Page 93 of Guy's Girl
I covered my mouth with my hand again. “I feel like there’s a hole in my chest.”
“I’m so sorry, Ginny.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to love me back.” I sobbed, the sound rippling up my chest. I leaned into his chest, soaking his shirt. He let me. He put his arm over my shoulder, pulling me in close.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he whispered again.
I cried for a long time. I can’t even say how long. When I finished, when the tears subsided just enough, I looked up and met his eyes. I needed to hear it. I needed to know for sure. “No part of you—none at all—wants to try? To eventrya relationship?”
He was silent for a long time, eyes at the foot of the couch.
“Ginny...” he said finally.
I didn’t think the hole in my chest could split open any wider.
***
He says he tried. She says he didn’t even begin.
She says her heart holds so much more. He says that’s all he can give.
He can’t fix himself. She can’t take her love away.
They both wish they could.
***
Ginny wants to throw up so badly. She wants to stuff herself with every last bag of potato chips in that kitchen, feel fucking awful about herself afterward, then throw it all up. What’s the harm in doing that, anyway? It’s not like anyone cares about her or finds her attractive.
She knew Adrian was going to stop liking her. Did she not guess it? Did she not know from the start?
Look at her now.
Pathetic.
***
She’s going to do it. She’s going to binge. She waits until she hears Adrian climb the stairs to his room, then grabs every snack she can find in the kitchen, intending to carry them back to her bedroom. Who cares if they figure it out tomorrow? By then, she’ll be gone.
But when she turns around, she finds herself face-to-face with Eszter.
Eszter stares at Ginny. Takes in her puffy eyes. Her red cheeks. The mountain of food in her arms, colorful and egregious. She doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even frown. And for some reason, that blankness, that total lack of judgment—it does Ginny in. Her face crumples. Her arms give out. The food falls to the floor and rolls out in all different directions. She starts to bend over, to pick everything back up, but Eszter stops her with her small, strong hands.
“Imre,” she calls over her shoulder, never taking her eyes off Ginny.
“Igen?” he calls back.
She yells instructions to him in Hungarian. Then she uses bothhands to lift Ginny’s shoulders back to vertical and guide her over to her bedroom. She follows Ginny inside, closing the door behind them. She sits on the bed, pulls Ginny into her side, and, for the next thirty minutes, lets her cry as hard as she needs. As hard as she can. She wails against Eszter. Every so often, Eszter rubs Ginny’s back and murmurs soothing words she can’t understand.
When Ginny is done crying, Eszter pulls back the sheets and helps her into bed. Ginny lies down, helpless to protest, body limp like a caterpillar. Eszter tucks the quilt around her. Sleep closes in as soon as she shuts the door.
I’m on the plane now. Adrian and I had the most awkward ride to the airport in all of history. I didn’t know whether to cry or avoid looking at him or thank him for everything he’s done for me. I ended up kind of doing all three.
Imre and Eszter took my tears in stride. When we reached the airport, I hugged them both, starting with Imre, and said, “Thank you so much.Köszönöm.Köszönöm. I can never repay you.” Imre pulled me in under his arm and said “Brave girl” over and over again, which only made me cry harder.
Then I hugged Eszter. She didn’t smile at me, didn’t acknowledge any of the tenderness that had passed between us the night before. But when my head was bent down next to hers, she pressed her lips to my ear and whispered two sentences, both in English:
“Do not give up on him,” she said. “He did not give up onyou.”
