“Don’t be mad.”
I said, “I’m not,” and I wasn’t. Not really. How could he understand what was going on with me and Taylor? He was a guy. He didn’t get it. He didn’t get how important, how really and truly vital, it was to me that Taylor and I start off our last year of high school together by each other’s side.
So why couldn’t I just call her, then? It was partly pride and partly something else. I was the one who had been pulling away from her this whole time, she was the one who had been holding on. Maybe I thought I was growing past her, maybe it was all for the best. We’d have to say good-bye next fall, maybe it would be easier this way. Maybe we’d been codependent, maybemore me on her than the other way around, and now I needed to stand on my own feet. This is what I told myself.
When I told this to Jeremiah the next night, he said, “Just call her.”
I was pretty sure he was just sick of hearing me talk about it, so I said, “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
The week before school started, the week I usually came back from Cousins, we always went back-to-school shopping together. Always. We’d been doing it since elementary school. She always knew the right kind of jeans to get. We’d go to Bath & Body Works and get those “Buy Three, Get One Free” kind of deals, and then we’d come home and split everything up so we each had a lotion, a body gel, a scrub. We’d be set until Christmas, at least.
That year, I went with my mom. My mom hated shopping. We were waiting in line to pay for jeans when Taylor and her mom walked into the store carrying a couple of shopping bags each. “Luce!” my mom called out.
Mrs. Jewel waved and came right over, with Taylor trailing behind her wearing sunglasses and cutoff shorts. My mom hugged Taylor, and Mrs. Jewel hugged me and said, “It’s been a long time, honey.”
To my mom, she said, “Laurel, can you believe our little girls are all grown up now? My gosh, I rememberwhen they insisted on doing everything together. Baths, haircuts, everything.”
“I remember,” my mother said, smiling.
I caught Taylor’s eye. Our moms kept on talking, and we just stood there looking at each other but not really.
After a minute, Taylor pulled out her cell phone. I didn’t want to let this moment pass without saying something to her. I asked, “Did you get anything good?”
She nodded. Since she was wearing sunglasses, it was hard to tell what she was thinking. But I knew Taylor well. She loved to brag about her bargains.
Taylor hesitated and then said, “I got some hot boots for twenty-five percent off. And a couple of sundresses that I can winterize with tights and sweaters.”
I nodded. Then it was our turn to pay, and I said, “Well, see you at school.”
“See you,” she said, turning away.
Without thinking, I handed the jeans to my mom and stopped Taylor. It could be the last time we ever talked to each other if I didn’t say something. “Wait,” I said. “Do you want to come over tonight? I bought a new skirt, but I don’t know if I should tuck shirts into it or what…”
She pursed her lips for a second and then said, “Okay. Call me.”
Taylor did come over that night. She showed me how to wear the skirt—which shoes looked best with it and which tops. Things weren’t the same with us, not rightaway, and maybe not ever. We were growing up. We were still figuring out how to be in each other’s lives without being everything to each other.
The truly ironic thing is that we ended up at the same school. Of all the schools in all the world, we ended up at each other’s. It was fated. We were meant to be friends. We were meant to be in each other’s lives, and you know what? I welcomed it. We weren’t together all the time like we used to be—she had her sorority friends, I had my friends from my hall. But we still had each other.
chaptereleven
The next day, I couldn’t hold out any longer. I called Jeremiah. I told him I needed to see him, that he should come over, and my voice shook as I said it. Over the phone, I could hear how grateful he was, how eager to make amends. I tried to justify calling him so fast by telling myself that I needed to see him face-to-face in order to move on. The truth was, I missed him. I, probably just as much as he did, wanted to figure out a way to forget what had happened.
But as much as I’d missed him, when I opened my door and saw his face again, all the hurt came rushing back, hard and fast. Jeremiah could see it too. At first he looked hopeful, and then he just looked devastated. When he tried to pull me to him, I wanted to hug him, but I couldn’t let myself. Instead I shook my head and pushed him away from me.
We sat on my bed, our backs against the wall, our legs hanging off the edge.
I said, “How would I know that you wouldn’t do it again? How would I be able to trust that?”
He got up. For a second I thought he was leaving, and my heart nearly stopped.
But then he got down on one knee, right in front of me. Very softly, he said, “You could marry me.”
At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. But then he said it again, this time louder. “Marry me.”
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a ring. A silver ring with a little diamond in the center. “This would just be for starters, until I could afford to pay for a ring myself—with my money, not my dad’s.”
I couldn’t feel my body. He was still talking, and I couldn’t even hear. All I could do was stare at the ring in his hand.
