Come Back to Me (9 page)

I stared at
the cupcakes.  What was that color of frosting?  Neon and gray, it was the
first time I ever saw a cupcake that didn’t look appetizing.

How was this
place in business?  I understood why they stuck with such an unimaginative, generic
name—TEA.  The smells of their obvious variety of teas was the only appealing
aspect of the place.  Actually, the place smelled perfect.

I closed my
eyes and inhaled.

“Whitney?”

My eyes
snapped open.  Evan.  He stood next to a tall, wooden table, with a bowl of haphazard
sugar packets and a lone silver milk thermos. He stirred a paper to-go mug that
had a square tea bag tag hanging over the side.

“Oh.  Um, hi,”
I said.  I cleared my throat.  After more than two hours of aimlessly riding
around on a bus in silence, my words sounded rusty.

“Hi.”  He
smiled, effortlessly, but I caught how his eyebrows lowered ever so slightly. 
Was he confused?  Did he know I followed him there?

“What are
you doing here?”  I asked, mentally cringing the moment my words fell out,
because I totally sounded like I belonged at TEA, and Evan was the one stalking
me.

“I was going
to ask you the same question,” he said, pressing a black plastic lid onto his
cup.  He stepped toward me and, for a second, I thought he was going to extend
his arm out for a handshake. Instead, he moved his hand to push a book deeper
into his back pocket.  His shirt lifted slightly, and I couldn’t help but
notice a hint of skin where the last button ended.  Warmth crept up my neck.  I
didn’t need to be caught stalking
and
checking him out.  Although it was
surprising to note he was actually kind of cute.  I never noticed that before.

I focused on
a spot near his ear.  His hair was dark, neat but for a slight upward curl at
the ends.  After adjusting his book, he stuffed his free hand in the front
pocket of his jeans.  His white sleeves, rolled almost to the elbow, contrasted
with the tan of his forearm.

“I’ve never
seen you here before,” he said.

I smiled a
little because it sounded like a variation of
Do you come here often?

But after
the smile, I had nothing.  Not even the tiniest glitter speck of sparkling
conversation.  I couldn’t lead with the night he took me home.  It was beyond cringing
and awkward, not your average jumping off point.  But of course, my mind was blank. 
It wasn’t like I could say something normal like TEA was my favorite place, or
that I was meeting someone there.

I glanced at
the couple by the window, a pot of tea between them.  I imagined myself walking
over to them.  Remember me?  We met through the window?

“Well, I
like tea,” I said. It was true, even if he didn’t know whether I was talking
about the shop or the beverage.  After all, I
did
like the social,
civilized, even soothing aspect of tea.  I used to choose it over coffee when I
went to Starbucks at Bloom Town Center.

Next up?  A
scintillating recap of the day’s weather.

“Then you’ve
come to the right place,” he said, but he looked unconvinced, and his gaze
dropped to my outfit.  “Unless you’re looking for cucumber sandwiches and high
tea?”

I rolled my
eyes, but I knew my silk suit clashed with the laid-back atmosphere.  “I
thought it was no shirt, no shoes, no service.  Where does it say no Gucci?”

Evan smiled,
and I felt a bit of triumph over the fact that I was actually having a conversation,
one not prompted by Emily or one of Vivienne’s group games.  Okay so it was
still kind of pitiful, as was my reaction, but I needed to start somewhere,
especially if I was going to get anywhere close to talking about that night.

“You cut your
hair,” he said, pointing at his own head as he said it.

I fidgeted. 
If he caught that detail, then he probably remembered everything about taking
me home that night.  Um, like the puke for one.  Heat prickled under my cheeks,
and I resisted reaching for my non-existent ponytail.

Did I really
think the sight of him would help me bring back my happy memory?  It wasn’t
exactly a pleasant ride home that night.  I assumed.  I had no memory of that part
at all, not until he brought me to my parents’ front door.  How did I think I could
ask him to help me remember?  The only thing I actually wanted to ask him was
why he bothered to take me home on graduation night.

