After the text from Jason's mom last night, I fell right asleep and almost slept in until noon the next day but Tia ended up waking me up. If the world's sleepiest teen has to wake you up, you know you're a little bit of a mess.
"Your phone's been buzzing nonstop for, like, two hours," Tia informed me after jarring me awake by dumping half a glass of cold water on my face. It was absolutely lovely.
I rolled over, grimacing at the feeling of the moist sheets underneath me as I looked at my phone. A string of texts from Clay greeted me on my lockscreen, among them questions such as "did you hear from Mrs. Freeman?" and "don't worry she's not a stalker she's just my neighbor" and "I still want to know how you knew, that was insane". Ignoring the last one I put my phone face down on the nightstand and peeled the wet sheets away from my skin before tackling Tia to get my revenge.
Just as I had pinned Tia to the ground and had gotten a fistful of her hair in one hand and a pair of shears in the other Mrs. Das came into the room, pretending to scold us at Tia and I laughed until our stomachs hurt. By how much my core hurt every time I left Tia's house I thought that she and I should have rock-hard abs, but it was not so.
"Do you girls want breakfast?" Mrs. Das called from downstairs thirty minutes later, but by the strong smell of waffles ascending the staircase to our noses, I thought that she had already assumed our answer.
"More of a brunch," Mrs. Das said and nodded to the clock, which read 1:30, as she spooned a heavy dollop of strawberries
in a sugary syrup onto my stack of waffles.
Eagerly I moved onto the powdered sugar, shaking it onto my mountain of berries. "There's never a wrong time for breakfast," I said.
"Yes there is," Tia cut in, swiping the sifter of powdered sugar from my hands. "And it's called 3 am on a Tuesday night," she glared at her mom.
Mrs. Das froze, thumb in mouth, licking off excess from the tower of whipped cream that was toppling over on her waffles. "I was hungry!"
Tia merely rolled her eyes in response, grabbing a knife and fork for herself and joining me at the island bar. Mrs. Das stood on the other side of the counter, happily munching on her waffles. Even though it was silent (they were really good waffles), it was peaceful, and that's what made me so happy for any amount of time I got to spend at the Das house.
"Well," Tia said, wiping the excess sticky sugar on her sleeve. "Your late night cooking practice has really been worth it."
"Thank you," Mrs. Das said, her voice as sappy as the syrup the strawberries were soaking in. I stood and moved to clean my plate in the sink before Mrs. Das stopped me, saying, "Don't worry about it," as she took my dish from my hands and handed it to Tia, "I'm sure Tia won't mind."
"Why do I have to do it?" Tia protested.
"Daughters who diss their mothers do dishes," Mrs. Das said. Tia stuck her tongue out at her mom who returned the favor, waving her fingers goodbye as she sauntered out of the room.
"What a cool cat," I said, moving next to Tia and picking up a dish sponge.
"The coolest," Tia huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of her face as her soapy hands scrubbed away at the batter bowl.
After Tia and I finished the dishes we went back up to her room and spent the next hour and a half scrolling, because what else would two teenage girls do on a summer day? We then settled in for a Friends marathon, flying through 8 episodes without moving until I realized it was 6:00 and I ought to be on my way home before my parents beat me there. They'd been gone for over two weeks, and it was better if I was in the house when they got there to cover for Matt, whose breath was probably tainted with alcohol.
"I'll probably see you within the next 24 hours," Tia said, walking out to my car with me.
"You're not wrong," I agreed, hugging her before shutting the car door and driving the whole four blocks to get back to my house. A true roadtrip it was.
To my relief, when I got home my parent's car was not in the driveway. Upon opening the garage I only discovered Matt's car, meaning that Jane had left as well. I hoped their brunch had went well.
Upon my arrival Clover tackled me, jumping on me and lapping at my face. I kicked off my shoes and knelt and hugged her, squeezing her close to me against her will as she struggled to free herself and lick me more.
I continued petting Clover, but realized the house was eerily quiet for having Matt in it. "Matt?" I called, standing up and hushing Clover as I waited for an answer. There wasn't one. Worried, I called his name again, to no avail.
