Sarah Dessen - This Lullaby

Lissa put her hand on the window button to lower it, then glanced back at me, not knowing what she should do. But I just froze, my eyes on Dexter. He looked at Paul, slowly comprehending the situation, and then over at the truck, at us.

“Diet,” he said out loud, looking right at me, as if suddenly he could see me.

Paul looked over at him. “What’s that?”

Dexter cleared his throat. “She wants diet,” he said. “But not in a bottle, like that.”

“Hey man,” Paul said, smiling slightly, “what are you talking about?”

“Remy drinks Diet Coke,” Dexter told him, standing up. “But from the fountain drink thing. Extra large, lots of ice. Isn’t that right, Remy?”

“Remy,” Lissa said softly. “Should we-”

I opened up my door and was out, dropping to the ground-it was unbelievable how high up the Excursion was-before I even really knew what I was doing. I walked up to them. Paul was still smiling, confused, while Dexter just looked at me.

“Huffah,” he said, but this time John Miller didn’t chime in.

“This is fine,” I said to Paul, taking the drinks from him. “Thanks.”

Dexter was just staring at us and I could tell Paul was uneasy, wondering what was going on.

“No, it’s okay,” Dexter said suddenly, as if someone had asked him. “Not awkward at all. But we’d say if it was, right? Because that’s the deal. The friends deal.”

By now, Trey had started toward the truck, wisely knowing to keep out of this. John Miller walked into the Quik Zip. And then there were three.

Paul glanced at me and said, “Everything okay?”

“Everything,” Dexter told him, “is just fine. Fine.”

Paul was still watching me, waiting for verification. I said, “It’s fine. Just give me a minute, okay?”

“Sure.” He squeezed my arm-as Dexter watched, a pointed look on his face-then walked over to the truck, climbing in and shutting the door behind him.

Dexter looked at me. “You know,” he said, “you could have let me know you were there.”

I bit my lip, looking down at the Diet Coke. I lowered my voice, then said, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said, too quickly, then snapped his fingers, all happy-go-lucky. “Absolutely-freaking-fantastic!” Then he looked at the truck again. “Man,” he said, shaking his head. “That thing has a freaking Spinnerbait sticker on it, for God’s sake. Better hurry, Remy, old Tucker and Bubba the third are probably getting impatient.”

“Dexter.”

“What?”

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?”

Okay, so I knew why. This, in fact, was the standard post-breakup behavior, the way he should have been behaving all along. But since it was starting now, instead of then, I was thrown a bit.

“You were the one who said we should be friends,” I said.

He shrugged. “Oh, come on. You were just playing along with that, right?”

“No,” I said.

“This is all you,” he said, pointing one somewhat wobbly finger at my chest. “You don’t believe in love, so it just follows logic you wouldn’t believe in like, either. Or friendship. Or anything that might involve even the smallest personal risk.”

“Look,” I said, and now I was starting to get a little pissed. “I was honest with you.”

“Oh, well let’s just give you a medal, then!” he said, clapping his hands. “You break up with me because I might really like you, enough to look past just hooking up for the summer, and now I’m the bad guy?”

“Okay,” I said, “so you would have rather I lied and said I felt the same way, then dumped you a month later instead?”

“Which would have been just so inconvenient,” he said sarcastically, “making you miss Mr. Spinnerbait and that opportunity.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that what this is about?” I asked him. “You’re jealous?”

“That would make it simple, wouldn’t it?” he said, nodding. “And Remy likes simple. You think you have everything figured out, that you can chart my reaction and what I’m saying on some little graph you keep tucked away. But life isn’t like that.”

“Oh, really?” I said. “Then what is it like? You tell me. ”

He leaned in very close to me, lowering his voice. “I meant what I said to you. I wasn’t playing some kind of summer game. Everything I said was true, from the first day. Every goddamn word.”

My mind flitted back then, over the challenges, the jokes, the half-sung songs. What meaningful truth was there in that? It had only been that first day that he’d said anything big, and that was just-

There was a whirring noise behind me, and next Lissa’s voice, slight and tentative. “Um, Remy?” she asked, then cleared her throat, as if realizing how she sounded. “We’re going to miss the beginning of the movie.”

“Okay,” I said, over my shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”

“We’re done anyway,” Dexter explained, saluting the truck. To me he added, “That’s what this has been all about for you, correct? Making it clear. That you and me-it was nothing more than what you’ll have with Spinnerbait boy, or the guy after that, or the guy after that. Right?”

For one split second, I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But there was something in the way he said this, a cocky angriness, that stopped me. He’d said himself I was a bitch, and once I would have taken pride in that. So sure, okay. I’d play.

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “You’re right.”

He just stood there, looking at me, as if I had actually changed before his eyes. But this was the girl I’d been all along. I’d just hidden her well.

I started to walk away, toward the truck. Paul opened the back door for me. “Is he bothering you?” he asked, his face serious. “Because if he is-”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s fine. We’re done.”

“Young knight!” Dexter yelled at Paul, just as he was shutting the door. “Be forewarned, when she does have the fountain drink, she has a vicious arm on her. She will peg you, my good man. When you least see it coming!”

“Let’s go,” Paul said, and Trey nodded, starting to back up.

As we drove away I was determined not to look back. But in Lissa’s side mirror, I could still see him standing there, shirttails flapping, arms spread, up in the air, as if waving us off on a grand trip while he stayed behind. Bon voyage, take care. Go in peace. Huffah.

The next day when I got back from spending the night at Lissa’s, my mother was home. I dropped my keys on the side table, my purse on the stairs, and was just starting into the kitchen when I heard her.

“Don?” she called out, her voice bouncing down the hallway that led to the new wing. “Honey? Is that you? I took an earlier flight, thought I could surprise-” She rounded the corner, the sandals she was wearing clicking across the floor, then stopped when she saw it was me. “Oh, Remy. Hello. I thought you were Don.”

“Obviously,” I said. “How was Florida?”

“Heavenly!” She walked over and hugged me, pulling me close against her. She had a nice tan and a new haircut, shorter and streaked with a bit of blond, as if in Florida you are required by law to go tropical. “Just wonderful. Invigorating. Rejuvenating!”

“Wow,” I told her as she released me, stepping back. “All that in only three days?”

“Oh,” she sighed, walking ahead of me into the kitchen, “it was just what I needed. Things have been so busy and stressful since the wedding, and then before the wedding with all the planning and organizing… it was just too much, you know?”

I decided not to point out how little wedding planning she had actually done, figuring she was going somewhere with this. So instead I just leaned against the sink as she pulled an Ensure out of the fridge, popping the little tab top and taking a sip.