"How was it?" she asked.
23
I blew out a sigh and dropped down on the edge of my mattress. My feet cried out in gratitude when I kicked off the heels I'd borrowed from Kiran's Closet of Dreams. Girl had more shoes than I had pores, but it seemed like every pair was more torturous than the last.
"It was . . . you know . . . terrible," I told her.
"I'm sorry I couldn't come," Natasha said. She moved to her own bed so that we were sitting directly across from each other on either side of the wide room. "I just can't do funerals anymore."
"Anymore?" I asked.
Natasha took a deep breath. "I lost someone close to me a couple years ago," she said cagily. "Ever since then I've pretty much avoided all the 'Yea though I walk' stuff."
Although my curiosity was piqued, I knew she would have given me more details if she wanted to. And if there was one thing I wanted to respect right then, it was other people's delicate feelings.
"So, if you want to talk ever," Natasha said tentatively. "I mean, I know we haven't had the greatest track record. ..."
We both laughed quickly at that one. Not the greatest track record--if that was what she wanted to call blackmailing me into snooping around my friends' dorm rooms. Of course, the offense was fairly forgivable, since she had been blackmailed into blackmailing me. Such was the life of a Billings Girl.
Still, the whole mess had resulted in me learning a lot about who Natasha was--an out-of-the-closet lesbian with a still-closeted
24
girlfriend whom she'd do pretty much anything to protect--and she had learned a lot about me. Like the fact that I could keep a secret. And the fact that I was loyal to my friends. Somewhere along the line, I had begun to trust her. With a certain amount of caution.
"But, I mean, how are you?" she asked.
I groaned and dropped back on my pillows, one leg dangling off the side of the bed as I gazed at the ceiling. "Got about a year?"
"Sure," Natasha said.
Huh. Maybe she really did want to listen. Stupefied was the word that came to mind.
"Um . . . okay." I lifted a hand to tick off my various emotions. "I feel... crushingly sad that I never got to say goodbye, angry that he left, guilty for the anger, angry some more at his parents, angry some more at all the hypocritical assholes around here, and then just tired and devastated and really, really scared that I'm never gonna stop feeling like this. Does that cover it?" I asked, turning my head so I could see her.
Natasha frowned and nodded. "Sounds about right."
"Oh, wait!" I said, sitting up again. I pressed my hands into the bedspread. I could feel that my hair was staticking out, but I didn't care. "There's also the second wave of guilt. You know, the guilt over the fact that I had decided Thomas wasn't worth my time when I hadn't heard from him, when now it turns out that I hadn't heard from him because he was--"
My throat closed.
"Because he was--"
25
Oh, crap. The tears started flowing.
Natasha got up and sat down next to me.
"It's okay," she said.
"No, it's not." And suddenly I was bawling. The hot tears just came and came and came. I tried to hold them back. Choked and gasped and tried to swallow, but I couldn't. "I can't believe this is happening. This shouldn't be happening."
Natasha put her arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. I just cried. I felt like an idiot, but there was nothing I could do about it. There was no stopping me now. All I could see was Thomas's face. His hands. His arm around me. His smile. I couldn't believe I was never going to see him again. Could. Not. Believe. It. I choked for air and my throat burned. There were sounds coming out of me that I had never heard before.
I just wanted to expel it all, all the anger at the Pearsons and at myself and at Thomas--even at Missy Thurber. I wanted to get it all out of my system. All I wanted was to stop feeling so wretched.
Finally, after who knew how long, I started to quiet down. I lifted my head and sniffled and wiped below my eyes with my fingertips.