"Bad things happen to the people you love,
and you find yourself praying up to heaven above.
But honestly, I've never had much sympathy.
Cause those bad things, I always saw them coming for me."
- "She Knows," J. Cole ft. Amber Coffman & Cults (2014)
Alejandro
"So you...actually wanted to study?"
I drop an eyebrow at Lily even though she can't see me, resting my chin on top of her head as I often do. She's still flipping through notes for her last final when I glance at her laptop, dutifully studying each line as if she can't feel my heartbeat on her back.
"What else would I want?"
"I couldn't possibly imagine," I mutter sarcastically, pressing down fresh memories of me muffling her moans in this very bed.
She's icy today...has been all week. I want to chalk it up to finals and all the stress they bring for her, but trouble with school normally pushes her right into my arms—not away from them. With Cleo already moved out and her room all to ourselves, I assumed we'd be a bit cozier than we are right now. But Lily's never been one to let sex get in the way of her studies, no matter how distracting I may be. Her coldness probably means nothing in the long run.
I hope.
"Can I help?" I offer, watching the still summer night outside of her second floor window. She takes a moment to answer, fingers tapping on her keyboard in the silence.
"Um..." A pause and more tapping—like she really has to think about it. "Yeah, I guess."
"Okay...I'll quiz you."
I make note of her apprehension but try not to show it in my response, scooting back as she turns to face me. Her eyes stay down on her laptop for as long as possible when she passes it to me, then shooting to the pink flowers of her bedspread when eyeing the Mac would mean eyeing me as well.
"Hey." I lift her chin with two fingers, turning her brown gaze up to mine for what feels like the first time all day. "Is something wrong?"
Her doe eyes waver ever so slightly before closing, and she gives a soft exhale to signal the beginning of her reply.
"Honestly, I'm...I'm upset. I've just been thinking." She opens her eyes again, but the look of pure defeat in them stirs something in me—so much so that I feel it in my chest. "I guess I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that there really are limits to what I can do. That's all."
"What are you talking about?" I murmur, voice soft but throat tight with concern. "Did someone say something like that to you?"
Oh shit.
Did I?
"It's a problem for later." She rubs her knees nervously, lifting her eyes to the ceiling above us. It's completely bare, the flower garlands and string lights that used to hang there packed away in preparation for move-out. "Let's just focus on microbiology. It's the only thing stopping me from getting out of here."
I definitely said something like that to her—last weekend when she hit me out of the blue with the Montoya business. I didn't mean it like that, but what else was I supposed to say on such short notice? When not saying that and letting her find out on her own would hurt her so much more than an offhanded comment?
I stare at her for just a second more before dropping the topic, scrolling to the top of her notes for a quick refresher, and picking somewhere easy to start.
"What's the difference between a simple stain and a differential stain?"
She fingers the collar of her sleep shirt—my blood drive tee from senior year.
"Simple shows the size, shape, and arrangement. Differential uses two or more dyes to...show different cells or structures."
"Perfect." I lean forward to kiss her forehead in congratulation before picking another question. "Which chemical agent produces highly toxic and reactive free radicals?"
"Hydrogen peroxide."
"Which kind of capsid symmetry is most common in bacteriophages?"
"Helical—wait—" She catches herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she struggles to retrieve the answer from the back of her brain. "Um...icosahedral?"
"Good." I take a moment to survey her slightly pained expression, sensing her oncoming headache but deciding to wait for her to signal its arrival. "What's the area of induration on a positive Mantoux test?"
She sighs heavily, the look on her face broadcasting her uncertainty as her hands wring.
"It's fine if you don't know it—"
"No. I went over this, like...seven times a few hours ago." Her words cut me off, then shifting to an internal expression of her disappointment. "Damn it."
"Maní...it's just one answer you didn't know after getting four right. That's nothing to get frustrated over."
"Yes, it is." Her first and last word are punctuated, reflecting the irritated glint in her eyes. "I mean—how would you feel if you wasted all your time studying just to turn around and forget what you know at the drop of a hat? God, I'm over this."
She flops onto her back, lacing her hands together and covering her forehead, so I take that as my cue to close her laptop.
"It's ten millimeters or more, cariño."
"...Thanks," she whines quietly, not moving an inch.
