Page 20 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

Me: Coop, please pick up.

I wait until he’s had time to read my text, and then try again.

This time he answers, my screen blurry as his video loads. When it does, a shadowed version of Cooper comes into grainy view. He’s in a hoodie, sunk into his couch. “What do you want, Sophie?” The devastation in his voice breaks me. I don’t want to wait until I get home. I can’t stand to see him this way anymore.

“I want to make sure you’re okay,” I whisper.

He pulls a glass to his lips, chuckling before taking a swig of his drink.

“Are you drunk?” It crossed my mind that it was a possibility when he texted me so late.

He shakes his drink in front of his front facing phone camera, ice rattling against the glass. “This shit doesn’t fuck me up nearly as much as you do.” He must toss his phone on the couch because my view jerks around before it settles on the ceiling.

Okay . . . he’s really drunk.

“Cooper,” I say loud enough he should still be able to hear me.

“What?” His voice is distant.

Needing to bring him back, I say, “I want to be with you.”

There’s silence for a moment. Then his laugh fades into a scoff.

“Cooper, pick up your phone.”

He snatches it from the couch, giving me a quick jarring tour of the room again before his camera brings his face into focus. “You know what makes me mad?”

I’m afraid to know. “What?”

“You. Everything about you. How you always make me feel better. And make me confident enough to do shit I’m afraid to even though I can’t even call and tell you about it. The way you’re so fucking pretty all the time. Like you probably are right now if I could see you better. With your stupid curls that I want to mess up with my fingers. And the little gold specks in your eyes that only come out with the right lighting. And your oversized shirts you don’t let anyone see you–hey.” He pulls his phone closer to his face. “Is that mine? I’ve been looking for that shirt.”

“I wanted to feel close to you.”

“You want to know what else I hate?” He takes a sip of what I’m assuming is vodka–hopefully without the Red Bull or he’ll never get to sleep. “That I’ve been with other girls. A lot of them.” My stomach drops, hating that it’s true. “And none of them kiss me like you do. Or make me happy like you could. Or get rid of this anger inside me that just seems to build every day. It’s not fucking fair, Sophie. Because you don’t care, and I hate you for it.”

A tear slips down my face, and a light breeze sends another chill through me. “Coop,” I whisper. “Let’s talk about this when I get home.” I know he’s not in the right mindset to have this conversation. “When you’re not drunk.”

“Seeing you with him hurt me. Hearing you’ve been with him . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m constantly scared of losing you, and you’re not even mine.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Coop.”

“Whatever, Sophie. We both know that when you come back, you’re not coming back to me.”

“I am.” My voice cracks on the promise.

He stares at me, the glow from the soundless TV in front of him the only thing lighting his face. Then the call ends.

I call back immediately, but he doesn’t pick up.

I try two more times, and send three more texts, reassuring him we’re going to be okay. Then I wait twenty minutes for a reply before giving up and going back to bed.

Chapter twelve

COOPER

THEN

Cooper, 18; Sophie, 16

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