made in heaven. Kind, curious, and completely indifferent to partying and skanking out for guys. Even I know you don’t find soul mates like that very often.

  Sadness overwhelms me. “Dammit, I didn’t want to do this.”

  “Well, that’s too bad.” She throws her shirt down on the bed in disgust.

  “I don’t have any sisters, Lizzie. You’re as close as I’m going to get. So we better damn well stay in touch.”

  “I don’t have any either,” she says, her voice quivering. “And I’m not going to know what to do with myself without you.”

  I lean in and hug her, and we stay together a few more seconds more than we normally would.

  “So let’s make a pact,” I say. “Any time we talk, we pick back up like no time has passed.”

  She nods. “Okay, and all big events have to be texted or discussed immediately.”

  “And I get to be your maid of honor when you marry handsome.”

  “Shut up,” she says, finally releasing me.

  We move some more of her clothes into her suitcase, working in comfortable silence.

  “Sam, you sure Jeff isn’t a keeper, too?”

  I close my eyes and try hard not to see his face.

  “Oh, he is. He’s just not mine to keep.”

  “Well, like you told me, there are other fish in the sea, or some shit.” Marcus’s hair is in one long braid—so that means he’s happy today.

  I prop my feet up on the metal chair across from me. The student union has the most uncomfortable furniture. I know they want it to look modern, but is it too much to ask to wallow in comfort?

  “You suck as bad as I do at cheering people up.”

  “That’s why we’re in science,” he says.

  I take a sip of my smoothie. I had them add chocolate and peanut butter to it to cover the taste of healthy. I’ll jog it off later. Whenever I get bitchy these days, Lizzie hands me my running shoes. I’ve been getting a lot of exercise lately.

  “Dude. I’m sick with jealousy that you get to live in So Cal.”

  I throw my straw wrapper at Marcus. “Baylor is an amazing school, dummy.”

  “We’re talking about Houston.” He holds both hands in the air and moves them up and down as if he’s weighing two items. “LA, Houston. LA, Houston. Hmmm.”

  “You’ll do fine. As long as there are women, I’m sure you’ll get by.”

  “True enough.”

  I give Marcus one of my textbooks and say my good-byes. He’s one of the last people I needed to say good-bye to, and suddenly my move feels real. No more hypotheticals; in a couple of weeks I will be on the road to LA, leaving everyone I love here behind me. I stand, staring out at the plaza, watching students coming and going. Some of them are just starting their adventure. And I’m so sentimental I’m making myself ill.

  When I get back to the suite, Angel is chatting with Lizzie. I catch them just in time, because Lizzie has to get to work and they’re heading out.

  “Hang out with me for a while,” I tell Angel, so she comes back inside.

  “Looks like you’re both ready to move,” she says, her eyes darting over boxes.

  “I guess.” I kick off my flip flops and collapse on the sofa.

  Angel toes off her Chucks and settles on the couch next to me. “Hey, I meant to tell you that my work’s throwing a big party this weekend. They’re paying some rapper to perform, there will be tons of food, and probably lots of Silicon Valley one percenters. You in?”

  “Maybe,” I say, but there’s a “probably not” hi
dden inside there.

  “C’mon. I need someone to be snarky with. I can get you a plus-one invite so you can bring someone.”

  Without warning, I burst into tears. Not the good kind—where you sniff and dab delicately at your face with a tissue. Only Lizzie and girls in the movies cry like that. No. I go from zero to full-blown nasty cry, where your nose clogs immediately and you gasp for breath. Thankfully I’m brown, so at least I don’t turn red and blotchy.

  Angel’s eyes go wide, as she jumps up and grabs a tissue for me. “What did I say?”

  “I don’t have a plus one. Jeff and I are over.”

  “I thought that’s what you wanted?”

  I’m too overwhelmed to speak, so she pulls me into a hug.

  She shakes her head. “Girl, you and these preppy men . . .”

  That makes me laugh, and then cry some more. I am beyond embarrassed, but at the same time, it’s been a while in coming.

