By the time he said, “We’re done. Let’s go home,” my eyes were swollen to slits. He put an arm around my shoulders and led me to the car.
I pulled my feet onto the seat. With my face lowered onto my knees and the hood obscuring everything, I’d built my own fortress of grief. If I could keep my arms around my knees, keep holding myself together, I might make it home in one piece.
“We’re here.” Gyver turned off the engine. His hand stretching to fold back the fabric around my face. “I’m sorry about Jinx. I’ll get you a new kitten.”
“Don’t,” I moaned.
“It doesn’t have to be right away. When you’re ready. I’ll let you name this one.” He tried to smile, but it faltered and faded.
“I don’t want a new cat.” I buried my head in my knees again. “She didn’t look like she was in pain, did she?”
Gyver shook his head. “No, she looked peaceful.”
I peered out the windshield, focusing on the clouds above his garage. “That’s what I want—when it’s my time. I want to go to sleep and have everyone I love holding my hand.”
Gyver’s eyes went flat—like Jinx’s had at her final moments. He pressed his lips together, shook his head, and got out of the car. I mirrored his movements; using my puffy eyes to decipher his face and stiff body language. It wasn’t a difficult read: the walls had been reconstructed between us. His mask of detachment was firmly in place, and I was lost in my grief all alone.
“Can I come over? I don’t want to go in.” Jinx’s toys and bowls flash-bulbed in my mind.
He didn’t bother with an excuse. “No.”
“But … I thought you’d forgiven me.”
He shut his eyes and shook his head. “It’s not a matter of forgiving; I’m choosing not to hang out with you. I can’t do this to myself, Mi. I can’t.”
“Am I that awful?”
“You were someone incredible. You were my best friend. And now?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and closed his eyes again. “The way you’ve handled your cancer … Who are you?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m just trying to survive.” Hillary’s acid voice had nothing on mine. “If I’m not the perfect person while dying from cancer, that’s okay with me.”
“If I’ve noticed? I was there every day this summer! Did you forget? I was the only one there. I’ve seen how awful and painful this is, and how terrified you are. But when this is over—because you will beat this—who are you going to be? Regardless of whether or not you have cancer, you’re not someone I want to know anymore. My Mia Moore wouldn’t just give up.”
“Well, lucky for you, you won’t have to know me much longer.”
His eyes sparked with fury, then glazed with tears. He walked into his house without looking back. It felt like Jinx had been the last link between us, and now that was severed.
I sat on the front porch and curled into myself, trying to breathe.
I was still there when Mom drove up. “Oh, kitten, I’m so sorry …,” she began.
At the sound of my nickname, I began to wail.
If I couldn’t hold Jinx, I wanted to be held, so I called Ryan.
“Where were you? I called your phone and your parents and the hospital.” His voice was a tangle of panic, anger, and relief.
I gulped a breath and tried to answer.
“Do you know how freaked I was when you were gone at the end of the day? I thought you were …”
“Will you come over?” I sounded five years old.
“I need some space.” His panic and relief had faded, leaving frustration-coated anger. “Now that I know you’re okay, I need to, I don’t know, breathe and calm down.”
“Later?” I asked.
“Let me take a drive, clear my head, then I’ll come.”
But he didn’t. He called later, but I was already two hours into a sleeping pill. Apologies, explanations, and kisses waited until the morning. Exchanged with forced smiles. My chest ached, my pulse pounded in my temples, and the hallway focused and unfocused as I blinked past tears.
“We’re okay, right?” Ryan asked, raising our intertwined hands and brushing his lips across my knuckles.
I swallowed and coughed before I could answer. “We’re fine.”
We had to be.
Chapter 45
I sat in the kitchen and stared out the window. Tapping my nails on the counter while I pretended to listen to Mom’s pre-dance blather. Gyver came out of his house carrying a trash bag; I bolted out the door and cornered him on the driveway.
“Gyver!” I paused and caught my breath. “Wait. Please?”
He replaced the trash can lid and turned toward me with an impassive face.
“Can we talk?”
“Talk.” He gave me a palms-up, go-ahead gesture.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I miss you.” So much so I’d found myself sobbing at three a.m. when I discovered Mom washed his sweatshirt and it no longer smelled like him. It had been three awful days since Jinx died. Three days of Gyver acting like I didn’t exist.
“I miss you too, but it doesn’t change things.” He raked his hair into chaos and hooked his thumb in his pocket.