Families and Other Nonreturnable Gifts

  I have my MacBook with me, so I fool around online for a while, but when Izzy IMs me, I quickly close the computer. I have no idea if Tom’s talked to Lou yet, and I don’t want to have to pretend everything’s normal—or tell her I left him.

  I try talking to Milton, but he’s playing some incomprehensible (to me) online game and says he can’t stop until he either wins or dies. “Kind of like life,” I say. He doesn’t respond, just peers at the screen and taps at the keyboard. I don’t blame him. I don’t know what I meant by that, either.

  * * *

  So you see, it’s not fear that makes me get in the car and drive to Jacob’s that evening.

  It’s not what Mom’s worried about, that I’m afraid of being alone. It’s nothing like that.

  It’s boredom. I’m so bored I could bang my head against the wall just to be doing something.

  And also I want to see Jacob. I want to be face-to-face with him and tell him what happened. I want to see his expression when I say I left Tom for good.

  Just thinking about it makes me feel kind of light-headed and excited.

  See? Not fear. Other emotions entirely.

  I’ve never been to Jacob’s apartment, so I have to look up his address in my mother’s address book. She must be the only person left in America who doesn’t have a computerized contacts list. The book literally says “Addresses” on its felt cover and has a tab for every letter of the alphabet, but that’s where the organization stops. Mom has crossed out and rewritten so many phone numbers and addresses for people over the years that entire pages are scribbled out.

  There are three addresses for Jacob. One’s an apartment in Somerville—that one’s been crossed out—and one’s in Texas. That must be his real home. Or the closest thing he has to it. The third one is also a Somerville apartment, but this one isn’t crossed out, so I assume it’s still viable and copy it down.

  I shower and blow my hair dry and take some time picking out a pair of jeans and a silky top from the stash of clothing I brought over the night before.

  I stop by Milton’s room to let him know I’m going out. He nods indifferently and doesn’t look up.

  I lock the front door behind me, go out to my car, put the address in my GPS, and feel more nervous than I think I’ve ever felt in my life as I drive the twenty-five minutes it takes me to get to Somerville. Once I’m off the Turnpike, I see lots of couples out walking or waiting in front of restaurants.

  I feel lonely. With Tom, I was part of a couple. I was normal. Without him, I’m something alone and strange and different.

  A Sedlak.

  It takes me a while to find a parking space near Jacob’s building. It’s that kind of neighborhood—tons of graduate students crammed into small apartment complexes. Every tenant has a car, but each driveway only has room for one or two, so the streets are packed with the spillover.

  I finally find a space two blocks away that may not be entirely legal—it’s right on the edge of someone’s driveway, maybe goes over it a couple of inches—but they can definitely get out and I’m sick of circling.

  It’s a cloudy, gray twilight, and I feel underdressed without a jacket. I shiver a little as I walk the two blocks to Jacob’s place. Even so, it feels good to be outside after being stuck in the grimy house all day.

  I make my way back to his building. The door has been propped open, so I go in and then up a flight of stairs and find his apartment. Its number is spray painted on the door with the kind of stencils you can buy at a hardware store.

  I take a deep breath. I feel winded, but not from the steps. From forgetting to breathe. The truth is I’m scared, which is silly. It’s just Jacob.

  I knock. I wait.

  Footsteps. So he’s there.

  The door opens. Yes, he’s there. Wearing his usual button-down shirt (blue this time) and khakis.

  I’m glad he looks like himself. I’m glad to see him. I’m glad I came.

  “Hi,” I say, nervous but glad.

  He looks startled. “Keats? What are you doing here?”

  Before I can answer—“Keats?” says another voice. Someone else is there. She comes forward. It’s Cathy.

  Wait—it’s their second date, and she’s already hanging out at his place?

  But maybe it’s more than their second date. I haven’t spoken with her recently about him. Maybe they’ve seen each other a lot in the last week. Maybe they’re always together when they’re not at work.

