The Death of Us (15 page)

“So why are you asking about Callie?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.”

I can tell that he’s hiding something. It’s happening again. Tears spring to my eyes. Crap. Guys hate
that, girls getting weepy. I scramble for something to say and come up with “You know, I just wish I hadn’t said anything about the whole Isabel thing.”

“Sounded tough.”

And although a second ago my plan was to tell him the truth about what I said to everyone at the party—not that I really remember—the plan changes. The way Kurt looks at me is so kind, so sympathetic, even tender, that I find myself saying, “You have no idea what it’s like to lose someone you love.” It’s not exactly a lie. More tequila. I
should
just be honest, but he’s focused on me now, listening. I whisper, “I need a cigarette.” My eyes fill again.

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Outside I stand in the silvery light of the sign and he gives me a cigarette, lights his own. He blows a smoke ring. Then another.

The tequila must have gone to my head. The words come out of my mouth: “We could make it work, you know.”

“I already told you, Ivy.”

He turns his face away. That’s when I see Callie in the shadows.

What’s she doing here? She’s after
Kurt
? Is something going on with them? No. She wouldn’t do that to me. I know how to make this better—he liked kissing me last time. I reach up, turn his face toward me and kiss him lightly.

“Ivy,” he says—and shakes me off. Actually
shakes
me off.

“It’s okay, Kurt. Just relax.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“Kurt, I really think we could work …” I can hear myself getting whiny. Clingy. Guys
hate
that.

He lets go, walks away, his shoes thudding softly on the sidewalk. I look over to the shadows, desperate, but Callie’s gone too. My heart is torn into thousands of tiny pieces, ready to be chucked in the garbage. Why does this keep happening to me?

A few feet from the lineup of partygoers chatting and waiting to get into BEneath, Kurt talks to her. Ivy—golden hair, white, tight dress, sparkly heels, stunning. She turns briefly in my direction but I don’t think she sees me. I’m hidden in the dark,
watching them smoke. Kurt’s gesturing, lifting a hand, lowering it, like he’s explaining something. Ivy presses up against Kurt like a kitten. His hands shoot up as if he’s shocked.

Her mouth is on his.

And as she kisses him, everything becomes clear. Oh God. I’m in love with Ivy, violently, horribly, incredibly in love. The feeling is so intense, I stumble back. And then I’m running away, to the safety of the tree, which will sweep me up to the haven of my house, where I wish I could go back to being ordinary, well-balanced,
normal
Callie, whose biggest problems were dealing with her parents being wrapped up in their new baby, and what novel to read next.

When I get in from BEneath, Mom is sitting on the loveseat with Kevin. She says, “Ooh, late night then?”

I hardly lift my gaze.

She says fondly, “Just like I used to be.” She giggles and waves me over. “Come sit, pudding.”

“I’m kinda tired. It’s late, like you said.”

“Oh, Ivy, babe, just a few minutes. We have to talk. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Kevin leans forward in his seat. “Ding dong merrily! Big news in the world of us.”

“What?”

Mom shows me her hand. A hulking diamond glimmers on her fourth finger.

“Is that …?”

Kevin toots, “Glory be, she agreed to marry me!”

“Oh.”

Mom says, “Don’t you love the ring?”

I can’t say anything. My head is spinning.

Her voice lowers dangerously. “Can’t you just be happy for me? If you knew what I gave up for you— I could have been a model, but, oh no, I was pregnant and so I did the right thing. Not like your father—”

“Don’t start, Mom. Maybe I had a bad night, huh?”

Kevin blurts, “Go to bed, young lady.”

“What? You two don’t want to hear about me?”

He says, “You’re wrecking this for us.”

“It’s never your problem, right, Mom?” My hands are shaking.

“Shut up,” she yells.

As I head upstairs I toss over my shoulder, “I can’t keep doing this—I try and I try and I try but nothing ever goes my way.”

