A/N: Here we are. The lowest point. The only place to go now is up, right?
Right???
It'd been a bit since the last time I hung out with anyone besides JT, so I kept going to that convenience store — the one Shelly took me to the night of the rave — just to have somewhere to go where I didn't have to run into anyone from school. Part of me, I think, owed the owners kindness for things they probably didn't even remember. I scrounged for change every day, took 3 buses to get there, just to say hi when I bought a soda, just to have somewhere to go. The woman behind the counter remembered faces better than anyone I ever met, and her kid was a little asshole.
The fifth or sixth time, I offered my name, and she greeted me with it every time after that.
By the 22nd, they had a coffee machine now and didn't charge for refills — even though they probably should've. I upped my purchases from a cherry coke to a coffee with far too much french vanilla creamer and one of those candy bars my dad used to deny me. This was a tiny victory for me, and he could rot in hell.
Days before Christmas, they decorated the store in chintzy red and green tinsel and multi-colored lights, which only served to make the store seem cheaper and dirtier. They didn't seem to mind, and the woman's smile greeted me immediately, despite being busy ringing up a guy who looked like a homelier Stone Cold Steve Austin.
I grabbed a styrofoam cup and filled it up a bit too much, adding in powdered creamer and stirring carefully to not spill. When I walked it over to the lids, someone slammed into my back, hot coffee sloshing over my fingers as I did my best not to drop it. I winced as I gingerly set down the cup and dried off my scalded fingers, turning to see who the perpetrator was.
The owner's son and his shorter, rounder friend laughed at me and ran off through the aisles. I liked him better before his nerf gun broke. He was somehow more of a brat now, a regular Bart Simpson. But that was just how kids were, and even in my annoyance, it didn't bother me a whole lot.
I refilled the cup with coffee and creamer, extra careful as I snapped on a plastic lid and headed to the register.
"Audrey! How are you?" the woman said as I approached with the coffee and chocolate bar.
Her name tag read Dijana, but I wasn't sure of the pronunciation, so I never said it. Instead, I smiled. "Good! Good. And you?"
She waved her hand dismissively like the question was appreciated but unnecessary. The sleeves of her uniform shirt stretched across her bony wrists and her black hair fell over her eyes. It made her look tired.
When Dijana gave me my change, she handed me a piece of paper. A flyer in black and white, with bad handwriting and bubble letters at the top. Customer Appreciation X-Mas Eve Party. The original attempt at appreciation was scribbled out. Appreechiashon.
"All regulars invited," she said warmly.
My eyes were wide and my frequenting this place suddenly felt like responsibility. "Oh. Um..."
The boy chasing his friend was caught at the back of the shirt by his mother, like a cub held by its scruff.
"Mom!" he whined, struggling to get away.
Dijana hugged him around his shoulders with a tight squeeze as he looked at me. "My Zigmund made the flyers. He's so talented!"
"You made me!" he said, straining to escape. I couldn't see it for sure, but I had a feeling his friend was just out of sight, mocking him. "And you didn't know how to work the copy machine!"
He twisted away and out the door of the store, and I barely caught sight of him tackling his friend.
"Bring a friend! We'll have plenty of food for everybody," she said after a deep, frustrated sigh toward her son.
"I, um..." I fought the arguments, despite knowing the holiday festival was the same day. Also, there was the slightest sting from knowing there weren't any friends that came to mind who'd go with me. "I might have plans, but I'll try."
She smiled and seemed like she was about to say something when another customer walked in. I took my candy, my coffee, and my change and got out of dodge as fast as possible.
Sydney still kind of reminded me of my grandma — and that was the furthest thing from a compliment I could think of. It wasn't quite that my mom's mom was evil, but there was an unwavering meanness to her. A cutting criticism my mother and uncle inherited and passed on to Liberty, Danny, and me in ever-changing and increasingly insidious ways. Sydney kind of encapsulated all of that — the type of judgments that came with a constantly moving finish line.
