After talking to Mom and Dad, I go lock myself in the bathroom and check out my tattoo that has been throbbing like crazy. It looks really red and I hope it’s not infected. I remember Kaz’s care instructions and resolve to do everything he said from this point on. But for now, I study it in the mirror and wonder if it can ever mean something different to me than it did last night. Maybe someday it will.
I reach into my pockets and pull out the bag of pills. I dump them in the toilet and watch them float around. I remember thinking last night how easy it would be to just swallow them all and I’m suddenly afraid of them. I flush them away, relieved to be rid of them.
I take a shower, careful to avoid my shoulder, and spend the rest of the morning sleeping. Mom comes in several times to check on me. She brings me cinnamon raisin toast and tea, as if I’m sick. I tell her I’m fine. But she hovers and then I catch her standing at the doorway, staring at me like I’m some kind of tragic case, so I decide to get up and get ready. For what, I’m not sure, but I don’t want to lie around the house all day having Mom and Dad worry about me. I look at my phone and figure I’ll call Colin. But I’m certain he woke up this morning absolutely convinced that I’m a freak. So I don’t.
I consider calling Joel because I want to talk to someone. But things between us are so screwed up and I don’t know how to fix them anymore.
So I dial Robyn. Even though I managed to piss her off last night too, she’s the most forgiving. The phone rings in my ear and I wait, hoping she’ll pick up.
“So,” she answers. “I guess you’re done having a meltdown.”
I groan. I know I deserved that. “Robyn, I’m sorry,” I say.
“Whatever. We’re cool. But I must say, you were at your finest last night. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
I cringe picturing last night. “I guess it was pretty bad.”
“Like watching a train wreck,” she says.
A sickening feeling washes over me as I remember all the things I said to Joel.
“But I get it,” Robyn continues, “I mean, it’s not like Joel has been the best of friends lately. But he’s in love, French. Of course he’s going to ditch us and act like an idiot.”
I sigh, feeling defeated. “I know.”
“And it’s not like love is a bad thing.”
“I don’t think you do,” she says.
“I do,” I say. “Or I think I do. I don’t know. It’s confusing.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” I say, because I don’t. And I don’t know how or why I think of Colin when Robyn talks about being like that with someone.
“Frenchie,” Robyn says like she’s talking to a child. “What are you thinking?”
I sigh because I know Robyn is going to make more out of this than it really is, but I tell her about hanging out with Colin last night. Not all of it, just that we hung out and talked after the blowup with Joel.
“So wait, are you saying you like him?”
“I’m saying we hung out. And it was nice,” I answer.
There’s a long silence before she says simply and calmly, “Okay.”
“Just okay? I thought you’d be screaming in my ear.”
“Yep, just okay. Because I know if I tell you how happy this makes me and how I’m seriously going to stop being your friend if you don’t act on it, you’ll end up sabotaging everything.” But her voice has gotten higher with each word, and I know it’s taking some effort for her to contain herself.
I laugh. “Good,” I say.
“And thanks for, you know, not staying mad at me. You’re an awesome friend. I love you, you know that?”
Robyn cracks up. “Oh, French! You’re so cute sometimes. Listen, if it weren’t for Bobby, I’d be all over you too, but alas. . . .”
“I’m not in love with you, dumbass.”
“You are! You want me! You dream about me every night!”
I laugh. “I’m hanging up, now.”
“Okay, okay. Just remember to cut Joel some slack. And be nice to Colin! Leave out your death fun facts when talking to him. And don’t be so intense.”
“Hanging up now!”
“And French, love you too, freak!” she yells as I hang up.
I hate to admit it, but talking with Robyn about Colin makes my stomach twinge with nervous excitement. It surprises me.
I go to the living room where my parents are pretending to watch a movie, even as we all know they’re just keeping a close eye on me.
I sit down next to them, both as still as statues when I enter the room. I guess I’ve kind of freaked them out a little, and as they hold their breath and stare at me from the corners of their eyes, I wonder if there was any other way to go about it.
I feel bad for laying this on them like that. I’m guessing they didn’t exactly have dreams of a daughter who would spend the night in cemeteries. Or a daughter who they believe can do something wonderful, but has no idea what the hell to do with her life.