Emmy’s phone vibrated. It was Jude.
“You ok?”
So simple. Two words. They showed he cared. She thumbed out a paragraph in response.
“I just got off the phone with my mom. She clearly thinks I’m nuts and I think I am, too. I want to tell you all the stuff that is wrong with me. But I’m afraid of scaring you away because you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
She deleted it. Too much.
She tried again.
“Thank you for asking. Sometimes I think you’re the only one who cares. You matter so much to me. Maybe that’s a weird thing to say.”
She deleted that too.
Finally she wrote, “I’m okay.”
Okay meant okay. She wasn’t lying. She didn’t say she was good or healthy or happy or normal. She said she was okay, as in breathing, living, existing.
Her mom was right about one thing. It wasn’t fair to inflict herself on Jude. Jude had enough troubles without also having a crazy girlfriend, if her being his girlfriend was even possible. If by some small chance he actually was able to like her back and be attracted to her and they were a thing, then that would be unfair and horrible. But her mom had it wrong. Of the two of them, Emmy and Jude, it was Jude who was the mentally healthier one. He didn’t have addictions and obsessions. He wasn’t on mood stabilisers. He didn’t get pulled out of classes to see the school psychologist all the freakin’ time. The more she thought about it, the more Emmy felt guilty about presenting herself as someone who had it even remotely together.
It was time to cut herself off. She didn’t deserve Jude and he most definitely did not deserve to have a crazy person glom onto him. He had hugged her. He had sent her a text to show he cared. He was a good person. She couldn’t do this to him. She couldn’t consume him. Better to live and die alone. Better to face the demons alone. She listened to Kurt Cobain for an hour, lying on a mattress on the floor of a dark closet in a city that was way too slick. Emmy finally texted Jude.
“I don’t know what we’re doing. I don’t think I can see you anymore.”
She stared at the words. Tears welled in her eyes as she sat cross-legged, cradling her phone. She didn’t deserve his arms around her. She wasn’t capable of loving him or having him love her. She thought about RuPaul saying, “if you don’t love yourself how in the hell you gonna love somebody else?” She had a long way to go before she could do either.
Send.
She put her face in her palms and sobbed. It was cruel to send words like that without knowing where he was or what he was doing. But she couldn’t face him.
She kept looking at her phone to see if he was writing something. He wasn’t. She ate some chocolate chip cookies and some Old Dutch regular chips, adding to the mountain of shame building up in the corner of the closet. She would have to remember to sneak out the garbage.
Her dad’s notebook called to her and she read more about his demons. How he wrote so much about getting fucked up was a mystery.
Hours passed. Still nothing. She had been ghosted.
And then it hit her. She knew where she belonged. It called to her like chocolate chip cookies. She got dressed, but didn’t bother brushing her teeth or putting on makeup. She zipped up her hoodie and hid in the darkness of the hood. It was raining out and she didn’t feel like biking.
She walked to the liquor store at Kingsgate Mall. At first, she stood outside, looking in, wondering if she really had it in her. She had never stolen anything before.
Once she was inside, she spotted the security guard near the back. So she walked over to the vodka aisle, stuffed a small flat bottle into the front pocket of her hoodie and bolted for the door. Her heart was pounding. But once she was outside, she thought it was the easiest thing she’d ever done.
She sat down on a bench across the street to collect her thoughts. It had been too easy. It was wrong. She had to go back.
Emmy approached a man heading into the Liquor Store. “Can you put this on the counter for me?” She passed him a ten-dollar bill.
He eyed her suspiciously. “I’m not buying booze for you.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“Do it yourself, then.”
“Just give it to the cashier,” Emmy huffed. “Plunk it down on the counter. That’s all I’m asking.”
Maybe she was destined to be an alcoholic. But she was no thief.
If reading her dad’s notebooks and watching hours of Kurt Cobain interviews had taught her anything, it was that getting drunk was no big deal. Her aunt and uncle wouldn’t think so, so she’d have to keep it hidden. But she knew how. She sat in the park all by herself and took several sips straight from the bottle. It stung her throat. But that didn’t matter. She was thinking about her dad’s notebooks and love and pain.
She texted Paige, trying to sound sassy.
“Whatcha doin’?”
“With friends. ;-)”
“Can I join?”
“If you want.”
She wobbled her way across the street to Sushi Yama where Paige was eating with her friends. They all were deep into one of Paige’s stories. New people this time, but they were still hanging on her every word.
“I couldn’t believe it,” Paige continued. She didn’t even notice Emmy behind her. “He said that he just didn’t think I was smart enough.”
“Were those his exact words?” one girl wanted to know.
“His exact words, right after we made out were, ‘you are really hot, but I can’t risk my career for this. I don’t think the intellectual link is there.’”
The whole table of young women exploded in outrage.
“I can’t believe he made out with you.”
“You should really take that to the dean.”
As Paige looked around, taking in the support, she noticed Emmy. “Oh, hey,” she said. “Everyone, this is my cousin.”
Noticing that Paige left her unnamed, irrelevant, she added, “I’m Emmy.”
“We were just talking about how I was sexually harassed by my TA,” said Paige as Emmy sat down.
“The guy you’ve been throwing yourself at?” Emmy asked. It was the liquid courage talking.
Everyone stared at her.
Paige scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
Emmy smirked.
“Wait a second. Are you drunk?”
Emmy shrugged.
“You are, aren’t you?” Paige examined Emmy’s face. “You’re so busted. How much have you had?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t babysit you. And you can’t go home like this.” Paige told her friends she’d be back in two minutes. She took Emmy by the arm and pulled her out onto the street. To Emmy’s horror, Paige dragged Emmy to Jude’s coffee shop.
Emmy protested. “I can’t go in there. I can’t see him. You were right. It’s no good.”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do with you?” Paige asked, pulling her through the door. She plunked Emmy down at the counter in front of Jude.
Emmy clung to Paige. She felt like she was about to get tossed into the deep end of a pool. “Don’t make me.”
Paige ignored her and turned to Jude. “I don’t know how this happened. But she’s your problem now. Get her home safe.”
“I’m fine,” Emmy protested. Hiccup. Woops. They’d walked so fast.
Jude looked at Emmy with concern on his face. Then he laughed. The laughter made a point of anger spark under the boozy haze Emmy felt. He was the one who had ghosted her. It was as though her break-up text never even happened.
“Are you drunk?” Jude asked.
“I’m fine.”
“I got this,” Jude said to Paige.
Paige turned to leave. “Text me if you need me to drive. Otherwise, I’m working on finals.”