But I really
wasn’t in any position to start with that.  Even the barest of scrutiny reduced
me to a tangle of white-hot nerves.

Yet, ironically,
he’d already witnessed me at my worst—wasted with a shirt of vomit.  Yeah, he
already knew the pathetic that lay beneath.  Oh, and how could I forget my
quick exit to the Porta Potty last week while holding a mini bottle of vodka?

My right leg
shook.  The combo of nerves, heels, and emotional fatigue wore me out.  I
couldn’t even run if I wanted to.

“So, are you
going to get some tea?” he asked, motioning over his shoulder toward the
counter.

Was he going
to ask me to join him?  I felt panic.  I wasn’t ready to bring up that night
with him.  Not yet.  Maybe not ever. “No.”

“No?” He
smiled. He looked confused again.  I was really making one awesome third
impression.

I shook my
head and came up with another reason for standing in the middle of the dumpy
TEA dressed in a suit.  One that sounded much better than stalking.

“Oh, I’m
looking for a job.  That’s why I’m dressed like this,” I said, motioning toward
my outfit.  It was true, sort of.  I needed hours.  Volunteer ones anyway.

“Here?”  He
sounded more than a little surprised, which sparked some competitive, stubborn
thing to flair in me.  Did he think I couldn’t get a job here?  That I was such
a wastoid I didn’t belong in a tired, dusty tea shop?  Well, Evan Foster didn’t
need to be right about everything, because he most definitely wasn’t right
about me needing a ride home that night.

“Of course,
why else would I be dressed in—what is obviously,” I glanced down at my clothes,
“my interview suit.”

“Your
interview suit.  Okay, well it must be your lucky interview suit, because Steve
is here.”

“Steve?”  My
feet slid around in my shoes again.

“Steve’s the
manager.  He’s not usually here this early, hence the luckiness of your
attire,” he said, pointing at it.

“Do you work
here?”  My heart slammed against my rib cage at the thought of having to figure
out how to act normal around Evan on a regular basis.

He shook his
head but didn’t offer any more information.  That kind of enigmatic behavior
was probably only going to encourage my new and spontaneous stalking activities.

“I just
assumed, what with all your Steve knowledge . . .” As Evan’s forehead wrinkled
upward, I shut my stupid blabbering mouth.  It was time to crawl back into my
hole.  I wasn’t getting any psychic memory vibes from Evan—not when all I could
feel was humiliation from what I did remember.

“I’d better
go.”

“Wait.” He
put his hand on my wrist.  “Let me get Steve.  I’ll be right back.”

Evan
disappeared behind the bar, but I didn’t move.  I looked down at my arm and the
spot where Evan’s hand touched me.  I could almost see where his fingers had
been.

I blinked,
unknowingly following his command to stay, waiting under the spicy haze of
cinnamon.  A chalkboard was on the wall behind the counter.  On it was written: 
Did you thank a squirrel today?  One swerve and you’re on a new road.

It was all
more than a little surreal, especially when five minutes later, I found myself
convincing Steve to let me work there, without pay.

I got the
job.

I supposed I
owed some squirrel some gratitude.

With a
spring in my sweaty heeled step, I walked out of TEA and toward the nearest bus
stop.

I was really
doing this on my own.  I got my own volunteer work.  Okay, so it would require
a train ride in and a quick bus trip—plus I would have to clear it with the
guidance counselor at Steeple, but it was all my own, and I liked that.

Then I could
check that off, and I’d be free to begin my real life.

54 and a
half days.

I pulled out
my phone, a leftover instinct from a time when I called my best friend when
something good happened, as if the last six months didn’t exist.  Except I
wasn’t in some fast forward time warp.  There really wasn’t anyone to call.

Kyle still
hadn’t texted me back.

The wispy, warm
feeling I’d gotten from TEA started to slip away.

The bus
pulled up, and I got on (the right one this time), slumping into a seat in the
back.

