When I emerge from the bathroom, Esben smiles weakly at me. “You ready? There are about six locations within spitting distance from the hotel.”
“I don’t care. Any one is fine.” My hair is barely towel dried, and water leaks down my back.
“Okay. We can go outside and see what direction we feel like going in.” He waves his phone at me. “The guy who gave us this hotel room wrote to make sure everything is good. Said we should order room service or whatever we want. If you’re hungry for breakfast in the morning—”
“Esben,” I say flatly. “It was very nice of him. Please thank him for me. But . . .” I take an exhausted breath. I barely have the energy to walk from this room, and I certainly don’t have the energy to engage in conversation. “I don’t want to talk. I’m sorry. Let’s just get this burger thing over with.”
He nods. “That’s all right. I understand.”
The pattern on the hall carpet seems to shout at me, and I look straight ahead as we walk. There are mirrors in the elevator, and I again think how totally unfamiliar I look. Esben also appears a virtual stranger. I know this is wrong, but there is no emotional impact from these revelations, just belief in the truth I’ve uncovered.
The entire world has changed. So, there we go. That’s all.
The short walk we take outside feels arduous, as though I am in the final mile of a marathon and not walking a mere few blocks. We order burgers and shakes, and I eat without tasting. Esben is quiet, and I’m grateful for that. Part of me recognizes that I am a zombie right now and that I’m acting strangely, but part of me wants to dive deeper into this nothingness.
The benches and table are hard and unforgiving. I crumple up wrappers, and the noise makes my ears pound. My fatigue hurts. “I’d like to go back to bed now.”
Esben looks sad and worried, and he’s probably at a loss for how to handle me. I wish I could tell him not to be any of these things. That I’m all right, because I am now half-dead myself and not feeling much of anything. But it would take too much to form these words. I’m not even sure how I’ll make it back into bed.
But somehow I do. I get into bed with my clothes on, and then I start neurotically smoothing down the bedding. I have not lost my skill sets. I can compartmentalize, shut down, and protect myself the way I always have. The alternative is surely a path to a whirlwind of grief, but I’m going to be okay, because I have managed to rebuild my walls in a matter of hours. This thought makes me smile. I am safe.
I shut my eyes and fall asleep immediately.
At five Sunday morning, I awaken and know immediately that I won’t get back to sleep. This is unfortunate, because sleeping is really quite a wonderful escape from life. Esben is out cold, and I hope he can sleep in. He stirs slightly when I kiss his cheek but, fortunately, doesn’t wake. I know I love him, and I wish I could feel that right now, but my current vacant heart is an inevitable by-product of my protective armor.
We need to somehow find flights home, and I might as well get a start on that, so I grab my phone and get online. To my relief, the airline strike apparently ended at midnight last night. Of course. A day earlier would have been goddamn nice. It only takes a quick search to find a number of flight options for this afternoon.
Although I still have countless people to thank on social media, the idea of going on Twitter or Facebook is daunting, so I drop my phone in my purse. In a haze last night, I asked Esben to post online and tell people it was over and that Steffi was out of pain. The replies will be too difficult to take right now.
Then I remember something.
I have Steffi’s phone.
Her nurse Rebecca gave it to me, I think. Robotically, I rummage through my purse until I find it. I’m grateful for the few seconds it takes to turn on, because I have an opportunity to breathe and prepare myself. For what, I don’t know. It’s just her phone, but it’s hers, and it feels monumental. I click on the Internet icon to see what she looked at last. It’s impossible not to laugh when I see an Amazon page confirming her purchases to be sent to the girls in her old apartment: a tube of small toy dinosaurs, some cooling hemorrhoid wipes, and a paperback guide to the back roads of Arkansas.
In her photo album are pictures from her trip to see me last fall, and I swipe through these quickly, because I will not drown in images of a life that no longer exists. Not now, maybe not ever. I lazily hit her text messages. I’m hoping she had supportive friends, that she hadn’t entirely closed herself off. My messages are at the top, and I swipe past what are clearly confirmation texts for doctors’ appointments, but then I stop, because something else has caught my eye.
