I wanted the numbness to take away that feeling, too. It wasn’t doing any good.
I opened my mouth to ask her for the money to pay Echo and she kissed me.
I remembered other kisses. Homecoming on the dance floor. Curled up in her room while she cried. I couldn’t remember the feeling, but I remembered what I did. And I copied that until she pulled away.
“You’re right,” she said, smiling at me. “Tomorrow’s our anniversary. Of course.”
I walked her to her door, where she turned to me and put both hands around my neck. I leaned down to kiss her again, trying to focus on my lips and hers, but there was still no feeling there. I touched the sides of her waist below her breasts, flatter than usual underneath her dance leotard; I pressed my lips harder against hers; I thought about seeing her naked for the first time a few months ago—usually a reliable memory to heat up my numb insides.
But there was nothing. Not a twinge. Not even when she sighed and leaned in and I tasted the lightly salty skin by her temple.
“Headache?” she asked.
“I just need to rest,” I said.
“Seriously, Win. You’d tell me if something’s wrong?”
I could feel her concern as a physical force, more than I could feel her lips or skin. The problem with this question was that even if I decided to tell her everything, to open myself up like a book and start tearing out pages, I’d have to admit that there were many days—dozens of them—seriously dark times that I never told her about. She’d be hurt about those other days, even if she wanted to help with today. That would be putting my feelings over hers. I wanted to spare hers.
I couldn’t be that sick if I wanted to spare her feelings. I didn’t need the spell if I could do that much. Right?
“They should move New York closer,” she said.
It took me a second to realize she was talking about next year, and her and Jess’s big move to the city. “It’s not that far,” I said.
“It feels far. It feels like another planet.”
“It’s not another planet. It’s New York.”
She scowled, her small features fierce. “It’s a stupid thing, dancing. You should be able to do it anywhere.”
I leaned back so I could see more than her face in close-up. I looked for signs she was going to start sobbing again, like the day she’d gotten in to the Manhattan Ballet. I didn’t know what I’d do if she did—it might have broken me completely. But her eyes were clear, her skin pale, unflushed. She’d never gotten upset again after that day. It was as if it had never happened. “You have to go to New York,” I said.
“I know. Jess is counting on it.”
“No, you have to go. To dance.”
“Sounds like you want to get rid of me.”
“No. No! It’s only . . . you’re so good at it. And you have this thing you can dedicate your life to.” I could feel panic creeping in around my edges, vibrating in the air around our heads.
She sighed, dismissing the compliment. “Most people say long distance is stupid.”
The panic seized me, like the shaking in the car a thousand times over. “Do you want to break up?”
“Of course not. I thought if you’re anxious about it—”
“It’s not going to make me less anxious to break up. I mean, it would be awful. I can’t imagine it.” Breaking up would have meant giving up. “No, I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. You’re going to be fine. You’re going to dance, and I’m going to . . . It’s been a weird day. My head’s been all over the place. Tomorrow we’ll have an anniversary. I know it’s going to be great next year. I’ll come down for both anniversary days. I’m so excited for you—I’ll be there every weekend.”
“All right, all right,” she said.
“I love you,” I said, because I did, and I didn’t know how else to tell her except by telling her, even though the words felt stupid and insubstantial, gone as soon as they left my mouth.
She smiled a funny smile. “Duh. I love you, too.”
She planted a kiss on my cheek and I turned my head to kiss her for real, as seriously as I could remember how.
When we broke apart I ran for the car before I could say or do anything else to ruin whatever we had left.
I could never ask Ari for money for the spell. Never.
That car-shaking panic stayed with me all night, on and on until the dark and silence of three a.m., watching the flash of the alarm clock light on the bedroom wall. Panic gnawed at me until I was worn down to nothing but fibers.
But I didn’t feel bad enough to eat the sandwich.
It was a relief to be bad. I didn’t have to be nice or funny or kind, and I knew I would never be alone. That heavy cloak of feelings and worries and responsibilities—I could take it off and leave it off. I wasn’t scared of the nothing underneath. I felt free. Unhooking was the best thing that could’ve happened to me.