She asked Craig to turn the tree a very specific amount, so he and Joey did. It jostled in a way the made me wince, like it'd topple and crash on all of Sydney's nice decorations. On second thought, I kind of hoped it did, just for the chaos of it all.
I sat with Emma and her baby brother Jack as we played War with a worn, dog-eared deck of cards. Emma was winning, her stack of cards piling as mine dwindled, but I wasn't paying much attention, instead side-eyeing the situation from across the room.
Craig and Joey finished turning the whole tree, ornaments and all, lights flickering and dancing unnaturally.
"Well, I have to admit, Sydney," Caitlin said as she approached with her hot cocoa. "It actually really does look better."
Joey sighed almost dreamily. "Sydney has an uncanny eye for everything. I don't know what we'd do without her."
He kissed Sydney, and my eyes shot to Caitlin who looked down and away. It was still weird to have her back in Toronto after all this time when, from ages 3 to 13, Caitlin Ryan would drop in every other year for the holidays with presents from all around the world, then she be off on another adventure.
But now that she stopped, she never seemed more stuck. Stuck at a lesser version of her dream job, stuck in the mundanity of life in the suburbs, and, right now, stuck at her ex's house, watching him watch someone else.
Everyone knew the story. I could recite it in my sleep. Everyone knew the on-again-off-again romance, and everyone knew what Joey did to Caitlin — with my current boss. I was more aware of it lately than any time in the past, for obvious reasons.
What we all tried not to notice was how Caitlin and Joey still gazed at each other from across the room, eyes rarely meeting at the same time.
"Well, the Jeremiah household is just full of amazing women these days," Mr. Simpson said, decked in Santa gear and hugging Spike to him. He meant well by the comment, despite at least two people in the room feeling intensely uncomfortable.
It made me wince, and I don't think that went unnoticed by Emma, who was bouncing baby Jack on her knee.
"And two really lucky men," Ashley said with a smile to Craig, who kissed her on the cheek. Gross.
My mom was supposed to be here — she requested the time off — but she was called in to the supermarket anyway, cause god forbid someone didn't get their Christmas ham in time. She said she'd be here as soon as she could and I had to wait, despite how badly I wanted out of there.
The phone rang and Craig excused himself to answer it.
"You okay?" Emma asked, biting into a sugar cookie while simultaneously trying to keep it away from her brother's tiny, grabby hands, and I wished she wasn't talking to me. She'd been extra nice to me since Shelly drove her home the night of the rave, but also very obviously awkward, and it weirded me out.
I managed a tight smile. "Yeah. Can't be in a bad mood at Christmas."
That was a lie. My mom cried every year at Christmas and thought I didn't know about it. What use was it to bring it up?
Emma examined me, then Craig, and back to me. "Of course. 'Tis the season, right?"
"Uh, Spinner? We'll talk about exchanging gifts tomorrow. Bye." Craig raised his voice just before he hung up, and Ashley came up behind him.
I frowned at this, my hand stopping just before I set down one of my two remaining cards.
"What?" Emma asked.
"Nothing, it's just—" I said and paused, shaking a thought out of my head. "...It's nothing."
She seemed to accept the answer with a slow nod.
But it was there, and I couldn't help myself. I couldn't shake it away. "It's just that...Spinner doesn't get people gifts, like, ever."
Oh no, my stalker was showing. I figured that explained the discomfort on Emma's face.
"Maybe he had a change of heart?"
"A change of heart, okay, fine, but not a change of finances. Spinner doesn't get people things because he can't afford them, and he's only had a job for a week." This I only knew because of the one and only heart-to-heart we had in grade seven, during that now infamous detention. One of the reasons I liked him so much at the time, was because he understood the crappiness of having a parent work fifty hours a week just to make rent and bills, and still have food in the house. To my knowledge, from the digs Jimmy and Marco made about Spinner's clothes, this didn't change.
I stared at Craig and Ashley, then glanced back at Emma.
