Sweet Girl (22 page)

I start to have trouble breathing.

I feel Taylor come up behind me, but that only makes it worse.

“She was the sweetest girl you’ve ever met,” Malin says with a smile. She searches her memory for more information for her rapt audience. “She was captain of varsity track from freshman year in high school on. Won every award there was. Straight As, most popular girl in school, never did anything wrong. The perfect goody two-shoes!”

Landon gasps again and Miko giggles.

I vaguely hear my mother call my name, but it is hard to focus on anything other than staying upright.

“I guess you decided to rebel, though, because you kind of . . .” She trails off when she looks up and sees whatever is on my face.

She jumps to her feet in panic.

“Max?” she asks urgently.

It is too much. Everything with Taylor and lying to my parents and trying to keep my job and now those pictures, and remembering that time before it all went so wrong, and . . . I feel light-headed.

My mom’s face is in front of mine, and it takes me a minute to understand her words.

“You’re OK, Mackenzie. Just take a deep breath,” she says soothingly but authoritatively. “You’re OK.”

“I’m OK?” I choke out.

I take a step back from her and back right into Taylor. I jump away like I’ve been scalded. I look around the room wildly. Everyone is standing now, staring at me in concern. My mother starts to speak again, and I cut her off.

“I’m OK?” I ask again in wonder. “I’m OK!” This time it comes out like an accusation.

“I am
not
OK,” I answer honestly. “I haven’t been
OK
”—I spit out the word—“in a really long time!”

“Max,” Malin says gently.

Anger comes then, swift and welcome. It is an emotion I can process better than the overwhelming urge to fall to pieces. It sweeps through every part of my being, becoming a rage I direct at Malin, at my mother, at anyone who’s ever considered my coming home as a completely different person the result of a childish act of rebellion. I spear Malin with a look.

“You think this is what rebellion looks like?” I gesture to myself, this person I’ve become who is so unlike the shiny, perfect little girl I see in the photos before me. “You think I became this person because I was going through a phase? One I’d still hold on to six years later?” I swipe at my cheeks, surprised to find the tears there.

The group around me is utterly still; no one knows how to handle me.

I don’t know how to handle me.

“Mali”—I choke on a sob—“you don’t destroy yourself on purpose. Don’t you get it? It’s one stupid mistake, over in an instant, but then it’s too late to take it back.”

“Mackenzie”—my mother takes a step towards me—“sweetheart, let’s get you upstairs and we can talk.”

I take another step backwards and reach out to finger the bracelet on my wrist.

“Why upstairs?” I demand. “You’ve tried for years to get me to talk. Well, here we are.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

“Honey, I don’t think this is—”

“Why, Mom? Don’t you want to hear about it?” I can’t stop the words. I’ve held them in for so long, and I can’t stop them now. “Don’t you want to know about that first year of school? How excited I was to be on my own? How I thought it was finally my chance to have fun and go to parties like the other girls? And you told me. You told me so many times that I had to be careful with my diet, and that alcohol would affect me more because of my condition. And I knew better, but I so badly wanted to be like everyone else, and so I drank right along with them.”

“Sweetheart, let’s go upstairs,” she tries again.

I ignore her.

“And the alcohol hit me hard, like you told me it would, but I was having fun, more fun than I’d ever had before.” I shake my head at the memory, as if I could wish the rest away. “There was this guy there, and he seemed like fun too.”

“Mackenzie?” My mother’s voice is pleading.

“You can guess where this is going, right?” I ask her. “Because I couldn’t. I
was
a goody two-shoes, just like Malin said, but I felt wild and so grown up. I didn’t think about consequences, because I’d never done anything that had any real ones. You know, it was my first time, and I don’t even know what his name was?”

I can never live up to their standards, and they may as well know all the ugly details.

“Sweetheart, please stop,” my mother begs quietly.

Her eyes fill up and the tears run down her face, but I can’t make myself stop talking.

“Don’t you want to know the rest, Mom? How ashamed I was the day after, when I woke up in bed with a man I didn’t know?” I feel Taylor flinch beside me. “How later,” I say in a near whisper, “when I found out I was pregnant”—I hear sounds of shock from the people around me, but I can’t be stopped—“all I could think about was how unfair it was? All I could think about was what this would mean for my GPA, or how”—my voice breaks on the words—“how disappointed Daddy would be with me?”