Then I
remembered.  Kyle wasn’t exactly the most reliable person I knew.  Not even
Katie’s influence got him to buck up senior year.  In fact, I was surprised to
see him across the field on graduation day.  Maybe his lack of response wasn’t
personal.

I’d been
wrong about Kyle that first week of our sophomore year.  I judged him before I
even met him.  Ms. Morris assigned us as chemistry lab partners and, in that
first moment, I figured I’d be doing the bulk of the work.

I blamed his
hair.  It was shaggy and a little on the long side, practically bordering on
disregard for the school’s code.  He was new, a transplant from California (he
moved to Virginia to live with his dad and stepmom).  I saw him that morning cruising
through the halls with one of those carefree attitudes that called to mind a
big ego, and (after hearing the west coast rumor) a surfboard.  So yeah, I
judged him unfairly, but it was only because I feared for my chemistry grade. 
I was wrong about him though, at least in chemistry class, because back then he
actually did his work.

Katie liked
him from the moment she met him.  She practically said so right outside the
chem lab the day I introduced them.

“Hey, Kyle.” 
She’d stretched her hand out to his.  “Whitney and I were just heading over to
Smoothie Palace, do you want to come?”

He looked
confused, but now I knew that was just how his mellowness processed her
directness.  It was like a yin yang thing, which pretty much described their
entire relationship.  Katie’s spark may have initiated everything while they
drank their smoothies, but Kyle’s feelings for her were a tiny flicker that
eventually grew into a slow burn.  The intensity of his like factor was
directly proportional to Katie’s affection for him.

Were they
were ever on the same page?  I imagine there had to be one point in their time
together where they felt the same about each other, but if so, I never saw it. 
I remember when they first started going out, I’d been jealous, thinking how
lucky Katie was to have a boyfriend.  I wanted someone to hang out with, hold
my hand, and kiss.  I wanted someone to love.

I knew now love
was overrated.

That first
day outside of chem lab, I didn’t think Kyle knew what was coming.  Maybe he
was a little naïve, or maybe it was because he went into anything and
everything with his signature slow and easy style.  He underestimated Katie’s
gravitational pull, too.

I looked
again at the blank screen on my phone, undeterred.  Kyle was the one who
anchored my past in happiness instead of only regret, guilt, and grief.  I
wanted those happy memories now.

The bus
stopped at the train station, and I made the switch.  It was a fifteen-minute
ride, then only a half mile outside of the Bloom Hills gate.  Kyle’s house was
right inside the entrance.  I walked, holding my shoes in my hand.  Heat
radiated from the sidewalk and through my bare feet, holding in what was still
left of my newfound warmth.

Once I got
to Kyle’s, I made my way to his basement.  Walking down the stairs, I almost
expected to see steam rise from my steps.  It was dark and cold, like a cave.

I moved
quickly though, because I couldn’t wait to see him.  He was the only one who
could possibly understand the insanity of what it was like to lose Katie
twice.  Maybe we didn’t ride through the madness together, but we started it
together and both ended up at the same bottom.

Once in the
media room, I squinted at the large screen TV on the back wall.  It beamed
bright light over the room, and my eyes focused, taking in the wet bar and the three
couches set up in rows to look like a movie theater.  Everything was so
familiar—achingly familiar, from the drop in temperature, to the rush of
memories—only this time, they felt like old friends.  This was where we—Katie,
Kyle, and I—spent a lot of time, second only to school.

My gaze
swept over the darkened corners, searching.  No Katie, only shadows
masquerading as reality.  My skin tingled underneath my jacket sleeves, and I
folded my arms.

Kyle was in
his usual spot, centered in the middle of the couch in the front row, the glow
from the TV screen a spotlight on him.  Throughout our senior year, he always
bragged that he planned to spend every spare minute of his summer on that
couch, right up until the day he would leave for college.  I thought of how
Kyle’s dad had very little tolerance for Slacker Partying Kyle.  I figured that,
with the added grief, Kyle wasn’t exactly insurance internship material.  But
he was living out his summer couch plans.