I grab her legs, drag her unmoving body further up on the bed, stand, and walk around stacks of already-packed totes to place the laptop on her empty desk. A few days ago, this desk was a snapshot of this whirlwind year: covered in textbooks, trinkets, and photos from ten months of our continued togetherness.
I place a hand on what used to be my dedicated corner—where she kept every memento from our relationship that she could get her hands on. Cheesy cards from the holidays that passed while we were together, random sketches I'd doodle for her while I was bored in class, tiny teddy bears, and a collection of dried roses from every single bouquet I gave her.
Now, all of those things are in a tote by my feet...packed away like they were never there. I know she has plenty of keepsakes in her room at home, but seeing this dorm room—the place where I spent so much of my time this year—barren and ready to be taken away is still sobering.
Whether I've bothered to think about it or not, my constant proximity to Lily is a virtue of my presence at Stanford. And I still live in New York, no matter how attached to California I may be. Two days from now, I have to go home.
I'll be back for her birthday in two weeks, but, apart from that, my visits will have to be few and far between. Unlike Jordan, I don't have a home base if I want to stick around in California—Miguel and I don't move into our new apartment until August. I really don't know how I'll survive even a month without her, but...I guess I should start figuring it out.
She's looking at me when I glance up again, big eyes quickly flicking away when I make contact with them. Lily is no stranger to staring at me, so I brush off the interaction by blowing a two-fingered kiss her way. She doesn't react, just flipping over while I turn off the lamp and turn on the fan—the only two appliances that aren't packed away right now.
Lily's turned the right way on the bed by the time I reach her, facing the wall and leaving me enough room to slip into a spoon position behind her. Her body is freezing as always, greeting me with a shudder when I wrap my arms around her waist and nuzzle into her neck.
"I'm sorry for what I said last weekend, maní. Things may be harder now, but I don't think there are limits to what you can do. I was wrong to even...suggest that."
I end my sentence with a few kisses on her neck, to which she responds with a tiny whimper.
"You don't have to lie, Ale." Her voice is even raspier than usual, breaking a few times in the span of her short sentence. "I would actually prefer it if more people were real with me."
"Real with you?" I repeat, slowing my constant strokes down the middle of her chest. "I'm not lying. I know you're injured, but you're still you. And you should know better than anyone that you can pull off whatever you want to."
"No I can't." She places her hand over mine, stopping it in the center of her chest. "It's just the truth—I can't do anything I want. It only makes me feel worse to lie about it."
What the hell happened between last week and this one? Lillian Bennett is hell on two feet—unflinching in the face of all the misfortune she's been showered with this year. Sure, her hardships have made her a little hesitant to throw herself into unsure situations, but she's never, ever so despondent.
"Lil..." I say gently, lifting my head in an attempt to get to the root of the problem, but, surprisingly, she beats me to it.
"You know how we promised to always be real with each other? Even when we're upset?"
"Of course."
She squeezes my hand, taking a few measured breaths before speaking again.
"Well it's hard for me."
"I know it is," I whisper, tightening my other arm around her waist. "But it's not like you to not try."
Her heart is racing: slamming against her chest so strongly that the sensation crawls up my fingertips and freezes the blood in my veins. My brain tells me I should be happy that she's talking to me about it instead of crawling away to fester alone, but my nerves don't get the memo. I like to tell myself that I can read her like a book—that, as her best friend and boyfriend, I can usually predict what's bothering her before she knows it herself.
But, when I hear her open her mouth and inhale a little, I have no idea what she might say.
"When you told me that I could do anything I put my mind to, that you respected my drive...why did you lie?"
The stillness of the room almost swallows her words, the soft whirr of the fan replacing them instantly. I almost want to pretend that I didn't hear the question, to close my eyes and slip into a slumber in which I don't have to think about why she said that. But I also get a small sense of relief—the question may be out of left field, but at least I know it's unfounded.
"Easy," I say after just a moment's hesitation. "I didn't. I don't know what has you so down on yourself lately, but my opinion of you has never, never changed. You were the most impressive, ambitious person I'd ever seen when I met you. And you still are."
"You're so sweet." Her voice is barely audible as her thumb runs over the back of my hand. "I love that about you. But it's just...saying that and actually acting like that are two separate things. I think you say it to make me feel better, because that's just who you are. But I don't think you actually believe it."