“Please, baby girl—” My father tries to reach me, but I cut him off.

“Don’t you want to know how selfish I was then? How I wasn’t even mature enough to make any decisions, because I didn’t want them on my conscience? How I prayed every day that God would just make that baby go away?”

I lose the ability to speak, my throat closed off by words I’ve never told anyone.

A hand slips around mine.

I look down at Taylor’s fingers holding on to my own. I can’t look at my parents anymore. I can hear my mom crying, but the rest of the room is utterly silent. They know there is more; they are waiting for the bomb to drop. I feel Taylor’s hand in mine like an anchor, weighing me to earth. I can’t say the rest to them, but I can tell him; Taylor kept all my secrets. I look up into his eyes. They’re shiny, but no tears fall from them. He’ll be my confidant one more time.

“A month went by, and I tried to pretend it wasn’t really happening,” I tell Taylor. “But then another month meant it wasn’t just an abstract thing anymore; it was a baby. And I started to wonder what he’d . . .” I swallow and try again. “What he’d be like. Or if his hair would be blond too . . . Or if he’d be a good runner.”

I can hear both my parents crying now; maybe everyone in the room is. I have to say the rest. Taylor squeezes my fingers.

“I had an ultrasound, and I saw his heartbeat. It was so
fast
, Taylor. So strong. I understood something then that I hadn’t before. I had made a mistake, but
he
wasn’t a mistake. He was a baby. He was
my
baby. I didn’t know how I was going to be a mom, but I knew I could figure it out for him.” I take a breath, and when I speak again my voice sounds as hollow as I feel. “A week later I started bleeding. By the time I got to the hospital, they told me there was nothing they could do.” I shrug, then say the words I’ve thought a million times and hate myself for the truth in them. “I guess God heard my prayers after all.”

Everything starts to go dark.

Taylor catches me before I hit the ground.

Chapter Sixteen

When I open my eyes the next morning, the early sunlight of the summer day is streaming in through the drapes I forgot to close. I stretch out my arms and try to remember going to bed, because I am kind of obsessive about sleeping in a cave I so won’t be woken by the sun.
I must have—

My thoughts stall out as the memory of the night before comes back to me in a flood.

Oh no, what did I do?

I sit bolt upright in my bed and realize I am still wearing the wrinkled dress from the night before. They must have had to carry me up here after I . . . after I just spewed all of that out all over everyone. Six years of carrying around the secret, and it all came undone in one stupid crying jag in less than fifteen minutes! And everyone knows now. I cringe. My parents, my brothers, even Taylor and Landon and Miko. They all had front-row seats to my train wreck! And today they will want to . . . what? Hold hands and talk it through? Cry about it? Or worse, reprimand me? I can’t handle that at all. I do a perfectly good job of beating myself up about everything that happened. If one of them starts in on me, it will break our relationship in an irreconcilable way. That is why I could never bring myself to tell them what happened. It is why I stayed away the rest of that year until I was sort of pulled together enough to come home. I hadn’t come home as the same girl—not even close—but I did transfer to a local school so I wouldn’t have to see reminders of the darkest period in my life. But I’ve done it now; I’ve spewed all of those secrets out into the world, and I can’t take any of it back. After years of worrying about it, I am finally going to have to see my family’s faces now that they know exactly what kind of person I am.

I reach out to pull my phone off the nightstand and see that it is only a little after six, which means that it is likely that only one other person is awake right now. Before I can think about it further, I jump out of bed. While I brush my teeth and wash my face, I convince myself that this is really the best option. I go back in the bedroom and throw on the first things I can find. I grab my backpack and my phone and hurry downstairs as quietly as possible. The house is utterly silent as I make my way through it, and the relief I feel at not running into anyone is profound. As I get closer to my destination, I hear noise, telling me my guess was right on.

When I walk into the gym, Liam’s eyes fly to my reflection in the mirror in front of him. He hits a button that immediately stops the treadmill he’s running on, and as soon as it slows down, he jumps off and turns towards me. He must not have been on it for long, because he hasn’t even broken a sweat yet.

