Page 99 of The Two of Us

22

NOW

When Tally reveals herself from her hiding spot, I’m still sitting in front of my pancakes, frozen like a statue at the MoMa. She heard everything.

Tally’s the angriest I’ve ever seen her as she stomps toward me. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Don’t start,” I say, getting up and chucking my plate into the sink.

“That man is clearly crazy about you, and you just sent him on his way like he was a vacuum salesman!”

“What’s your point, Tally?”

“My point? My point? My point is, I’m tired of watching you get in your own way. You’ve tried so hard to block pain out of your life that you’ve blocked out love too. You’re my best friend in the entire world and I can list on two hands the personal details I know about you.”

My heart drops. “Tally…”

She shakes her head in disappointment, but she looks sad. “You can’t give people crumbs forever.”

Tally retreats to my room and I sink back into my chair, my legs shaking so hard they thump the underside of the table. Ambrose says I’m a coward but I’m worse. I’m the reason Cat’s dead. I knew she had a bad fall on her head and I told her to go to sleep. I told her to fucking go to sleep. I knew better. I know better. It’s Head Injury 101. And then I left her side to fulfill my own selfish desires. It’s a decision that’s haunted me for years.

I don’t deserve to see where Cat ended up. After I skipped graduation and left town, I didn’t want to know about the funeral proceedings. Shame prevented me from asking my dad where the Kings buried her. I’d only realized she’d been cremated when Ambrose told me his parents moved towns. I knew Alima wouldn’t leave Speck Lake without Cat.

It pains me, thinking about her. My best friend. My sister. My Gilly. How do I talk about her in the past tense when I feel her presence around me still? There’s something that happens to a person when they lose their other half. It renders them utterly useless. For the past seven years, everything I’ve been able to accomplish has felt hollow. As if it doesn’t matter in the end. Because my life ceased to matter to me the morning of graduation.

Graduation.

That’s what hurts most of all. Cat talked about graduating high school ever since we were twelve. She was the kind of person who lived her life looking ahead. Not in the way that stopped her from enjoying the present, but in a way that inspired you to dream for the future with her. I can’t forgive myself for robbing her of that milestone. It wasn’t even a question for me that I’d skip graduation. You couldn’t have paid me to walk across that stage.

What did people think when they saw Cat’s name on the program but didn’t see her walk up to receive her diploma? Did they think she skipped graduation? That she was late? I hated the possibility that anyone could be judging Cat that day. So, I skipped it. Because if they were going to judge Cat, I wanted them to judge me too.

When I got home from the hospital, I didn’t waste time burning my cap and gown. It wasn’t enough to throw them away, I wanted them to cease to exist—right down to the last thread. I almost felt guilty when my dad watched in horror as I threw the silky fabric and tassels into our fireplace. It took too long to burn, so I lit match after match. Three matches did the trick. Only when the garments were reduced to ashes beneath the logs did I let the tears flow. It was the last time I cried.

I flew to New York three days later with every penny I’d saved in high school. And when Ambrose frantically banged on the front door beforehand, I told my dad to tell him I’d already left.

“You can’t leave without telling him, Mara,” he said.

“Tell him I’m already gone, or you’ll never hear from me again.” That’s when I learned how cold my voice could be. How easy it is to bulldoze past people when you have nothing left. When you feel nothing but complete emptiness inside. Hurt people can be dangerous people.

So, Ambrose was right when he called me a coward.

If I’d just stayed with her, things could have ended up differently. I’ve played it out a million times in my head since that night. Ambrose would ask me to stay a while and I’d refuse because I know how deep of a sleeper he is. I know he’d forget to wake me up. I’d kiss him on the cheek and make my way back to Cat’s room to sleep and when I’d hear her thrashing in pain, I’d stir awake and ask if she’s okay. When she wouldn’t respond, I’d call out for Alima and tell her to call 911 because I remember the fall from the woods. The paramedics would arrive in record time because there’s rarely ever traffic that late at night. They’d get to her in time and when she reached the hospital, she’d be stable. They’d have to perform surgery, but the surgeon would call it a miracle. Good catch, he’d say to me. She’s so lucky to have a friend like you. We’d still miss graduation the next day, but it’d be okay because we’d be curled up in Cat’s hospital bed with chocolate pudding cups, making fun of the valedictorian’s speech on my laptop.

But that’s not what happened.

I avoided Ambrose for all these years because I was convinced he’d hate me as much as Alima did once the dust settled. We held each other in the hospital, but we were in the height of our emotions. I didn’t want to hang around for the moment he realized I could have prevented Cat’s death by staying with her that night. And no matter how much I wanted to punish myself, I couldn’t bear the idea of Ambrose looking at me and seeing the reason why she was no longer on this earth.

The day I ran into him in the grocery store, I was ready for it. The screams. The anger. But it never came. My confusion deepened every time Ambrose showed up at the house, willing to breathe the same air as me. And when I realized he still wanted to be with me, my heart soared and plummeted at the same time. A collision of my deepest wish and widest fear.

Because if Ambrose still wants to be with me, I’m sure I can’t stay away from him. No matter how much I feel like I don’t deserve it.

Instead of joining Tally upstairs, I walk on numb legs to my dad’s room. I’ve found myself seeking solace with his sleeping body almost every day at this point, which is why I don’t immediately realize his eyes are open. I’m stroking the leaves on a snake plant near the window when I hear his voice.

“Princessa.”

I whip around, afraid that the voice is from his ghost and I’ve missed the moment he left this world, just like Cat. His head is still, elevated on a stack of pillows like it always is, but his expression is alert. The most alert it has been since I’ve returned. I haven’t seen his irises in their entirety until now and I almost fall to the floor in a puddle of tears.

I run toward the bed. “Dad.” I lift a hand to his cheek. “Hi.”

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