Her eyes darted away. "Maybe...it's someone else."
"Yeah, like who?"
"I don't know. Um..." Emma stood and adjusted the baby in her arms. "I need to go change Jack if they ask, okay?"
My eyes narrowed on her. "...yeah."
She left the room in a rush, heading towards the bathroom.
Another me, a younger me would've let it lie. She would've worried about how it would make her look.
Meanwhile, I didn't give my choice a second thought. I stood and maneuvered through the dining room to the eggnog punch bowl where Joey and Caitlin hovered, and I was reminded of all the stories again. They started blending with my own in ways I hated more and more.
"Joey, can I use your phone?" I asked with a cheesy smile. "I gotta check on my mom. See how much longer she's gonna be."
They both smiled tensely, and Joey said, "Sure, kid."
"Thanks," I mumbled and bee-lined for the phone in the living room. I glanced over at Craig who was sharing an inside joke with his girlfriend, and a new dread formed in my gut, one that was putting all the pieces together, one apart from them being them.
I hit the Caller ID button on the phone once and the number from the last call, the call Craig claimed to be Spinner, popped up.
𝚂𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙾𝚂, 𝙹𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙿𝙷
Something in my stomach turned to ice. I knew the name, I knew the number even. But maybe I was misremembering. Maybe I was seeing things. Maybe I was wrong.
But maybe...it was like at the rave. Maybe I wasn't seeing things.
I hit 'call back' and raised the receiver to my ear.
The phone rang once, then twice.
There was a click and dead air.
"Hello?" the voice said, and I knew it.
I knew it from every day we hung out since the summer. All the Buffy binges and shopping trips.
"Hello? Craig?"
The terror in my gut turned ravenous as I stared, disbelieving, at Craig, willing him to see what I was doing. Willing him to be caught in...whatever he was doing.
Why was Manny Santos calling him, and why did he lie about it?
The line was quiet, earth-shatteringly still.
I hung up.
I would like the record to show that I gave them days. Days of me being hyper-focused on their interactions, which were certainly more than I thought. Days of seeing Ashley's total obliviousness, practicing their little song, so happy and secure in her relationship. Days of seeing every panicked look from Craig, and every dreamy gaze from Manny. How did I not see it before?
Maybe, just maybe, because I wanted to believe in people. Give them the benefit of the doubt.
Or maybe because knowing would involve me fessing up for my own indiscretions, as minor as they were. They felt big. They felt like secrets because they were. Why wouldn't I tell anyone if I did nothing wrong? The fact that the first thing I felt was guilt instead of anger made me even more distraught.
I still, to this day, can pinpoint the moment when the anger kicked in.
It was right after my last short story class of the semester, a class I'd miss dearly in the new year. My final project was a doozy — writing a story in my least-liked genre, which meant I had to write a rom-com. I started alright, a fairly typical meet-cute in an elevator, but somehow it became a supernatural mystery about the couple's best friends piecing together how the two fell in love so quickly. I'll let you come to your own conclusions on that, but it was a big hit. Bigger than all the dark stuff I still loved writing. Kwan said I should submit it to my co-op mentor after the holidays, to see if I could get into that short story collection. I doubted it, but I said I'd try.
I had my bag lunch in my fist when I passed the haphazard mess that was currently the gym. The Around-the-World Holiday Festival was looming ever closer and I decided to bug JT while he practiced his jokes, as he was the host.
I was about to stroll right in when I heard that song.
You're every present I never got
You're every wish that never came true
Craig strummed along to the cheesy lyrics, and the pang of hurt shot through my stomach.
I took a breath because this was fine, and I could function like a person around Craig and Ashley. I had to if I wanted to be sure of my suspicions. When I entered the gym, as if it was somehow timed perfectly, Manny came in from the far entrance.
You're every prayer that went unanswered
So, baby, I'll spend Christmas with you
With you
Manny walked right by Craig with an intense, knowing look, like she was sending him the evil eye.
