He looks down and takes another deep breath. “You told me we really were done. And that you’d known it too.”
We both stare out at the water. He shakes his head, helpless.
“And then the accident happened, and I couldn’t get you out—” He puts his head in his hands. “You would’ve died if Walker hadn’t shown up—because of me. You would’ve died. And when he pulled you out of that water, I saw how much I would’ve lost, and how much I loved you.” He pauses. Corrects himself. “How much I love you.”
We’re both quiet. Another wave crashes on the beach in front of us, and the water rushes back down the sand to the ocean. I wish I could go with it.
“I’m sorry, Liv. I know should’ve told you. I just . . .” He looks at me. “I just thought maybe this was our second chance, that this could be—”
“Did Paige know?” My voice sounds small. “That we broke up?”
Matt looks down at his hands, and I know the answer before he says it. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I asked her if she’d help me try again with you—to make it right—because I’d screwed it up so bad.”
I laugh, and it startles both of us. “To make it right? How is anything about this right?”
“I made a mistake, Liv. I realized that at the party, and then out there on that boat, and when you were in the hospital, and then again when you woke up. We belong together, and—”
“Do we?” I wipe at my eyes. “Or do you just feel guilty?”
Matt goes silent.
“Because that’s worse. That’s worse than growing apart, or falling out of love, or even lying. Being with someone because you feel guilty is worse.” As I say the words, I realize they’re not just for him. They’re for me too. I need to hear them for myself.
“That’s not it,” Matt says. “That’s not how it is.” But there’s no conviction in his voice. Nothing behind those words. He sounds the same way I would if I tried to say what he’s saying.
“Yes,” I say. “That is it.”
Matt shakes his head. “What do we do if it is?”
It’s quiet for a long moment.
“We let each other go,” I say finally. “Again.”
I don’t expect to, but I start crying when I say it. Because it’s not just letting each other go, it’s letting something bigger go. It’s the idea of us, and of who I was with him, and in all those pictures of us together.
I turn and look at Matt, who began as a stranger to me. Who loved me once. And who I loved back. And in that moment, I regret not ever knowing the feeling of that. I regret not having those memories—the days and nights we spent together, the moments only the two of us knew about—all our firsts. And now, our lasts.
I don’t want it to be over without adding my own. One last moment of us, together.
And so, sitting there on that bench, shivering as the wind comes up, I bring my lips to his, and I kiss him. I kiss him, just like I did that first time, except this kiss is different. There’s no spark of excitement or connection. It’s not a beginning, or a hope, or the promise of something new.
It’s a good-bye.
TWENTY-THREE
“LIV? IS THAT YOU?”
My mom comes around the kitchen corner, drying her hands with a dish towel, looking surprised to see me. “Hi, sweetie.” She glances at the driveway. “Is Matt gone already? Sam said the two of you were going out for a bit. I thought maybe he’d want to stay for the evening. We heated the pool up, and your dad’s going to do some ribs, and it’s been a while since we’ve had him over.”
“He just dropped me off,” I say, and I head for the stairs.
“Why don’t you call him,” she says with a smile. “I bet he’ll come back if he knows Dad’s grilling.”
“Maybe another time.” I try again for the stairs.
“You sure? It’s could be fun to all relax together.”
“Not today, okay?” My voice is flat and hard, and my mom’s smile takes a tumble.
“Okay, no problem,” she says, her tone changing, like she understands to stop pushing. “Another time, like you said.”
I look at her now. “Actually, there won’t be another time.”
“What?” she asks, like she heard me wrong. “What do you mean?”
I’m about to say I broke up with him, but that’s only partially true. “We broke up,” I say instead.
“What?” She brings the hand still holding the dish towel to her chest. “Just now? Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
That “Oh, honey,” and the note of sympathy in her voice, does me in. It always has. A lump springs to my throat, and my eyes water, but I fight it. I don’t want to cry right now, in front of her.
“What happened?” my mom asks. She steps toward me, arms open for a hug, and I fight the urge to take a step back. That’ll just make it worse.
“I . . . I don’t really want to talk about it right now,” I say, and I let her hug me for a moment. “I kind of just want to go be by myself for a while.” Now I step back. “Is that okay?”
“Of course, sweetheart. I understand.”
“Thanks.”
“You need anything?”
I shake my head.
“I’ve got some good chocolate stashed in the pantry. Keep it just for emergencies like this.”
I smile for her benefit, because she’s trying so hard. “Maybe later.”
“All right,” she says, but she doesn’t make a move to go anywhere.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I do. I don’t have to look to know it’s Paige. I reject the call on my way up the stairs. It rings again, and I reject it again and wait. She doesn’t try a third time. I’m glad. I hope she doesn’t come over. Of course my mom would let her in. Of course she’d expect that I’d want to see Paige and talk to her about Matt. I bet I did the first time.
But I don’t even know if I could look at Paige right now. Especially when I think of her telling me how much I loved Matt, and how perfect we were together. I don’t know what she thought she was doing, or how she thought that choosing what he asked her to tell me over telling me the truth was a good thing. It’s the same with Sam keeping what he knew from me. And maybe, in more ways I don’t even know about yet, my parents have kept things from me too. I’m sure they all justify it to themselves somehow—whether it’s to make things easier on me or to somehow protect me. But it’s the worst feeling in the world to think that everyone who knows you has what they think is a good enough reason to lie to you.
I go into my room and shut the door behind me. Stand there a moment, not knowing what to do. What I do know, what I’m almost certain of, is that Paige is probably on her way over here right now to try to apologize, or explain, and I can’t do this with her right now. I can’t.
I start to leave, to go I don’t know where, but then I see my camera case sitting on my desk, a new box of film on top of it, with a Post-it and a note scrawled in my mom’s writing: