Better Than Perfect (18 page)

I kept getting texts from people who had gone to the show and found out it was canceled. Jason. Sofia. Elise. Margaret. Jason asked when I was coming home, and I just wrote back
idk
. He didn't respond. And even though texts kept coming in,
I didn't hear from him again.

At some point, we were moved upstairs to the waiting room for patients in surgery. And then, at a little after midnight, a man in white came out and called, “Brennan.” Declan's dad shot to his feet, and the man came over to where we were all gathered.

“I'm one of the nurses, and I've just come from the OR. I want you to know that they are still operating on Danny. He's a strong young man.”

Declan's dad's face crumpled when the nurse said that, and his mother took a step forward and put her hand on the nurse's arm. “Is he going to be okay?”

The nurse put his hand over Declan's mom's hand. “He's doing very, very well so far. Dr. Rubin wanted to wait to tell you anything until we had a little more information, but I know parents always expect the worst when they don't get any news. So I wanted to let you know what little I could. I'm hoping to be back in a little while with something more concrete.” With that, he patted Declan's mom's hand and turned and walked out.

Declan's mom looked around at us. “Well, that was nice. That he came to tell us.”

“It was,” Sinead agreed quickly.

“It was bullshit,” said Declan.

“Declan,” said his dad harshly.

“What?” he asked, turning to his dad, his hands at his
sides clenched into fists. They stared at each other, their faces wearing the same tight expression.

“He's doing all he can.”

“Well that's just
great
,” said Declan. “Maybe he'll come out again in ten
more
minutes and tell us nothing. Maybe he'll keep doing that all night.”

Nobody said anything. Declan's parents sat back down.

“Declan, what is your problem?” hissed Sinead.

“Don't you start with me,” Declan snapped back.

“Children,” said Declan's grandfather. “That's enough.”

Declan and Sinead were quiet, but I could tell they were just waiting for an opportunity to snap at each other again. Now was definitely the moment for his family to get some alone time. I stood up. “I should go,” I said. “It's getting late and . . . I should go.”

Declan's parents both reached for my hand. “Thank you so much for waiting with us.”

I was touched by how they seemed genuinely glad that I'd stayed and not bewildered by why I'd hung out so long. I shook his dad's hand and then his mom's. I wanted to say something about how Danny was going to be okay, but I couldn't see making them thank me for a useless platitude. Sinead and I hugged. “Thanks for coming,” she said into my shoulder.

“He's going to be okay,” I promised her, and somehow it felt true.

“I know,” she whispered back.

I stepped away and gave a little wave, surprised when Declan said, “I'll walk you to your car.”

“I'm okay,” I said quickly. “You can stay with your family.”

Declan stared at his parents, his grandparents, and his sister, then shook his head. “I should get some air.”

Neither of us spoke as we walked down the corridor and waited for the elevator. When we got downstairs and went outside, we both realized we were at the main entrance, not the emergency entrance, which was where my car was parked.

“I can find my way,” I said when I saw where we were. “Really.”

Declan didn't even respond, just pulled open the door and headed back into the hospital. I wasn't sure if he was going back to his family or if he was going to go with me to my car, but then I saw that he was standing a few yards from the door and waiting.

We looped through the hospital. It was maddeningly serpentine; each time we seemed to have found our way, we'd hit a door we couldn't enter or an elevator that was for staff and patients only. With each wrong turn we took, I could feel Declan's frustration mounting, and I was starting to get scared he'd lose it when a bright red arrow appeared on the wall with
EMERGENCY
written on it in white letters. I followed Declan along the corridor. Just as we stepped outside, an ambulance pulled up with its lights flashing and its sirens blaring, and
at first I was so blinded by it that I didn't notice the person who stepped out of the shadowy area just beyond the cement portico. By the time I saw that it was Sean, he was practically next to me.

He had what looked like dried blood on his arm. At first I assumed it must be his, but then I realized it was probably Danny's.

“Get away from here,” growled Declan.

“Dec, I'm so sorry.” Sean's eyes were red, and he took a step toward us, stumbling slightly.

“Get the
fuck
away from here,” Declan repeated, his voice shaking with rage.

“Tell me he's going to be okay,” said Sean. He was crying now. “Please, Dec. Please just tell me he's going to be okay.”

And just like that, Declan whipped back his arm and punched Sean smack in the jaw. I screamed as Sean fell backward against the Plexiglas barrier.

“You are such a fucking asshole!” Declan screamed into Sean's face. Sean was crying harder, but he didn't make any attempt to hit Declan back. “You're a drunk and a disgrace, and if my brother dies, so help me I will fucking kill you, Sean Brennan. Do you hear me? I will kill you.”

“I'm so sorry,” Sean muttered. He wasn't looking at Declan, and when he tried to get up, he fell back, but I couldn't tell if it was because he was drunk or because of how hard Declan had punched him.

