“Baby, I’m sorry—” my voice cracks.
“Get out,” she says, with more conviction, with tears streaming down her face.
I turn and get out.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Georgia
When Eloise comes home,I throw myself into her arms, hysterical, tears streaming from my eyes.
“What happened, George?!”
“He didn’t pass the test,” I sob into her lap.
“Oh, George… you didn’t…that’s really messed up,” she whispers, and I don’t know what she’s talking about.
I don’t need him, I tell myself over the weekend, still expecting my intercom to ring. Eyes swollen and face puffy, I spend most of the day either looking out at the street, hoping to find him, or looking at my phone, willing for it to ring.
Not worth it, I tell myself all week, after he doesn’t show.He didn’t pass the test.
I tell myself this when I walk into work and walk past his office.
I tell myself this when I see him standing outside my classroom for a moment before hurrying away.
I tell myself this when Max gets into a fight with Kyrie at recess, and I no longer know what to do about it, or how to help him.
I tell myself this when I see Lina in the hallway, looking at me with pity in her eyes.
I tell myself this when I look at myself in the mirror and realize I have the same look aimed at myself.
I tell myself this every day until Friday, when my messaging changes fromI don’t need himtooh, you wanna see self-sabotaging?!, and I get so wasted at happy hour that I find myself there late with Elias, our PE teacher who I always thought was hot in a bro-ey kind of way. I’m laughing at whatever he said, wishing his green eyes were honey and that his teeth weren’t so straight, when I hear the bell above the door to the bar jingle.
I move fromoh; you wanna see self-sabotaging?!toyou’re a real piece of work, Georgia, though, after glancing over and seeing someone with Oliver’s same color hair, same height, and wearing his exact winter coat walk back out the door.
I feel nauseous. “Sorry, Elias… I gotta get home.”
Eloise knocks on my door the next morning.
I open an eye that’s crusted shut. Groaning, I swing my legs off my bed, relying on their momentum to get the rest of my body off. I crawl to the door, reaching up to turn the knob, and swing it open.
“Yikes,” she says, after seeing me on the floor like a wet dog in a swamp. She shoves three Advil into my mouth and makes me chug a glass of water, then plops into my bed and gets under the covers.
I join her.
“I’m ready to listen,” Eloise tells me after a moment. “And to help you PAP.”
“Why Weezy, I thought it made you profoundly uncomfortable to help your best friend and life partner PAP,” I rasp.
She waves her hand in the air. “I think you need it.”
I burrow my face into her shoulder. “I think I fucked up,” I whisper. “I’m a horrible person. I’m self-destructive. I?—”
“Pause,” she says. “This is more like a SAP. Sad Affirmation Playlist. I’m not here for it.”
“I’m fucked up, Weezy,” I whisper, my eyes stinging.
“Probably,” she says, with the honesty that only a best friend and sister can have. “But I don’t think this Oliver situation is entirely your fault,” she insists.
