The Night We Said Yes (10 page)

“Never have I ever gotten a high five for friendship,” Meg continued, to appease Jake, and get me back. I groaned and took a drink.

“Never have I ever prank-called guys,” Jake said, so Meg and I took a drink.

“Are we just trying to get each other drunk?” I asked.

“Isn’t that the point?” Jake answered.

“Well, never have I ever polished my nails,” Matt said. Meg and I drank in unison. I looked over to notice Jake drinking, too.

“What?” he asked. “I’m a rock god.”

“You wish,” Meg answered with an eye roll. She was starting to perfect those.

“Oh yeah? Never have I ever moved out of the state,” I said, eyeing Matt. He playfully jabbed me in the stomach with his elbow and sipped.

“Never have I ever been in a rock band,” Meg said next, getting the guys.

“Never have I ever had that girl thing that happens every month,” Jake countered.

“Gotten a period?” Meg asked, incredulous. “Really? You’re going there?”

“Why not?” he answered with a tilt of his head.

“Never have I ever dyed my hair?” Matt asked. Again, the three of us drank, and I turned to Matt.

“Meg and I used too much dye last summer,” I explained. “It was a terrible idea.”

“You looked like a tiger, with those orange streaks!” she laughed.

“Oh, god, I really did,” I giggled. “And Jake’s gone through every color in his hair, I’m pretty sure.”

“Never pink.” He pointed at me and I nodded in agreement. It was something most parents would be against, but his mom was okay with it. Jake was an angel compared to his dad, who was a hardcore alcoholic. He would come home wasted every night, barely speaking to his wife and son. Jake drank too—he said he learned it from his dad—but he vowed to never get as bad. He had seen too many consequences. Instead, he channeled his anger into music. And, as it turned out, his hair.

“Never have I ever kissed anyone on a roof,” I said, remembering a story Meg told me about her and Jake. Realization dawned on me as I noticed the look on Meg’s face. It wasn’t shock, it was just a slight raise of her brow. But that said it all. I shouldn’t have brought it up. But Meg and Jake happily tipped back their bottles. We were all too drunk to care about awkwardness. I squeezed her hand to say I was sorry, and she squeezed back. It was okay. It was common knowledge anyway. I tried so hard to consciously not bring up their past relationship that sometimes little details slipped my mind.

“You haven’t, that’s right,” Jake said, noticing that I
hadn’t taken a drink along with them. “Let’s remedy that. Matt, kiss El.”

“Wait, what?” I spat out.

“I don’t know, I think you have to. It is the night to say yes and all that,” Meg added slyly. She squeezed my hand again. I knew this was her way of helping me finally get past my horrible ex-boyfriend, but it wasn’t just me she was putting on the spot. My face heated up and I couldn’t turn around to face Matt. Okay, I did want him to kiss me, but not like this. Not with us being forced to in front of other people. Not without any buildup or romance. Not while drunk.

“Err, I guess it’s the rules,” Matt said. I must have looked horrified because he quickly added, “I mean, if that’s okay with you.”

Oblivious to the tension, Jake started chanting
“Do it, do it, do it!”
Cheeks burning, I faced Matt. I raised my chin and looked deep in his eyes. They were wide, embarrassed, and a little scared. But they weren’t hesitant, and they weren’t disgusted. I could see that he wanted to kiss me as much as I did him. And that’s when I was convinced.

He brushed his hair out of his face, but as he tilted his head down, it fell back over his glasses again. He looked at me and my heart melted. I leaned forward. He leaned forward. Our lips met.

I felt a spark between us, and broke away quickly. I didn’t know what it meant; I barely knew him, and yet, I knew I’d remember this moment. I still felt his lips on mine. Soft,
sweet. I bit my lower lip and tasted him. It wasn’t until he glanced down, blushing, and I saw a smile appear on his face, that I realized I was smiling too. Beside us, we heard cheers. This time when our eyes met, it wasn’t embarrassment that greeted them, but warmth. Desire. In that moment, we’d both said yes. For the remainder of the game, we sat closer to each other. Pinkie fingers brushing lightly.

“Well, I’m glad we got that out of the way,” Meg said. “Back to the game. Never have I ever made out with someone at a football game.”