"What?" I say instantly, the confidence I once felt in this exchange snuffed out by a gust of shock. "What did I do to make you think that?"
I don't realize I sat up until I'm looking down at her, but it suddenly hits me—the disbelief and sadness in her eyes the last time we were in this position. I jumped on her to try to protect her from the truth, and yet I still hurt her in a way I told myself I never would.
Maybe Jordan was right. Maybe I am no better than him. But I can't bear to accept that as a fact of our relationship, to have my connection with Lily sustained on a power imbalance like it was with Jordan. And God, I wish I could tell her the truth—that all I want is to shield her from the world of disappointment she entered in the time I've known her. Yet I can't...not when I don't want to get into the specifics of that wish.
I know she would be able to handle anything that came her way if she just mentally...could. And there's no doubt in my mind that her work ethic would help her outdo everyone at this school if she had all her cognition to back it up, but she doesn't. She just doesn't.
A girl as smart as Lily realizes that; she has for months now. She says she wants everyone to be real with her, that she doesn't want to be shielded, but I'm not so sure her actual feelings back up those assertions. She powered through the winter and spring quarters while telling us that we don't need to patronize her, but, the second I show a bit of reluctance at her abilities, she...shuts down on me.
"How can I make it better?"
My second question is softer, a gentle nudge instead of a shove, and Lily sighs heavily when I lay back down and continue to cocoon her.
"I don't know." She takes my hand again, absentmindedly bending my fingers before running a thumb over my snake tattoo. "This is—stupid, anyway. I don't think I even know why I'm upset; you're the only one of us that's actually accepted reality. I'm not doing myself any favors pretending that there's something I can do to change it."
"It's not stupid if it's making you feel like this, maní," I counter. "I'm listening if—"
"This is the last night we have alone until my birthday." She uncurls my hand, guiding it downward with a hefty breath. "I'm tired of talking."
My heart is pounding, and it's not just her uncharacteristically suggestive words. Something is terribly, terribly off—like I can feel something pulling on our palpable connection. And I feel that wrongness even as my mouth connects with hers, as our bodies meld together like nothing is different.
And, as we writhe underneath her sheets, I can practically hear the tick, tick, ticking of a time bomb in her chest. Did one comment about her not being able to handle a physics class really cause her sudden 180? Or did she find out her limitations the hard way?
No, that's ridiculous.
She can't possibly know.
~ 🖤 ~
"So. Final thoughts?"
Joseph directs the question at his daughter, fixing his eyes on her from across the table. Lily looks up from her untouched mushroom Alfredo, fork still shifting around in it as she responds.
"Final thoughts on what?"
"On anything. Finals? This quarter? The whole school year? I mean...so much has happened; I just want to make sure that you're—"
"I'm fine, Dad." She gives a small, sunny smile, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "I promise."
She is most definitely not fine, and everyone at this table knows that. She's barely spoken a word all day—before and after her microbiology final, during move-out, and now, during a celebratory dinner at her favorite Italian restaurant in Palo Alto.
Despite her veneer of normalcy, I'm sure everyone can sense her unhappiness like blood in the water. But we can't fix a problem that she won't talk about...or, outside of her brief confession last night, even admit exists.
"Alright then," Lisa butts in across from me, ending both the conversation and the beginnings of what is sure to be another unsuccessful interrogation. "We're here to celebrate you, Birdie. Not focus on your hardships."
She shoots a glance at her husband with her last sentence, clearly telling him to step off, and he complies with the slightest tightening of his lips.
"...Of course."
"You do need to eat something, baby." Lisa rubs Lily's back with an open hand, eyes flickering to the plate of pasta. "Even if you don't feel hungry, you haven't had anything all day."
Lily's eyes shift down to her plate before she picks up her fork, distaste evident. But she still eats a mouthful of the award-winning Alfredo...and cringes as if she swallowed soggy cardboard. Her fingers come up to cover her knee-jerk reaction, and, by the time she removes them, her expression is broadcasting that vacant cheerfulness again.
"So—" I say suddenly, shifting my focus to Joseph as I push one of my meatballs back and forth. "How long do you think you'll stay in Tahoe?"
"A month, maybe longer. Lisa and I are both free to stay as long as we want, but...it depends on if something comes up." He tries to look at me as he answers, but his eyes keep flickering to his daughter. "Don't worry, though. We'll make sure you fly into the right airport."