So, baby, I'll spend Christmas with you—
With a painful twang, a guitar string snapped. At the same moment, I stepped in front of Manny, not saying a word. Whatever intensity had been there in her gaze shriveled up as she pursed her lips and maneuvered around me to whatever her destination was.
I was about to cross in front of Craig and Ashley when Craig huffed in that familiar, panicky way and said, "This crappy guitar."
And that was it.
That was the moment, innocuous as it was.
Pain and rage flooded my whole body. It was like, in a way, I was both a victim and villain in a Poe short story, hiding my heart under the floorboards and plagued by its incessant, hideous beating. Or maybe it was more like the Cask of Amontillado. Maybe I was screaming inside the walls, and maybe I was the one who laid the bricks, one by one.
Either way, I lost the capacity for empathy when he roughly set down the present I got him, that stupid guitar, when I, much like Spinner, could afford very little. It fell over, and I seemed to feel it in my chest, and stomach, and throat. He rushed to pick it up like it still had some value by proxy of being his only acoustic guitar.
"That's gonna make it better," Ashley said, chastising him. "What's wrong with you today?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, with a thin smile at his girlfriend. He adjusted the guitar in his grasp as if he'd play it, broken string and all. "I'm fine."
He looked up, presumably where he thought Manny would be, and paled when he saw me there — his very own ghost of Christmas past. I left, because I had to work out what I wanted to say, and because I didn't want to look at him, but I knew right then I would be confronting him that night.
After trying to distract myself at the bookstore for a while, mostly reading because I couldn't afford to buy anything, I took the bus to Joey's side of town. I at least finished a short story from a collection of classic horror tales. A creepy little tale about yellow wallpaper I was sure would give me nightmares. Even that was a nice distraction compared to what I was heading into.
I walked into the Jeremiah residence without knocking, too familiar after a year and a half, only to be greeted by Caitlin and Angela, who were eating chocolate ice cream as it dripped onto Angie's ice pageant costume. I sat and watched some TV with them, missing that stupid old couch more than I could say, and Caitlin kept giving me a concerned look. I probably looked like a wreck, but I was too busy imagining all the ways this whole encounter could go horribly wrong.
After watching cartoons for a while, Caitlin and Ange fell asleep, and I continued watching the black and white movie. Bing Crosby sang White Christmas and something turned in my stomach. I instead waited for Craig in the garage.
I sat in the cold longer than I anticipated, staring at the guitar with the broken string. It was a stupid gift, after all. Cheap.
When he came in and saw me, holding a different guitar case, he grinned as if he ran into an old friend at the airport. "Aud, hey."
I didn't speak at first. It was like I forgot how to.
"...Why did Manny Santos call you?" I asked.
His face fell, eyes wide and I finally understood that stupid phrase about the deer in the headlights. "What? What are you..."
"You know, the phone in the kitchen? The one with caller ID?" I folded my arms tight around my chest. "I, um...I thought it was weird at the tree-trimming party when Spinner called about gifts. Pretty sure his family's on food stamps, and any money he makes goes to whatever ridiculous thing Paige wants. So, I got curious and wanted to see why you would lie."
He didn't say anything, like he hadn't quite figured out what to say — at least, not to me. Maybe he never expected me to find out because he hadn't given much thought to me at all in the past few months.
The revelation of that left me angry more than hurt and I asked again. "So, why is Manny calling you? Better yet, why did you lie about it?"
He swallowed and looked around like he was seeking an out. A trapped rat. "It's, uh...it's complicated, okay?"
"Unless it's funny sitcom shenanigans, I doubt that. Just..." I looked away and swallowed the lump in my throat. "You know what I went through, and how isolated I was before, and you...you've all been avoiding me for weeks. I'd bet my life Manny's call is the key to all of it. I need to know what's going on. No more dodging. No more lies."
Craig paced a little before pulling up the chair by my audio set up over to the sofa.