“You'd better be sorry, Sean. And you'd better hope to God that my brother lives.” Now Declan was crying also. “You'd just better hope that, do you hear me? You'd just better hope that he doesn't die in there on that operating table.”

Even though he was crying, I could hear Declan getting angry again, and I pulled on his arm, to get him away from Sean. To my surprise, he let me lead him to my car, and he stood against it crying while I stood next to him.

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. “I'm sorry.” He leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and he nodded with his head in the direction of the spot where he'd hit Sean.

“Hey,” I said. “It's okay. Really.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Really,” I said again.

He put his hand on mine and stood up, and I was about to say, “It's going to be okay,” or something equally banal, and then all of a sudden he put his hand on my waist and then I seemed to fall forward against him and without either of us saying anything, we were making out.

My mind might have forgotten what it felt like to make out with Declan, but my body hadn't. He scooped me up and put me on the hood of my car, and I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him against me as hard as I could. There was nothing in the world that felt as good as this, and I started unbuttoning his oxford as he slipped his hand up the back of my shirt.

His hands were hot against my skin, and he clutched the
back of my neck. I kissed him hungrily; I couldn't get enough of his lips.

“Jules,” he whispered.

“We should get inside the car,” I whispered back, and then I had my keys in my hand and we had the back door open and I was sliding across the seat as he slid in on top of me and helped me slip my shirt off over my head. My bra disappeared somewhere onto the floor of the car, and I realized that even though Jason and I had been having sex for almost a year, I had never in my entire life really wanted to have sex until this moment.

Declan sat up, slid me onto his lap, and pulled his shirt off over his head. I leaned forward and kissed him on the base of his neck, a spot I'd been memorizing for weeks without knowing I was doing it. As my lips pressed against his skin, he groaned, deep in his throat.

“I've wanted this for so long,” he whispered, and I lifted my head. His eyes met mine and he put his hands on my face. “I've wanted this for so long,” he said again.

“I have too.” I said it so quietly I wasn't sure he'd heard me, but still it felt like putting down something heavy I'd been carrying, and in the lightness I leaned forward and pressed my mouth to his, and I knew from the way he dug his fingers into my hair so hard it was almost painful that he'd heard.

I ran my hands down his bare arms, noticing somewhere in the back of my brain that there was music playing. For a
second I thought maybe my car radio had turned on, but I barely had time to wonder how that was possible before it stopped. My fingers intertwined with Declan's as the song played again. This time, Declan froze.

“What is it?” I whispered. The music played a third time, and I recognized the song I'd heard that afternoon when we were at rehearsal waiting for Sean and Danny to show up. It was “Don't You Want Me.”

It was Willow.

We sat there, not moving for what felt like a very long time. The phone rang again, and he took it out of his pocket and silenced it. “Jesus, I am such an asshole,” he said finally. He leaned his head back.

I was still wearing my skirt and underwear, but I felt completely naked. I scrambled off his lap, grabbed for a dark shadow on the armrest, and pulled my T-shirt on.

“I'm sorry,” he said. Then he laughed bitterly. “Now I sound like fucking Sean.”

“You don't have to be sorry,” I said. “I'm the one who should be sorry.”

I was staring at the back of the seat in front of me, tracing the seams with my eyes in the pale light that filtered through the window.

I glanced over at Declan, but he was looking straight ahead of him. “Great,” he said finally. “Now we're both sorry.” There was a silence, but I couldn't think of what to say to fill
it. Finally, Declan pulled on the door handle and opened the door, putting one foot on the ground before turning to look at me. “So, look, are you going to be okay? Getting home, I mean?”

“Sure,” I said immediately. “Yeah. I'll . . . I'll be fine.” I tried to smile at him, as if to show how unnecessary his concern really was.

He didn't say anything back, but he kept looking at me for a long time. His blue eyes were black in the darkness, and there was something in them that made me want to reach my hand out and touch his face. I forced myself not to, though, and after a minute he got out of the car, shut the door, and walked back into the hospital.

I almost forgot to put my bra on before going inside, but luckily at the last second I remembered I wasn't wearing it, and I pulled over in front of the house next door to Jason's, got out of the car, and dug around on the floor until I found it. It was one of my nicest bras—dark blue with a lacy border. This was exactly the bra you would put on if you thought you were going to have sex with someone in the back of your car. I got back into the driver's seat, pulled my arms out of my shirt, put on the bra, and slid the shirt back on over it.

As I parked in Jason's driveway, I realized I should make sure there was no evidence of what I'd just been doing. But it wasn't like Declan wore lipstick that he'd have left on my collar. Not that my shirt even had a collar. Did I smell like him? I lifted the bottom of my shirt up to my nose, but it just smelled
like the detergent Jason's housekeeper used.

