Colorblind (12 page)

“Yes.”

“I just… I shouldn’t have said you were a conquest, I meant that-”

“Chloe, I get it,” I laughed, reaching out to touch her arm. “It’s okay. I like that you’re like this: that you ramble and tell me everything you’re thinking, even if you regret some of the word choices afterward. It’s new.”

“New in like a refreshing sort of way?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“Okay.” She paused, seeming to recall something. “Wasn’t there a second thing you wanted to ask?”

“Oh yeah. Um…” I struggled to remember it for a moment. “Oh. I just thought all that stuff you said sounded kind of lonely for someone who thinks
I
close myself off from everyone else.”

“Putting what I want over what other people think shouldn’t result in my loneliness. That’s other people’s problems.”

“But if a lot of people have the same problem…”

“Look, I don’t want those people around anyway. I don’t need people in my life who don’t want to be around me because I won’t do or say what they think I should. I want people who like me for me. I’m okay with not being the most popular person in the world.”

I pressed my lips together, sensing she was getting a little heated. “Okay.” I hesitated, wondering if my next question was unfair, given what I knew and she didn’t. But I couldn’t resist asking it. “So what if you died tomorrow?”

Despite what’d happened in the water just a few short days ago, she seemed taken aback by the question. “So what if I did?”

“Would you have regrets? Would you be okay with it? Would you… I don’t know, wish you’d done everything totally differently? Does all this stuff about prioritizing having no regrets apply to you dying as an old lady, or is it applicable now?”

She thought about that for a moment. “I think it’s applicable now. I wouldn’t be okay with dying now, obviously, and I’d definitely have regrets. I think most people would, because most people plan for a long life.”

I studied her, taking in everything I’d learned in the past few minutes. She wanted to die with no regrets. I knew, relatively, when she was supposed to die. If I couldn’t stop her death, the best backup plan I could think of was to make sure she accomplished everything she wanted to before she died. Everything within my power, at least. “Like what?”

She raised an eyebrow in question. “Hm?”

“What regrets would you have?”

She laughed at that. “Jeez, we’re just laying it all out in the open tonight, huh?”

“I wanna know.”

Her smile faded and she stared back at me, like she’d seen something in my expression and was trying to read it. At last, she said, “I’d have to think about it.”

“We have all night.”

“That’s true.” She rolled away from me, onto her back, and was silent for a minute or so. Then she began with, “I’d wish I’d have traveled more.”

I winced inwardly. There was no way I could make that one happen.

“I’d regret that I never went skydiving. Or that I didn’t push my parents harder for a pet turtle when I was a kid. I’d regret never getting that pink streak in my hair that I’ve wanted since freshman year and was promised I could get my senior year. I’d regret never experiencing getting drunk and never getting my driver’s license… although not at the same time.” She laughed and then fell silent, eyes on the stars, and I smiled over at her even as her own faded.

“That’s it?”

“I have another,” she said, and rolled onto her side again, facing me. “I think I’d have been a little more impatient. I’d have kissed more girls.” She paused, and then modified, a hint of a smile on her lips, “Okay, maybe just one more girl. Maybe I would’ve just locked a bathroom door.”

It took a couple of tries to swallow the lump in my throat with her looking at me the way she was. I knew what I wanted, but finding the strength to say the words felt a lot like gathering the courage to jump off of a cliff. “You could kiss me now,” I finally murmured.

“I’m not the one scared to love someone,” she said. “I can wait.”

She shifted closer to me, then, but didn’t kiss me. Instead, she nestled into me, her front pressed into my side and her face tucked between my shoulder and neck. Her arm slid over my stomach and her right hand found my left as it rested limply at my side. She interlocked our fingers and squeezed my hand, and my gaze flickered up to the stars overhead.

I was sure, then, with Chloe relaxing beside me and her lips pressed gently against the skin by my collarbone, that if there somehow were a Heaven up there, she’d fit right in.

Chapter Nine

The following Monday, I quit my job. I’d worry about money later; in that moment, the weight off of my shoulders was worth more than any paycheck would ever be. Dad was angry for about a day. The next morning, I was up bright and early with a spring in my step, and he stopped calling me irresponsible right then. He’d tell me later that he’d decided he liked seeing me smile.

Robbie and I went shopping that afternoon, after his shift ended. We bought pink hair dye and hair bleach at the closest general store, and then he grabbed a bottle of vodka while I went to browse in the pet store next door. Eventually, I found a turtle small enough to be easy to take care of but large enough that if Chloe ever officially adopted it, Baxter wouldn’t eat it. I didn’t buy it. Yet.

We drove back to my house afterward, the grocery bag in the back seat of Robbie’s car.

“Vodka, pink hair dye, and bleach,” he said after a long bout of silence. “Do I want to know?”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” I promised him.

He dropped me off by Chloe’s and then left, and I knocked on her door with the bag in my hand. When Kent answered, I subtly tried to hide its contents.

“Hey there, Harper. Let me grab Chloe.”

He disappeared inside for a moment, and I bounced up and down on the balls of my feet. When the door opened again, it was Chloe. “Hey!”

“My Dad and Deborah are going out to dinner and staying over at her place tonight,” I explained. “So we’d have the whole place to ourselves if you wanted to stay the night.”

She grinned. “I’d love to. Just let me check with my parents.” She held up one finger and ducked back inside. I heard the sound of muted voices for a few moments, and then she was back. “Let me go grab some clothes.”

“I’ll meet you at my house!” I called after her, and turned away to jog back toward the road.

“Baxter!” she shouted abruptly, sounding concerned, and a moment later out he came, bounding across the front yard and into the luckily empty road. Chloe came sprinting after him while I cringed at them.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave the door open!”