My lips quirk in a small smile despite the discordant mood at the table, not surprised that he knew the intentions behind my question.
"Have you heard from Jordan? About when he plans on going back to New York?"
When Lily gets a few more bites down, Joseph finally turns his gaze back to my face.
"He's not in a rush; that's for sure. And since he's missing the dinner tonight, I won't be surprised if we see a little more of him after you leave."
My fork jumps a bit on my plate, metal scraping against the white porcelain, and Joseph gives me a sympathetic bump of his eyebrows. Jordan's missing tonight to help move Asher into his apartment, but what I thought was a blessing is turning out to be a curse in disguise. The second-to-last thing I want to do is go back to New York when Lily's so clearly upset with me. The absolute last thing I want to do, however, is leave Jordan here to fix things.
A waiter passes to my left, drawing my attention and snapping me out of my jealousy-induced spiral. And, after cutting my meatball into a dozen tiny pieces to release that energy, I glance at Lily again. She's stunningly beautiful tonight—even more so than usual, wearing a cornflower blue sundress and flower clips in her hair. But that image is slightly warped by the somberness that hides beneath the surface, like a cut rose on the brink of wilting.
She stays quiet yet pleasant throughout the rest of the meal, looking at the chandeliers, at the plants, at the tablecloth...at anything but us. And, just when I think we might leave things like this, Joseph clears his throat and speaks again—directly to Lily.
"Birdie...we know you're upset. And we may not know why, but...I hope you're not disappointed in the year you've had. Because we're so, so proud of you—even if you don't feel the same way. And I know you don't need us to tell you, but you've taken this whole thing like a champ."
Lily lifts heavy brown eyes to her father, the dark pools widening even more at his words. But, before she can reply, the deep warmth of Lisa's voice joins in the sentiment.
"You may not have had a perfect year. But I don't think I've ever seen you work as hard or grow as much as you have in these past few months." She looks down, shifting through her purse before producing a hinged velvet box. "We were going to give these to you when you graduated from college. But we think you deserve them now."
She opens the box with gentle fingers, a small, proud smile gracing her lips as she hands it to her daughter. Lily's already wide eyes double in size as she takes it, and in that moment I finally see what all the fuss is about. It's a set of creamy white pearls—earrings and a necklace that glow in the low, warm light of the restaurant. I'm not a jewelry expert, but I don't doubt that I'm looking at tens of thousands of dollars in that box.
Lily touches them gingerly, as if she's making sure they won't dematerialize, before looking up again.
"...What?"
"We picked them out right before you were born. We've just been...going back and forth on the right moment to give them to you." Joseph rests his chin on his fist, blue gaze lowering to the pearls. "At first we thought your high school graduation, or twenty-first birthday, or maybe your college graduation. But then we realized we weren't waiting for a milestone. We were waiting for the moment when we felt like you really...grew up. And we both think that moment is now."
"Won't you try them on?" Lisa murmurs, covering her daughter's hand, and, for some reason, Lily looks at me.
My body moves before my mind realizes what she's asking, and I keep my hands steady as I clip the string of pearls around her neck. She touches the necklace once it's on, staring into space, and it takes gentle prodding from both of her parents before she removes her hoops and replaces them with the pearl earrings.
They suit her. And, although I didn't watch her grow up like her parents did, I can see it—that now is the right time for such a gesture.
"They're beautiful on you, Birdie."
Lisa's voice is strained when she produces a mirror from her purse, flipping it open and allowing Lily to see her reflection. But when she looks into the mirror, it's like she's looking past herself. And it's only a moment before she opens her mouth and stands.
"I...have to go to the bathroom."
"Do you want me to come with you?" Lisa asks, eyebrows narrowing, but Lily shakes her head.
"No, I'm...I'm fine."
She picks up her phone, rearranges the skirt on her dress, and totters away in her heeled sandals before anyone can say anything else. And, alone in the silence that follows, all three of us make leery eye contact with each other.
"Maybe we should have held off on it." Joseph casts his eyes down to the table, running a hand down his beard. "Maybe it's still too fresh."
"It's been half a year," Lisa murmurs in response, one side of her lip curling inward. "She lost a part of herself; I know that. But it can't be good to still dwell on it like this. To only see the bad in it when we're trying to remind her that there's still good out there."
