Page 94 of That Friendzone Feeling
Iturn onto a side street and stop outside a house where two kids are shoveling snow off the driveway to shoot hoops.
“Okay.Sorry.I’vestopped now.”
Tompicks up whereI’dcut him off. “EvenifIhadn’t been listening,Iwould have known anyway.WhenMomcame out of your room, she toldDadshe didn’t think they should go because you didn’t feel well.”
“Buthow did you knowIwas faking?”
“Becauseyou were fine right before,” he says, likeI’mthe dumbest person alive. “Andyou always hated it when they went out.Anda bellyache was always your go-to.Likewhen you didn’t want to go to school the day of the calculus test.”
“Youremember that too?”
“Yup.Anyway, as soon asMomandDadleft, the babysitter read you a story and you went straight to sleep, so you were obviously fine.”
“Soyou’ve always known it was my fault?”
“Whatwas your fault?”
“Theaccident.”
“Whatthe hell are you talking about?”
“IfIhadn’t made them late by trying to get them to stay, the truck would never have hit them.”
“Oh,Walk.Comeon.”Tomstifles an incredulous laugh. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”Howcan he find this even remotely ridiculous?
“That’swhat you think?Andyou’ve been worrying about this for twenty-two years?”
“Ofcourse.Ifit hadn’t been for me, they’d still be alive.”
“Christ.”Hemakes aphewsound, like he’s struggling tocomprehend the enormity of my statement. “Well, what you didn’t hear—because you were pretending to be sick—wasMomtrying to talkDadinto not going.Shedidn’t want to go at all.Andit wasn’t just because of you.Itwas because she had to get up early the next morning for some work thing thatIdidn’t understand.Ordon’t remember.Orsomething.”
Thenew information sends my brain into a swirl of confusion, andIwrinkle my brow in concentration. “Whatare you saying?”
“I’msaying, if it was left toMom, they wouldn’t have gone.Dadinsisted otherwise.Soif you’re to blame for making them late, thenDad’sto blame for making them go.”
Hepauses for a second to let that brick wall of facts slam into my skull.
“Butthe truth is,” he continues, “no one is to blame at all.Anythingcould have happened at any point.Ifthey’d left on time, it might not have been that truck, but it could have been…”Hesearches for an example. “Idon’t know, an oil spill on the road or something.Andif they’d done whatMomwanted and stayed home, maybe the next morning on their way to work it could have been a school bus.”
Igrip the top of the steering wheel and stare at the two boys who’ve put down their shovels and are bouncing the basketball on the driveway.Thunk.Thunk.Thunk.
“Itwas just an accident,Walker.”Tomcould not be more certain. “Ahorrible, tragic accident.Butdefinitely a fucking accident.Andno one is to blame for the timing.”
Inthe background of the call,Louisa’svoice sings out, “Reaaaa-dyyyyy.”
“Look,Walk,Igotta go.Butput that rubbish right out of your head.”
“Areyou serious, though?”Whenyou’ve told yourself things are one way almost your entire life, it’s hard to believe there could be any other truth. “Youreally don’t think it’s my fault?Youdon’t blame me?”
“Tom, come on,”Louisasnaps from somewhere.
“Ofcourse it’s not your fault.Andof courseIdon’t fucking blame you.Look,Ireally have to go.Wecan talk more another time.Butif you’ve been thinking like that, please, for the love ofGod, stop.It’sbad enough they’re gone, without you blaming yourself for it when nothing could be further from the truth.”
“Tom!”Jesus,Louisa.
“I’llcall you tomorrow,”Tomsays and hangs up.