I look down at my feet, not sure what to say. I try to make a joke.

“So
that
happened,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster.

“Yeah,” he answers.

Apparently he is as much at a loss as I am. I feel sort of sick to my stomach and unsure. This is the kind of confrontation I’ve been trying to avoid for so many years. I look down at my feet again. If there is disappointment in his eyes, I can’t stand to see it.

“Are you mad at me?” My voice comes out sounding like a child’s, and I feel just as small.

I look up when Liam swears, but he is already in front of me, pulling me into his arms.

“Don’t be an idiot! Why would I be mad at you?”

When I only shrug, he sighs.

“I’m sad for you, Mack. I am so fucking sad that you went through all of that. That you didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask anyone for help.” He holds me at arm’s length and looks me over.

“I didn’t want to disappoint anybody,” I answer him honestly.

“So this was better, then? Letting it eat away at you for years? Letting what happened alienate you from your family? You haven’t had a boyfriend. You haven’t really had friends until recently. All that was better than being honest about what was going on? Why would you do that to yourself?” he demands hoarsely.

Tears burn in the back of my throat. I cannot believe there are any left in me.

“Please, Liam,” I say almost desperately. “Please. I can’t do this today. I need your help.”

His eyes narrow, and he looks down at the backpack on the floor next to me.

“No way! You cannot run from this again!” he barks.

How can I explain this to him? I know my family and friends will want to talk about it in detail, but it isn’t their burden to bear; it is mine. I deserve to handle it however I choose to, and if I piss everyone else off in the process, well, it won’t be the first time.

“Liam, last night was”—I choke on the words—“last night was horrible for me. Don’t you understand? It wasn’t just the first time I told you guys; it was the first time I told anyone.”

He swears again.

“I know I’ll have to talk about it with Mom and Dad and everyone else, but please, just not today. I just need some time, OK?” I say, searching his face for some sign that he might be considering my plea.

He is looking away from me, staring at the wall, but really, who would want to have to look at such a screwup and know she is your sister? I fight the urge to cry again at the thought.

“My keys are by the front door,” he says finally. “I’ll face the wrath this morning for helping you.”

“Thank you. I—”

He cuts me off with a look.

“But you’ll talk to Mom, right? Take a few days to get your head on straight, but then you have to talk to her. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I say, grabbing my bag off the floor and turning to go. I’ve already spent so much time down here that I’ll be lucky if I can still sneak out without anyone knowing about it.

“I’m serious, Mack,” Liam calls after me.

“I know,” I respond and hurry off to grab his keys.

I know he is serious, and I meant it when I said I would speak to my mom about everything. I just can’t guarantee when that will be.

I wait all throughout my drive back to LA for calls and texts that don’t come. I don’t know what Liam had to say to everybody to keep them from sending out search parties, but I know I owe him a bigger debt than I can ever repay.

When I get back to my apartment after a few hours in some horrible holiday traffic, I drag myself upstairs. The whole way here I was thinking about how much I wanted to take a shower and put on pajamas and not have to talk to anyone for as long as possible. When I walk into the apartment, though, the emptiness seems absolute. The quiet is its own kind of noise; the hum of it makes me pause inside the entryway, not sure what to do now. Here I am again, alone. This was exactly how I wanted it, so why is it that I still feel anxious? How come I feel more like crying now than I did when I left this morning? I don’t even just feel like it; I am pretty sure I am about to have another full-on, ugly cry.

The shower
, I think. The shower is the absolute best place to cry. It covers the sound and the tears, even from the person making them.

I lurch down the hallway and into my room. Minutes later I am under the too-hot spray of the shower. When I finally shut the water off, it has run cold, and I have run out of the energy to sob anymore.

I towel myself off and put on the coziest pair of pajamas I own. I have to turn the air conditioner on full blast to accommodate the flannel, but it is well worth it for the comfort I feel when I snuggle up on the couch with a blanket and a bowl of soup. I can’t find the motivation to turn the TV on. I just sip at the soup in the bowl and watch the shadows stretch across the patio through the sliding-glass window.