A name. A name that is so familiar to me that I didn’t even see it at first.
Esben Baylor.
My heart pounds when I hit the text thread.
I scan the last messages from just a few weeks ago.
Are you sure she’s doing okay? Steffi wrote. You promise?
She is, really. This is all difficult still, obviously, but she’s honestly doing well. I know it took a while after the call, but Allison is tough.
I scroll up to an earlier point in the thread. From Christmas Day.
Is Allison’s Christmas fun? she asks him. Are you seeing her tonight? What did you give her? What did she give you? Did you love meeting Simon?
Esben answered with a long, detailed reply, telling Steffi everything she could possibly want to know about winter break until that point. He told her how beautiful I looked in the red sweater Simon bought me, about the trifle mishap, Christian and their dance, about our plans for New Year’s Eve . . . everything.
I scroll up again. There is a picture of the bracelet he picked out for me, and he asked Steffi if I would like it.
The words grow blurry in front of me, and I shut my eyes for a moment. When I open them, I scroll back until I reach the beginning of their conversation.
It takes me an hour to get through all of Esben and Steffi’s messages to each other. What I read rips out what’s left of my heart.
It’s after ten in the morning when Esben wakes, and I am still frozen in this chair. My anger and sadness have had hours to spread their venom into my heart.
“Hey,” he says hoarsely. “You been up long?”
Slowly, I turn to him. I cannot hide the pain on my face. I don’t want to. “Esben, what have you done?” My voice breaks, but I resolve not to fall apart.
He rubs his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I lift the phone in my hand. “This.”
Esben shakes his head. “Your phone? What?”
“This isn’t my phone.”
It takes a second for this to sink in, and Esben drops his head and takes a big breath before looking at me again. “That’s Steffi’s, isn’t it?”
I nod.
He starts to stand, but I stop him. “No, stay there.” My voice shakes.
“Allison, let me explain.”
“You don’t need to explain, Esben. It’s all right here. I read every message. Steffi went to see you when she was with me at Andrews. The night she went out to pick up Chinese for us, I remember that she was gone way too long . . . she went to you then, didn’t she? And she told you that she was sick, that she was going to die.”
“Yes,” he says somberly.
“And then she asked you to look after me. To get close to me.”
He hesitates. “Essentially. But it was because she wanted—”
“I know what she wanted. She knew that I was alone, so she wanted me to have someone. She saw the video, and she decided to push us together. Steffi also knew the kind of person you are. That you could never say no to something like this, right? You wouldn’t do that.” I look out the window at the glaring sunshine. “You wouldn’t turn down a dying girl’s request,” I state factually.
“No, it wasn’t like that,” he says strongly.
“She set this up. From the minute she saw that video of us, she hatched this plan. So, this supposed relationship you and I
have?” Now I turn to him with hurt and unbearable sorrow. “This relationship didn’t happen the way I thought. Not at all. It was an obligation that you had to fulfill. You . . . you made me believe in so much, but none of that really existed, did it? It’s like this was your biggest, grandest, most selfless social experiment, huh? But I know you . . . that can’t be right. Please tell me that can’t be right.”
“Of course that’s not right.” Despite my putting my hands up to stop him, Esben crosses the room and kneels beside me. “You know as well as I do that there was something very real that happened between us before Steffi came into the picture. You know that, Allison. I didn’t know how to handle it when Steffi showed up at my door. I mean, what was I supposed to do? I tried to convince her to tell you what was going on, but she was adamant. I just . . . I told her what she wanted to hear, but I only meant that . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. You know that I pretty much fell in love with you the moment I met you. And everything we’ve built together? Steffi could never make that happen. You and I made that happen. This is real.”
