But, just like that, any distance that I’d introduced between Will and me was obliterated—a paper folded in half, its opposite edges becoming proximate as instantly and naturally as if they’d always been that way.
The fact was that we had unfinished business. I hadn’t been able to let myself think about it during midterms because I was trying too hard just to stay sane, but after I’d slept with Russell, things had… changed. It wasn’t about Russell, really, though he was a super nice guy. It was that I thought maybe I finally understood Will a little better. Could finally see past the hurt.
And, given how much he’d hurt me, it was ridiculous how much I still loved him. But none of the hurt touched that core of love.
My feelings for Will were a tender and naked heart beating tentatively in an iron cage, each expansion a risk, each deflation both relief and disappointment.
WILL CALLED for the third time that evening just as I was about to get on the subway to meet Milton at a late movie after work, and this time I scrambled to answer the call. Even after I ran back outside so I could hear him, I just traded no signal for traffic noise and the shouts of a basketball game on the court next to the subway steps.
In the din, Will’s voice, apologizing for calling me when I’d told him I didn’t want us to talk, sounded small and very, very far away. My heart was pounding in my ears, I was so ridiculously happy to hear from him. I walked around the corner so I could hear him better, phone clamped tight to my ear like I could pull him closer to me through it.
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s fine. What’s up?”
“It’s um… I just….”
Something was very wrong. Will didn’t stammer. Will didn’t trail off. Will didn’t sound this uncertain of himself.
“Will, what’s wrong?”
“I—you know what, never mind. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t’ve….”
I lost the rest of his sentence to the earsplitting drone of some douchebag revving his motorcycle.
“Sorry, sorry, wait. Let me just—okay.” I cut over to a quiet street and perched on a bench outside the door of a nice restaurant. “Okay, sorry, it’s quiet now. So, tell me what’s going on.”
He sighed. “I’m in Holiday,” he said. “I got here last night. Claire’s in the hospital, and I came out to stay with Nathan and Sarah.”
“Oh god. Is she okay?”
“She will be. She went off on one of her jags, disappeared. Nathan and Sarah couldn’t find her. I called everyone I could think of, but no one had seen her. They found her yesterday on the merry-go-round in that park at the corner of Willow and Grove. You know?”
“Yeah. Shit. What happened?”
“She’d driven up onto the grass and crashed the car into the swing set. Then she’d fallen asleep on the merry-go-round without a coat. Or maybe passed out. They couldn’t tell. I guess she’d been awake for like five days straight, and no one had been able to find her for the last two. She hadn’t eaten. She was so dehydrated they had to give her IV fluids. That’s why she’s still in the hospital, I think. I don’t know. They weren’t totally clear about it.”
Will’s voice had gone thin and strained, and I thought I heard him swear under his breath.
“Are you with Nathan and Sarah now?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty freaked this time. I guess… she was awake for a couple days before she took off and she got rid of a bunch of her things. She took all the pictures off the walls and destroyed them. Gave away a bunch of clothes. Nathan and Sarah had to lock their doors to keep her from giving away all their stuff. She donated everything that was in the living room and the garage. Their bikes and rollerblades and stuff. Nathan’s baseball stuff and Sarah’s soccer gear.”
I made a sound just so he knew I was listening.
“I guess Claire was saying some pretty weird things to them while she was trying to get their stuff. Like, stuff that just made no sense. I don’t know what exactly. They don’t like to tattle on her. But… she really scared them this time. I don’t know. They know she’s not herself when she has these episodes. Or, that’s what we’ve always told them.”
“Do you not believe that?”
“Well. It’s all part of her, you know? I think it’s kind of bullshit the way people treat mental health stuff like it’s separate from the person who has it. As if there’s some ideal ‘normal’ person trapped inside that needs to be chiseled out of the marble block, revealed when the ‘abnormal’ stuff is stripped away. I know it’s valid, to a degree—like, people compare it to intoxication and the way people act in ways they wouldn’t ordinarily act when sober. But I’m not sure. For me… I love Claire. I accept that it’s part of her. I accept that—” His voice was choked. “That I fucking hate her a lot of the time. But they’re kids. They shouldn’t have to hate her yet.”