Maybe it is noble, but the whole “making sense of the senseless” thing obviously doesn’t come with a handy instruction guide. Translating everything from earlier into some tangible sort of action has me stumped. All the thoughts and feelings refuse to bend into elegant words. Instead, they pile up like a set of clunky Legos whose holes don’t align.
Maybe it’s because being in my own bedroom again reminds me of how it used to be. Maybe it’s because every five seconds I have to remind myself to focus and stop wondering about Jett or if he’s thinking of me.
“I give up,” I grumble, ripping the notebook paper from my spiral binder, then wad it into a crinkly ball. I chuck it at the trashcan beside my desk.
Her fingers land on my shoulder with so little pressure I barely sense them through my shirt. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Em?” We’ve been talking again for weeks, through late-night phone calls and texts, but seeing her face to face, being able to reach out and physically touch her, my heart flutters in my chest.
A pillow sticks out from under her left arm, and there’s a duffel bag on her right shoulder. “Your dad called. He thought you might need a friend tonight.”
Score another one for Dad and all his recent Yoda-like wisdom. He’s backing up this new leaf he turned over with some serious momentum. If anyone can get me through this day, it’s the one friend who’s been by my side since first grade. Even when I didn’t deserve her.
“I know today’s been pretty emotional. We don’t have to talk,” she says, sitting on the corner of my bed. “We can just hang out or watch TV.”
But suddenly I do want to talk. About anything but the accident. Her life, my life, and everything we’ve missed. “Tell me,” I whisper.
“Tell you what?”
“Everything.”
We fall back into our old patterns with ease. I relax against my upholstered headboard, pillow clutched to my chest, and she lies across my bedspread, describing how Trent showed up at her door the morning after he left Edisto with a dozen purple (Em’s favorite color) roses in hand and officially asked her to be his girlfriend. She pulls at her necklace, and Trent’s class ring bobs in the lamp light. I force a smile, instinctively fiddling with my own chain, now naked against my skin. When Jett’s ring was on it, there was a heft to it, a constant reminder of him. Now, I tend to forget it’s even there. It feels so empty.
Em’s gaze burns holes through me. She cocks her head and gnaws the inside of her cheek.
“What?”
“You were daydreaming. Anything…or anyone…you’d like to talk about?”
“What’s there to say?”
“Oh, I think you have a lot to say.” She scoots forward on the covers and grabs my hand. “You shared things with him this summer. He revived you, and even though you haven’t said it, I think you love him.”
And there it is. The exact thing that’s been circulating in my thoughts since I left Edisto. I did love Jett. My heart butterflies its beat. I still love him. But I never told him.
Tears well along my lower lashes, threatening to spill over.
“Have y’all talked?”
I shake my head. Five days have passed since I dropped his ring on that bed table and ended things. I was the one who’d slammed the door on us, but it stings so much when his silence verifies it.
“Have you at least stalked his social media?”
“The opposite actually.” Seeing him will only twist the knife in my gut. Jett and I aren’t over because I wanted to lose him; we’re over because I was afraid of losing him. The logic is all messed up, but there’s a thread of rationality in there somewhere. “I can’t.”
“What if he’s posting about how much he’s missing you?”
What if he’s not?
“Nah, he’s got a big race coming up. Too much other stuff to focus on.”
“You’re totally underestimating yourself.” She leans over me to retrieve my phone from the nightstand and drops it in my lap. “Just check. Get it over with. You know you want to.”
I blow out a breath, clicking open the app, then tap on his name. Four new posts. The first three are tagged from Rachel’s page. Jett’s wearing sunglasses, propped against his racecar with a deadly sneer and the entourage in tow—Jett’s dad, Rachel, Trévon, and even Dani. Her passive aggressive post comment hurts. It takes more than THAT to keep this boy down. #winning #champions #RamseyRacing
My stomach sinks like an elevator plunging ten floors. Em reads over my shoulder. She clicks her tongue, then mutters under her breath, “Bitch.”
“You have no idea.” I manage a giggle, despite the nagging urge to vomit all over my bed. It’s bad enough for Jett to be pissed at me for ending things. It’s worse to know Rachel’s in his ear, poisoning everything we once had.
Em points to the fourth picture. “So that’s Gin and Bo?”