“Shut up,” I murmured, thinking of all the times Nick and I would go to games but pay more attention to each other than what was happening on the field. Our team always lost, so really we weren’t missing anything. So I lifted my bottle to clear my mind, and as I drank, Matt raised his eyebrow at me.

Jake continued, “Building on that, never have I ever made out with someone at school, period.” Before anyone could drink, Meg interrupted.

“Really?” she asked, staring at him with slit eyes.

“Oh shit, sorry.” He realized his mistake and took a sip. We all followed his lead. This time it was my turn to be jealous as I saw Matt put his bottle back down.

“You realize this is much harder for me, since I don’t know you guys that well,” Matt said.

“You know Ella well,” Jake said, nodding his head
suggestively. Meg laughed as I covered my flaming face with my hand.
Of course
he went there.

“Okay,”
Matt said loudly, moving past Jake’s quip. “So . . . never have I ever been . . . skinny-dipping?” he asked, unsure if any of us had been.

Both Jake and Meg took a drink.

“I didn’t know about that!” I said, then paused. “Scratch that, I don’t
want
to know about that.”

“Wait, you guys haven’t?” Meg asked. Both Matt and I shook our heads. I felt his pinkie finger fall over mine, and a shiver went up my spine.

“So we’re doing it. Now,” Jake declared.

“First, where would we do it? And second, no,” I said.

“Dude, there
are
no no’s tonight,” Jake pointed out, already up and pacing. He was determined.

My face started to flush again. I couldn’t imagine
skinny-dipping
in front of anyone, especially Matt. The mere thought embarrassed me.

“She’s actually right, Jake. There’s nowhere for us to go,” Meg added.

“Where did you guys go?” Matt asked. I whipped my head back and stared at him. “What? I was just curious!”

“Beach, but it’s too far,” Meg said. I shot her my best questioning look and she just shrugged. Apparently she’d done a lot with Jake that I wasn’t aware of.

“Pool!” Jake shouted excitedly. He was staring off the
side of the building now, toward the gymnasium.

“None of us own a pool,” I answered, assuming that was what he meant. “Unless Matt?”

“Nope, sorry,” Matt answered.

“No, school pool. Down there.” He pointed. The school’s pool was outside, right below us. True, there was nothing blocking it—it was just a pool out in the open—but for some reason that sounded far scarier than what we were already doing. We were up high where no one could see us.

“You guys,” I started to say, feeling really uncomfortable. I knew we were saying yes to everything, but this was too much. No amount of alcohol could erase my fear of being naked in front of everyone. I wasn’t
ashamed
of my body, but it was far from perfect. I had larger thighs and knobby knees. I had curves. Meg was gorgeous; I was . . . me. What girl
wasn’t
worried about her body?

But it wasn’t just that. With the exception of changing in the locker room for PE or swapping outfits at Meg’s before nights out, I’d never really been totally exposed in front of anyone. At all. Sure, I had fun with Nick, but we never went that far. I was nervous; he was all too sure. And then there was the cheating, and a part of me always worried it was
because
we didn’t go further.

“This sounds kind of awesome,” Meg said, standing up and walking over to Jake.

“Meg . . .” I started. Matt was looking down, finishing his drink. He realized he had no say. Jake was always in control.
Meg looked back over toward me and saw my discomfort.

“Compromise,” Meg said. “We still break into the pool, but we don’t have to get
totally
naked,” she said, looking at me. She knew what I was most worried about without me having to tell her. A few weeks after the breakup, I’d told her why I thought it might have happened. Why he might have chosen someone over me. She pulled me in for a hug and said if that was the reason, he wasn’t worth it. And while deep down I knew that, I ultimately needed someone to tell me for it to fully register.

Meg continued, looking back at the guys. “Plus, we just met Matt. He could be a gross pervert for all we know,” she added with a grin.

“You never know . . .” he started. We all looked at him. “Kidding! Jeez.”

I thought about Meg’s compromise. It
was
better. Underwear was just like a bikini, right? It was a night to have fun, forget about the past, and move forward. Leave Nick and fear and reservations behind. Do something, say yes . . . and perhaps see Matt shirtless in the process. Which wasn’t a bad bonus at all. This was a night for memories, after all.