“And this whole time”—I am so confused that I can hardly hear what he’s saying, and I can hardly speak—“this whole time, you knew. You knew she was sick for months before she told me. If I’d known what she was facing, maybe I could have done something. I might have flown out here and ignored the way she was deflecting me. Simon might have been able to convince her. Something. Maybe you loved me, but you still didn’t give me any options.” It’s so hard not to cry. “You did what the dying girl wanted.”
He shakes his head hard. “I would never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Allison. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to respect Steffi’s choice. You saw the texts. You saw how many times I tried to get her to tell you herself.”
“You slept with me and—” I stop myself.
Oh no.
Suddenly, my body flips into a panic, and I stand and walk the room while I piece this together. “Maybe Steffi was right.”
“About what?”
I stop and look at him. “We get one. She always said we only get one. Remember I told you that? She was absolutely right. I had her.” I laugh in painful understanding, and I am stretching for air. “I had her, and I switched her out for you. Is that why she died? The world wouldn’t let me have you both? If I hadn’t listened to her . . .” I see what I’ve done now.
Esben shakes his head hard. “Allison, that’s crazy. You know that isn’t true. That is not how the world works.”
“If there hadn’t been a you and me,” I say, mostly to myself, “Steffi wouldn’t have gotten sick again. She’d be alive.”
“No, Allison,” Esben says sharply. “Steffi was going to get sick no matter what. You couldn’t have controlled that. We don’t get to make bargains like that.”
He’s right. Or maybe I’m right. I have no idea. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because Steffi is dead, and nothing will change that.
I pick up my purse. “I have to go,” I say numbly. “I have to go home.”
“No, please don’t leave. You’re not thinking clearly, sweetheart, you’re not.” He touches my arm. “Allison, I love you. I love you with my entire heart. Tell me you believe that.”
I’m afraid that I’m going to start crying and never stop, so I swallow back my tears when I look up at him with unbearable sadness. “I do know that. And I love you, too, Esben. But that isn’t enough now.” My entire being aches like I have never felt before. “Or maybe it’s too much. You will always remind me of Steffi’s death. I’m grateful, more than I can say, for how you got me to Los Angeles. But I will never be able to look at you and not think about Steff. You will always”—now I start to break down—“always break my heart because of what we’ve been through. What we had won’t work anymore.”
“Allison, no. God, please don’t say that.” Esben has tears in his eyes as he tries to take me in his arms.
“No, no, please don’t touch me.” It’s all I can do to hold myself together the little that I am. “I have to go. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m all screwed up again.”
“You’re not making any sense. Please, just sit down, and we will figure this out,” he pleads.
“I can’t. Esben, I told you ages ago that I was broken. Maybe I wasn’t then, but I definitely am now. This will be better for you in the end. I love you so much, but this will be better.”
I back away from him. Everything is so confusing, so depressing and terrible. Before I can do something stupid, like change my mind, I turn and leave the room. This is the only smart choice I have. There will be no recovery for me or for us.
Somehow, I am in a cab on the way to LAX. I call Simon, and when I hear his voice, I desperately want to cry again, but I don’t.
“Allison?”
It’s seven blocks before I can form words, but he waits. “I need to get home. Dad, I need to get home. Please help me. Please help me. Please help me.”
“Get to the airport. I’ll find you a flight.”
“Please help me,” I keep saying.
“I will.”
CHAPTER 31
BAKED
For two days, I do nothing but cry and take refuge in my bedroom at home. Bruce Wayne barely leaves my side, snuggling and trying to comfort me. He’s big on snoring, and I find the sound oddly soothing. By Tuesday, I am out of bed and probably severely dehydrated, but at least the crying has stopped. Simon has taken the week off work, and he keeps trying to talk to me, but I don’t want to talk. I want to bake. Cookies, cakes, layer bars, custards, pies . . . everything.
I just want to bake. No matter how inept I am in the kitchen, that’s what we do. That’s all we do.
