Tripp (15 page)

“She’s so big. I think I just realized that. She’s not going to be a baby much longer the way she’s growing and rolling over. When I picked her up and held her to my chest, something clicked, like this recognition that I’ve done it before.” Uncomfortable with the fanciful, she shakes her head. “Sounds stupid, but it was familiar.
She
was familiar, and I think it’s made me realize why this changes people’s lives.”

“What?”

She stops walking then and we turn to face each other. “Babies. It’s not just because they’re a time-suck and everything’s harder. That’s the complicated part, not the life-changing part.”

“What’s the life-changing part, then?”

“The day you realize there’s someone more important than you and what you want or need. The day you look at your baby—no matter how big or small they are—and you realize that you’ll do whatever you have to do in order to give them a good life.”

“What about you?” I ask when we start walking again.

She shrugs. “What about me?”

“What about your future? You’re only seventeen, Rachel. I’m glad you want to give Gracie everything, but isn’t there anything you want to give yourself?”

She glances at me. When our eyes meet, there’s something inside of hers that I want to reach out and memorize. I can’t, because she looks away too quickly. Before I can think of how to ask her about it, she’s shaking out her legs and preparing to run home.

~

Present

I never asked Rachel what that look was for. Though I wondered if she’d give it to me again, she never did. Not until the other day. I finally figured it out—why it was so familiar. It was longing in her eyes, fear, uncertainty, and desire all mixed together. The same kind I feel every time I’m with her.

22

Present

I go to class late and accept the consequence of lunch detention. At least there I won’t have to see anyone and talk about my weekend, which of course, everyone knows about. It’s not the gossip that bothers me, it’s the fact I can’t say “Yeah, Rachel’s mine.” After this morning, the only thing I know for sure is that I’m an asshole. Not exactly breaking news.

Oh, and we’re finishing
Pride and Prejudice
in English. Mr. Darcy, good luck getting your strong-willed female to understand anything you do and be remotely sympathetic and appreciative about your intentions.

This thought makes me sigh; I slouch farther in my seat as Mr. Horn blathers on about the idea of prejudice and fear and how we use pride to overcome our shortcomings. Yeah, we get it, but before we crucify Darcy for forming a shallow opinion, can we stop for one second and play out Elizabeth’s reaction? I mean, she wasn’t exactly open and bubbling with joy the first time she met him. What’s a guy supposed to do? Apologize and willingly get a foot in the face since he knows that’s what’s coming the minute he gets down on bended knee to admit his own wrongs? It’s not like she’ll admit hers.

Possibly, because hers were protective in nature…
shit
, I’m such an idiot.

I get out of English alive, barely, and then hit detention for lunch—not all that surprised to see Huey already seated.

Mrs. Conway is sitting at the front, collecting slips. Though I know she could care less that I’m here, I smile at her and hand her mine anyway, hoping she won’t call me on it when I sit at an already-occupied table.

“And why are you jailed this fine afternoon, Big T?”

“Thirty minutes late to first with no excuse. You?”

His grin is wide and satisfied. “Forty-five minutes late, thanks to Tammy Younger and her fine mouth. The dean didn’t think that was a good enough excuse, though, so here I am.”

I laugh and take out one of my sandwiches. Huey’s sitting sideways in his chair, leaning back against the wall and watching the action of those coming and going from the classroom. I know that one or both of us could go now that we’ve given Crabby Conway our slips. She doesn’t want to be here any more than we do, but since it’s quieter in here and the likelihood of running into Rachel is less, I stay put.

“Those rumors running around about you and your girl true?”

“Which rumors are those?”

Huey grins. “Don’t you want to know which girl?”

“I don’t have a girl, if that’s what you mean.”

He inclines his head. “I heard that somewhere. I also heard that you and Flow were spotted arguing at the party before your girl Lauren broke up with you…and that you were spotted with Flow this morning in the parking lot. My sources say she wasn’t happy to see you.”

