“Yes.”
Dana’s eyebrows furrow, and then her face hardens. She purses her lips, takes a step back, and starts to swing the door shut. I manage to wedge my wrist through the partitions in the cold grate, catching the door before it latches. I hope fervently that the grate hasn’t cut my skin; I can’t tell just yet, but blood poisoning is something I’d like to leave Asia without experiencing.
“Please talk to us,” I plead, raising my voice so Dana can hear it.
“I’m busy,” she says, the pitch of her own voice sinking low in its aggression, the only betrayal of her origins as a boy. “I’m getting ready. And I hardly talk to Charlie anymore.”
“Did you know he died?” I burst out. I can’t help myself. Lena looks at me and glares. There’s a long silence. Then Dana eases the door open just a crack.
“Oh, honey, Charlie’s not dead,” she tells us. “He’s just being a grade-A asshole. If I didn’t hate our parents so much I’d probably have it in my heart to tell them. I just saw Charlie last week.” Though she’s friendlier, she is still guarded.
“He’s not dead.” Lena’s voice is flat but registers no surprise. I’m so shocked that I can’t say anything at all.
“No,” Dana replies, and then she sighs through the slight opening of the door.
“We’ve traveled halfway around the world,” I hear myself say through the buzzing in my brain. “Please.” The noise grows louder and I feel like I might pass out. Dana’s face looks like a cauldron of warring emotions. She hesitates for a second longer, then removes a key from her pocket and unfastens the padlock that secures the grate. “Come in,” she says, foisting the grate open. “I don’t know if I have a lot of answers for you—Charlie and I were never exactly BFFs.” She waves us in impatiently; and, as I cross the threshold into her chaotic, filthy home, my nerves shoot adrenaline through my whole body—so much that it’s nearly impossible to keep my balance. It feels like Lena and I are crossing a bigger line than the threshold of Dana’s home, and that this time, we may not be able to turn back.
22
Lena
Charlie’s not dead. Dana’s words ring in my ears, confirming everything I’ve suspected all along—and known without a doubt since our encounter with Anand. I don’t know whether to jump for joy or cram my head into a vise and squeeze. I’ve been right this whole time, but I’m not prepared to be.
After I found the suicide note, I sat in his parents’ living room and held his mother’s hand while she chain-smoked, her hair wild and untamed, a badge of the girl she probably once was. I didn’t think Charlie’s mother could fall apart any more than she already had, and then she did. But even in her disintegrated state, she told me: “Lena, honey, we have to let him go. We’ll lose ourselves too, otherwise.” I think she was saying it for my benefit, because the way she was clutching a photo of him as a toddler, cradled in her arms and smiling shyly into the camera—it seemed to me that she wasn’t letting him go.
No parents should lose their child.
Nobody—my age, anyway—should lose her boyfriend.
Nobody should lose her brother, nobody should lose herself. When I found the letter I thought, Charlie lost himself. But I still didn’t believe he was dead. And I didn’t think, I lost myself when I met him. I lost myself a long time ago, long before losing Charlie, maybe the second he walked into my life. I feel selfish, thinking it now. But it’s there and it’s true.
When he disappeared, I felt like my grief was bottomless—because even if he was still alive, he’d chosen to leave me behind. And my own mother said, “Someday, you’ll fall in love again.” I didn’t want to. I only wanted Charlie. I felt like someone had ripped my heart out, ended things before I’d given it the okay or even had a chance to adjust to the idea. Then I did adjust, somehow. After the grief there was the numbness, which stretched all the way up to the memorial service. During that phase, I realized I didn’t have anyone except Charlie. Charlie swooped into my life at the expense of all my other friends, who slowly faded into the background, where they remained, semi-forgotten, just people to say hi to at parties and follow on Instagram. After Charlie came into my life, everything was always all about Charlie. When he disappeared, as easily as the retreating of the tide, my old friends didn’t rush in to replace him. There was just barren, empty numbness. Then, after meeting Aubrey, there was the fresh pain of what he did. And the anger that’s consumed me ever since. And the relief.