Afterward (20 page)

There is so much of me that wants to jump up and dart out of here, get on my bike, and pedal as fast as I can away from all of this. But I don't. I can't. I just keep my eyes on my baby brother as he nods along with the electronic game show theme song. I swallow him up with my eyes and my heart, and I promise myself that I won't ever let him get hurt again.

 

ETHAN—260 DAYS AFTERWARD

Even though Dr. Greenberg's sessions have gotten a lot better, the family sessions with Dr. Sugar are still totally uncomfortable and weird. He's always giving us assignments. He actually calls them action items, and my mom taps them into her phone so she can review them later.

The last time we met, we talked about all of us needing to practice being independent, especially me. Like how I should be able to be alone for stretches of time. And how my mom and dad can text me while I'm alone but only a reasonable amount. And how if they text me, I have to text right back.

“It's about building trust and establishing those functional and healthy relationships with each other as a family again,” says Dr. Sugar. Unlike Dr. Greenberg, Dr. Sugar wears some fancy new suit during each session, and he has a secretary who wears perfume and keeps track of all his appointments in a MacBook Air. Dr. Greenberg schedules stuff himself in a spiral notebook.

One of Dr. Sugar's action items is why I'm here now, climbing out of my mom's Volvo and onto the sidewalk in front of the frozen yogurt place where Jesse works.

“I'm going to go to the Tom Thumb and get what we need for dinner and a few other things, just what's on this list, and then I'll text you when I'm ready to leave, okay?” my mom tells me, only for the five millionth time. She waves a pink piece of paper in the air with
eggs, milk-skim, milk-2%, whole wheat bread, soy sauce
and a bunch of other stuff written on it.

“Got it,” I say, nodding. We stand there outside of the yogurt place, neither one of us sure who should move first. My mom not wanting to move at all. Her cheeks are pink, and she swallows and looks at the space between me and the yogurt shop. It's maybe twenty feet. And I think she's going to stand here on the sidewalk and watch me until I make it inside.

“Mom, go get the groceries,” I say, and I force a smile to try and encourage her. “I'm going right in. It's okay.”

“You have your money and your phone?”

I nod. She's asked me that five million times, too.

“All right, well, have fun catching up with Jesse!” she says, her voice trying way too hard to make it normal. Like most sixteen-year-old guys get dropped off at a frozen yogurt place by their moms so they can hang out there for thirty minutes. Like that's what all the really cool, normal teenage guys are doing.

I'm not cool. Or normal.

“Okay,” I say, and I turn toward the yogurt place and she turns to go, but as I make it to the door and pull open the handle, I catch a glimpse of her, and she's walking toward the grocery store looking over her shoulder, keeping an eye on me. As soon as she catches me catching her, she waves. Like,
oh, see you, honey, just have a great time at the yogurt place, la la la, it's no big deal
.

I love my mom so much.

And she drives me crazy.

And this makes me feel terrible.

I walk in. It smells like plastic and something super sweet, and really terrible music from at least ten years ago is playing on the radio. Jesse is behind the counter and when he sees me walk in, he gives me a little wave. He knew I was coming. When Dr. Sugar suggested I go somewhere alone, my parents thought going to visit Jesse at work would be a good idea. So I texted him to let him know I'd be stopping by today. We don't really text. Not like Caroline and me texted. But he wrote me back right away and said okay.

“Hey, man,” Jesse says, giving me a good-natured grin. Over his clothes he's wearing a bright pink apron with pictures of smiling, dancing spoons on the front.

“Hey,” I say, feeling awkward. Hanging out and playing video games at my house with Jesse is okay, but seeing him here out in the world means we have to talk, which we don't do when we're playing video games.

“Man, how's it going, man?” he says. I think Jesse is nervous, too, which is probably why he keeps saying man.

“Okay, I guess.” I'm trying to act cool, but I'm not sure how. My mind flashes on Bennie and Narciso at the apartment complex. They were cool. I felt cool sometimes hanging out with them. Even though I always wondered when they were going to guess the truth about me, even though they never did. But when the three of us would hang out and chill behind the abandoned strip mall near the apartment complex, I was the happiest I could be in the worst time of my life.