  Maybe they’re in love.

  I want to throw up.

  “Hey!” she says enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were coming over!”

  “I didn’t, either,” I say. They both look confused.

  I don’t know what to do now. I wasn’t expecting him to have any guests, let alone this one. I say, “I, uh, just needed to ask Jacob about something.”

  Jacob is studying my face. I probably look pretty distressed. I know I feel pretty distressed. “What’s wrong?” he says anxiously. “Is it your father?”

  I grab blindly at the excuse. “Yes. Dad is—” I stop. Dad is what?

  “What’s wrong?” he asks again, more urgently.

  “I don’t know. He asked for you.” I lick my lips because they’ve gone dry. I can’t believe I’m lying. Why am I lying? I’m just so thrown by Cathy’s presence, I don’t know what I’m doing.

  I thought Jacob would open the door, and his face would light up, and I’d tell him about me and Tom, and then things would just work themselves out somehow. But instead Cathy’s here, and all Jacob can think about is my father—the one Sedlak he truly cares about.

  And now I’m deep into crazy and have to keep going. “He—it’s almost like he was having some kind of breakdown. He got really upset and said he had to see you. I don’t even know why.” I realize there’s a hole in my story, so I make a clumsy attempt to cover it. “I tried your phone, but you didn’t answer.”

  “Really? You tried me?” He’s pulling the phone out of his pocket. “I didn’t feel anything.” He checks it. “No missed calls.…You sure you have the right number for me?”

  “I thought I did.” This is what happens when you lie. You stop making sense, and impossibilities pile on improbabilities. “Weird. Anyway, I figured I’d just check to see if you were home, but since you’re busy—hey, Cathy—I’ll just go back and tell him you can’t come right now. No worries.”

  “But you said he’s really upset about something?”

  “Yeah, but it’s okay, really. I’ll just deal with it.”

  He turns to Cathy. “Would you be okay if I just run over and come back as soon as I can? I know it’s rude, but—”

  “Oh god, of course you should go.” Man, she’s sweet. Her large bony face is radiant with generosity and a genuine desire to help out. “I’m also happy to come with you if you think I could help in any way.”

  I say quickly, “I think—given how Dad is tonight—maybe it should just be family.” Then I remember Jacob isn’t actually family. “You know what I mean.”

  “I completely understand,” says Cathy.

  I flash her a forced smile. “But seriously, Jacob, you don’t have to—”

  “Come on.” He grabs some keys from a little table near the door. As he shifts, I get a glimpse of the apartment. It’s small and dark, and the few bits of furniture in it are ratty looking. Then Jacob’s back in the doorway, blocking the view. “Let’s go.”

  Oh god, what a mess.

  I say good-bye to Cathy and apologize to her for interrupting.

  “Are you kidding me? It’s so totally fine. Take your time, both of you. I’ve got a book in my bag. I’m happy to curl up and read. Sounds kind of nice actually.”

  “Thanks.” Jacob smiles at her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Oh, and Keats?” she says. “Do you want to join us for dinner afterward?”

  “I’ll probably stay with my dad,” I say faintly. “But thanks.”

  “Well, there’s plen
ty of food if you change your mind.” She waves us out the door and then closes it behind us. His casa is her casa apparently.

  We walk down the stairs in silence. Once we’re on the street, Jacob says, “We better drive separately. I’ll meet you over there,” and starts to head toward his car, which is parked in one of the two driveway spaces. I’d say that meant he was lucky except it probably means he’s stayed in these student apartments the longest of anyone there, which doesn’t seem particularly lucky at all. Just sad.

  “Wait.” I can’t let him go all the way to my father’s. I wonder who’d be more confused once he got there, Jacob or Dad. “I need to tell you something first.”

  “What is it?”

  “Come here.” I don’t want to be where Cathy can look out of a window and see us, so I lead him around the corner.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  I turn and face him. “I lied,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  I’m so embarrassed I want to crawl under the nearest house foundation. “I lied. I didn’t come here because of my dad. As far as I know, he’s fine.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I came to see you. To talk to you. But then Cathy was there, and you asked me if it was about my father, and I didn’t know what to say.”

