Page 107 of Over the Edge

“Knowing you, you’re likely trying to act as a first responder without any training, so I think I did,” I say. It’s part of the reason we’ve always complemented each other. Neither of us like asking for help, but the other would always know exactly when it was needed.

“I was CPR certified.” He pauses for a moment.

“Ten years ago, when you were a camp counselor," I say. "What’s going on?”

“Quinn’s period hit and you know how bad it gets the first few days,” he says.

Quinn has endometriosis. Her cramps and nausea can keep her in bed for days, especially if she doesn’t have all the small things with her. They don’t make the pain go away, but definitely better.

“Shit. Do you need me to go to the store?” I ask as a grocery list starts to form in my mind. Even with birth control and painkillers that help with the worst of her symptoms, Quinn frequently called out of work sick.

“I’m at the store, but when I got here I realized I have no idea what she regularly uses and she was asleep when I left so I don’t want to ask her. I’ve been standing in front of a wall of tampons and pads for ten minutes.” His words cause me to smile because who else would rush out like that without batting an eye topick up feminine care products? I know it’s because of all of his younger sisters, but not every brother is like that.

“I’ll meet you there, give me a few minutes and I’ll make sure we get everything she might need,” I say before hanging up.

Garrett is studying the chess board as I reenter the living room.

“I need to go run a quick errand with Oliver. Will you be here when I get back?”

“Of course.” He nods. “Go.”

Oliver is still standing in front of the pads and tampons when I find him at the small grocery store. The grocery basket slung on his arm is empty. His expression eases the moment he spots me.

“Thanks for coming,” he says. “I’m seriously blanking. I actually loaded up with the stuff I’d usually grab for Kate and Yosalin, but then remembered that’s not who I’m getting anything for.”

I inspect the aisle for a moment searching for the exact brand that Quinn prefers as well as the size. “These. Super plus is what she needs on the first few days. Let's grab some dark chocolate and see if they have a heating pad.”

We find a heating pad a bit further down the aisle because all the health items are all in one spot. The box doesn’t fit in the basket, so I carry it as we start walking toward the candy section.

“You’ve always been a good boyfriend,” I say, then try to back track. “Shit. I mean, not everyone would come out and do this. I know you’re chill with it, but I know it must still mean a lot to her.”

It’s taken years for me to put words to it, why Oliver and I could still be friends after the break up. Really, we just wantedsomeone to belong with. We gave each other the stability that we didn’t have in our families, but had proven through our friendship we could provide to each other. We found that stability again after, even if it looked slightly different. But he made me realize wanting to belong with someone isn’t enough of a reason to actually be with someone. It’s haunted me a bit, made me second guess what my future will look like.

In some ways, being Lyla has been a crutch. Being her lets me always have a reason to question my relationships, hold back just enough to evaluate if I’m scratching an itch or actually falling. With Garrett, without that crutch, I think I finally am.

“It’s okay.” He laughs. “This is odd, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” I laugh, relieved we can admit it.

“I feel like we skipped past the awkward stage and it’s finally crept up on us.”

“All at once,” I add.

“When we’re finally with other people,” he says.

“Was it really not weird for you? It was for me, at least for a while, and then you just seemed fine and I guess it helped me feel fine,” I say.

“I mean, I wasn’t.” Oliver’s voice turns scratchy. “I watched my dad implode so many times and let us all scramble to keep everything together while he forgot to get groceries and shit. So, I guess I just shut down. I didn’t want to be him, so I wasn’t.”

There would be nights when we were out having the best time and the energy would be high until Oliver got a call from his dad. He’d walk outside for half an hour and then pretend he was okay, like he didn’t have his father needing to lean on him for emotional support at the slightest inconvenience. Quinn and I would always work harder to bring up the energy after, not to make him forget, but more to say “we see you, and we're here.” With Oliver’s need to be the happiest person in the room we tried to compensate so he didn’t feel like he had to do it all alone.

I should have realized that was exactly what he was doing for me; instead, I used it when it was convenient. I knew he would act happy, the same way I have so many times, and pretended he was actually okay because that’s what I needed to think.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, knowing no matter how many times I do it will never be enough.

“I know you are,” he acknowledges. “You were back then too.”

The two of us turn the corner and walk past vibrant packages of sour candies and the jumbo bags that are on display for Halloween. There are five options for dark chocolate with varying percentages of cacao.

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