If It Makes You Happy Page 20

  Mom: I see. Have you asked him out yet?

  Winnie: NO. I’m not doing that.

  Mom: Why not? I asked your dad and look what happened: Marriage! Babies! 85% life-fulfillment!

  Winnie: 85!?

  Mom: There’s still some things I want to do once I’m retired

  Winnie: Oh. Okay. Just making sure lol

  Mom: My advice is the same as always. Be direct. Ask. Get your answers and then give it time to play out naturally. What will be, will be, my love.

  Winnie: Time sounds stupid

  Mom: Winnie.

  Winnie: I mean, time sounds boring

  Winnie: I need answers now. Like a get rich quick, harebrained scheme that will cut all of the this is where you learn a lesson corners for me. I need solutions! I need results!

  Mom: You need to calm down lol

  Mom: I know it feels like the world is going to end but what you and Kara have isn’t new, sweetie. Lots of people are in relationships similar to yours

  Mom: I know because I’ve researched:)

  Mom: But it’s scary because you’re young and this is your first time for everything, right? You don’t have any experiences to match with what’s happening to guide you

  Mom: I think everything will be okay. You just have to live through it first which is the hard part I know but I think you’ll find that it’ll be worth it

  Twenty-Eight

  “Sam is sixteen.” Eyes open and dry as sand, I stared at the alarm blaring across the room. Yesterday with Kara had been wonderful. The second I stepped back into this apartment, the brilliance of the day got leached from me. “She’s sixteen. That means something.”

  But did it really?

  Sam, two years younger than me and two years older than Winston, who had an asthma attack two days ago and left me, couldn’t be bothered to think that maybe I needed a break from jogging with her at that place.

  After everything I’d done for Sam—constantly protecting her from Winston, always making sure she’s okay and smiling and happy, taking the fall when she did shit wrong like stealing from my mom, jogging every morning even though I hate it—she couldn’t even be bothered to ask me if I was okay. My heart ached for her on an hourly basis. I worried about her to the point of stressing myself out until I got stomachaches. And yet?

  A simple text—hey, are you up for this today?—would have been stellar. Actually, it would have been the absolute bare minimum of concern Sam could show. She could have thought to give me the option of backing out without making me seem like a bad person for abandoning our “thing” since Winston was gone.

  I rolled onto my back, blowing all of the air out of my lungs, and then checked Twitter to make sure the world hadn’t burned down while I slept. Half asleep with blurry vision, I always checked in with the internet like we were in a relationship. A one-sided, abusive relationship, but hey. The state of the world made it that way.

  Dallas had sent me a text. I curled into a ball after a surprise heart palpitation. Dallas, the non-texter, had actually sent me something.

  (Arthur) DALLAS

  Dallas: Have a good day

  In spite of all the crappy feelings fumbling around inside of me, I smiled so big my cheeks began to hurt. I couldn’t bring myself to skip two nights of work in a row, so I had called him. He showed up not even ten minutes later to keep me company during the Midnight Oil.

  We talked. I cried because I couldn’t help it. He listened.

  And he’d given me another present.

  “Here,” he had said. “I brought this for you. I think you’ll like it. There’s also a movie, but it’s kind of trash.”

  “Thanks.” I’d taken the paperback book from him, old and battered with the spine falling apart. “Did you get it from a used bookstore?”

  “No. It’s mine. One of my favorites.” He had turned slightly red.

  Whatever I said back to him had to be brief and to the point because he might not reply. If he didn’t, I’d be stuck thinking about what his non-response did or didn’t mean all day. “You too” sounded dismissive. “Thank you” was a given. I typed and deleted a few more times before settling on:

  Winnie: I’ll call you later

  “You gonna turn that off?” Granny stood in the doorway.

  I locked my phone screen. “I thought about it. But then I figured if I got used to the sound, my body would stop responding to it. Exposure therapy for the lazy person’s soul.”

  Granny made her usual wordless objections, sounds I’d heard my whole life. “You’re not lazy.” The alarm stopped. Moments later, the bed shifted as she sat down.

  “He’s fine, Winnie.”

  I curled around Granny, resting my head in her lap. “I know.”

  Whenever I used to get upset, we’d sit like this.

  When kids outside teased me for being fat and that word still hurt; when I punched those same kids in the face one by one and cried after because I thought I would go to hell because Jesus was disappointed in me for fighting; when Sam stayed home one summer and kissed my crush—a boy whose name I couldn’t even remember, but my heart was broken and betrayed; when I got a low score on the summer PSAT prep course and test I took in Misty with Kara; when I figured out I might like girls, too, and thought I was going to hell again—Granny had been there for all of that and more.

  This summer had been hell on our relationship. But at the start, if someone had asked me, I would have wanted Granny with me all the time. It always bugged me when my friends treated their grandparents like ATMs or Santa Claus. Granny helped raise me, too. I wanted us to stop fighting and be able to spend the little bit of summer we had left together being happy.

  “Maybe you should go home for a bit.”

  I sat up so fast I almost hit my head on the top bunk. “You’re kicking me out!?”

  “No.” She touched the side of my face, thumb rubbing my cheek. “I’m sending you where you want to be.”