  He takes a step back and runs his fingers through his hair. “I am so confused. So your father wasn’t asking for me tonight?” I shake my head. “Why did we just go through all that then? Why didn’t you—” He stops. His eyes narrow. “What’s going on, Keats?”

  I wish it were dark out so he couldn’t see my face, but it’s May and the sun is taking forever to disappear completely. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

  “You lied about trying to call me first, didn’t you?”

  I nod, my face turning hot with shame.

  He crosses his arms. “Why’d you come over then?”

  I wish he’d show some sign of softening toward me. It would make this so much easier. But his look is hard, his body language is hard, his expression is hard.

  I swallow hard. “I wanted you to know that I broke up with Tom.”

  He registers this with a slight raise of his eyebrows, but the rest of his expression doesn’t change. His face stays stony, his eyes cold, his voice flat. “I’m sorry. I know what a long relationship that was. It can’t have been easy.”

  “No, not easy. But it was what I needed to do.”

  “Then I’m happy for you.”

  I don’t know what else to say. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to be overwhelmed with joy at the news.

  I thought he was waiting for me, hoping I’d come to him. I thought he wanted me and the only thing keeping us apart was my loyalty to Tom. I thought all his previous anger was simply frustrated desire.

  Apparently I was wrong.

  “I’ve moved back in with my mom,” I say because the silence is going on too long. “For now, anyway. I don’t know what I’ll do when the house gets sold.”

  “Your father might like the company.”

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  Another pause. He glances up the street. “I should go back up to Cathy, but I don’t know what to tell her.”

  “You can tell her I lied if you want.”

  “Thank you,” he says politely. “But she’ll want to know why. And I don’t have an answer for that.”

  “You know why,” I say almost angrily. “You can pretend you don’t, but you do.”

  He uncrosses his arms and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Maybe. Not entirely. I’m gathering it has something to do with your being bored or lonely and thinking I’d come running when you called. Something like that?”

  “No.” Although he’s not actually wrong, is he? Except it’s more than that. “It’s more than that,” I say.

  “Time for another round of torturing Jacob?” he suggests. His tone is lighthearted, but his expression isn’t. “The game that never grows old?”

  I put my hand on his arm. “I’ve never meant to torture you. If I have, I’m sorry. Really, really sorry.”

  He looks at my hand on his arm, like it’s something he’s never seen before, something foreign and a little repellant. I remove it. He says slowly, “I’m not sure you’re capable of understanding this, Keats. But that night at your dad’s…What happened there mattered to me. A lot. But you made it instantly clear it didn’t matter to you.” He shakes his head. “No, it was even worse than that—you couldn’t look at me afterward. You couldn’t even look at me. Do you know what that felt like?” He stops for a moment, his jaw tightening. He’s fighting for control. He gets it. His voice is calm as he says, “And now you’re here because you’re feeling lonely? What’s that phrase again? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—”

  “Yeah, I know the saying.” This is painful. He hates me. “It wasn’t deliberate. What I did. I was a mess. You know how upset I was, how guilty I felt—”

  “It must have been very hard for you.” His voice drips with sarcasm. Whatever happened to good ol’ Jacob? He’s gone.

  I killed him.

  “I said I was sorry.” I catch my lip under my teeth to hold it steady—it’s trembling.

  “I appreciate your apology. It’s a little late, and it doesn’t change anything, but I appreciate it.” He uses the same tone my father does when he talks to Tom: polite contempt. He glances at his watch. “I’m going to go back. I’ll think of something to say to Cathy. Maybe I’ll just tell her your dad called and told me not to bother coming over. What’s one more lie?” He starts to move away.

  “Do you like her?” I ask in a small voice.

