"It's true," Bonnie says. "Curtis just… left."
"But why?" Erin asks. "How's he going to get home?"
"Bus," Kennedy answers. She's keeping her head lowered to stop us from seeing her eyes, but everyone can see them. "He had to go while you were gone, to catch the bus in time. He tried to wait for you. He left… for personal reasons."
"The breakup?" Erin asks.
Kennedy nods.
"Why now, and not before?" Bonnie asks.
"It must have been different when we were in Melbourne," Erin explains. "They had space. It's harder when they're sharing a house again."
"Yeah, that," Kennedy says. "But also… I think the guilt just got to him." She runs a hand through her limp hair, and her eyes meet mine.
I look away, then regret it. If that's not a bright red sign of guilt, then I don't know what is.
"It's a pity we couldn't say goodbye," Erin says. "Though it'll be better for you two. I hope you're feeling okay, Kennedy."
That's what I should be asking Kennedy, as her best friend. Instead, I can barely meet her eye.
"I will, thanks. I'm just… yeah. I'm going to go back to my room." With that, she leaves.
Bonnie and Erin talk amongst themselves as they put groceries in the fridge and pantry. I help them finish before leaping up the staircase and into the attic bedroom.
Curtis's half of the room is empty. He's stripped his bed of blankets and sheets and likely thrown them into the washing machine. Because I'm insane, I look under his bed and in his bedside table drawers, and even in the bathroom. Nothing.
Of course. Curtis is nothing but thorough.
I don't know what I'm looking for. A note, so I don't feel like he left without saying anything to me? No, that's stupid. Curtis would never handwrite a note. Maybe I'm hoping he left something behind so I can message him about it. So back in Easton, I'll have an excuse to see him again and give it back to him.
I return to my bed and sit on the edge. My phone is out, my fingers tapping across the screen before I can think about it.
Liam: You left.
It doesn't take him long to respond — I guess there's not much to do on a bus. He'll either be on his phone, or reading his book, or thinking about how much he regrets having anything to do with me.
Curtis: Yeah. I tried to wait for you.
I try to think of something to say — I'm going to tell Kennedy, or I'm sorry, or I wish you stayed or I understand, but nothing is right. Curtis doesn't write anything either. I stop watching my screen and turn it off.
*
The rest of the day passes, both extremely quickly and excruciatingly slowly. Kennedy stays in the master bedroom, only emerging for meals and water. Bonnie and Erin give each other looks and speak gently to Kennedy. I can tell it annoys Kennedy that they're coddling her, but she doesn't say anything. She knows they love her. I speak a little to Kennedy, but I know she wants to be left alone.
She already feels so terrible. Imagine how much worse I'm going to make it when I tell her.
That night, in bed, I decide to tell her the next day. She'll be pissed I held off from telling her, but I couldn't bear to admit everything after Curtis left and everyone was feeling miserable. And also, I was just afraid of admitting it to her, period. I've never been very good at doing the right, mature thing. But if Curtis can do it, then I will. I have to. I owe it to both of them.
I take a while to fall asleep, and the next morning, instead of sleeping in, I wake up earlier than usual at eight o'clock. I check my phone and feel disappointed at my lack of notifications. I don't know what I was hoping for.
As I get changed and brush my teeth, I attempt to rehearse what I'll say to Kennedy, but soon give up. I'd rather avoid thinking about the conversation I'll have, and witness it be an incoherent disaster later.
As I walk downstairs, I hear movements in the kitchen. I expect it to be Bonnie and Erin, preparing for their daily run, but it's Kennedy.
She looks up when I enter. The bags under her eyes are grey. "Hey, Liam."
"Morning," I say. "Did you sleep well?" That's a dumb question.