  “I want to be here. Summer equals Goldeen’s. That’s the way it works. Who’s going to cover my shifts?”

  Granny raised an eyebrow. “My diner is open and does just fine for the nine months when you aren’t here. My business doesn’t stop when you leave, Winnie.” She tugged on my chin, then rested her hand in her lap.

  “But—” I opened my mouth and closed it. “But—you’re on staycation. Goldeen’s needs me.”

  “What is that? And what makes you think I’m on it, whatever it is?”

  “I’m here so you can take a break and not have to worry about the diner.”

  Granny’s whole body reacted—sucked in a breath, blinked at me, shook her head, turned away, pressed her lips together as she exhaled.

  “You’re enjoying your summer off, aren’t you?” I asked. “You got to start that painting class, take piano lessons like you always wanted; you’ve been to concerts and renaissance fairs and pirate festivals with the other grannies, and you’re going on a cruise with Mr. Livingston—”

  “Mind your business.”

  “I am! You’re always telling me that I’m too serious and I need to have fun and, well, so do you. You’ve worked hard your whole life! You deserve a break more than me.”

  “I made you a co-assistant manager because you earned it. Because I thought the experience would be good for you. It’s sure as hell not because I need you to replace me.” She wagged her finger and shook her head—the holy double play of an upset elder. “I don’t know why you’re in such a rush to be grown. You’re eighteen. You need to start acting like it.” She stood up, fussing with the tie on her robe. “If you want to stay here, I’m changing your shifts. No more mornings or deliveries. You work five thirty to two a.m., half hour meal break. Sundays and Mondays off from now on.”

  “What?” I looked up at her, nearly frozen in shock. “That’s not fair!”

  “It is fair. Even if it wasn’t, it’s my business. I make the schedule.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to hea
r it,” she said. “Be mad all you want. It’s for your own good. You’ll see.”

  * * *

  Some days, good days were an impossible thing. I got dressed and drove to the park because I had to get out of that house. Breathing the same air as Granny made me punchy.

  I’d mostly always used my words, but every now and then I thought hitting something would make me feel better. Running sucked, but kickboxing might be worth looking into.

  “Good morning.” Sam smiled—happy but trying to scale it back to a tolerable level that didn’t give a rainbow a run for its money.

  “Bad morning.”

  Her smiled disappeared. “That’s an option.”

  Winston had collapsed right there, right next to that patch of shrubbery. We had to half drag him to the car. If I closed my eyes, I could see it. When I opened them, he was still there, fading away. Dying.

  He could have died.

  The sameness of the scene felt offensive. The geese. Mabel happy as ever. The stagnant water. Sam and her seemingly endless supply of Technicolor workout clothes. I was supposed to walk and run past that spot like nothing ever happened, to honor me and Sam’s “thing.”

  Five. Seven. Five.

  Walk. Jog. Walk.

  Rage powered me through the entire seven minutes. Around minute four, my knee decided to twinge hard enough to make me have to hop the next few steps. Sam had called it that, ordering me to push through. I had wanted to push her into the pond for a hot second. That seemed to be enough to appease the Knee Gods, because mine relaxed after that.

  And if one more goose pretended to charge at me, I’d seriously start reconsidering my punting policy.

  In the car, Sam tugged on her seat belt. “You feeling okay?” Mabel’s head appeared between us. “I’ve been worried about you. After what happened.”

  Now she worried. None of her concern had appeared that morning.

  “He’s fine. Everything’s fine.” I started the car.

  “I know.” She chewed on her thumbnail. “He wasn’t supposed to be there anyway. It was supposed to be our time. Whenever it’s just supposed to be me and you, here he comes.”

  “Feel free to stop saying things that are going to make me get mad at you.”

  “What?” In the corner of my eye, her wide eyes stared at me.

  “He’s my brother. So what if he tagged along? What is your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem.” She shook her head, lowering it like she always did when confrontation came for her. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? Do you even know what you did? Or are you just apologizing because you think that’s going to make things better?”

  I could feel her shrinking beside me, retreating like a snail into its shell.

  “Did you even think about me at all this morning? How I would feel going to that pond after what happened?”

  No yelling. No counting. I’d probably unconsciously developed this neutral nonthreatening level of rage exclusively for her.

  Well.

  I’m sure the steering wheel had an opinion about that nonthreatening claim. I shook out my hands quickly and placed them back. There’d be two-hand driving at all times with me behind the wheel.

  “Oh.” She held her hands together, squeezing them. They changed colors—white-tinged red from effort. She called it caramel-skin problems.

  “Yeah, oh. He could’ve died. Why would I want to go back there so soon? At all?”

  “I didn’t think about it like that. To me—” Sam paused. “Can I say something, too?”

  “That’s how conversations work.”

  “Okay. I wasn’t sure. Thanks.” She grimaced, wringing her hands tighter. “I was scared, too, but the doctor said he was fine. He said he was fine. You said he was fine. Everything was fine. You kept saying it, so I thought—I didn’t realize you were lying.”

  She picked up on more than I’d given her credit for. “I wasn’t lying. Not on purpose. I was trying to convince myself. Like if I said it enough, it would be okay for me to believe it was true.”