He took a breath and looked at me with nervous, walled-up eyes. "...I've been seeing Manny, for a while now."
It was like he took a boulder and tossed it in my direction like it was a softball as it crushed everything inside my chest and throat and stomach. I shook my head slowly, trying to clear the fog. I knew this was the truth I was looking for, but hearing it was so much worse.
He didn't say anything, and his stare went down to his hands.
"...Define seeing," I said when I found my voice and the barest thread of conscious thought. I found my grip on it and the only thing left to latch onto was all that anger. "And define a while."
"Audrey."
"No. No coddling. No lame excuse. Tell me."
"We hooked up," he said, to add insult to injury. There was no soap opera grandeur to the confession; he said it and it hung there, flat and rotting between us. "After Paige's party, and the fight with Ash, we came back here and hooked up."
"Here." I said it less like a question and more like an accusation, gesturing to where I sat. "Here-here."
He chanced a look at the couch, and I bolted up.
"Oh god," I said before the thought fully landed in my head. "You..."
He stood and reached for me, always his first impulse.
I ignored the hurt on his face when I swatted his hand away. "Don't."
"Look, Aud—"
"Shut up. Just...stop talking." I gathered my things quickly and bolted to the door, needing so badly to be away from here. To get as much space between me and Craig Manning as possible. I stopped before I grabbed the handle. "Don't seek me out. Don't call me. Don't talk to me in the halls, or in class, or anywhere. I am done with all of this. Do you get that? Done."
The last word came out more like a bark, and he flinched away. I tried not to ask myself why.
My voice became only an echo of all the pain coursing through me. "You're on your own. I'll ask Jimmy to pick up my stuff."
I wouldn't spend another second there. I opened the door, and I heard it.
"Please don't go, Audrey," Craig said, the nickname completely dropped, his voice desperate but not quite broken. Nothing about him was mine to break. "Please?"
I turned to him, this sad and pathetic thing he was now, unwilling to let go and unwilling to change. So like everyone else who ever hurt me, and it made me sick.
"Go to hell." I turned back and slammed the door behind me.
I gotta be upfront. Sadness keeps me closed off, small, and happy to let others walk all over me. It was easy to bury. Anger was addictive. It made me feel justified in every action I took, and a lot of those actions were maybe even understandable. Some, I still regret.
I re-dyed my hair that night, having stolen some dye from the pharmacy, going back to the magenta in full force. Heavy makeup on. Headphones on. A lone spirit of vengeance headed right for Manuela Santos the moment I got to school.
And there she was, right at her locker, reapplying lip gloss like everything was normal and okay. My brain went haywire—thinking of all the times they probably snuck off together, interacted at school, and my fingerprints all over their first interactions.
I slammed her locker door shut and she only barely moved out of the way.
Annoyance flashed over her features and drained when she saw me, eyes wide and brows crumbling. I wanted her to see that I knew before I said it. I wanted her to see the part she played in my reaction.
We stared at each other for a while as other people stared at us.
Her mouth shut, and she swallowed. "I can explain."
"Which part?" I narrowed my eyes. "The part where you got exactly what you wanted? Or the part where you were already..."
Craig doing what he did and lying didn't manage to hurt me enough to make me cry, but my throat closed painfully over the words while looking at Manny. I thought I made a friend, the friend my mom would talk about in her stories. The kind I didn't have to hide anything from.
My words came out of my mouth with extra venom. "Or was it the part where I let you into my life, told you things I never told anyone, including but not limited to how I felt, and how scary it was to be alone, and you both left — together?"
I took a step toward her and she didn't move.
"Go ahead. Explain," I seethed, and the words that followed I wish I could take back. "Make it make sense without making yourself into what everyone says you are."
The word I didn't say was there in bright scarlet letters, and I still couldn't bring myself to say it.
Her eyes stayed on the floor and she looked like she was ready to cry or scream.
I walked past her with a shoulder check. "That's what I thought."