Page 83 of Crossed Sticks

HARPER: I’m sorry, Luca. I typed out a reply yesterday but never hit send. I don’t think I’ve ever done that before, so please forgive me. Here’s what I typed, so you’ll know I was thinking of you.

The missed text had been one of his typical “hard day, how are you, hope you’re doing okay” greetings.Fuck. Why did he forget?If he’d sent the message, I may not have spiraled the way I did. Or at least it wouldn’t have been so bad. I’d already been spiraling, but it was the day he didn’t get in touch—when I’d thought he was moving on—that hurt so much worse than the others.

He’d sent more messages over the following days. Several mentioned needing to talk, and they all sounded positive. The texts also revealed his growing confusion about my lack of response. Two days ago, he asked if my silence meant I’d decided to let things go between us.

The last message had arrived yesterday.

HARPER: I hope everything is okay with you. I’m so sad you haven’t replied, but maybe it’s the easiest way. If I don’t hear anything else from you, I’ll assume you’ve decided to break up. I won’t think badly of you. I couldn’t. And I don’t blame you after what I’ve put you through. Thank you for this summer. I miss you very much.

I wanted to message him so badly my fingers twitched, but what should I say? Panic ate at me as I hesitated, wondering how I could explain the radio silence. I was terrified that admittingI was hospitalized would scare him away permanently. Surely there was something else I could tell him, but would anything other than the truth justify the suspense and worry I’d put him through? I sank to the floor as a wave of anxiety knocked the breath out of me. Had my unintentional silence already pushed him away?

His last several texts had implied he wanted to stay together. He hadn’t explicitly said so, but he’d seemed sad when he asked if I wanted to break up. If he didn’t want to work things out, why would he have written about how much he missed me and wanted to talk? Still, if he had something good to tell me, why had he not just said it? He couldn’t have believed there was anything to gain by keeping me in suspense.

I needed advice before messaging Harper, and Adam—one of the smartest people I’d ever known—would be the best person to ask. Since he was still in Atlanta on business, I’d message him after dinner. I leaned my head back for a deep breath before art therapy. For once, I was glad to go because when it was over, I’d only have a few hours to wait before I could talk to my friend and decide what to do.

It was watercolor day, and I was in hell. First, I’d tried to paint mountains that came out looking more like lumpy mashed potatoes, and now I was supposed to coax murky puddles of green paint into something resembling a goddamn forest. Every stroke of the brush was worse than the one before, and the entire exercise was frustrating as fuck. Who cared about mountains and forests when my world was crumbling? Instead of a stupidbrush, I wanted my lacrosse stick. I’d have beaten the fucking watercolors until the entire room was green.

I was experimenting with a different grip on the brush when someone tapped me on the shoulder. The contact made me jump so hard I nearly knocked the little bowls of paint over. I turned my head, surprised to find the offender was one of the nurses.

“Sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor who says he just flew in from Chicago. Do you want me to ask him to wait while you finish this class?”

Chicago? It must have been Caleb. Excitement shot through me, then immediately transformed into dread. After the trouble he’d caused, I considered telling the nurse I didn’t want to see him, but I stalled for time instead. “Did he tell you his name?”

“Caleb. He says you’re close friends, and he seems concerned.”

Shit. I was nowhere near ready to talk to him, but it would be nice to see a familiar face. After all the years we’d been friends, I’d be the worst kind of asshole to refuse to see him. I put down the brush, shot the therapist an apologetic glance, and left the class.

As I walked into the common room, I spotted his golden hair first. He turned when I called his name, and I was startled to see how worried he looked.

“Luca!” He hurried over and hugged me. My hesitation vanished, and I relaxed into his warmth. We held each other in silence, and when he drew away, he placed a hand against my cheek. “You’re skinny. Are you eating at all?”

It seemed like an odd opening, but I went with it. “A little. Not at first, but after they moved me up here to the nuthouse, I’ve tried to eat. The food’s terrible, though.”

He snickered, then looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, but you said the same thing when you were hospitalized before. This isn’t a nuthouse, Luca. It’s a psych ward.”

“I’m the one who’s an inmate here, so I can call it whatever I want.”

He snorted, making me laugh for the first time in days, and it didn’t take long for him to join in. With the tension broken, I led him into one of the alcoves off the common room. They offered more privacy than sitting out in the main area. We shared the small sofa, holding hands.

After a few moments of silence, he said, “I’d have been here sooner, but Adam didn’t call until last night, the bastard. I took the first plane I could get on this morning, but I had to fly through Detroit and Philadelphia to get here.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“Leave it to me. I guess it was a bad day to fly to Buffalo. At least I didn’t have any trouble getting a rental car.” He showed me a sympathetic smile. “Are you okay, Luki?”

He knew damn well I wasn’t all right, but what was he supposed to say? I shook my head. “How much do you know about what happened?”

“That your system was breaking down because you were so stressed and stopped eating. The ER doctors realized you were depressed, so they stabilized you and sent you up here.”

“That’s about the size of it.”

“I’m sorry. How did that even happen? You’ve always eaten like a horse.”

“I didn’t eat much when I was depressed before. But this time, I was so fucked up I had no appetite at all. Even if I had, it was too much trouble to go down to the kitchen.”

He sighed. “Why didn’t you call me when you started feeling so bad?”

“Why the fuck do you think?” We both jumped, and I brought my voice down. “You’re the one who caused all this.”

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