Now with serious concern that he had blacked out, I ran into the kitchen, my heart beating in my ears. I didn't know a lot about the life Matt lived, but I did know that if he had blacked out and was alone there was a very real chance he might not wake up again.
Sure enough, Matt was in the kitchen, but not how I thought he'd be. He was sitting at the table, silent, head in his hands. His phone was at his elbow next to him on the table. As I got closer I saw that his hair was matted with sweat, the collar of his t-shirt from high school soccer team stained wet.
"Matt?" He breathed in deeply before looking up at me. I took a step back, nearly tripping as I saw his puffy eyes and flushed face. The last time Matt had cried was his sophomore year of high school when he broke three of his ribs and his ankle playing rugby. I took a seat at the table across from him, searching his face for a clue as to what was happening.
"What's wrong?" I finally asked, breaking the silence. To my surprise, Matt's lip began to quiver and his eyes welled up. He tried to hold a straight face but the corners of his mouth continued to turn downwards as the tears began to spill down his red face. "Matt," I whispered moving from my chair to wrapping my arms around him. He was shaking. Confused what to do with my new role as comforter I tried to awkwardly soothe him, which didn't go very well.
"Matt," I tried again, now more frustrated at his refusal to tell me. "What happened?"
Matt opened his mouth a few times before choked out, "It's Jane."
"Aw, Matt, I know you really liked her but sometimes a breakup is for--"
"It's not that."
"Then what is it? The brunch not go well? Matt I'm sure her parents loved--"
"She's pregnant, Eva, okay? I knocked her up, she's pregnant, there's a baby on the way--" Matt's voice caught as he broke down and he balled his hands into tight fists, holding them in the air as his mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say.
"How?" I asked, before realizing this was a stupid question. "Well, not how, but like how?" I knew that the last thing I should do was yell at him, but that's all I wanted to do. All I saw was red and words simply flowed out of me like a river of confusion. "This is why you're not old enough or mature enough to be doing this shit, Matt! You go off and frolic in your land of borderline underage alcoholism and sex when it's not even legal for you to do one and clearly should be illegal for you to do the other, and when the consequences come back to you you sit here crying in the same house you did it in because you live at home because you're only 19 and--"
"Eva," Matt whispered. He had let his hands dropped to his sides and he now sat motionless, his eyes dead and unfocused. "Please."
I took a deep breath, laughing and shaking my head, as the only other thing I could think to do was to laugh. I couldn't bring myself to do anything else but laugh. I continued to laugh as forced my feet back into my shoes and left the house without saying another word.
Reality hit me and the tears started to fall as I made my way to the only place I knew where I could be safe and alone: the Tree. For a Mogermentry summer night, it was chilly, despite being in the heat of summer. When I looked up I discovered the culprit of the cool evening-- there were ominous clouds looming overhead, looking like they were ready to spill at any moment. I crossed my arms over my chest and continued onward, hoping the sky didn't crack and pour its wealth on my head.
Thunder boomed and lighting cracked across the sky when I got to the Tree-- a sure sign that a summer storm was brewing. Thankfully, I when I parted the vines I was still dry and had arrived to the shelter of the Tree safely. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths before looking around for something to busy myself with. When you're an overthinker, the only way to battle it is to busy yourself with piddly things. Enter the rich library of the tree which held a collection of all my favorite books, the stories I used as an escape to my parent's constant arguments, of course from when they were even home when I was younger. It had been a while since I'd found it necessary to read any of those. Also lying around were all of my journals from years' past and plenty of other things I often busied myself with when Matt was partying, or in this case, dealing with the aftermath of that.
Unfortunately, instead of finding an adventurous story to dive into or a journal to rant in, I was met with Clay. He was down in the grass, messing with his gears on his treasured bike. Unfazed I continued to my chaise, squatting down and rummaging through my bins of books as I tried to find something that would take my mind off of whatever hell was breaking loose at my house. Clay continued working on his bike, his music so loud that I could hear the bass thumping. He didn't notice me until I sat down and I cringed at the squeaking of the leather, knowing I had given myself away.
