How to Say I Love You Out Loud (20 page)

The next morning, apprehensive but resolved, I dress slowly. I’m not sure my presence will be welcomed at the playground opening, but I still want to be there. I want to
see Alex’s hard work recognized and I want to be one more person there to acknowledge his efforts. I’ll stay in the background.

I stare out the back window—the sunlight is faint and a few colorful leaves are already on the ground. I button my fitted plaid boyfriend shirt, hoping the sun makes a more noticeable
appearance at the playground site.

A squirrel catches my attention as he prances gracefully along the top bar of our old playground set. I stare at the swings. The paint is patchy, and the whole thing is rusted and rickety, but
we’ve never gotten rid of it. It still gets use, although I haven’t been on it in at least six years. Phillip, however, at age fifteen, still loves to swing. You can find him out there,
regardless of season, regardless of temperature. It soothes him, swinging, the consistent back and forth he can always count on.

A thought pops into my head, and I go find my mom, who is drinking coffee in the kitchen. “So I’m going to the opening for Alex’s playground project,” I tell her as I
pull on my North Face fleece. “And . . . I was thinking maybe Phillip would like to come with me.”

The mug in her hand freezes midway to her mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why not?”

I can see her mind churning away, wondering at what point during the week an alien invaded her daughter’s body, rendering her a more giving, supportive family member.

Ultimately, she shakes her head and drains her coffee. “I don’t know, honey. I don’t want him to give you any problems.”

“He won’t give me any problems. There’s an awesome swing set there and it’s brand-new. We won’t stay long, he’ll swing, and then we’ll come home. I
have
driven Phillip places before,” I remind her.

Not a lot, because I never really want to . . . but I’ve done it.

She rises from her stool. “Maybe if I come along, too . . .”

I put my hand up to stop her. “I can handle it. It’s only ten minutes away. If there’s any real problem, I’ll call you.”

I turn my back on her before she can protest further and walk into the living room, where I find Phillip on the couch, giggling while watching the Cartoon Network.

“Hi, Phillip,” I interrupt, voice not too loud, not too quiet. “Would Phillip like to swing?” I make sure to keep my language simple. “Try new swings?”

He looks up and stares at me for a minute, eyes distant and pensive. “Would you trust a shifty-eyed moose?” he asks seriously.

I have no idea what he’s referencing or where he heard the question, but I tell him, no, I would not, and he stands up. I take this as a yes, and hand him his favorite red sweatshirt to
put on over his T-shirt.

Before we head to the car, I make sure I have the tote containing his Bose headphones, his Nintendo 3DS, and several snack bags of gluten-free pretzel sticks. He occupies himself with his game
on the ride, but when we pull into the lot and he glimpses the impressive spread of the playground before him, he abandons it at once. He doesn’t even reach for his headphones as he opens the
car door. He is out like a flash and makes a beeline for the colorful set of swings to the left of the playground.

There are a ton of kids already on the equipment, and I follow Phillip as he joins the fray. He selects a swing on the end and is airborne within seconds. I stand back and watch, unconcerned.
There are kids of all ages and disabilities—some even older than Phillip who look like they should’ve outgrown playgrounds but appear among the most excited—and he does not stand
out in this crowd. If he yells, if he flails, if he swings for two hours without pause, the kids and families around him will remain unfazed.

There seems to be a general understanding among the children and teens in the group—you’ve got your issues and I’ve got mine. Your issues aren’t a big deal to me.

It’s a nice feeling, one I’m very grateful Alex helped cultivate. Regret squeezes my heart in its strong, inescapable grasp.

I keep my eyes on my brother, willing the sad feelings away. He is happy here, and this makes me smile. I realize there’s not always an inverse relationship between his happiness and mine.
I just wish that Phillip’s playground expanded beyond this space. I wish the scope of his happiness was broader, that it came easier.

At eleven o’clock, Phillip is still content, which I’m thankful for, so I can attend the small ceremony taking place on the colorful wooden bridge between the two big sections of the
jungle gym. The mayor gives a speech, thanking all the participants who helped bring the playground to life. Prominent fund-raisers and representatives from the charity organizations that
contributed are front and center, but so is Alex. He is given special recognition and is the only person on the bridge who draws a standing ovation from the crowd. His mom rings a cowbell from her
wheelchair, which is positioned right at the base of the bridge.

