Without You

Chapter Three

      I'm sprawled on my pink, and white striped bed. My sister is sitting at my desk, putting her makeup on.

      "Do you have to do this in here?" I groan, head shoved into my pillow.

      "Yes," Emma chirps. "Your room has the best lighting, and I need to make sure my face looks flawless when I see Lucas."

     I look up at her. "Lucas? Lucas Sanders?" I ask incredulously.

      "Yes!" Emma says matter-of-factly. "What's wrong with Lucas?" she frowns.

      "Out of all of the Sanders boys. . . Lucas?" I comment. "I mean, Wes. . . he's just the perfect guy, and—"

      "No, no, no! I'm sick, and tired of you rambling on about Wes Sanders," Emma complains, pausing halfway through applying her eyeliner. "Yes, he is gorgeous, but Jane, come on. You know how he is."

     "If mom taught me one thing, it's that he could definitely fall in love with me," I counter, throwing a pillow at her. "Hot popular guy falls in love with smart, reserved girl. . ."

      Emma catches the pillow with ease. "You mean nerdy."

     "Shut up, or I'm kicking you out of here."

      My sister goes back to putting her makeup on for little Lucas Sanders. "Lucas is the kid who gets a cast every month," I murmur.

     Emma squeals. "I'm so glad! That means I can sign my name on his cast super big, so there isn't any space for any other girls' names."

     I pause. "Ok, smart."

     "Did you know that mom is seeing some new guy?" Emma asks, curling her lashes.

      My brows draw together in thought. "No. She never said anything."

      "Of course, she didn't. She's trying to hide it from us," Emma says. "Haven't you noticed? She looks less longing, and she's quoting way more Jane Austen than usual."

     "Okay, but that doesn't mean that she's dating someone. Maybe she's just happy. She has been painting more," I add.

     "Fine," Emma clips, turning back to my mirror. "Be in denial."

      I lie back on my bed. "Can you pick out an outfit for me to wear tonight?"

     "Fine," she says, but gladly walks into my closet. She emerges with a handful of clothing, and two pairs of shoes. Emma sorts through the clothes, oddly silent.

     "What?" I groan, wiping my face.

     "How are you feeling about Max?" she asks slowly.

     I knew this was coming. "What do you want me to say? That I feel like a piece of gum stuck under his shoe?"

     "I just want you to be honest with me. For the past six months, you've refused to speak about him, and honestly I think you should. My therapist thinks that it's unhealthy for you to be holding all of those emotions in," she explains, laying the outfits out on my bed.

     "You talked to your therapist about this?" I exclaim. "What the hell?"

     "I know, I'm sorry, but this is affecting me too, y'know? You've been dulling the mood in this house, and I'm here to brighten it," Em says.

     "Jeez, okay. I don't even know how to feel about all of this. Like, one moment I'm sad, the next I'm angry, and then happy, and then bitter, and it's just a whole cycle. And I just feel like this is all my fault, and I don't even know how to hang out with Laurie, and Pat, and act like things never changed. Because they did. It feels like Max was the glue holding us all together. And now that he's gone, things are just falling apart. . .And I know I say I'm mad at him, but most of all I'm really just mad at myself. For not being there for him, and just letting him slip away."

     "Aww, Janie," Emma pulls me into a hug. "Why would it be your fault?"

     "I'm not telling you," I pout, tears spilling from my eyes. "It's stupid."

     Emma pulls away. "I really thought things would've turned into something more between you two. I mean, you're practically a married couple."

     I'm shocked. "Really? But what if things didn't work out, and then our friendship would be over, and then things would be messy with Laur, and Pat? Plus, don't you remember our fourth-grade pact? Not to mention the fact that I am in love with Laurie's older brother."

     "Oh my God," Emma says dramatically. "There's no way you're following some pact that you made when you were, what? Ten?"

     I shrug. "No one else has a problem with it," I say, mind drawing back to when Max kissed me.

     "So you've never thought about what it would be like to date Max? Or Patrick?" she asks, turning her full attention over to me.

     I open my mouth, but close it. "When we were like twelve. . ." I trail off. "But, since then, never," I lie. Max kissing me made me think about us a lot more. My mind ran through a thousand reasons about why Max would have kissed me. That he was drunk, lonely, thought I was someone else. . . That last one is a little far-fetched, but I couldn't accept the fact that Max like me as more than friends.

     I wonder if he thought about me as much as I thought about him. Or if he forgot about all of us in the blink of an eye.

     Max moved away the day after his party. Without saying goodbye to any of us. He's been staying with his dad for the past several months in Chicago. When I went over to Max's house the next day to talk about what happened, his mom answered the door.

     Max's mom: Nora, told me that Max left, and he didn't want her to say anything before he left. His parents were in the middle of getting divorced. They'd been having fights for months, and had finally decided to end their marriage a few weeks prior. Max spent the rest of the school year with his dad: Kyle.

     I always called him Mr. Wilson. Max's dad was all business, and in the little time I saw him, I was intimidated by him.

     Mr. Wilson, and Max were never close. Max's dad is a neurosurgeon, and he was always at work when he still lived in Sandbanks. He would fly out to other cities to perform major surgeries, earning him a number four spot in the top ten neurosurgeons in the entire country. Mr. Wilson's work was his life, and that left little time for him to spend quality time with his kids, and wife.

     I'm not that surprised that Max's parents are separated. I'm shocked at the fact that Max willingly decided to spend time with his dad. It's not like they ever had a great relationship. Mr. Wilson expected a lot out of Max, and his older brother: Callum. He was ecstatic when he heard that Callum wanted to become a surgeon, like himself. Right now he's in med school at Stanford University.

     Max, and Callum are polar opposites. Callum, and his friends always picked on us. He always had to do better than Max, and just rub it in his face. Callum made the varsity volleyball team his freshman year, Callum got the highest mark on his biology test, Callum this, Callum that.

     I think we were all glad when Callum left for university, and moved far, far away. Some people change, but he never did.

     "You should pick this outfit," Emma suggests.

     I look over at it, adjusting my glasses on my nose.

     It's a tight baby blue dress with ruched sleeves that just reaches over my butt. "Do you want me to flash someone in that?"

     Emma cringes. "Ugh, can you just try it on?"

     I sigh. "Fine."