“Okay, fine,” I sighed, finishing off my beer. I needed all the help I could get.

“Operation Skinny-Dip shall commence,” Jake proclaimed to the school.

NOW

10:45
P
.
M
.

“Ah!” I yell, and Matt pulls me close, as if that’ll save me from the rain pouring down on top of us.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing my hand. “We need to get down.”

“How?” I think of trying to climb down from the roof while rain is falling on us. “We’re going to slip and fall. We’re going to die.” I’m going to die on the roof of my school with my ex-boyfriend. Great.

“We’re not going to die! We can’t stay up here,” Matt yells back, pulling me along the roof toward the edge.

“Can’t we wait it out?” I ask, scared, confused, and maybe still thinking of what just transpired between us.

“What if there’s lightning?” he asks, turning back to meet my face, and I realize he’s right. “I won’t let you get hurt,” he promises, and I’m reminded of the cartwheeling that happened earlier. He stares at me, holding my shoulders tight, until I nod my head. My clothes are soaked, sticking to my body, and I have no clue how I’ll be able to make it down. This was a stupid idea. This whole thing was a stupid idea.

“I’ll go first, and then catch you, okay?”

I nod again, my teeth starting to chatter from the water pooling in my shirt. He throws his legs over and I watch as his whole body disappears off the cliff. My heart drums as I lean over the edge to make sure he lands okay, and he does, shakily. His feet are only just gripping the railing. This isn’t a good idea. This is
not
a good idea. But he’s right. Staying up here is worse.

“Okay, I’ve got you, I promise,” he yells. I nod again and close my eyes.
Please let us live through this.
I slowly lower my legs off and wait for his touch. “A little more, El,” he yells, and I cautiously lower myself a bit more, my fingers gripping as hard as they can. I keep my eyes closed, hoping the whole thing will just end and I’ll open them to sunshine and warmth. I feel his hands on one leg, then the other. And then on my thighs. And then on my waist. And then my feet, too, are on the railing. I let out a huge sigh of relief as my heart celebrates. We jump down onto the stairs, onto safety.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers in my ear, arms still around my waist, back on the staircase on solid ground. I breathe
deeply in and turn around to face him. Rain covers both of us, pouring down our bodies. But his face is right there and we’re right where we left off before the downpour. His glasses are so wet I can’t even see his eyes, but I know he’s looking at me, just like I’m looking at him. As adrenaline courses through my body, I lean in.

Thunder crashes to my right and I jump, breaking apart from him again.

“Come on,” he says sadly, and grabs my hand. We race down the stairs, around the building, rain following us the entire time. It feels like I just swam. It feels just like last time.

We make it to the car in record time and jump inside, out of the rain.

“OH MY GOD,” I yell. “Where did
that
come from?”

“Florida weather, the only thing I didn’t miss,” Matt says, turning the car’s heat on high. The warm air feels fantastic. Still, my clothes are sticking to me and my hair is so wet it’s dripping down my face. “Are you okay?” he asks, looking at me.

“Aside from feeling like I just showered with my clothes on, I’m fine.” I smile through chattering teeth. He looks just as bad, hair matted down and clothes two shades darker. He takes his glasses off and goes to wipe them on his shirt, only to see his shirt is wetter.

“Hey, I haven’t unpacked my car yet. I should have some clothes back there if you want to grab some to dry yourself off, or change,” he says, turning around and reaching back.

“Awesome,” I say, patting at myself. “I’d love some dry clothes right about now. Sorry for getting your seats so wet.”

“I don’t care.” He shrugs, adding, “Here.” He opens a bag full of clothes. The familiar Matt scent comes out. He grabs some shirts and sits back down in the front. He hands me a few and I take one to dry my face and then towel off my hair. I squeeze as much water as I can out of my hair, and then throw it up into a bun. It looks ridiculous, I’m sure, but so do I. I turn and see him wiping his glasses dry. He puts them back on and then takes off his shirt.

Instinctively, my hands wrap protectively around my waist, just like they did earlier when I first saw him. They’re holding me together, guarding me from memories of him. My heart thunders and my breathing intensifies as I realize what’s happening. He’s taking off his shirt. I’m going to take off my shirt, too. With him. Here.