On Friday, Simon and I are in the kitchen, surrounded by so many sweets that it looks as though we are in a pastry shop. Bruce Wayne is snoring loudly in the corner of the room, asleep in a very fancy dog bed Simon got him. The only thing I will talk about is how to perfect my icing skills or how to properly hold the bag for piping filling into the profiteroles, and Simon has patiently walked me through all of the recipes that I picked out. But as I am obsessively eyeing the sprinkles I’ve just put on a cookie, Simon slams down a rolling pin on the board in front of him.
“What? Is something wrong with that dough?”
He sighs loudly and takes off his apron. “Allison? Kiddo, you know how much I love you and that I support you no matter what. In everything that you do. Right? You know that?”
“Yes,” I say softly, and I sprinkle another cookie.
He braces his hands on the counter and looks across at me. “But right now, I do not support you in how you’re handling things, and I am not going to enable this any longer. If my daughter is doing something unhealthy, then I have to speak up, so that’s what I’m going to do.”
“You read the texts. I told you everything that happened and—”
“Stop it!” he snaps. “Be quiet, and listen to me. Yes, I read the texts. Yes, I heard your asinine theory about only getting one and about how you think you’re powerful enough to have caused Steffi’s death by falling in love with Esben. It’s ridiculous, and it would be irresponsible of me to say otherwise.”
He’s making me sound crazy. “I didn’t say I was powerful enough—”
“Basically you did. It’s called magical thinking. And it’s garbage.” He pulls over a stool and sits. “My dear, you need to pull it together. Steffi’s death? It’s a massive loss, it is. Your best friend died. A friend with whom you shared a very tight bond. You are entitled to grieve and be angry and sad and a whole bunch of things. I give you that. What I don’t give you is support when I see you walling yourself off again. From me, from Esben, from people who love you. I do not support letting you go back to an even darker place than before, especially not after all the progress you made. I saw how happy you were, how you came out of your shell in a hundred ways this year, and I am not going to let you throw that all away. Look, honey . . .” Simon takes the sprinkles from my hand a
nd sits still until I am forced to look at him. “Steffi was wonderful in so many ways. Spirited, dynamic, funny—so funny, right?—beautiful, smart, and tough as anyone could be. But maybe too tough.” He pauses to let this sink in. “Do you agree?”
I think about this for a while. “Maybe,” I admit.
“I think she was. So tough that she pushed you away when she could have used your help. That makes me very sad. Yes, we all had to respect her decision, because she was forceful as they come, but it’s still sad. And I think that, while she was a role model in so many ways, Steffi also gave you some very misguided ideas about life. About people. She decided that we only get one special person in life, because that’s all she could handle. It made allowing you in and no one else sound reasonable. It made rejecting Cal and Joan sound reasonable. It’s unfortunate that she did that to herself. But that’s not how you have to be, Allison. You don’t have to push everyone away to protect yourself.”
I stare blankly at him, unable to respond.
Simon’s face softens. “Haven’t you been happy this year? Hasn’t it felt good to be close with people? I can tell you that I’ve really enjoyed being with you in a whole new way. Don’t go backward, sweetness. Don’t. It’s a huge mistake. Steffi put Esben in a complete no-win situation. What the hell was he supposed to do, huh? You tell me what you would have done if you’d been him. There was no right choice.”
“But”—I know this sounds stupid even as I say it, but I have to get it out—“he wasn’t loyal to me when he should have been. It’s like he chose Steffi over me.”
“That’s incorrect. You are not seeing this for what it is. At all. Esben was loyal to her because you were so loyal to her. It’s kind of a big goddamn weight that she unfairly placed on his shoulders. He couldn’t violate her trust, and, because of that, he had to violate yours. Esben had to choose the lesser of two really rotten evils. If you’d stop being so nutty,” he says, smiling, “you’d see that.”
I sit for a while and think about all of this. “I really freaked out, didn’t I?” I finally say.