Alex’s cheeks are pink and he smiles humbly toward the ground, but I can detect the pride in his expression. Everything else about him looks exhausted, from the slump of his shoulders to
the unfamiliar shadows under his eyes, and it’s obvious how stressful his past few days have been, separate from the stress I added to them.

I long to hug him in a way I haven’t even allowed myself to think about in over a year, an outdated yearning from those sticky summer afternoons sitting beside him on the picnic table at
the club. I wish I could gather him in my arms and let his tired forehead rest on my shoulder. I would whisper in his ear exactly how proud of him I am.

The desire is all-consuming and crippling. Alex opened the door to my feelings that I’d closed, and this time I can’t seem to shut it again. I shove my hands into my pockets and
stare uselessly into space.

Someone jostles my arm, pulling me from my sad daydream.

I turn and I’m surprised to find Erin at my side, red hair glistening against the collar of her bright green peacoat.

“Hey,” I greet her tentatively. “I didn’t know you were coming out this morning.”

Our communication is definitely hurting these days.

She smiles in Alex’s direction. “Oh, I wanted to come out and give him some support. I felt bad I couldn’t help on the workday.”

“That’s really nice of you.”

As I look around at the crowd, I realize not too many kids from school are here. Some people from our classes and some other members of the football team, yes. But mostly, now that the
playground is up and running, it’s families and kids. People were willing to pitch in and help when Alex asked for it, but it doesn’t seem like it crossed too many people’s minds
to show up today.

But Erin is thoughtful enough to come, which makes me feel worse than ever.

We both end up staring at the ground, silent.

“I’m really sorry, Erin,” I spit out breathlessly. “I just want you to know that. I have a lot of regrets right now. Some people aren’t going to let me do anything
about them, but maybe some people will.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye, hopeful.

She takes a minute to respond, and I follow her gaze. She is watching a mother help her daughter clean up. Even though the girl must be about our age, she has spilled bright red juice down the
front of her shirt and sports a juice mustache above her lip. The girl is dressed like a much younger child, and her pigtails are pinned up with colorful hair ties. She shrieks loudly and jumps up
and down while her mom tries to clean her.

“It can be kind of embarrassing at times,” I whisper. “It can get in the way. But it never took away from me
wanting
to be your friend.”

Erin inhales sharply, still watching the interaction between the girl and her mother. Erin, who is forever picking apart her own image, who never seems satiated when it comes to the approval of
others. “I get it,” she answers. She twists to look at me. “I was hurt, but this wasn’t about me. I knew that; it just sucks being lied to. In whatever sense of the
word.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

“Like I said, I get it, and if you want to . . .” A real smile finally appears, one I haven’t seen from her in a while. “. . . then, hell yeah, of course I still want to
be your friend.”

Relieved, I smile in response, and I reach for her hand to give it a quick squeeze. “Cool. Thanks.”

I glance toward the swings, suddenly remembering that I haven’t checked in on Phillip in a few minutes. He still looks happy as a clam and I take a deep breath. “You know . . . my
brother’s actually here today. If you want to meet him.”

My heart hammers, conditioned with fear, but I manage to propose the introduction.

She nods and follows me toward the swings. “What should I say to him?”

“Just say ‘hi.’ He’ll probably say ‘hi’ back. He’s calmer when he swings.” I grin. “Then be prepared, he might ask you if you’d trust
a shifty-eyed moose.”

Erin shrugs mildly. “Of course; who wouldn’t?”

I crack up and, feeling impulsive, offer an invite. I haven’t cleared it with my parents, but I know they won’t mind. They’ll be surprised as heck, but they won’t mind.
“You want to come over later? Hang out?”

Her eyes light up, and again I feel bad about how easy it would have been to set our friendship on a different path. “Yeah. Absolutely!”

We stand on the edge of the swing area. I know better than to actually interrupt Phillip’s swinging, so I call to him from the ground. “Phillip, this is my friend Erin. Say hi,
Phillip.”