The last time I did that was the night before he left.

And suddenly the memory of that night rushes through my head. It was the first and only night we were together, but it was wonderful and something I held on to that gave me hope. But the memory of that night only leads me to the memory of after, and I grip my stomach harder because I don’t want him to see me vulnerable like that again. I look over at the note in the cup holder. It might have been cute earlier, but now it just looks like the notes leading up to him leaving, and the note he sent me later, as an apology. It looks like the real good-bye I never received.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, looking at me, scrunching down his eyebrows with concern. He’s wearing a new shirt, a black one with a band logo on it, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same one from the night we met. “Oh,” he says, as realization crosses his face. “I’ll turn around so you can change.” But it’s not that. It’s him.

“I can’t,” I murmur because I can’t speak any louder.

“What?” he asks, worry creeping along his forehead.

“I can’t,” I say louder, stronger. I feel myself breaking apart, and I have to get it all out before it’s too late. “I can’t pretend anymore—pretend everything’s okay when it’s not. At least for me it’s not.”

“Okay . . .” he says.

“Why did you do it?” I ask, and his mouth drops open and then closes again. He was not expecting that, but I can’t just ignore it anymore. As my heart starts beating regularly again, commanding me to talk, I know I have to push on.

“Do . . . what . . .” he tries.

“Leave me,” I say.

“El . . .”

“Seriously. Because I need to know now.”

“You know why I left. My dad got a new job in Houston. I had to move with him,” he says, looking ahead, not at me. It sounds so rehearsed, so unnatural.

“Yeah, I know that part. It’s after. What happened after.”

“What do you mean?”

“How you stopped talking to me? How you never
returned my calls? Jake’s calls? You made us all
insane
with worry. Why did you just disappear?”

“It’s complicated. . . .”

“How complicated is a phone call?” I cry out, feeling the tears spring from my eyes. It’s what I’ve been holding in all night. It’s what made me push him away when we first saw each other over the tiki bar. It’s what’s kept me broken all of these months.

“More complicated than I thought . . .” he says lightly, looking down, then finally facing me.

“You didn’t even give us a chance.”

He sighs, forcing all of the air out of his body. “There’s a lot you don’t know. . . .”

“Then tell me,” I plead. “What don’t I know?” I wonder what secrets he has hidden. What could he be keeping from me that’s so extreme it’s kept us apart? “Don’t you think I deserve to know?”

He looks at me, and I can’t recognize the look. Is it fear, worry, frustration, resignation? Sadness? Is it everything at once?

“It’s just . . . I made a lot of mistakes and I’m trying to make them right with you. I really am. I don’t want to go back there, to that time,” he pleads. “I just want to move forward.”

“So reenacting a night from our past is moving forward?” I ask, grabbing for something, anything. “I can never forgive you if you don’t explain,” I blurt out.

He nods, resigned, and starts twisting his watch around his wrist. Something is making him nervous, and I brace myself for the impact, hearing my heart pound in my chest.

“Okay,” he says, forcing the word out as if it physically hurts him. “It wasn’t my dad’s job that brought us to Houston,” he admits to his watch, not to me, and I raise my eyebrows in shock. He lied about that? “It was my brother. He . . . got into some trouble.”

“Chris? What kind of trouble?” I ask wearily, wondering what could possibly force Matt and his family to move to another state. What could force him to stop all communication with me, and leave me wondering what happened for half a year.

“The not-good kind,” he says with the hint of a smile, but he turns serious when he sees that I’m not smiling too. He breathes out, then continues. “Remember when I said he was going to be the captain of the soccer team?” I nod, remembering it. Matt was so proud. “Turns out he was kicked off the team before it could happen. He was kicked off the team, because he was on drugs.”

There’s silence as I process what he said. “Okay,” I say. “That sucks . . . but what’s that have to do with you moving? With us?” I ask, guarded, bracing for the answer.

“He wasn’t just kicked off the team,” he says, struggling for words. “He was kicked out of school, because not only was he taking them, he was selling them,” he admits. “There
was this . . . huge scandal, and he was in the middle of it all.” He waves his hand like the situation was out of his control. And it was, just like his many moves.

