The End for Now

Now You Know

"But you did."

"I think we both know that's not exactly true."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not sure how I became the dramatic one. That's your fault too. Yes—completely your fault. You made me this way. Infected me. And now I'm sitting out here on this limb that is most definitely going to snap."

"It's not. There's no limb."

"Says the guy standing safe on the ground."

Trevor went over to the coffee bar and grabbed a handful of spoons. She'd feel better once she had some cookie dough in her, and that made him smile because even now, even as they strained to calibrate this shift, he felt it—that thing she so desperately wanted him to say. The thing she'd told him last week while sitting in his car outside the retirement home, having just moved in her grandfather. That thing she couldn't take back—that had put her out on that limb.

"A lot people say it. That." He handed her another spoon. "But then they break up."

"So think we're doomed?"

"I think we're seventeen."

"So you think we're idiots. Or just me—you think I'm an idiot. That I shouldn't have told you because we're too young and stupid to really know what we're dealing with here."

Trevor watched her spoon bend, waited for it to crack. Handed her another one when it did. "I think words matter. And I think those words really matter. That you should say them and you shouldn't have to say them to someone else."

Cassie put her feet on the fake whicker coffee table. "You picked a really crappy time to start being an adult. I mean seriously, Trevor—this is you we're talking about. The kid who asked me to junior prom by basically reenacting the stadium scene from 10 Things I Hate About You."

"Which I totally nailed."

"That's not even close to funny." She chucked a spoon at him. "Hello—it's me, up here, on this limb. It would be great if you could either join me or spread some sort of parachute thing for me to fall into."

"I'm getting lost in the metaphor."

"You really suck, you know that?" Hands back in her jacket pockets. "True things should be said. They should be shouted from rooftops and tall mountains. Or your Nana's Buick, in my case."

Trevor looked at the fake grandfather clock in the corner and did the math in his head. If they left now, he'd have her back by curfew. Actually he'd be at least thirty minutes late, but a flat tire scenario would cover that. Her parents trusted him. He'd need those binoculars, though. Were they still in his trunk?

"We're going for a drive," he said.

"I'm still eating."

"This is gonna make you feel better."

"Cookie dough is filling the void just fine."

"Cass."

She looked him over, saw how serious he was. "Alright."

The lake was a four hour drive but Trevor cut thirty minutes off that. He did it without talking, without saying a single word because he was saying it by driving. Speaking with actions. Showing her that he got it—that he knew things weren't OK but that he could fix them. Maybe not how she wanted, but restored all the same. So that she'd know she wasn't out there alone, that there was no limb.

Cassie seemed alright with the silence, like she got what was happening. She kept her hands tucked in the jacket, yeah, but that was OK. He understood that: He'd have to work to get them out. Maybe that was the point of it.

It was dark when they pulled into the state park. Trevor parked down by the boat landing so they could see house lights flickering on the opposite shore.

"I'm not getting out of this car," she said. "It's freezing."

"I got a blanket in the trunk."

Trevor led her to the end of the dock. It was late November so the water level was low enough that their feet could dangle without getting wet. He threw the blanket around her and tucked in the edges.

"It's freezing," he said.

"This, we know."

Trevor looked across the lake and counted houses, left to right. He pointed when he found the one he wanted. "That's my parents' house."

"I'm aware that your parents have a house on this lake. We made out in every room of it last summer."

Trevor dug out a pair of binoculars he'd grabbed from the trunk. "Take a look."

"What?"

"Just take a look."

She peered through the glass. "OK. I see your house...I see...a bunch of people...eating dinner." The anger was gone. She sounded scared—like she'd been lost. Like he'd just found her. "Why do I see people eating dinner?"

"My mom's Thanksgiving leftovers take days to get through."

She went quiet. Trevor felt it again—that surge she'd put into words last week, that thing she so desperately wanted to hear from him. He could feel it in the silence, pressing down on her, pushing into the gaps that his hesitancy had left empty. Making things betters than when the day started.

"You said they weren't coming up this year," she said. "That's why you came to my house on Thursday—because you're family wasn't coming up here."

"I lied. I just didn't feel like coming up."

"But you love this place.

"That's true."

"You said you wanted to be buried here. You said you wanted a medieval funeral pyre where you're shoved onto the lake and all your relatives shoot flaming arrows at the casket."

"The permits are going to be a nightmare, but yeah that's the plan."

He could feel her studying him. Pulling it altogether. Slipping off the limb and free falling because there wasn't anything to be afraid of anymore. There was no limb. There never had been.

"I want you to try and imagine a universe where he's moved into the retirement home and I'm not there. Where I'm up at the lake and you're at home for the first Thanksgiving of your life without him." Trevor dug inside the blanket laced their fingers together so tightly she winced. "I want you to seriously picture that because the only place it's ever going to exist is in your head."

She clawed out of the blanket, gripped the back of his neck. Nearly pulled them both into the lake. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not. I'm showing. From the rooftop or tall freaking mountain version of this dock."

"You could have just told me."

"No. You needed to see it—that we're in the same place." Headlights swung across the dock. A park ranger SUV trolling the lot for people exactly like them. "Now you know."

---

Author's Note: Hey, thanks for reading. I keep saying that, but I'm deadly sincere. 

I think the subtext of this chapter is worth the risk of writing really cringe-worthy dialogue: why and how do declarations of love change relationships? That's a real question every couple faces. Hopefully I portrayed it in a non-cringe worthy way. 

You can also pre-order my debut YA novel, THE LEAGUE OF AMERICAN TRAITORS on Amazon (or at www.matthew-landis.com/books). Sky Pony Press will publish it on August 8, 2017. Thanks!

- Matthew