I lean back and stare at Huey. His hair has new designs shaved into it, some sort of symbol on one side and a couple of straight lines on the other. His smile is strong even as he chomps on his food. He’s smaller than me, shorter by three or so inches and thinner through the shoulders, and his size combined with his happy demeanor always has people underestimating him. Happy he may be, but he’s also deadly when it comes playmaking and anticipating his opponent’s moves.

Perhaps the best thing about Huey is his personality. He’s never pushy, just throws his findings out there and lets you sit with them. I could ignore him and he’d sit happily in silence the rest of the lunch period. As friends go, he’s my closest at school other than Rachel, and because of that, I unload on him.

“Yeah, she wasn’t happy to see me. Apparently, yelling at a girl when you tell her you love her isn’t the right way to handle it.”

He watches me, finishing his bite before he nods. “Yeah, girls can be funny. Like, they want to hear you say something, and then when you do, because you didn’t say it in the right way or at the right time, they don’t accept it.”

“Exactly,” I say, feeling a little better.

“Of course,” Huey continues, “boys are no better. We sometimes don’t say things because it’s easier to convince ourselves we don’t want to say them rather than admit that we’re afraid of what will happen when we do.”

He stares at me, and I incline my chin as I take the hit.

The bell rings and Huey’s smile is the same as he packs up. “Good luck my man. Flow, she’s tough—not like the arm candy you held onto earlier. Of course, it could make her more exciting, too,” he adds with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Give my best to Tammy the Tongue,” I shoot back and he just laughs.

“How ‘bout I just keep giving her mine?”

I feel lighter when I leave detention, and then I come face to face with Lauren on my way back to class. I want to turn and walk the other way, but I don’t. I’m more man than that, and she deserves to say whatever she needs to say. Only, it’s Lauren and
of course
she doesn’t say anything to me. She turns her face into her friend’s shoulder and lets the other girl give me a dirty look before ushering Lauren away.

I hear a muffled sob and my rapidly-depleting self-respect lowers another notch. However honest I pretended I was being with Lauren, I never was—not the way I should have been. It appears that it not only hurt her, but also hurt Rachel and my chances with her. So much for doing what was best.

The rest of the day drags until I finally skip out of last period early and head to Rachel’s car. I’ve thought about it, and I know Rachel well enough to understand that she’s going to avoid me until she has a grip on what she’s feeling. Since I need to say a few more things, I’m going to force her to listen to me one last time. Then I’ll let her go and hope like hell she wants to come back to me.

Ten minutes later, I see her walking toward me with her head down, her hands holding onto the straps of her backpack. Her hair’s starting to fly out of her ponytail, and even though her black coat is zipped up all the way, I see her shiver. I take a second to watch her and realize just how tired Rachel looks. For the first time I understand what she’s talking about when she says that things are different now. I’ve been focused on her in my life, what I want from her, what I want to give her—and she’s been focused on everything.

She has Gracie, another little person, which means her decisions aren’t her own. Stupidly, I’ve assumed she was too afraid of me like I was afraid of her. Looking at her, I think I finally see that she’s afraid of everything and I’m not making it any easier on her.

“Rachel,” I say her name as she takes out her cell phone, and wait for her to lift her head. I stare at her; she stares at me. I wish I could walk up to her, wrap my arms around her and let her lean. I wish I could somehow show her she can trust me enough to lean on me.

She stops in front of me, her eyes steady and unreadable. I have to give her credit for the intimidation stance she pulls off so well. I’ve known her most of my life, and I have no idea what she’s thinking right now; talk about unnerving.

“Waiting for me twice in one day, whatever will people think?”

Her acid tone enlightens me to two possibilities. Either Rachel’s worn out, therefore she’s lashing out, or, Rachel’s really annoyed and is seconds away from telling me to shove it before she walks out of my life forever. Since door number two isn’t an option for me, I put on my game face and stare right back as I slide off the hood and close the gap between us.

“We need to talk,” I say and take her keys without breaking eye contact. I leave her standing as I walk around and unlock her Explorer, settling into the driver’s seat and eyeing her through the windshield in an act far more confident than I actually feel.

