I nod.
I know under more normal circumstances, I’d be feeling all kinds of stuff. But we passed normal a long time ago, and now I’m numb. (Emotionally numb, anyway. Physically—my face is killing me.) I’ve got nothing left, which is probably why I’m able to tell her the story in such detail. It’s a book report, not an analysis—only facts, no feelings. It’s amazingly simple.
I tell Joni about Meg and the cancer and the pregnancy and how she died and how I thought it was my fault and how I have a baby whom I don’t quite know what to do with. I tell her about Mabel and Meg’s parents and the journals and what I found out today. I tell her about the game and UCLA. I tell her what happened with Shoshanna and how Dave beat the crap out of me and how I know I deserved so much worse.
When I’m done, I wait. Joni’s face is blank, like her brain is overloaded with data and has been forced into shutdown mode.
I wish she would put her hand on my face again.
People start to leave the party. It must be late. I wonder how long I slept.
Eventually Joni stands. She doesn’t reach down to help me up, but she waits for me to join her. “Let’s go,” she says once I’m on two feet again. “I’m driving you home.”
“My car is here.”
“And you’re in no shape to drive it.”
True. “Let me just get something out of it.” I walk over to my car, each step sending shooting pain through my body, and grab my soccer bag. I don’t really need my cleats and dirty uniform, but the purple journal is in there. As much as I never want to read it ever again, I still want to keep it close. I can’t explain why.
We get into Elijah’s car and drive in silence, except for me telling her what streets to take. I check my phone—there’s a ton of texts from my mom asking if I’m okay and telling me she spoke to Alan and she knows that Joni came and that I’m not dead but that it would be nice if I called or texted her myself.
I’m ok, I text. On my way home. Love u. Sorry.
I watch the dotted line in the middle of the road skip by.
Why won’t Joni say anything?
“It’s that house. Second one on the right.”
She pulls into the spot in the driveway usually reserved for the Sable.
Should I get out? Is this it? Is she not going to acknowledge anything I told her?
“Um, so, thanks,” I say.
She stares at the house. I’m about to open the car door when she asks, “Which window is yours?”
“That one.” I point to the window over the garage. “Why?”
She shrugs. “I’m trying to picture where you’ve been going to sleep every night, thinking it’s perfectly okay to lie to me like this.”
“Joni, I—”
“Nothing you can say to me right now will help your case, so you should really quit while you’re ahead.”
“I’m sorry. I know I should have told you. I just…I needed you, okay?” Amazingly, I must have some small amount of pride left, because it’s embarrassing to admit this. And yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds, after getting the shit beaten out of me and sobbing like a baby in front of a houseful of my classmates and having to go home wearing a unicorn-patterned scarf. “I knew I would lose you if you found out the truth, and I couldn’t risk it.”
Joni looks really tired. “You think I wouldn’t have liked you if I knew you had a baby and that your girlfriend died? Last I checked, those aren’t crimes.”
“You said you don’t like kids.”
Her face crinkles like she can’t believe I said that. All right, I can’t believe I said that either—obviously that’s not the real reason I didn’t tell her. “Jesus, Ryden.” She sighs. “It would have been a lot to deal with, but it would have been okay.”
A match is struck inside me, producing a tiny flame of hope. “Really?”
“Really.”
“So…you’re not mad?”
She sort of laughs and looks back at my bedroom window. “Oh, I’m so mad I can’t see straight.”
The match is snuffed out. “I’m confused.”
“Ryden, you’re not stupid. So don’t pretend to be. I’m mad because you lied to me, you asshole. I was honest with you about everything. I told you stuff I would never tell anyone, and you made a mockery of that.”
“I’m so sor—”
“Don’t, okay? I’m not looking for an apology. What I need is an explanation. Why? Why did you lie?”
I hesitate.
“You owe it to me to be honest about this, at least,” she says.
Maybe so. But it’s not going to sound good.
“Ryden.”
I pull the scarf tight around my shoulders. It’s pretty warm in the car, but the scarf is like a security blanket. I open my mouth, and this is what comes out: “I wanted a chance to be me again. I guess I saw that chance in you.”