  “He’s not preppy. He’s perfect. For me.”

  Angel looks skeptical. “No way. There’s got to be something awful about him. Let’s make a list.”

  “Well, he plays the banjo.”

  “Kinda cute,” Angel says.

  “And he talks about boring finance stuff a lot.”

  “Okay. Keep going.”

  “And he gets all macho sometimes, like he wants to order me to do something.”

  Angel shakes her head. “That’s hot.”

  “I know. That bastard.” I grab another tissue. “He was supposed to be predictable. We were going to spend a few months shagging, I was going to be the fun-time girl that helped lighten him up, and then we were going to go our separate ways.”

  “Oh, chica. You knew that was never going to happen. You’re not even all that fun.” She smiles at me and brushes the hair out of my face. “He saw what he wanted to see. So did you. It was all just an excuse.”

  I nod, because I know Angel’s right. “He asked for more time. I just couldn’t do it. What was the point of dragging out my heartbreak? He’s here, and I won’t be.”

  “I’m sorry you’re hurting. But it’s going to be so great in LA. You won’t have time to miss him.”

  If only that were true. “It’s not like it was some big tragedy. We just had a great time together. He’s not in love with me.”

  Too bad I’m in love with him.

  Chapter 26: Jeff

  10 Days Without Her

  Can you play basketball?

  Jude’s text is unexpected, but not unwelcome. My tiny studio feels like a tomb, and there isn’t a single cubic inch of it that doesn’t remind me of Sam. I can’t even look at the ladder to my loft without feeling sick.

  Yeah, why?

  Get your ass over here.

  I roll my eyes. What a prick. But he’s available, it’s Saturday, and I’m desperate for something to do.

  “What’s the freakin’ rush?” I ask him when he opens the door.

  Jude tilts his chin up in greeting and leads me through the house to the back yard.

  I look around Jude’s living room and see Lizzie’s influence everywhere. There’s an orange chair next to the couch that wasn’t there before, and some framed photos hanging over the TV; shots of Ryan and Jude with their mom and their uncle, and more recent pictures where it’s just the two of them. There’s even one of Jude and Lizzie.

  “Your sister’s busy,” he finally says, grabbing a ball. “I play in a league, but not on Saturdays, and most of the guys I know from work suck. That leaves you.”

  “No need to flatter me.”

  He flashes me a grin and then takes off down the court.

  “Let me warm up first, dick,” I say without malice.

  Feels good to have a friend I can talk trash to again. I’m not close enough yet with anyone I’ve met here. Eli and I hang out sometimes, but he’s pretty obsessed with Rebecca right now, so they spend a lot of time together. I keep trying to get Bruce to come out for a visit, but he’s been tied up.

  Jude and I start off friendly, but after a while, our competitive streaks kick in and things turn uglier. Jude goes in for a layup and I foul him.

  “Seriously?” He bends over and holds onto his knees as sweat drips from his neck.

  “You’re four inches taller than I am. I’m just leveling the playing field.”

  “No, what you’re doing is working a girl out of your system.”

  And he’s crazy if he thinks I want to talk about it. “Lizzie should keep her mouth closed.”

  He grabs two water bottles and throws me one so we can take a breather.

  “Hate to break it to you, but you’re not any harder to read than your sister.” He drinks half the bottle in one go.

  I squirt some water over my hair and shake it out. “We both knew it was temporary.”

  Jude’s icy blue eyes soften. “What does that matter?”

  I rub my forehead, trying to snuff out the headache that’s coming. “It’s like she’s still there, even though she’s not. I hear her laugh sometimes, or catch her scent. But I can’t touch her. I can’t answer her back. I think maybe I’ve gone crazy.”

  Jude drops the basketball on his foot. I guess we’re both surprised by that little speech.

  “Oh shit, you fell in love with her.”

  The night of graduation, I came to the same conclusion. But I don’t want it to be true.

  “How can I be sure?” I ask.

  Jude must have some insights. He just went through this with Lizzie.