I stare at the picture of Jett sitting on the Johnsons’ rec room sofa. Gin and Bo are squeezed on either side of him. What I wouldn’t give to jump back in time and be there with them. With Em along for the ride, of course.
“That’s them…the gang.” I nearly choke on the words.
“I know you miss your friends.”
“I do. They’re great. You’d totally like Gin, she’s…” Beside me, Em’s silent, gnawing her lip and looking off into space. “Em?”
She sighs. “I’m a tad jealous, okay? I mean, that tone in your voice? That used to be how you described us.”
“It’s still us. No one can take your place, Em.” I nudge her. “You and me, we know everything there is to know about each other. Maybe that was the problem.”
“Huh?”
“Gin didn’t know much about me, so when I was messed up, she didn’t have any expectations about how I should be. It was like having a blank slate. I thought I could erase the past. Start fresh. But it turns out the closer Gin and I got, the more I missed you. The more I realized I couldn’t erase us. And I didn’t want to.”
A smile creeps over her lips. “Aw, you big mushy baby.” Em playfully shoves my arm. “Well then, I guess this Gin’s a pretty good girl. I’d love to meet her someday.”
Someday is a day that’ll never come. I’ve burned all the bridges in Edisto, left my friends without any sort of good-bye, deserted Memaw, and drove away the one I fell in love with. And now, looking at their posts, it’s easy to see, at least for them, life goes on.
Without me.
I shrug. “Y’all would’ve hit it off.”
“Have you talked to her? At least sent an email?”
I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Em lips curled in that pitiful puppy dog way. “How ‘bout I help with that?” she offers. I don’t know how to explain that coherent, eloquent words are not my forte today, but before I can, Em hops off the bed and grabs my notebook from the desk. “Use this to write a rough draft,” she says, tossing it to me. A folded piece of paper falls out and flits to the rug. She picks it up and the paper crinkles as she unfolds it. An image of wild camellias dance across a leafy vine. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” I grimace and drop my eyes to my hands. These unexpected reminders are bullets.
“I can tell by your face it’s not nothing.”
“Jett drew it.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud today. What used to roll off my tongue so freely now lumbers off in a bitter, stinging mess.
“Flowers on some kind of a twisted branch?” She scrunches her nose; it was the same look she always had in Trig class when she tried to understand secants and cosecants.
“They’re camellias on a vine. It’s a tattoo design.”
“It’s kind of weird shape for a tattoo, right?” She presses the paper against her abdomen as if trying to imagine how it’d look flowing across her belly button.
“No…it’s actually kinda perfect. But not for there. It was designed for a specific location.”
“Oh…kay.” She drags it out, her way of saying tell me more.
“There’s something I need to show you. Then you’ll understand.” I stand up, and in one quick move, pull my T-shirt over my head and toss it on the desk chair. Em’s bewildered gaze turns to wide-eyed awareness when she spots the silvery-pink scar. She reaches toward it, but her fingers never actually make contact. Instead, they hover in the air above it. “My reminder of the accident. Jett said if I dressed it up a bit, maybe it’d be therapeutic.”
Silence. Em says nothing, just continues to stare. I’m not used to showing people this part of myself. Dad refused to look at it for any length of time, and Memaw and Jett were surprisingly chill about the whole mess. But this—whatever this is from Em—is one step from torture. “Em…what is it?”
“I think…” She begins nodding, her smile returning. “You should do it. In fact, I’ll take you myself. Next Thursday, the day before the trial, you’re getting your tattoo, CJ.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She steps forward, lining up the paper with the scar. “What Jett did for you is perfect.”
Beside me, Em snores, a slight breathy gurgling against the pillow sham. After hours of talking, she finally passed out facedown. But I can’t sleep. Instead, I think about Mama and Noli-Belle, about Em and how we found our way back to each other, but mostly, I think about Jett and how he gave me the courage to love again. How he made me believe there was more life to live. I lost sight of that, let fear creep back in, and it’d cost me everything. But if there’s one thing I can do to ensure my love for Jett isn’t in vain, it’s learn from my mistakes and go forward with an eager, unafraid heart.
Without waking her, I ease from the sheets and pad across the rug to my desk. The click of the lamp sends an orange warmth across my notebook and the flowery tattoo design. I unzip my purse and shove the paper inside, then pick up a fresh pen from the stainless-steel holder on the desktop. Important documents should always be written with crisp, flowing ink. And this might be the most important thing I ever put on paper.