I keep it cool until I get to my room. I draw the curtain and peel off my dress. I do fifty squats, then another fifty. Two hundred sit-ups. Seventeen pushups. I’m sweaty but not broken. Eighteen. They won’t break me. Nineteen. They won’t. I drop down, my face in the carpet, the ridges pressed against my nose. And I know I can’t push up off the floor this time. Not again.

The next morning, after having seen Ivy kissing Kurt at BEneath, I need to get out of the house. I tell Mom I’m going for a walk and I wander down toward the river, thinking about my granny, thinking about Ivy.

I cross the bridge, noticing the scattered
orange traffic cones, the hammered-in boards to block off the barrier, the temporary traffic lights, and a large sign reading: WHEN RED LIGHT SHOWS WAIT HERE.

I don’t know where I’m going until I arrive at the gallery. I push open the door, feeling the air conditioning and the even cooler quiet within. I find myself in front of the painting of the woman in white slumped in the corner. I stare at it for a long time, realizing she now reminds me not of Ivy’s mom, but of Ivy. Then I head out of the gallery and come to a stop, sit on a low bench—and I start to cry. I’m crying about Ivy and my ridiculous feelings for her, crying about my grandmother, my mother, the way I’ve been acting, everything.

I hear footsteps come across the grass. I see sneakers, jeans, hooded sweatshirt. Kurt. I’m a huge mess, tears all over my face, mascara probably everywhere. I wipe my face and say, “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

He sits next to me. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Everything.”

“Like what?”

“My granny. Ivy. You guys. Last night.”

“What?”

“Outside BEneath. I saw you with Ivy.”

“You were there?” he says. “That wasn’t what you think.”

“She wants you. It’s fine, I get it.”

“You’ve got it wrong.”

“I
saw
you.”

“You saw
her.
Kissing me. I don’t want her. I told her that.” He puts his hand over mine. His palm is hot and clammy. His eyes are blazing.

A whole load of stuff clicks into place. Kurt trying to talk to me at the gallery, at his party. I say, “No, Kurt, that’s not what I mean …” I move my hand away.

Kurt lets out a breath. “You’re beautiful. And smart. And, yeah, I … I can’t stop thinking about you.” He adds, quietly, “I should have told you. Before. Ages ago. I should never have … with Ivy. Look, I tried to tell you at my house. You just shut me down, so I can’t figure out if you’re interested or not at all. Seeing you here, I just … I just had to tell you. Can’t. Stop. Talking.”

No way. This is all going wrong. A line pops into my head:
Words like river fish.
“It’s not you …”

He nods. “I get it. I do. You think I’m not good enough for someone like you.”

“Kurt! It’s nothing like that.”

“Sorry. I’m being—whatever. I get it.”

“I’m not sure
I
get it anymore,” I say. “See … it really is because of me, not you. I think I might be, well—”

“What?”

“Oh God,” I say, my voice catching. I think about how three years ago Ivy kissed all along my stomach, her mouth pausing before she lifted herself to kiss my mouth harder. I think about Mom’s face after Ivy left, when she told me she’d seen Ivy and me together. Mom was so angry. I say to Kurt, “Look, Ivy and I have a … a history. I guess I’ve been pretending to myself that it meant less than it did. I have to figure out a lot of stuff.”

“A history?”

“Yeah. Like, well, we were more than friends. I guess.”

He is very quiet. Then he says, “I was not expecting that.”

“I’m just figuring it out myself.”

“So … you’re gay?”

“I don’t know what I am. Maybe. Whatever I am, I have feelings for Ivy.”

Neither of us says anything for a moment. I wonder if he’s going to walk away, if what I’ve just told him makes him want to leave.

He says, after another pause, “That’s cool. Surprising. But cool.”

“It is?”

“Look, can we go for coffee now? Something. Talk about
Flat Earth Theory
?” He adds, “I’m not good at this stuff. Remember?”

I nod.

