I’ve pictured us there, having an apartment to ourselves. Me coming home each day, kicking off my shoes, us making dinner together, then crawling into bed, with me tiptoeing out when midnight approaches. Growing up together. Knowing more of the world through knowing her.
But she’s shaking her head. There are tears becoming possible in her eyes. And that’s all it takes for my fantasy to pop. That’s all it takes for my fantasy to become another fool’s dream.
“That will never happen,” she says gently. “I wish I could believe it, but I can’t.”
“But, Rhiannon—”
“I want you to know, if you were a guy I met—if you were the same guy every day, if the inside was the outside—there’s a good chance I could love you forever. This isn’t about the heart of you—I hope you know that. But the rest is too difficult. There might be girls out there who could deal with it. I hope there are. But I’m not one of them. I just can’t do it.”
Now my tears are coming. “So … what? This is it? We stop?”
“I want us to be in each other’s lives. But your life can’t keep derailing mine. I need to be with my friends, A. I need to go to school and go to prom and do all the things I’m supposed to do. I am grateful—truly grateful—not to be with Justin anymore. But I can’t let go of the other things.”
I’m surprised by my own bitterness. “You can’t do that for me the way I can do that for you?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
We are outside, but the walls are closing in. We are on solid ground, but the bottom has just dropped out.
“Rhiannon …,” I say. But the words stop there. I can’t think of anything else to say. I’ve run out of my own argument.
She leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
“I should go,” she says. “Not forever. But for now. Let’s talk again in a few days. If you really think about it, you’ll come to the same conclusion. And then it won’t be as bad. Then we’ll be able to work through it together, and figure out what comes next. I want there to be something next. It just can’t be …”
“Love?”
“A relationship. Dating. What you want.”
She stands up. I am left stranded on the bench.
“We’ll talk,” she assures me.
“We’ll talk,” I echo. It sounds empty.
She doesn’t want to leave it like this. She will stay until I give some indication of being alright, of surviving this moment.
“Rhiannon, I love you,” I say.
“And I love you.”
That isn’t the question, she’s saying.
But it’s not the answer, either.
I wanted love to conquer all. But love can’t conquer anything. It can’t do anything on its own.
It relies on us to do the conquering on its behalf.
I get home and Lisa’s mother is cooking dinner. It smells amazing, but I can’t imagine having to sit at the table and make conversation. I can’t imagine talking to a single other person. I can’t imagine making it through the next few hours without screaming.
I tell her I’m not feeling well, and head upstairs.
I lock myself in Lisa’s bedroom, and feel that’s where I’ll always be. Locked inside a room. Trapped with myself.
Day 6027
I wake up the next morning with a broken ankle. Luckily, I’ve had it for a while and the crutches are next to my bed. It’s the one thing about me that feels newly healed.
I can’t help it—I check my email. But there’s no word from Rhiannon. I feel alone. Completely alone. Then I realize there’s one other person in the world who vaguely knows who I am. I check to see if he’s written me lately.
And indeed he has. There are now twenty unread messages from Nathan, each more desperate than the previous one, ending with:
All I ask is for an explanation. I will leave you alone after that. I just need to know.
I write him back.
Fine. Where should we meet?
With her broken ankle, Kasey can’t exactly drive. And since he’s still in trouble for his blanked-out joyride, Nathan’s not allowed to use the car, either. So our parents have to drop us off. Even though I don’t say it is, mine just assume it’s a date.
The hitch is that Nathan is expecting me to be a guy named Andrew, since that’s who I said I was last time. But if I’m going to tell him the truth, being Kasey will help me illustrate my point.
We’re meeting at a Mexican restaurant by his house. I wanted somewhere public, but also somewhere our parents could drop us off without raising eyebrows. I see him walk in, and it’s almost like he’s dressed for a date, too—even if he doesn’t look sporty, he’s certainly trying to be his best self. I raise one of my crutches and wave to him; he knows I have crutches, just not that I’m a girl. I figured I’d save that for in-person.
He looks very confused as he’s walking over.
“Nathan,” I say when he gets to me. “Have a seat.”
“You’re … Andrew?”
“I can explain. Sit down.”
Sensing tension, the waiter swoops in and smothers us with specials. Our water glasses are filled. We give our drink order. Then we’re forced to talk to each other.
“You’re a girl,” he says.
I want to laugh. It freaks him out so much more to think he was possessed by a girl, not a guy. As if that really matters.