When she steps toward the car and jerks the door open, throwing her bag into the backseat, I want to breathe a sigh of relief. I don’t, because I know getting her into the car is only the first portion of the battle. Getting her to listen to me is going to be another part. Believing me, well… that’s the final step, and I can’t think about it yet.

I don’t say anything on the way from school to my house. The rain has started to pelt down and despite the fact that it’s April, the sky is dark and gloomy. When I pull up to the curb and park in her normal spot, I turn off the engine. We sit in silence for a minute, the rain drumming on the roof, the windows fogging from the inside.

I gaze straight ahead and begin talking. “I need to say some things to you, things you didn’t let me say this morning. I brought you here, because nobody’s home; I don’t want to do this with an audience.” I turn to look at her now, waiting for her eyes to meet mine, willing her to see inside of me for once and understand that everything I want is wrapped up in her. Then I tell her what I should have led with this morning. “I need you to listen to me, Rachel, and if when I’m done you need time, you can have it and we can go back to being friends and just
be
for a while, but I need you to listen first. Can you do that?”

She doesn’t answer me and inside my lungs are threatening to burst as I hold my breath. I keep my eyes steady on hers, challenging her to ignore me, and at the same time pleading her to say
yes
. Instead, she watches me and then opens her door and jogs up to the front steps. I fumble with my door, so relieved, I barely notice the rain as I sprint through it to meet her at the door and let her inside.

I brush my hand over my head to scatter some of the lingering raindrops, and then I take her hand without asking, leading her down to my room, and closing the door behind her. I give her a minute to acclimate—to take in the new details and gather herself, because I know being in here is as strange as everything else that’s happening. We haven’t been in my room alone since I began dating Lauren; we always kept it to the den or the family room, sometimes her bedroom, but not often. Now, seeing her in here, memories from our childhood come back to me and make me smile.

I watch her look at everything, studying her while she peruses my posters and books. I feel old, decrepit almost, as I think about all of the things that have happened since our freshman year—the decisions I’ve made, those that she’s made, the choices that brought all of the consequences we’re dealing with now.

She smiles finally and tells me she likes my new poster. Because I know it’s a front— she’s as tired and unsure as I am—I sit on the edge of the bed and wait for her to take my desk chair. She tucks her hands under her thighs, a dead giveaway that she doesn’t know what’s going on or how she feels about it.

“I’m sorry.”

Lame, but true. I don’t know how else to start, so I start backward and decide to work my way to where I am now.

When she gives me a sassy look and asks me what I’m sorry for, I feel a small smile crease over my face. “Take your pick?” I lean forward. “I’ve thought about what you said this morning…about how it looks to you…how you feel, and I can’t ever tell you enough how sorry I am. Even if I didn’t feel the way I do about you, I would never want to hurt you like that.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she’s not leaving either, so I continue. “I didn’t know how to be with you two years ago. You’ve always been
Rachel
, and I’ve always thought of you as mine…just mine. It’s not that I didn’t think about being with you, I just didn’t think I should. I mean, you’re my best friend—you know everything about me. If we got together and I messed it up, who would I have?” I am so lame. Hearing the words out loud shows me just what an ass I was in not manning up and telling her how I felt. Apparently, she feels the same way.

“So, your solution was to hook up with me every few years and then act like it didn’t happen?”

I try to make a joke, but it sticks in my throat. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “That night of the party two years ago—I saw what it would be like if I had you, really had you. It felt so right, but it was also so big. I was both thrilled and terrified, and then the next morning I woke up to a text from Lauren apologizing for our argument. She told me she didn’t really want to take a break. She asked me to meet her. I used that as an excuse to leave, to escape without talking to you.”

“Why?” she asks. I can tell that it kills her. “You keep saying you didn’t know how to be with me—and fine, I might think that’s bullshit, but it’s yours. But you couldn’t pick up the fucking phone and call me? Text me? Tell me that you weren’t ready? That you wanted Lauren?”