“That’s crazy. So you moved to Houston for him, not your dad’s job.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Yeah, it was—it was really bad. Like, he-was-in-jail bad,” he says, squeezing the steering wheel and taking deep breaths, and I want to be there for him, I want to reach out and comfort him, but I don’t know how to anymore. I don’t know how to comfort him
for this
, because this was not part of our history. He never told me. And I’m not sure which hurts more—that he kept it from me, or that he’s going through this all alone.

“It was my mom who decided to move,” he continues, looking ahead. “I mean, she went crazy when she found out, she was so . . . she stopped working, stopped going out. She was crushed. It was . . . it was really hard.” He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again. “She just stopped being a mom, you know? And my dad just went on working like nothing happened, and I hated him for it,” he continues, his voice full of emotion and malice. “I mean, our lives have always revolved around him, and when one of us does something stupid and actually needs him, he’s gone. I hated him those days, how his life seemed so easy when we were just falling apart.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

I always knew he was closer to his mom and brother than his dad, but I never realized it was that bad. He never told
me. I’d met his dad a handful of times at dinners and stuff, but he was never overly friendly with me, like his mom was. I can’t imagine how Matt must have felt. And I can’t imagine how they had me over for dinner, acting perfectly normal, when all of this was happening.

I remember one time when Matt made a big production of taking me on a picnic instead of having dinner at his place, like it was planned. Was that because his mom was depressed? Was it all happening and I didn’t see it?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask softly, because why didn’t he let me in? Why didn’t he trust me?

He looks at me and his eyes, though blocked by the glare of his glasses, are red and I can tell it’s hurt him to go back there. I get why he didn’t want to remember, but I have to know.

“At first I didn’t want to involve you,” he says, looking down, then back up. “It’s embarrassing, you know? Having your brother in jail? Especially after everything I’d told you about him, how much I looked up to him?” He pauses, then adds emotionally, “God, I hated him
so much
for letting me down. . . .” He sniffles, then continues. “I didn’t want you to see this fractured part of my life. I was already such a sad case with the moving and crap, I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me. And, I mean, I’m not used to being so close with someone. It’s always been me and my family, so when this all happened, I just . . . was scared.”

“You were scared to tell me?” I ask, raising my voice a
little because I told him everything,
everything
. And he didn’t let me in on the one huge thing he was going through.

“I know it sounds stupid, I get that now, but I was scared and so preoccupied with everything. . . . I didn’t want to screw us up by bringing in my mess,” he says, getting the words out quickly and leaning in toward me. I lean back a little, keeping the space between us. “I wanted us to be just the way we were. I
needed
us to be just the way we were—it was the only thing keeping me together when everything else was going to hell. You were that important to me. You still are.”

“How could I be that important to you if you kept something so huge from me?” I demand, my heart racing as I realize our relationship wasn’t as real as I thought it was. He never told me everything, never really let me in. “I could have helped, I could have listened.”

“I know, I know,” he says, his voice rising. “The thing is, I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t even do that right.”

“Wait, when? How?”

“At Starbucks the one day? I gave you the note?”

I think back to our trips to Starbucks. There were a few. Once, though, he gave me a note found on a recycled napkin that simply had a list of medications. “What’s this?” I asked him, and he shrugged and looked down at the coffee nestled between his hands.

“You gave me a list of drugs. That you found. On the floor. At a Starbucks,” I state evenly.

“I hoped it was something,” he says shyly, looking back at
his hands, always at his hands.

“A list of drugs? How was I supposed to know what that meant?” I practically yell.

“I don’t know! I don’t know. I tried . . . you know I’m not great at . . .”

“Communicating,” I finish for him.

“Right. Yeah. And then the note before I left . . .”

“Wait, the note you found at school, about going to jail for stealing lunch from the cafeteria?
That
was supposed to be a hint?” I ask. “Matt.” I breathe heavily, seeing how much he tried, but didn’t. “You could have just told me. A sentence, that’s all it would have taken,” I say. “I mean, just like tonight. You could have told me all of this at the party, but you had to make it this big production with reenacting a night. I just want you to be honest and stop hiding from me.”