She closes the jewelry box, flinching at the snap it makes, and the unusually forlorn look on her face prompts me to break the short silence that ensues.
"I know I'm not the one with brain damage, and I love my mom, but..." I tip my fork back and forth between two fingers, considering my next words. "If I had two parents who did something like that for me, I'd be happy for months. So...it's safe to say it's not you that she's upset with."
I don't have the heart to tell them it's me.
Both of them are looking at me when I lift my eyes again, gazes of warm brown and ocean blue meeting mine. Joseph just claps me on the shoulder in response, fingers squeezing in a gesture of affection, and Lisa smiles just enough to mask her concern for her daughter.
"You're a good kid, baby. We're lucky to have you in her life."
Her words radiate warmth throughout my chest, but it's quickly extinguished by a wave of cold when I remember the gravity of our situation. They're worrying about their daughter, and here I am smiling at them when I'm the reason her months and months of progress are for naught.
"Dessert." Joseph takes out his reading glasses, placing them on his freckled nose when the waiter drops off a menu for us. "What do you want, Alex? I think we should just order for Lily if she wants to take her time."
I take the menu, collaborate with Lily's parents to guess what she'd order, and try not to stare at her empty chair when the waiter returns to note our orders. I don't miss when both Mr. and Mrs. Bennett start to glance in the direction their daughter left ten minutes ago, and, by the time plates of Tiramasu and cannoli arrive at our table, the silence is as tense as a piano string.
"I'll go check on her," Lisa mutters, rising, and her husband nods while his lips form a grim line.
As I watch her journey in the direction in which Lily left, I hope my intuition is wrong. And some part of me really, really wishes that Lily got food poisoning, or cramps, or a stomach bug, or something—anything to explain the last twenty minutes we've spent without her.
"Joe, she's gone."
Lisa's voice startles me out of my trance, and, when I look up at her, she's standing by her chair with a hand on her purse and a faraway look on her face.
"Huh?" Joseph responds, leaning forward with a pleasant smile as if he didn't hear her, but that expression shatters into a million pieces when she repeats herself.
"She's gone." Lisa inhales deeply, lifting her head to stare at the ceiling while she talks. "The hostess saw her walk right out of the building twenty minutes ago."
I close my eyes with an internal curse, and my slow exhale is drowned out by Joseph's chair screeching away from the table. He and Lisa mutter amongst themselves—about paying the bill and getting the car and checking her location, but I'm completely detached from the mix until Joseph shows me his phone.
"Do you know where this is?"
I sigh in relief when I realize Lily's contact picture is hovering over campus—in a place where I can practically see her curled up and hiding from the world. But that relief is short lived when I think about the forlorn expression she's worn all week, about how she obviously prefers being alone to the constant pressure of our presence right now.
"Yeah, I do. But..." I touch my phone in my pocket, biting back my pride. "I don't think we're who she needs to see right now."
"Well I agree, but I don't like her out there by herself...God, especially when she's wearing those pearls. It's getting dark out."
Lisa pulls her purse over her shoulder, grip tight on the strap although her expression betrays no apprehension. My hand slips all the way over my phone before I remove it from my pocket and glance back up at her.
"I know. I'll handle it; just...finish what you need to finish here, and I'll make sure she's taken care of. I promise."
Joseph places a reassuring hand on her back, obviously sensing her silent fear as well, before leaving in search of an available waiter and, more importantly, the bill. Lisa continues to idle for a moment, dark eyes ticking back and forth, and suddenly nods to herself.
"The car. I'll go start the car."
She disappears as well, Porsche keys dangling from the bend of her finger, and I'm alone at the table for the first time. I finally look down at my phone, swiping deep, deep, into my call history before pausing.
I hate that I'm about to do this.
Lily. It isn't about him; it's about Lily.
What do I look like calling him when she's my girlfriend?
It's not about me, either. It's about Lily.
This is bullsh—
I lift the phone to my ear, the sound of the ringback tone taunting me, and I actually hope he doesn't pick up. I mean, he would be well within his rights not to; I've given him plenty of reasons to block my number out of pure spite. When the third ring sounds, I relax with an inkling that he actually did. But, suddenly, the tone stops, and Jordan's voice is just as confused as it is startling.
"...Alex?"