  His smile is pained. “When you know, you know.”

  I remember Sam comparing love to a hot stove you couldn’t help but touch. She was right. So is Jude. My legs are suddenly rubber and I plop down on the court. Jude joins me.

  “I kept telling myself it was impossible that I’d fall for her.”

  Jude chuckles. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “What can I do? She’s leaving. And I don’t want to be the guy distracting her from school. Cheating her out of that experience.” I take a drink of water, hoping Jude has some answers. “What would you have done if that had been Lizzie?”

  His lips curl up, but I’m not sure you can call it a smile. “Whatever I had to.”

  “It’s different. I’m not sure Sam feels the same way about me that Lizzie does about you.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. Only one way to find out.”

  “I guess. But she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to see or talk to me ever again.”

  Jude stands up and motions me toward the house.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Inside. To get you drunk.”

  So maybe Jude doesn’t have all the answers, but this is the best idea I’ve heard all week.

  “Our meeting with Hanover DX got moved to three o’clock,” Eli says on Monday.

  Luckily I had Sunday to recuperate from Jude. Otherwise, Eli’s booming voice would have made my teeth hurt.

  “That’s fine. I’m ready.” As ready as I can be to do a postmortem about a company that imploded. Hanover didn’t get FDA approval for their product, so I’m not sure how their downfall could have been avoided.

  Andrea pushes past Eli and hands me a file. “Mr. Paulson wants you to take a look at this before the meeting. Sorry it’s late.”

  Andrea’s hand is shaking. It matches her red eyes and blotchy nose. She’s been crying.

  “I’ll see you later,” I tell Eli. “I need to talk to Andrea for a minute.”

  “Everything okay?” I ask her once Eli is gone.

  Andrea nods her head yes—sort of frantically—but doesn’t say anything. She folds her lips inward, her back straightening.

  “What is it?”

  She says nothing, looking so lost that it’s painful.

  I stand up. “Andrea . . .”

  She puts her hands up. “Don’t. You have a girlfriend. She wouldn’t want me crying on your shoulder. And that’s what’s going to happen if you come any closer.”


  “I don’t. Have a girlfriend, I mean. Sam’s leaving. We broke up.”

  Except, were we ever really together?

  “Oh.” She pushes the file around on my desk.

  “What can I do?”

  She looks at me and sighs. “Do you have time after work?”

  After the pain of the last two weeks, it feels good to be able to help. To be needed.

  “I’ll see you at six.”

  “When Keller first hit on me, I was flattered. Sort of. I also was a little disgusted, because I knew he was a player. But he was really fun at first. And he was persistent.”

  We’re at a bar a few blocks from where we work. Andrea didn’t want to go to the place on the corner in case other people from work were there.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” I say, signaling the waitress. I order two glasses of wine, because I figure that’s what Andrea drinks, but Andrea asks the waitress for a seltzer water instead.

  “I broke things off right after we got back from Tahoe. He was so awful on that trip I almost couldn’t believe he was the same person. I was embarrassed for both of us.”

  “And that’s what’s upsetting you? The breakup?” I take a sip of my wine. Not bad.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Holy shit.” I force myself to set my glass down gently. “Sorry. It’s just . . .”

  “I know. Believe me. I haven’t even told my family. They’re going to be so disappointed in me.”

  She takes a big gulp of water, but that doesn’t stop her tears from falling. Her situation is tough, and nothing I say is going to make it easier.

  “What about your friends? Have you talked to them?”

  She gets defensive, her chin raising a notch. “They don’t understand or agree with my decision. To keep the baby. They said it’s going to ruin my career, which it will.”

  Memories rush at me so hard it’s like getting tackled during a scrimmage. Lacey crying and desperate, telling me she was having my baby. My dad taking me outside, telling me I hadn’t done right by Lacey—the disappointment in his eyes indelible. The pale-faced pity of the nurse at the hospital who told me the baby’s heart had stopped beating.

  I can’t swallow, so I choke out a response. “You’re sure?”