I'm not sure if Bennie and Narciso were my friends. Can you be friends with someone when you're so messed up you don't even know who you are, really? And if I'm still messed up, can I be real friends with Jesse again?

Or Caroline?

“You want some fro yo?” Jesse says, busting into my thoughts. I'm just standing there like a weirdo. He's probably wishing I wasn't here.

“Yeah, I guess, chocolate,” I say, just to be saying something. The idea of actually eating any of this stuff makes my stomach knot up.

“Sprinkles?”

“Sure.”

Suddenly the door opens behind me and I turn and if it isn't Caroline herself running in. Like she knew I was thinking about her. I stare. It's been weeks since that night at the creek.

“Sorry I'm late, Jesse,” she says, not even realizing I'm standing there. “I had to talk to Mrs. Garcia about making up some math homework.”

“Hey,” I say. And she looks up at me and actually jumps.

“Oh!” she says, her eyes wide. “Hey.”

I think about the last time we saw each other and what we were doing. My cheeks warm up just thinking about it. I think Caroline's do, too.

“Hey, you know Caroline?” Jesse says, sliding a cup of sprinkle-covered yogurt across the counter. Then it's like he does the math in his head. “Oh, yeah, of course you do.” But Jesse only knows about what happened with me and Dylan. He doesn't know about those months when Caroline and I played music. Became friends.

“How much for the yogurt?” I ask.

“On the house,” says Jesse.

“Thanks,” I say. I take the plastic spoon he hands me and shovel some into my mouth. It tastes like ice-cold chemicals.

Caroline is heading behind the counter and tying on one of those pink aprons. She takes her long hair and puts it up in a ponytail. Just then a mom and her little girl walk in, and Caroline gets to helping them. I stand to the side and force myself to finish the frozen yogurt, feeling out of place. Almost wishing my mom would text me just to give me something to do. I'm kind of surprised she hasn't yet.

“So how's everything going?” Jesse asks.

“Okay,” I say. Caroline is ringing up the mom. I'm sure she can hear us.

“Still working with that tutor?” Jesse asks.

“Yeah, I am. It's going okay.”

“You think you'll be coming back to school next year?”

“Maybe,” I say. “It's only February. So there's time to decide. And I have to make sure I'm caught up enough to be in regular classes.”

“You were always in accelerated when we were kids,” Jesse says. “I bet you can do it no problem.”

After the mom and her kid have walked out, Caroline busies herself wiping down the already clean counter. When I glance over at her I feel my throat tighten up. Like if I were all by myself I would let myself start crying.

“Don't you think Ethan is ready to come back to school?” Jesse asks her. “Don't you think he could handle it?”

Caroline scrubs the counter even harder and doesn't look at me. “I'm sure he could handle it,” she says. She glances up for a half second and catches my eye. Then she looks back down at the counter again.

I think about what Dr. Greenberg said. How when you're going through something difficult, you can become reckless without meaning to be. I remember what Caroline told me about her parents fighting. I remember how it sometimes seemed like she never wanted to go home.

My phone buzzes. Grateful for the distraction, I look down. It's my mom checking in.

Almost done with the shopping. I'll be outside the yogurt shop right by the Volvo in a few minutes. I'll text you when I get to the Volvo.

She mentions the Volvo twice, like she thinks I might forget and go to the wrong car or something. I text her back a quick okay and that I'm fine.

I finish the yogurt, and Jesse and I talk about video games and how he's almost saved up enough for this used car his cousin wants to sell him and a little bit about college basketball. The whole time Caroline acts all busy, taking boxes into the back, cleaning stuff she's already cleaned once, helping customers as they walk in. Each time Jesse tries to help, she says she's got it.

“It's okay. Take a break and talk to your friend.” The way she says the word
friend
, it sort of hangs there, lonely and sad.

