Jessica Martinez - The Vow

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. “If you don’t want to be with me, you’ve gotta stop showing up and messing with me. If you—”

“I want you,” I interrupt, embarrassed by the force, the volume, the neediness. All of it. I’m embarrassed by everything I’ve done. “I really do,” I say softer. “I’m just doing things in the wrong order. There were things I didn’t realize until sitting here waiting for you, things about Mo and about myself and some of the mistakes I’ve made. I need to fix everything, including this with you, but I have to do it in the right order so I don’t have to hate myself when it’s all over. I’m sor—”

“No.” This time he interrupts me. “I don’t want your apology. I want you.” He leans over, tucks my hair behind my ear, and kisses me on the temple. “Come back when you’re ready to come back. But don’t . . .” He trails off.

I nod. I’m afraid to look at him, so I stare at the maze of oaks in front of me, so thick I can only see a few feet into them. When I’m ready to come back.

I wish someone would tell me which path means inflicting the least amount of pain, but even as I wish it, I know it’s the wrong wish. It’s what Sam was talking about, me doing what’s right for other people and not myself. She said now or never.

Reed gets out of the car, and I watch him walk away. After he’s gone, I call home—no, my old home. My parents’ house. No answer.

The mural is not different. I have to tell myself that several times as I turn circles in the center of the room, because it feels different. I’m not sure how that could be. After all, it’s my baby. It grew in my brain, came from my fingers, swirled around me while I slept, but it doesn’t feel the same. It used to be a cocoon to wrap myself in, a spell to disappear under. Now it’s just paint. Pretty, but not magical, not something to hide away in or disappear into.

I turn off the lights and leave the box of shoes and knickknacks I packed on the bed. This time I’m ready.

Mo

This time I’m ready.

I hear the knock on the door, and a lens slides between my brain and the world, clicking into place and everything is sharp. Adrenaline. A phantom ache in my jaw starts to throb even though it hasn’t hurt in days, and there’s a sudden ringing in my inner ear. On my way to the door I think, This must be what war vets feel like when their wounds start aching before it rains , so by the time I check the peephole and see that it’s Bryce, I’m not even surprised. I’m about to get punched again.

I’m not ready in the sense that I’ve done anything to prepare. No Karate Kid marathons, no helmet and face guard stashed by the door. But I’m mentally ready. I’ve been bracing for round two since round one finished ringing in my ears, because I knew Bryce only needed a little more time to mull over the depths of my treachery and he’d realize that one punch to the face, albeit a really good one, was not enough.

He knocks again.

I could not open it, pretend I’m not here, and hide under Annie’s bed like the scared little girl that I am. But why postpone it? This is a much better venue and time to get my face rebusted than, say, outside my locker on the first day of school.

I take a deep breath and open it. Avoiding direct eye contact, I nod hello, close my eyes, tense every muscle in my body, and wait. And wait. Clenching.

“I’m not going to hit you.”

I open my eyes, but I don’t stop wincing. Just in case. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, so I’ll definitely have enough time to reclench my jaw if he pulls one out.

“Wow. Your face is still bruised. Good for me.”

“Yeah. Well done.”

He grunts. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“I wasn’t counting on it.”

“I’m not sorry, and we are not cool.”

I shake my head. “Not at all.”

There are primate rules about not staring an alpha male in the eye. Every person, monkey, and ape knows this by instinct, but still, I force myself to look at Bryce. He looks at me. We stand in the doorway for an indeterminable length of time, and it’s a little scary and awkward, but neither of us knows what to do.

“Is she here?” he asks.

“Nope.”

“Good. Here.” He holds out his hand, and in it is a pair of ballet slippers, pink and scuffed, those bizarre hard toes, browning around the edges. Sarina’s.

“Natalie says thanks for letting her borrow them. She made my mom wedge her feet into them every day for the last month.”

I shake my head. “Sarina’s gone.” I can’t stop staring at the faded satin, the fraying edges. She really is gone.

“I know, but you could send them to her.”

“No. Tell Natalie she can keep them.”

Bryce doesn’t fight it. I know he gets a kick out of making his sister smile, and this will probably send her over the edge.

“Do you want to go shoot hoops?” he asks.

I try not to let the shock show, but he has to see it. “Yeah. Do you want to come in and wait while I change?”

He looks into the front room, and I can see him considering it. But then his eyes fix on something behind me and he shakes his head. “I’ll wait in my car.”

I turn around and there it is: the wedding dress in all its space-age puffball glory, draped over the armchair. She forgot it. I can’t believe after all that freaking out about getting it back to Kristen, Annie actually forgot it.

On the court, we don’t say a lot. There is almost no trash talk, which is unusual and unnerving enough to make me feel like I’m about to get punched again. And that screws up my already rusty game.

“So, how was Argentina?” I ask when we stop for water.

“Good.” He takes a swig from his water bottle. “I’m not going to ask how your summer’s going.”

“Okay.”

“Because I really don’t want to know.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t even want to think about it, actually.”

“Okay.”

Without warning, he chest passes the ball hard enough to knock me back one step. “Let’s play.”

We play, and I lose. It’s not like I’m letting him win, but I think he’s thinking about what I’m doing with Annie, and he plays better when he’s furious. And unfortunately that makes me think about what I’m not doing with Annie, and I play worse when I’m distracted.

Still, despite all the silence and awkward exchanges and spurts of aggression, it’s nice to play. It’s nice to be with someone who isn’t Annie. I almost didn’t realize how much I’ve missed him, and since my family left I’ve been living in a vacuum of human contact without even realizing it. I talk to a possessed cat for companionship.

“So when do you leave for Greece?” I ask after I’ve conceded defeat and he’s told me I suck.

“Day after tomorrow. I won’t be back until right before school starts.”

“Lame. Did I tell you I’m not going to basketball camp either now?”

“No. Why? The wife won’t let you?”

“My dad won’t let me.”

He shrugs and stalks off with the ball. I gather my stuff and follow him back to the car.

When we pull in to Wisper Pines, the sun is sinking over the woods like it’s dipping into fire. The trees are burning.

Bryce rolls to a stop and I unbuckle my seat belt. “I can’t believe I believed you,” he says softly. “All these years, I believed the whole best friends crap.”

I stare straight into the sun, the flaming trees.

“Is she happy?” he asks. “Never mind. She is.”

I don’t correct him because I want to leave the car with my jaw still attached to the front of my face. But in my mind, I see Annie’s eyes and the dullness that settled into them on the day she left everything for me. I’m trying, every day I try, but I can’t chase that gloom out. It’s like a bruise that won’t fade, not for skateboarding or cartoon marathons or fake rings or wedding photos or strawberry Pop-Tarts. And in my mind I see the mostly blank canvases she stares at, brush in hand. Definitely not happy.