These Are the Moments (11 page)

Chapter 26

Then

Wendy: I have given you so many chances and you continue to screw them up.

Simon: You really need to start taking some responsibility. God. It’s always me, isn’t it? You’re totally blameless.

Wendy: I love how easily you walk away. You’re such a coward.

Simon: You shut me out. I’m not going to waste my energy trying to break through.

Wendy: Just because two people love each other doesn’t mean that they should be together. We aren’t happy.

Simon: Whatever. You don’t know when I’m happy and when I’m not.

Wendy: Because you are never happy.

They had developed a pattern. It would start with Simon. He’d say something or do something that would set Wendy off, warranted or not. And Wendy would get angry, overreacting, saying things that she didn’t mean, things she couldn’t take back. Then they’d fight.
Endlessly
. Back and forth until finally, Wendy would snap. And they would break up.

A week later? They’d get back together with nothing resolved but their love for each other.

It reached the point where Wendy couldn’t even keep track of what they’d been fighting about. All she knew was that she was angry, down to her soul, and she had no way of fixing it. Some break-ups would stick longer than others, the anger working as a nice, strong adhesive.

But then, they’d see each other.

And nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

They’d been back together for a few weeks now, on the condition that they wouldn’t bring up old fights. If they were going to be together, they were
really
going to be together. Clean slate.

Saturday had been date night. Warm. Fuzzy. Love love love. They spent hours on the porch that night, kissing and laughing, swearing up and down that they were better now. He promised. She promised. It was different.

On Sunday, Wendy didn’t hear from him.

Odd.

Simon always texted. Or called. Something.

The same thing happened Monday. She left her instant messaging open for hours, wondering where he was, hoping everything was okay. She considered calling his house, but she didn’t want to be that girl. So, she didn’t.

On Monday night, Owen signed on.

WMLake3: Hey.

TheLandMan6: What’s up?

This was going to sound desperate.

WMLake3: Oh nothing. Heard from Simon lately?

TheLandMan6: Yessssss? Why?

WMLake3: Oh nothing. I just haven’t.

TheLandMan6: Oh. Yeah, well. Talked to him at lunch today. We played video games all Sunday. I think he lost his phone.

Video games?
Her boyfriend had gone missing for two days on account of video games? But he had lost his phone. Okay. Again, he had a house phone.
Maybe he just wasn’t thinking about that
, she rationalized.

She wasn’t angry. Just a little annoyed.

Tuesday night was the art show. And Wendy had no clue if he still planned on coming.

In Latin class, her phone lit up in her backpack, a text with his name on it. What could he say? What
would
he say?

She checked as soon as the bell rang.

It read: “Hey, how are you?”

Well.

“I’m fine.”

He answered immediately: “Sorry for the radio silence. I lost my phone.”

“So I heard. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Excited for the show tonight?”

Wendy knew how to brush past things. She did it in the literal sense all of the time. All you had to do was make sure your canvas wasn’t going anywhere.

“Yeah, I am.”

She hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulder. One class away from hopping in her car to get ready for the night.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad,” she said, turning the corner of the chapel.

“I said I was sorry. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

She puffed her cheeks with air and let it slowly fade out. This was not what she needed. Not tonight.

“Really, Simon. I’m not mad. I mean, I was worried. But I’m not mad. Promise. See you at 7?”

“If you’re sureeeee.”

“I’m positive.”

“Okay then,” he said, probably not believing her. “See you at 7.”

Her painting was tucked into the back corner of the exhibit, but it was there and that was something. Mom and Dad tried to direct the traffic in her direction, making small talk with friends of friends, and doing everything but waving pom poms in the faces of the crowd. Reese made an appearance. She camped out with Wendy to keep her company.

7:05. No Simon.

“He’s late,” Wendy said, through gritted teeth.

“By like two seconds,” Reese said, leaning against a drink cart. “What’s with you two?”

“Nothing,” Wendy sighed.

“I swear, one second y’all are all googly-eyed and gross, and the next second you’re out for the kill. Seriously. What’s happening here?”

Wendy checked her watch again. “We’re just . . . in a weird place. It’ll be fine. We’ll fix it.”

Reese shrugged. “Works for me.”

7:25. Still no Simon.

Now, Wendy was angry. It was one thing to ignore her for days. It was another not to show up when she really needed him. This was a huge deal. He knew this. And his missing her art show proved how little it meant to him.

“Need a pill? An axe? A list of eligible bachelors?”

Wendy paced, one heel at a time. “Stand by.”

Simon strolled in at 7:35, empty-handed with a dumb smile on his face.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, kissing her. “Wow. Look at you. This is incredible.”

Wendy didn’t say anything. Mom glanced over from across the room, concerned, as Reese bowed out, gracefully.

“You’re mad,” Simon said, again.

Wendy tried not to get upset, actively willing the tears back inside of her head. “I’m fine.”

This was how Wendy realized that Simon, for as much as he loved her, as much as he wanted to be there for her, wasn’t the guy who showed up. Not when it counted. Not when it meant something.

ChapteR 27

Now

Wendy drove. The party was at a house in the middle of nowhere. There were no lights, sharp turns, deep ditches. When they turned into the driveway, the bigger-than-big house sat on a empty plot of land, out in the open, the nearest neighbor acres away. She could hear the music pulsing from inside the car, could smell the weed wafting through the open window.

“I really shouldn’t be here,” Wendy mumbled, mostly to herself.