While I try to make small talk with Jesse, my mind drifts to thinking about playing music with Caroline in the garage. Talking to Jesse is okay. It's fun to play video games with him, and he's always really nice and everything. But hanging out with him won't ever be like the way it was when Caroline and I were hanging out.

When my mom texts me that she's waiting, I tell Jesse I have to get going.

“Let's hang out soon,” he says. “Or stop by whenever.”

“Okay,” I say. Caroline is cracking open rolls of coins to put in the register.

“Bye, Caroline,” I say, and when she hears her name she looks up and nods, uncertainly.

“Bye, Ethan,” she says, giving me a tentative half wave.

I actually witness my mom's whole body relax when she sees me walk out of the frozen yogurt place in one piece. Alive. Safe.

“Was it nice seeing Jesse?” she says as I help her load the bags into the back of the car. Her voice goes all sing-song, and I can already hear her telling Dr. Sugar how well everything went during this action item.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound upbeat.

“So great, honey,” she says as we get in. “I'm so proud of you. So proud of us!” She's almost giddy driving home.

Later on that night in my bedroom after dinner, I put on some White Stripes and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I pull out my phone and text Caroline.

Hey

A minute later I get a
hey
in response.

How's it working with Jesse? What happened with the farm?

Quit the farm. Working with Jesse is pretty good … but that frozen yogurt tastes so fucking terrible

I know … I ate mine just to be nice

Long pause. Then another text pops up.

I'm still sorry about what happened

It's ok

Seriously?

Yeah

Long pause again. I can tell from the word bubble popping up and going away that she's trying to figure out what to say next. Finally, her next text appears.

I miss hanging out

I stare at the words she's sent me. I read them over and over again.

Playing with Caroline was never hard. Even the very first time we played. I mean, I was nervous about proving I was a good enough drummer to keep up with her. Then there was always the strange, dark cloud of how we knew each other hovering over us, never totally gone. But once we started playing, it was the easiest thing in my life. Easier than catching up in my schoolwork, easier than being with my parents, easier than anything. And I know the shit at the creek was messed up. I know I don't want it to get weird like that again.

But if we can stick to playing in the garage. If we can stick to closing our eyes and filling the air around us with power chords and progressions and music. If we can stick to talking about the future and never the past.

If we could do that. I take a deep breath and text Caroline again.

You want to come over Saturday night and play?

Yeah?

Yeah

I would totally love to

Cool

Like after dinner or whatever?

I grin to myself and write her back.

Yeah after dinner is good

K sounds good … I have to go. To help my mom with Dylan

That last text—that mention of Dylan—makes me freeze up a bit. The words slice through my little moment of happiness. I text her back, but I don't say anything about her brother. I just respond
See you Saturday
.

After I take my medication and say goodnight to my parents, I climb into bed with the lights on and the door halfway open just like I need it. I check my phone one more time but the only message I see from Caroline is her last one. I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish I hadn't reread it.

As I wait to fall asleep, I try to fill my head with the songs I want to play with Caroline. Tonight I want to try and have good dreams.

 

CAROLINE—262 DAYS AFTERWARD

I head over to Ethan's right after work on Saturday, and my heart is pounding the whole bike ride over. I'd left my practice amp at his house the last time we'd played all those weeks ago, but my guitar is balanced on my handlebars in its soft case, and I'm trying so hard not to tip over. Maybe I should have walked.

Maybe I shouldn't even be doing this.

Instead of dumping my bike on the front lawn like I normally do, I wheel it up toward the garage. I'm trying to be a good guest, I guess.

Ethan's sitting at his drums, twirling his drumsticks like he sometimes does when he's nervous or quiet or doesn't want to talk much or just because. He hears me approaching and glances up.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I say back.

We don't talk. I just plug in and start fiddling with my guitar, and Ethan nods his head a little, listens to me as I pluck a few strings and get comfortable. It's a White Stripes song we've played before, and when he realizes where I'm going he shoots me this look and rolls his eyes a little. I roll mine back.