friends when all you want to do is be alone, but I do want to put myself out there. I need to do something normal, or I’m going to explode.”
Everything always circled back to the loss we shared. Brandon lost the love of his life, he told me, touching the engagement ring Jessa never saw. He’d put it on a chain and wore it around his neck, rather than return it to the store. He’d saved for so long to buy it, the perfect ring. How often do you find an eighteen-year-old so ready to be married?
“I don’t even know what’s normal anymore.” I crossed my legs and pulled my pillow into my lap. I missed having stuffed animals on my bed to hug when I was scared or lonely, but I’d given up the habit when I was fifteen and refused to regress. “Everything’s different.”
“Have you met any pretty girls at your new school?” Brandon asked, and I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my lungs. He sounded completely serious. It was hard to tell over the phone, without his face to tell me if he was pulling my leg.
“Are you serious?” I asked and then added nastily, “Have you met any pretty girls yet? How many casual hookups have you had?” I didn’t bother saying that no, I hadn’t met any pretty girls (or boys!) yet. I figured it was implied.
Brandon didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t think. I mean, I did, but… sorry.”
The anger faded. In its place a sad sort of silence formed. I could hear Brandon breathing; it was a little shaky.
“I know you said we couldn’t talk about the murders,” I said finally, closing my eyes and hugging my pillow a little more forcefully. “But I miss them so much sometimes, and I can’t even articulate how much it… changes me.”
“We have to be able to talk about them without it being about the murders,” Brandon said. “Can’t we talk about them without it being about how they’re dead? Jessa had this awesome method for doing large multiplication questions, with these squares and lines, and I tried to use it in class today and made a fool of myself by getting a totally wrong answer in Intro to Statistics.” He sounded so confused by it.
“It was Ricky’s method, actually,” I laughed, imagining Brandon’s failed employment of the strategy during class. When he was confused, a deep line would appear between his eyes, a crease that immediately smoothed when he found the answer he was looking for. Sometimes I saw remnants of the crease, a scar-like white line that didn’t quite disappear until several minutes after the problem had been solved. I never pointed it out to him. “She found it from a viral video and taught us all junior year.”
“Jess held out on me, then!” Brandon laughed, and I imagined the crease smoothing, the little scar. “She didn’t teach me until last year, when I took data management.”
“You weren’t in our class that year! It’s not like she deliberately refused to teach it to you.”
“I’ve missed this.” And all at once, the world came crashing back, and I was alone in my bedroom hugging a pillow, and Brandon was in Pennsylvania, and Ricky and Jessa were both dead. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’re the one who left, though,” I said quietly, and even to my own ears it sounded bitter. “You get to go on with your life like it didn’t happen, and I’m here preparing to testify in a murder trial.”
“I don’t get to move on like it didn’t happen,” Brandon protested, and I felt bad for suggesting it, but I didn’t take it back. “Nothing will ever be the same. Least of all you. You’ve changed.”
“I think I have a right to have changed.”
Brandon didn’t respond for a long time. I checked my cell phone to see if he’d hung up; he hadn’t. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. After a while he spoke again, but his voice was softer than before.
“You have every right,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. The real you, who wasn’t so….”
“Bitter?” I
Everything always circled back to the loss we shared. Brandon lost the love of his life, he told me, touching the engagement ring Jessa never saw. He’d put it on a chain and wore it around his neck, rather than return it to the store. He’d saved for so long to buy it, the perfect ring. How often do you find an eighteen-year-old so ready to be married?
“I don’t even know what’s normal anymore.” I crossed my legs and pulled my pillow into my lap. I missed having stuffed animals on my bed to hug when I was scared or lonely, but I’d given up the habit when I was fifteen and refused to regress. “Everything’s different.”
“Have you met any pretty girls at your new school?” Brandon asked, and I felt as if the air had been sucked out of my lungs. He sounded completely serious. It was hard to tell over the phone, without his face to tell me if he was pulling my leg.
“Are you serious?” I asked and then added nastily, “Have you met any pretty girls yet? How many casual hookups have you had?” I didn’t bother saying that no, I hadn’t met any pretty girls (or boys!) yet. I figured it was implied.
Brandon didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t think. I mean, I did, but… sorry.”
The anger faded. In its place a sad sort of silence formed. I could hear Brandon breathing; it was a little shaky.
“I know you said we couldn’t talk about the murders,” I said finally, closing my eyes and hugging my pillow a little more forcefully. “But I miss them so much sometimes, and I can’t even articulate how much it… changes me.”
“We have to be able to talk about them without it being about the murders,” Brandon said. “Can’t we talk about them without it being about how they’re dead? Jessa had this awesome method for doing large multiplication questions, with these squares and lines, and I tried to use it in class today and made a fool of myself by getting a totally wrong answer in Intro to Statistics.” He sounded so confused by it.
“It was Ricky’s method, actually,” I laughed, imagining Brandon’s failed employment of the strategy during class. When he was confused, a deep line would appear between his eyes, a crease that immediately smoothed when he found the answer he was looking for. Sometimes I saw remnants of the crease, a scar-like white line that didn’t quite disappear until several minutes after the problem had been solved. I never pointed it out to him. “She found it from a viral video and taught us all junior year.”
“Jess held out on me, then!” Brandon laughed, and I imagined the crease smoothing, the little scar. “She didn’t teach me until last year, when I took data management.”
“You weren’t in our class that year! It’s not like she deliberately refused to teach it to you.”
“I’ve missed this.” And all at once, the world came crashing back, and I was alone in my bedroom hugging a pillow, and Brandon was in Pennsylvania, and Ricky and Jessa were both dead. “I’ve missed you.”
“You’re the one who left, though,” I said quietly, and even to my own ears it sounded bitter. “You get to go on with your life like it didn’t happen, and I’m here preparing to testify in a murder trial.”
“I don’t get to move on like it didn’t happen,” Brandon protested, and I felt bad for suggesting it, but I didn’t take it back. “Nothing will ever be the same. Least of all you. You’ve changed.”
“I think I have a right to have changed.”
Brandon didn’t respond for a long time. I checked my cell phone to see if he’d hung up; he hadn’t. I couldn’t even hear him breathing. After a while he spoke again, but his voice was softer than before.
“You have every right,” he said, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. The real you, who wasn’t so….”
“Bitter?” I
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