My lips felt chapped, and I touched my finger to them lightly. The pressure brought back kissing Declan, and my body gave an involuntary shiver. I forced myself to stop thinking about him and focus on what I had to do to make sure I looked normal, but just as I was about to turn the rearview mirror toward myself and check to make sure there wasn't lipstick smeared across my chin, the front door opened.

I stepped out onto the driveway. I'd assumed it would be Jason standing there, but it was Grace.

“Juliet?” she called.

“Yes,” I answered. “It's me.” I'd texted Jason that I'd be home late; then I'd pulled up in the driveway in my car. Who did she expect it would be?

I walked toward the house. Grace had stepped back inside, and when I followed her, I saw that Jason was standing in the entryway.

“Oh my God,” said Grace, putting her hand to her mouth. “You—” She didn't finish the sentence, but Jason's face had an equally horrified expression.

How could she know? How could she know what I'd done?

My lipstick! It
was
smeared all over my face. But before I could turn to look at the hall mirror, Jason said, “What happened to your hair?”

“My—” I put my hand to my head and laughed with relief. Of course. My hair. I'd completely forgotten about cutting my hair. “I cut it.”

“You
cut
it?” Jason repeated sarcastically. He stepped forward so he was between me and his mother and touched my hair like it was something he'd never touched before. The expression on his face made it clear he wasn't all that happy to be touching it now. “Is this black?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Or . . . it's ebony.”

Jason took a step back. “I don't get it,” he said.

“What do you mean you don't get it?” I asked. “What is there to get?”

“Why would you do that to your hair?” he asked.

“Excuse me,” said Grace, slipping out of the foyer. “Juliet, if you're hungry, I'll leave a plate out for you.”

“I can't believe you would do that to your hair without talking to me,” said Jason.

“What the hell, Jason?” I demanded. “I can't cut my hair without your permission? Do you, like, own my hair?”

“No, Juliet, I do not
own
your
hair
. I just thought we discussed major decisions. Like when the soccer team was going to shave their heads last year and you told me I couldn't do it and so I convinced the whole
fucking
team not to do it. Or is it just
my
hair that we co-own?” His arms were crossed tightly over his chest.

“We don't
co-own
anyone's hair, Jason. And I didn't tell you you
couldn't
shave your head. I told you you looked good with hair. The fact that you then turned that into some kind of interdiction against—”

“Who the fuck are you, Juliet?” Jason was shouting now,
angrier than I'd ever heard him. He pointed at me, his index finger practically in my face. “You're talking about not going to college. You're singing in this fucking band. You're dyeing your hair. Why are you pretending to be this person you're not?”

“I'm not
pretending
to be anyone,” I shouted back, pushing his finger away. “I made a
joke
about not going to college—I'm sorry if college is, you know, too sacred to joke about. And I like singing in a band. I wanted to try a different hair color. It's a free country, Jason.”

Jason stepped back, almost as if he was too angry to trust himself standing so close to me. “Well, I liked you the way you were before.”

“Fine,” I said, and I picked up my bag from the bench. “I'm glad you told me.”

“Juliet, don't go.” He grabbed for my arm. “You know I don't mean it like that.”

I shook it free. “No, Jason. I really . . .” I was about to cry, but I forced back the tears. “I really think it's better if I go now.”

“You can't go,” said Jason, exasperated. “You live here. My mom will freak out. Just . . . just calm down, okay?”

But I couldn't calm down. I yanked open the door and stumbled along the gravel path to the driveway. As I pulled open the door of my car, Grace stepped out of the house.

“Juliet,” she called. She stayed on the porch, as if I were a deer or some other skittish animal she didn't want to scare. “Juliet, come inside.”

“I'm sorry, Grace. I can't stay here tonight.” I hadn't realized I was crying until I heard how high and thin my voice was.

“Just come inside, Juliet. I can't have you leaving in the middle of the night like this.”

“I need to go, Grace. I need to go home.” As soon as I said the words, I knew they were true. Today had been too much. The hospital, Danny, Declan. I needed to sleep in my own bed.

“You can't go home,” said Grace. “There's nobody there.”

I hated that what she was saying was true. There really was nobody at my house. But that didn't mean
I
couldn't be there. I slipped around the door of the car. “It's okay, Grace,” I said. “I'll be okay.”

“Juliet—” She took a step toward me, and I thought she might try to stop me physically. I imagined driving across the lawn, tearing over Grace's perfect flower beds in order to get away from their house. But all she did was raise her hand in my direction, and I just shook my head, got into the car, shut the door, and drove away. As I passed the house, I saw Jason outlined in the doorway, and part of me wanted to try to explain everything to him so he wouldn't be mad at me and part of me wanted to keep driving so I would never have to see him again.