“It’s cool; I’ll see you in a few!” she called back. I kept walking once I was sure she’d caught her puppy, laughing quietly to myself.

My house was empty when I got home, as expected. I set the bag down on the dining room table and emptied it, then surveyed the contents: the bottle of vodka, which was way too large for just the two of us to get anywhere close to finishing alone, hair bleach, and the temporary dye. I made a mental note to find a good hiding place for the bottle tomorrow morning.

When Chloe showed up with a bag of clothes in her arms, I grabbed the bottle with one hand and the dye with the other, then presented her with both. “Ta-da!”

It took her a second to register what exactly she was looking at, but when she had, she burst into laughter. “Oh my God. You’re such a cheeseball. That’s pink hair dye!”

“It’s totally temporary,” I assured her. “It says it’ll be out within a week.”

“Oh my god.” She shifted her gaze to the bottle of vodka. “Is that vodka?”

“Robbie helped me.”

She took the bottle from me and eyed it curiously. Then she arched an eyebrow at me. “So the two of us are going to get drunk alone in your bedroom together? That’s a terrible idea. Let’s do it, c’mon.”

She ran for the stairs and took them two at a time, and I grabbed the bleach, a two-liter soda out of the fridge, and two glasses from the kitchen cabinet before I followed her up.

She was waiting in my room, digging through the clothes she’d brought, and as I walked inside, she turned away from me and took her shirt off without any warning, then unhooked her bra. I blinked a couple of times and then averted my gaze, embarrassed, as I put the items in my hands onto my bed.

“We should do the dye first before the vodka, probably,” she joked as she pulled on a new shirt. “Otherwise I’m gonna end up looking like Barbie threw up on my hair.”

I walked to my own dresser when I heard her changing her pants, and shyly followed her lead. “Okay.”

“You know, I didn’t tell you yesterday how awesome I think it is that you quit your job,” she told me when we were both in pajamas. “Do you feel better?” I nodded. “I thought you would. You’re always so wound up. Anything that gets rid of some tension and helps you loosen up at this point is good for you.” She glanced toward the bottle of vodka lying on my bed. “Well, in moderation. Come here.” She beckoned to me with one finger, and I felt strangely akin to an ant under a magnifying glass as I came closer.

I stopped with a foot of space between us, and she stepped in closer and reached out to gather my hair in her hands. She left a shorter strand free in the front and tied the rest of my hair off, then eyed me appraisingly for a moment before she tugged lightly on the one free strand of hair. “I want this one dyed on me.”

“It’s right in front,” I pointed out.

“I’ll find one that’ll be under the rest of my hair once we let it down,” she said, and then untied my hair.

“Do you need my help?” I asked her. “I’ve actually never done this.”

“I just need you to tell me if it looks okay, and to grab me tin foil. The rest I can handle,” she explained.

Half an hour later, I found myself sitting in the bathroom with Chloe, who had a strand of her hair wrapped up in tin foil.

“Tell me your theories on alien life while wait,” I suggested, and she rolled her eyes at me, grinning.

“You’re such an ass. Except for when you’re really sweet.” She paused. “Just so you know, you don’t have to buy me a turtle.”

I frowned and reached for my phone, which I’d left on the bathroom counter. I scrolled through my pictures until I’d found my most recent one, and then turned the phone around to show her. “Her name is Shelley.”

Her mouth dropped open and she covered it with her hand to smother a tiny squeal. “She’s so cute! You didn’t!”

“I just browsed. Just in case,” I admitted.

“Harper, you seriously don’t have to do all of this,” she told me. “I mean, to be totally honest, if I’d had any idea you were thinking about something like this I would’ve just left all of the other things out and told you to kiss me.” She let out a sigh as she watched me, and I looked away, shrugging.

“Well, that one’s happening, too.” I paused. “After the alcohol consumption.”

That broke the tension, thankfully, and she laughed and shook her head emphatically. “No! I’ll kill you if you come anywhere near me.”

“You say that now, but we’ll see how you feel in an hour,” I said, but I didn’t really mean it.

* * *

An hour later, Chloe was sprawled out on my bed, an empty glass in her hand and a pink streak of hair buried under several strands of blonde. Her cheeks were flushed and she stared at me, giggling as I cringed at the taste of too much vodka mixed with too little soda.

“Okay,” I decided. “You’re cut off. So am I.” I set my glass aside with some difficulty.

“You’re, like, blurry right now,” she told me through a laugh. “Woo, three Harpers!”

I snickered and keeled over, my forehead pressed into my mattress less than a foot from Chloe’s stomach. “Stop.”

“Being drunk is fun. I get why everyone does this.” She let out a long sigh. “God, I just wanna make out with you.”

I snickered again, then winced when it made my stomach hurt. My voice muffled from the comforter, I told her, “That’s because you’re drunk.”

“So are you!”

“Not like you,” I argued. “I’m responsible.”

She laughed really hard at that, and I idly worried for her own stomach. “You got your older friend to illegally buy us alcohol!” She sat up with some difficulty and then shuffled toward me. I felt both of her hands on my cheeks, urging me to sit up. “Harper,” she said, sounding serious now, “Come up, I wanna tell you something.”

I struggled to raise my head. It felt like it weighed a ton. With Chloe’s help, I finally sat up, my legs crossed in front of me while she mirrored my position. She leaned forward and our foreheads crashed together. “Ow!” I complained.

“Sorry. Hey.” Her voice was really quiet and her eyes were closed. “So. My stomach doesn’t feel great. Either I’m nervous or I’m gonna throw up.”

I leaned away from her abruptly, wide-eyed. “Don’t throw up on me.”