  He whips around. “And that’s another thing,” he says harshly. “You fix me up with someone else. Knowing how I felt about you. You were so eager to get rid of me, in such a rush to make sure I wouldn’t bother you again, that you instantly threw someone else at me. Thanks for that, Keats. Did you think you hadn’t crushed me enough? Just making sure the job was complete?”

  “That’s not fair. I fixed you two up before we…before all this. Remember? At my birthday party?”

  “You gave her my e-mail just last week.”

  “Because she asked me for it. I didn’t want to. I swear. I thought it was the right thing to do.” I hug my arms to my chest. My face feels like it’s on fire but the rest of me is freezing. “It hurt to think of you two going out. That was part of what made me realize that I had to leave Tom. I was jealous at the thought of you and Cathy being alone together. I knew that wasn’t right, that I shouldn’t be feeling that way about someone who wasn’t Tom.”

  He steps closer. His voice lowers. “So it hurts to know I’m going back to spend the evening with her? Maybe even the night?”

  “Yes,” I say. “A lot.”

  “Good,” he says softly and walks away.

  19.

  Somehow I make it to my car and get inside of it. I fold down over the steering wheel and think I’m going to cry, but I don’t. I just stay like that, frozen, feeling sick to my stomach. I ache all over. My teeth keep chattering. It’s like I have the flu but I know I’m not really sick.

  I’m not sick. I’m an idiot.

  Every memory makes me cringe. How I treated Tom, how I treated Jacob, how I’ve hurt them both, how I’m continuing to hurt them both.

  No. Right now I’m only hurting Tom. Jacob’s fine.

  But the truth is that even my remorse is selfish. I wouldn’t care who I had or hadn’t hurt if I were alone with Jacob in his apartment right now.

  It’s only because I’m all by myself that I’m guilt ridden and sad and regretful.

  I’m not just an idiot—I’m a selfish idiot.

  Deep down, I’d assumed that because Jacob had wanted me so much before and for so long, he’d still want me, and I’d be making a simple substitution: Tom out, Jacob in. It hadn’t even occurred to me that maybe Jacob wasn’t sitting around waiting for me to change my mind, that maybe he’d
gotten over me, that I’d helped him get over me by hurting him so deeply. Nothing like a little hatred to burn away affection.

  But still…

  I wonder.

  What if I got out of the car now? What if I screwed up my courage and went back to Jacob’s place?

  Cathy invited me to dinner once already. If I came to the door, she’d tell me to come in and join them, and in front of her, Jacob would have to say, “Yes, please stay,” even if he didn’t want me to.

  He’d have to.

  And if I had dinner with them . . .

  I’m funnier than Cathy. I can make Jacob laugh so hard he can’t breathe—I’ve done it a million times. I’m prettier, too—I mean, I know it’s not nice even to think stuff like that, but I am. It’s just the truth. And Jacob and I have a past together. I could keep reminding him of that. I could remind him of all the times we’ve celebrated Thanksgiving together or rolled our eyes at something together or fled from my father’s temper together.

  We’ve done a lot together.

  I hurt him, and he’s mad at me…but the only reason I was able to hurt him so deeply was because he liked me so much. How hard would it be to get past all that hurt and get him to like me again?

  I’m prettier and funnier and sexier than Cathy. If I force a contest, I’ll win. The only thing she has going for her is that she’s nicer than I am.

  And that’s when I stop myself.

  She is. Nicer than I am. Maybe not in any major global sense. I’m not killing puppies or anything. But if you just look at us from Jacob’s perspective…

  There’s this girl who seduced him, knowing he had had a thing for her for a very long time, and who then instantly—almost angrily—rejected him. Not just rejected him—made it clear that sleeping with him was the biggest mistake of her life.

  And then there’s this gentle, innocent girl from the Midwest who thinks he’s cute and smart and wants to get to know him better and who doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.

  If he were my real brother, not my pretend one, which one would I be urging him to go after? The girl who’s already hurt him once or the one who’d never hurt him?