Page 56 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“I’m on the pill.” She kisses my throat. “It’ll be fine.”

Our clothes are lost in a flurry of movement. Skin brushes naked skin, cool at first and then so, so hot. I melt into it. Into her. There are teeth and gasping breaths and the salt of another person’s sweat on my tongue for the very first time. I break loose, and she does, too. Through it all, our limbs remain tightly woven. For the first time in months, I don’t feel alone.

And then I’m not a virgin anymore. And the world feels a little bit more tolerable, more kind, at least for tonight.

“How’s that for fun?” Kimberly mumbles into my neck, when at last our pulses return to some new version of normal.

“Incredible.” It’s all I can say. All I can think. Incredible, incredible, incredible.

“I won’t be back in town till the end of summer when I pass through on my way to college.” Kimberly has one hand on my truck’s door handle and another on my thigh. We’re at the diner, where Talia is supposed to be waiting. That was their plan, apparently. Talia would find someone—in this case, Jed—to spend her evening with, and then she’d get whomever it was to bring her here. Kimberly could do whatever she wanted—in this case, me—as long as she met Talia there after.

I can see my mom serving milkshakes to a table of my classmates. She looks so tired, with prominent bags under her eyes that are visible even from where I’m parked outside the entrance. I can’t wait to graduate and be able to work full-time, if nothing more than to be able to provide for her so she can drop a few shifts. She works so hard, lately she’s been forgetting simple things. Like the day the water bill is due or where exactly to mail the check. I’ve taken over nearly all bill payment for her since Dad died, just so I don’t have to see her struggle to remember.

“Hello? Earth to Henry!”

I tear my gaze away from my mother. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said you can write to me. If you’d like.” She opens my glove compartment and digs through its contents. She finds a receipt and a pen. “Or call.”

“I’d like that,” I say, though the words feel like peanut butter in my mouth. My gaze is locked on the man stepping out of the diner, into the cool night air.

Waylon holds open the door, and before I can look away, I see Lucy slip under the bridge of his outstretched arm. Our eyes meet, then hers cut to where Kimberly sits in my passenger seat. I don’t miss the flash of pain mottling her beautiful features. Or the way she stiffens at Waylon’s touch when he drapes an arm over her shoulders. They amble past my truck. Waylon’s voice hums outside my window. I want to jump out of this truck and go after them. Tear his arm off her. It’s such a violent desire that I have to suck in a breath through my nose and release it.

I’m not like this. I’m not like him.

I glance over at Kimberly, who’s finished scribbling her information on the receipt and holds it out for me. The moment I take it from her, I realize that actually I’m exactly like Waylon. No better than the version of him who took advantage of girls beneath the bleachers. Because there’s no way I can call Kimberly. Or write to her. Not when I feel like this for someone else. Shame coats my throat as I tuck the receipt into my pocket. It makes it hard to swallow. Hard to breathe.

“Thanks again for such a fun night,” she singsongs. Her lips smack against mine, leaving residue from her fresh coat of lip gloss behind. She winks. “Congrats on losing your virginity!”

She slips from the truck and bounds into the restaurant with more enthusiasm than I’d think those shoes would allow. Talia rises from a booth in the corner when her cousin enters, and they embrace as the man opposite her turns to glance out the window.

Jed and I lock gazes. His eyes widen for a second before his lips stretch into a wide grin and he offers me a thumbs-up. I don’t return it. I can’t. I throw the truck into reverse and back out of the space, leaving my friend with a puzzled look on his face and my stomach in such intricate knots I could probably get a badge from the Boy Scouts for weaving them.

June 10th, 1997

“Whoever decided graduation should be held outdoors in the middle of June can kick rocks,” Derell grumbles.

Jed, who has sweat pouring down his face in thick rivulets, groans in agreement.

“I’m just ready to get this over with.” I swipe at my brow. My gaze travels over the sea of navy-blue graduation gowns, then the crowd of families in the bleachers beyond. I find Mom alone on the very top bleacher, fanning herself with the graduation program, and my stomach drops.

I imagined this day so differently. Dad could make anything a sporting event, no matter how tame. He reined it in for church, but the few band concerts I participated in before dropping the extracurricular to focus more on my own music? He showed up with foam fingers for him and Mom, wearing a T-shirt that had Band Dad emblazoned across the chest. One time he even brought a foghorn, but the band director put a stop to that.

Seeing Mom sitting all alone, no foam finger in sight, is truly sobering. It’s the first of many milestones Dad won’t be around to see, and that more than anything makes my lungs squeeze and my eyes burn. I want to fix this pain for both of us, but I don’t know how. I’m doing my best, and it doesn’t even put a dent in the grief. Hers or mine.

“You okay, man?” Derell follows my line of sight, and his gaze softens. He leaves for college in a couple months. He’ll come home sometimes for a weekend here or there, but the man is a genius studying to be an engineer. He’ll get a job that takes him far away from this town. It’s another ending. Harder in its own way, because I can see it coming.

I swallow. “Yeah. I will be, anyway.”

“So will I,” Jed sighs, “’cause here comes Talia.”

I turn just as Talia elbows past a group of football players who each let out whoops as she passes. I cringe on her behalf. The guys are no better than cavemen, and only slightly worse than Jed. “Maybe stop drooling, dude.”

He hasn’t gotten over prom night, though until now we definitely thought Talia had. We all kept our secrets about that night, but one thing was clear: Jed was on cloud nine the following Monday in class. And Talia hasn’t talked to him since.

It’s weird seeing her without her signature purple lipstick. Her makeup is simple, all pale pinks and soft golds. She’s wearing pearl earrings that remind me of my mother’s favorite pair. I’m so distracted by them that for a moment I miss the fury on her face. Until she’s staring up at me, green eyes blazing, with the collar of my dress shirt clenched in her fist.

“Talia, what the—” Jed starts.

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