  “You do that a lot. Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.”

  This was exactly why I worried for Sam so much. Why I always stuck my neck out for her. She wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone else. Her M.O. involved shrinking and wilting until she could figure out the least painful way to escape. She didn’t let people see this side of her.

  “You can ask me. If you get confused, just ask. Otherwise, I’ll just assume you don’t care about me.”

  “Of course I care about you! You’re like my favorite person ever.” She looked out the window. “But I feel like I already annoy you all the time.”

  “Well, not all the time.” I smiled as she said it, but Sam’s reflected face crumpled in the window. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was kidding.”

  “And I feel like sometimes you don’t like me as much as you like Winston.”

  “That’s stupid. I love you both.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t love us. I said I think you don’t like me. I know a lot of people don’t.” She was trying so hard not to cry. Mabel whined, nudging her—she didn’t like it either. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “We have different interests that don’t really overlap, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. Having stuff in common isn’t the only reason you can like someone.”

  “I know that. I just wanted us to spend time together before you moved away, and I wanted to help you and Granny get along again because all you two do is fight now. I know you’re upset about that.”

  My little cousin was an actual sweetheart. A meddling sweetheart, but she meant well and I swear to God sometimes it felt like no one else could see it but me. She’d never do anything to intentionally hurt me. I knew that. This summer had just warped everything I knew to be true into unrecognizable monsters trying to eat me alive.

  “You’re my little sister. You know that right? I’m always going to look out for you. Whether you annoy me or not, that’s never going to change.” I poked her in the cheek, holding my finger there for five seconds before putting my hand back on the wheel. “I’m not sorry that I don’t like running. I’m willing to do it while we’re here, but once we go back, I’m done.”

  “I know.”

  “But we’re not done. We have time to figure out a new thing for us. Maybe kickboxing?”

  Her eyes lit up. “I’ve always wanted to try that!”

  “Find a class and we’ll go for however many sessions we can before I move. And then we’ll find something we can do long-distance, too, okay?”

  “You promise?”

  “Yep.”

  She smiled at me. “Do you really hate running?”

  “I do. But I think it’s really cool how dedicated you are to it. I’m not sorry for complaining so much. You’re not getting that out of me. But you’re a pretty good instructor. You should look into getting a part-time job doing that instead of babysitting all the time.”

  Sam’s smile had reached high-beam status. “Well, you’re a pretty good baby runner. I’m sorry it made you so miserable.”

  “Guess I’m still waiting for those endorphins to kick in.” I felt a distinct pang of hurt and guilt. Winston wasn’t there, but his joke lived on.

  Twenty-Nine

  I’d been in bed for a whole ten minutes before tiny plinking noises made my imagination act up. Something kept hitting the window.

  How I’d even heard the noise over Sam’s snores was beyond me. She kept right on trying to blow a hole in the roof with her powerful snoring. I got out of bed, darting for the wall, and placed my back against it. Sly as a fox with no common sense, I tried to peek through the curtains without being seen.

  A fire-red helmet glowed in the moonlight. I lifted the window and hush-yelled, “What are you doing!?”

  Dallas replied louder than what was safe, “Sorry I’m late. I had to wait for my mom to fall asleep before sneaking out of the hou
se.”

  “Late? Late for what? What’s happening?” I gripped the windowsill for dear life. Did we have some weird three a.m. Royal Engagement I’d forgotten about? Some Haven-sanctioned sleepover we had to go to?

  “I want to spend time with you.” He held up a bright orange sparkly helmet that matched his. “Please?”

  “It’s almost three o’clock in the morning!”

  “It’s summer. Time doesn’t exist.” He pointed to the left and said, “Meet me at the door,” running off before I could disagree.

  “This is not happening.” I changed into a dress.

  “He must be drunk.” I shoved myself into a pair of leggings.

  “I’m going back to bed.” I grabbed a pair of socks and peeked into the hallway.

  Granny’s closed bedroom door meant nothing. The woman had supersonic hearing. Forget sneaking out of the house—one wrong step, one creak, one second of the refrigerator interior’s hum would have her out in the hall, rollers in her hair, velvet bathrobe and all, asking me what the hell I was doing.

  I stood flush with the wall. Standing on my tiptoes, I slid along, feet as close to the baseboard, where it was less likely to groan, as I could manage. Lips pressed together, I held my breath, quickly inhaling and exhaling every five seconds.

  Slide.

  Slide.

  Slide.

  Granny would kill me if I snuck out. But. Dallas had come to see me in one of the most iconic and romantic ways possible. How many shows and movies and books had people showing up and crawling through their crush’s window?

  It was a Moment.

  My Moment, and I didn’t want it to be ruined. Or shared.

  Maybe he didn’t mean for it to be romantic, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t imagine it that way. Until I had definitive, rock-solid proof of disinterest, this crush of mine that I had denied for so long would live on.

  Hallway down, the kitchen was the next obstacle. The back door’s hinges didn’t make noise. No alarm system. The floor, though? The linoleum squeaked on certain soft spots that rotated with the sole intention of getting me caught. No clear way across it.