“Come on,” Claudia said, slipping her purse over her shoulder.

“Whose house is this?” Wendy asked.

“Does it matter?”

Claudia clung to Wendy as she balanced in her heels over the gravel.

“So you’re saying you don’t know?” Wendy asked.

“Some guy.”

“Oh, that clears everything up,” Wendy said.

She
really
shouldn’t be here.

Around the back of the house, there was a pool. There were two beer pong tables on either side, and what looked like at least sixty sets of raging hormones drinking and standing on kegs.

“Claudia!”

A girl in a crop top threw her arms around Claudia, barely holding onto the red solo cup dangling in her hand. Wendy tilted the cup upwards for her, which threatened to spill down Claudia’s back.

The girl hiccuped and tried to whisper, “Casey’s here.”

Wendy looked around instinctively, but every drunk face looked the same. Is this what kids did now? They all looked so
young
.

“What’s this?” Claudia asked, sipping at the girl’s drink. “Tequila. Perfect. Wendy?”

Wendy followed the girls to the bar, which was just a table set up with bottles, liquid dripping down to the brick. Claudia handed her a cup.

“Can’t,” Wendy said, hands up. “I’m driving.”

“You can have one.”

“Umm, I’m driving?” Wendy asked, tentatively. Did Claudia have another plan? Or was she just that dumb?

“You’re drinking. For now.”

And that’s how Wendy started drinking tequila, which she hated, normally. When was the last time she’d had tequila? She couldn’t pinpoint it in her mind.

Wendy sent a text to Reese and Vivian, “You’ll never guess where I am.”

By the pool, two guys pretended to throw a girl into the cold water. They cradled her between their arms, rocking her back and forth, until they finally launched her right in the middle of the deep end, where she went screaming. When she emerged from the water, sucking in air, she yelled, “
This is awesome!
” So, half a dozen other people joined her in a series of splashes and shrieks.

Vivian texted first: “Wine tasting?”

Then Reese: “Stranger’s bed.”

“Close. Except not even a little. I’m at a party. A
high school
party,” Wendy answered. It sounded so stupid, when she thought about it. Was she really this desperate?

Wendy saw Casey first. She almost didn’t recognize him on the back porch with his friends. His sweaty blonde hair stuck to his forehead, and he stumbled as he tried to walk over to a group of girls. This wasn’t Casey. At least, not the Casey she knew.

Claudia latched onto Wendy’s arm, looking at Casey, then promptly looking away. “Let’s go play.”

“Play?”

“Yeah, beer pong.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

But Claudia was already yanking her in direction of the table. They were matched against two boys, who were practically interchangeable in their fishing shirts and baseball caps. Sam Something and Chris Something.

Claudia sank nearly every ball she threw. Wendy couldn’t even hit the rim.

“How old are you again?” Chris Something asked.

“Twenty,” Claudia answered. “She’s a good girl.”

Sam Something smiled. “Sure she is.”

So inappropriate
, Wendy thought,
this is so inappropriate.

Vivian texted back: “What is happening to you over there??”

Into the second game, Wendy made zero cups and felt decently buzzed. Tequila and beer. A winning combination. The Somethings started to look even older than she’d remembered. She was starting to sweat. She ditched her jacket and drew her hair up into a ponytail.

She texted back: “Beer pong. Tequila. Attractive high school boys.”

They quit after the third game. The music streamed louder. The crowd got bigger. And the stars. Had they ever been
that bright before?

Wendy and Claudia went toppling down into the grass, laughing, the Somethings chasing them down the small hill. They flung themselves onto the ground. Boy, girl, boy, girl, like four pillars fallen.

“You in college?” Chris asked. Or maybe it was Sam. She didn’t remember.

From the side, Chris/Sam reminded her of Simon, the early years. Maybe it was the nose. Or the slow curve of his cheekbones.

“Yeah . . . uhh . . . junior,” she said, doing the math.

“I’m going to LSU next year. I’m so ready.”

“Don’t be,” Wendy sighed. The ground was cool underneath her, the wind floating on top of her.

He didn’t know what to say. So he said, “I’m going to be a doctor.”

“Yeah,” Wendy grunted, feeling the alcohol in the back of her head, “You’re all going to be doctors. Until you’re sophomores. Then you’ll be engineers. Then you’ll all be bankers or salespeople. Or maybe you won’t get jobs at all. So you’ll marry rich.”

The boy laughed at her. A pity, awkward kind of laugh. “You’re weird.”

“You’re dumb,” she answered. All of her inhibitions were long gone, but a prickle inside of her said,
what the hell are you doing?

And then he did something
really
dumb. He reached over and took her hand. It was exactly as she’d thought it would feel: soft, new skin, clammy and unsure. It was like trying to hold a baby fish.

She didn’t let go.

Then she felt another hand. Claudia. Her doll fingers slipped through Wendy’s and for a little while, they all just lay there, watching the stars, watching the clouds, forgetting about the music and the party and the future waiting for them.

Wendy’s phone vibrated in the pocket of her jeans. Then it vibrated again. She let go of Sam/Chris’s hand and checked.

A missed call from Vivian, and a text: “Is this about Simon? Not to bring things up. But is it?”

A text from Reese, “Just make sure they’re legal. Check ID’s.”

Then Wendy was texting. Not Reese. Not Vivian.

To a number that didn’t have a name, she sent a simple, unprecedented: “Hello.”

Then they were all standing again, heads reeling, climbing their way back to life.