We head to the new breakfast café, sit down at a table and share a cinnamon bun with a cup of coffee each. I can’t stop myself eating more of the bun than Kurt does, tearing off sticky strips and putting them one after another in my mouth. Kurt goes and buys another bun for us, and when he returns with it I say, “Sorry, it’s just really good.”

“Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t feel bad.” And he’s not talking about cinnamon buns.

“I don’t know if I do feel bad. I’m just really confused.”

“It explains a lot.”

“Yeah? Like what? Like why I’m not interested in you?” I say it lightly and my awkward joke seems to cheer him up.

He smiles. “Exactly.”

“Nothing’s going to happen with me and Ivy. She’s into you.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not going there. At my party. When she was high. Too much like my birth-mom.”

I brush aside his comment. Instead, we talk about the conclusion to my article, that the name—Redmen—of our football team is dated and racist. Kurt likes the way I explored all the angles and asked “tough questions.” I say, “Ego boost. Thanks.”

“You’re a good writer. You know that. Don’t you?”

“Sort of. ‘Kay, let’s talk about something else.”

Kurt walks me home. As we get to my doorstep, my cell rings. It’s Ivy.

I glance up at her house and there she is at the window, staring down at me. She’s wearing white and she looks like a ghost. I raise my hand to wave.

Kurt says, “Answer that. I should go anyways. But my dad’s bringing me into the city tomorrow—he’s gotta get the car fixed. I could swing by here. Go over the ideas for the profile pieces. We covered a lot …” He scratches the back of his head and smiles. “But not the profile pieces.”

“Okay, great.”

As soon as I answer my cell, which is still ringing, Ivy says, “Come over?”

I don’t know if I want to see her right now. I think of her face as she leaned to kiss Kurt last night. I wish she would look at me like that, but it’s not going to happen. It didn’t mean anything to her three years ago. I need to get my head straight.

“I’ve been out all morning—I’m kinda tired. How about tomorrow?”

“Sure.” I can’t make out her expression through the glass.

I wave at her again, but then images of the two of us together fill my head. I say, “I gotta go.”

I
vy’s mom appears alone at the end of the hallway. Rushing. Shouting, “It’s good news.” She shakes Xander awake. “Ivy’s come around. I’ve seen her.”

Xander waits.

I wait.

Something’s not quite right.

Xander says, “Any news about Callie? She was in the car.”

Thank God he’s asked.

Ivy’s mom is quiet. Then she says, “They haven’t found Callie, Xander. I thought you knew that. She’s not at the hospital.”

Callie. She’s not here.

I wave down at Callie through the window as I talk to her on my cell phone. What was she
doing
with Kurt two minutes ago?

I say, “Come over?” I take a deep breath. Fill myself with light.

“I’ve been out all morning—I’m kinda tired. How about tomorrow?” She sounds tense.

“Sure.” I wait for her to mention Kurt. She doesn’t, but she gets off the phone fast. When she’s gone inside, I stay at the window, lean my head against the glass.

I know what I saw. I’ve seen it before, back in Kansas City, watching Diego holding another girl’s hand. I tried to tell myself there was some explanation. But they were walking too close together. She lifted
her mouth to kiss him. And then I knew it wasn’t the first time.

I loved him. I loved my dad too. Until he left my mom, moved to Paris to live a beautiful life. He told me once that he had known things were
never
going to work out with Mom. She was drinking before he left. But I knew he was lying.

The window is cold. I’m cold in the thick of summer. I shiver.

Callie and Kurt. There’s an explanation. I call her back, ask, “What was Kurt up to?”

“Kurt? Talking about the zine. I ran into him by the gallery.”

See. An explanation. I let her words seep through me. Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Except, I can’t stop shivering.

It’s the last day of July and my room’s so hot I have to escape downstairs. “Wow,” I say to Mom, who
is slicing a mango on the cutting board, “there’s no way to breathe up there.”

She nods. “Your father and I were talking about air conditioning. It’s expensive, but on days like this it feels worth it.”

I reach across the counter and pop a piece of mango into my mouth. “Yum. So, Kurt would like to come over later, to talk about an article.”