I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear scratches at the front door, but I don’t even have time to question what the sound is before the door flies open and Landon and Miko barrel down the hallway and into the living room.

“Thank God we got here just in time!” Miko says, dropping her duffle bag on the floor and walking towards the couch to give me a once-over. “She was about to drown herself in three inches of home-style chicken noodle.”

Miko removes the soup bowl I am still clutching in confusion and then plops down beside me.

“Well,” Landon says cheerfully, “at least it isn’t clam chowder. We all know what cream-based soup does to the thighs.”

I watch in disbelief as Landon drops two grocery bags on the coffee table in front of her and then starts to produce a cornucopia of junk food from their depths.

“Can you throw me the Red Vines?” Miko asks.

A package goes sailing over Landon’s shoulder and ends up bouncing off the wall behind us and falling onto the unoccupied couch cushion.

“Close enough,” Miko says to the licorice package.

She rips into it with her teeth and extracts a piece to masticate on. I finally find my voice.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask them.

Landon pulls out a can of mixed nuts and puts it on the arm of the sofa next to me.

“We got you some stuff too,” she says with a smile.

“What are you doing here?” I ask a little louder this time.

“It’s a Sandra Bullock marathon!” Landon announces with the energy of a drum major. “Just like we always talked about doing!”

I shake my head, but neither of them pays attention to me.

“I think we should start with
Love Potion No. 9
,” Landon says right before she opens a can of Pringles with her teeth.

“Classic Bullock,” Miko agrees through a mouthful of Red Vines.

This isn’t something that can be fixed by a slumber party or a girls’ weekend. This can’t be made better by a romantic comedy, and they can’t just act cheery and pretend it never happened.

“I want to be alone,” I tell them vehemently.

“Bullshit!” Landon yells, and all five feet three inches of her vibrate with anger.

In this moment, I actually believe that if she wanted to, she could kick my ass. Miko turns towards me with her eyes wide in shock. We rarely hear Landon curse, and we’ve certainly never heard her scream one.

“You do not want to be alone! You’ve been alone long enough.” She glares at me. “I know you don’t want us here, and you don’t want to hear what I’m going to say, but that’s too damn bad for you, because you’re going to listen anyway.”

I turn away from her and look out the window again, because I don’t want to see her face when this conservative southern Republican tells me what she thinks of me now.

“Max, you, me, and Miko—we’re best friends.” Her voice softens. “I know you think I’m cheesy or immature when I say that, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”

She sits down on the coffee table facing me, but I still can’t look at her.

“Do you imagine we’d think anything less of you because we understand now? I think you’re one of the strongest people I know, and having the courage to admit what happened—that makes you stronger than ever.”

Miko’s hand finds mine, but I can’t protest through the tears I am trying to swallow.

“Dude, we’re here because we love you, and there is no possible scenario where we’d let you ditch us to spend Fourth of July alone in an apartment like an agoraphobic,” Miko says.

She picks up a pack of turkey jerky with her free hand and throws it in my lap.

“Eat some protein; we’ve got about eight hours of quality programming coming your way,” she tells me.

Landon walks over to our entertainment center and starts to dig through her DVD collection. I don’t say anything in response to either of them. I’ve had enough emotion in the past twenty-four hours to last me a lifetime. I am pretty sure if I say anything, I actually might start blubbering like a toddler and tell them how much I love them and how thankful I am that they’ve come back for me.

“Now I want you to prepare yourself, Max,” Landon says, putting a DVD into the machine. “At the beginning of this Sandra has really bad eyebrows and frizzy hair, but she’ll get a makeover when the love potion kicks in, OK?”

I roll my eyes and pop some jerky into my mouth in response. The opening credits begin to roll, and they both settle in with various snack foods to watch. A few minutes after the movie starts, Miko interrupts.

“Max?” she says without taking her eyes off Tate Donovan.

“Yeah?” I ask, nervous we are going to have another heart-to-heart.

“I really liked that picture of you in those pink hot pants,” she says sotto voce.

Landon guffaws while I roll my eyes and shake my head.

“Assholes,” I grumble.

But even as I say it, I am smiling.