Page 69 of Warmer, Colder

Our voices echo in synchronicity and disappear in the distance. Not a soul acknowledges us; nobody judges us.

“I’m dead,” Stasi yells. “I’m dead and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” This time, she shouts up at the sky.

“I’m dead,” I yell, too, the lightheartedness draining from my voice. “I’m dead and I wish I wasn’t.”

I ignore the pull of Stasi’s stare.

“I’m dead and I wish I hadn’t killed myself.” I drop my hands, instead whispering into the void around us. “But I’m done regretting it.” I turn toward Stasi. “I’m done punishing myself.” Some of the heaviness that’s bared down on me every day finally dissipates. “I’m sorry, Stasi. I’m sorry that I helped Nate hide your body. I’m sorry that I didn’t do the right thing. I’m sorry that it took me so long to genuinely apologize.” I fight the emotion that’s rising at the back of my throat and behind my eyes. She needs to be able to read the sincerity in the shape of the words and the weight of my eyes on hers. “I’m sorry that you’re dead, too.”

For once she’s speechless. Her brow furrows and her lip tucks behind her teeth. My anxiety and her uncharacteristic silence create an unbearable atmosphere of uncertainty, but I sit with the discomfort.

“You know . . .” Stasi bites at the tip of her nail. “I don’t think anyone has ever apologized for hurting me.” She stares at me for several more seconds, then clears her throat. “Thank you.I forgive you…for helping hide my body.” The small smile she gives me is genuine, but there’s something at war with it in her eyes, a distinct sadness that I don’t think I’ve ever seen there. I hate it. I hate wondering if I’m the one who put it there. I hate how it dilutes the brilliant brown that usually burns through me like the expensive whisky my dad used to bring out on Christmas.

At a loss for what else to say, I sit back down. The easy energy that was flowing between us is stifled by whatever I just stirred up. But when Stasi joins me and lays back, I follow suit.

“Are you any good at spotting the constellations? I honestly don’t know much about them.” She points upward and I follow the direction of her finger. “That’s the Little Dipper, right?”

Her casual air throws me off for a moment, so I have to search for my words. “No, that’s the Big Dipper.” Reaching across the small distance between us, I shift her finger over until the constellation she was looking for is clearly in her sights. “That’s the Little Dipper.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess that makes sense.” Her laugh isn’t brimming with confidence like usual; this time, it’s shy, uncertain. It doesn’t sit quite right with me.

“You were close. They’re easy to mix up.” Folding my hands over my stomach, I shift my hips a couple of inches closer to where she lays. “Not everyone’s a nerd who cares too much about being right like I used to be.”

“You’re not anymore?” She sends me a doubtful look from the corner of her eye that makes me roll mine. But that haughty laugh is back, and it warms me from within.

“You sound like my brother.” My light laughter dies as quickly as it starts. All of my attention shifts to closing the floodgates that just broke open. The rusty metal around my heart that I keep neglecting reminds me it needs attention.

“Aiden, really?” Either Stasi is ignoring the shift in my mood, or she knows what I need better than I do because she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yeah.” I suck in a deep breath, an unnecessary but comforting habit. “I forget that you’ve . . . been around.” How was there ever a time when I was completely unaware of her?

“I imagine you miss him. He’s quite a character.”

When I turn to her, I expect to see the typical interest or lust for my brother—something I learned to guard myself against early on—but her expression is thoughtful.

“Of course I miss him. He wasn’t just my brother and my twin, we had a friendship. Maybe not a conventional one—I mean, we weren’t as close as we could be—but I loved him, and I know without a doubt that he loved me fiercely. We had our own way of being there for each other.” Afternoons spent in silence while Aiden would paint and I’d do homework come to mind. I wish I hadn’t taken them for granted. The thing is, when you’ve had your sibling around, and they’re there through the ups and downs, monotonous and eventful, it’s easy to act as if they’ll always be there. You never expect to find out that they won’t.

“Yeah, you two seemed to get along pretty well. Honestly, I was kind of jealous of your relationship.”

I roll over on my side, giving her my undivided attention.

“Being an only child was kind of lonely at times. Especially when I was short on friends.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who would have a hard time finding friends.”

Stasi’s gaze leaves mine, fixating on something in the distance. “The thing with friends is that it’s not so much hard to find them as it is to keep them. I mean, I didn’t do much of either, but I did have a best friend once.”

“What were they like?”

“She was my other half.” Toying with a piece of her hair, she grows more serious. “She made me feel like I was someone special, like someone who was wanted.”

“You don’t talk to her anymore?” This conversation makes me miss my own friends. Not how everything was distant and fucked up at the end, but when we were inseparable. I think of how Meg and my first close friendship were so similar. How both of them thought the same thing about me. How I made them both feel invalidated. The way I hurt both of them. Shame clings to the back of my neck like humidity.Can I even consider myself to have been a good friend?

“No.”

I nod solemnly. “Friendships are hard.”

“They are.”

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