He whizzes by us, pumping his legs. “Hi, Phillip.”

Erin smiles. “It’s good to meet you, Phillip.”

He passes us again on his way back toward the sky. “Hi, Phillip.”

I turn to her and shrug. “That might be the best we’re gonna get.”

“That’s okay, you tried. He tried.” Then her gaze drifts over my shoulder and she nudges me with her elbow. “I think your buddy wants to talk to you anyway.”

I turn and look, and the hammering in my heart escalates to a whole new level.

Alex. He’s dressed in a drab olive-green Boy Scout button-down with an American flag patch on the chest and his troop number on the left sleeve, jeans, work boots, and a navy down vest. He
is staring at me, but he’s too far away for me to read anything in his eyes. His expression is flat. If it’s an invitation, it’s not a very warm one.

Then I look back at Erin, realizing that her expression is sort of knowing, and I decide something. When she comes over tonight, I’m telling her about Alex. The whole sordid story. Lord
knows I could use some advice on how to turn things around. If she thinks there’s any way I could at least get my friend back.

But for now . . . Alex is waiting. For what, I don’t know.

“Do you have, like, two minutes?” I ask her. “Do you mind keeping an eye on Phillip for a sec? He won’t move, I promise.”

Erin nods and turns her attention to the swing set, granting us some privacy.

I trudge nervously toward Alex. He’s not exactly smiling or anything. The shadows under his eyes make him look sort of scary, too.

I stop several feet in front of him.

His eyes flicker toward Erin and the swing set and I wonder if he’ll put two and two together and realize I brought Phillip. I hope he doesn’t think I did so to make a point, because
I didn’t, other than that my brother really likes to swing.

“Hey.” I try a small smile.

“Hey.” He doesn’t offer one in return.

I nudge at the ground with my toe. “I guess you’re still pissed at me.”

“Yep.”

His curtness is unexpected and unusual and I inhale as the pain of it hits my chest.

I swallow hard. “I know that. I wouldn’t have missed this, though. I wanted to say congratulations in person.” Alex still says nothing, so I forge ahead.
“Congratulations. You did an amazing thing here.”

He allows his eyes to meet mine for only a quick second. There is a trace of warmth but the embers die down quickly. “Thanks.”

It’s a cold and empty response and I sense that I’m offering too little, too late.

“Is that what you came to say?” Alex asks. “Is there anything else?”

My eyes fly to his and I think I can detect a trace of hope behind the anger, one maybe he wishes I didn’t see.

But before I can think about how to begin saying all the things I want to say, he steps away. “If not . . . then I should go. There are a lot of people I need to talk to, and thank.”
Only one side of his mouth lifts as he offers me a half smile. “Thanks for coming, though.” His words aren’t authentic, and I guess my presence doesn’t count for much at all
anymore.

“Bye, Alex,” I whisper.

I stare at his retreating back, wondering why the hell it can’t be even half as easy with him as it was to repair things with Erin.

But then again, maybe I did a lot more damage to Alex.

That night, after changing into my pajama pants, I find myself pacing back and forth across my room, restless. Even though it was a full day, sleep seems a long way off. I gnaw
at my fingernails as I walk.

Erin’s not mad at you anymore
, I remind myself.
And you did some good deeds for your brother and parents. There’s no reason to be this upset.

But I can’t stop picturing the dismissive look on Alex’s face before he turned and walked away at the playground, and feel like I have plenty of reason to be upset.

I stare at my car keys on my desk. A moment later, I grab them.

Fibbing to my parents about Erin being in the midst of her latest romantic crisis, I drive across town. Only it’s not her house I head toward. I end up parked across the street from the
Colby household, fingers poised over the keypad of my phone, ready to dial his number.

But I don’t get any farther than that. Earlier at the park, I thought I was silent because I hadn’t fully thought through what I want to say to Alex. Now I realize I don’t
have
anything to say to him. Not anything worthwhile, at least.

Suddenly I remember thinking one time last month, when Alex said or did something pretty great, that Leighton didn’t deserve him.