"What are you doing here on my time?" Clay smirked, turning away from his bike and setting his screwdriver next to the owner's manual.
Shrugging I turned back to my book. Clay pressed on, asking, "That's breaking the code of Tree time!" He pointed to the paper that was tacked onto the tree, squinting at his own barely-legible handwriting. "If I'm not mistaken, from 12 pm to 12 am on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, that's oh! me? It's really crazy how these schedules--"
"Okay, Clay, I'm sorry," I snapped. I gathered myself and slammed my book shut, throwing it into the soft, summer grass where it landed with a quiet thud.
"Hey, I was just joking," Clay stood, grabbing my arm as I stepped out of the tree. He moved his hand down to mine, clasping it tight, asking for me to come back. I froze, one foot out in front of me towards the unknown of what was waiting for me outside, and the other behind me, retreating back into the comfort of the Tree that I called my second home. Taking a few deep breaths and swallowing the pain, I turned around. Clay released my hand slowly, letting his fingers linger before turning back and walking over to the chaise and sitting down in the grass, facing me as if in anticipation.
"What is this, therapy?" I crossed my arms. My feet twitched back and forth, as if any second I could just turn and run.
"Eva, the first step to conquering an addiction is acceptance." I furrowed my brow in confusion. "You know, your addiction to being a tree hugger and yet ironically having journal upon journal and book upon book of tree corpses? You have quite the contradictory character."
At this, I broke down laughing. Well, at first. I covered my face with my hand as the tears started to fall, playing it off as hysterical humor, but it wasn't too long before Clay realized he wasn't that good of a comedian.
"Eva?" Clay stood slowly, holding his hands out precariously, unsure of what to do. Every time I looked at him I just sobbed harder; his ticking clock was just a remind of life, and that was a remind of babies and, well, you can figure the rest of that thought.
"Eva," Clay said again, this time more of a statement, an invitation to him. I lowered my crossed arms to my sides, hiccuping as the tears fell. Tentatively he wrapped his arms around me, holding me as if he could squeeze the sorrow out of me.
Clay led us over to the chaise, awkwardly trying to sit down next to me but still keep himself enveloped around me like a barrier to the outside world. For the first time in my life time didn't even seem real. With my head in his shoulder was like a mask had been put over my eyes. If I couldn't see the clocks, does that mean time still goes on? Is it possible for someone to just stop time? I would never know.
I had finally stopped my breakdown episode and Clay took me by the shoulders, turning me to face him. I looked through my glossy eyes into his, which were filled with concern. Apparently this was not my strongest moment.
"Eva?" Clay asked a third time.
"It's just stuff at home I guess. My brother, he, well," I paused, unsure of how to even phrase it. Clay nodded for me to keep going. Swallowing and shaking my head, I continued on. "He got a girl pregnant. Well, not just any girl, really. She's really awesome, and I thought she was going to turn his life around and that she was going to be able to finally fix him, and then I guess they weren't careful or whatever but I feel like I could've done something you know? Like I could've stopped it or made sure he had had one less drink, like I should've known or something? Like I--" My throat caught and I covered my mouth, both to stop the word vomit that had just expelled from me and to keep the sob that I knew was coming from escaping.
"Eva," Clay said, catching my eyes. "There's no way you could have done anything. Don't you know that?"
I thought back to seeing Jane, with that weird sparky thing going on with her clock. I thought back to all those times I'd seen Matt run upstairs with her, their clocks slowing (apparently your clock slows when you're about to get some, learning from Matt's experience, not my own). I thought back to Matt's face, the weakest I'd seen him since ever, his clock ticking at a faster pace than I even wanted to think about. Talk about having kids taking off of your life. "I mean," I chose my words carefully. "I just felt like there were signs, you know?" I prayed he knew what I meant.
"Like you saw the condoms in his room were expired or something?" Clay asked with a straight face. I gave him a weird look until he burst into laughter and I the same.
"No, it wasn't like that, but you know what I mean."
"I do." Clay said, taking a deep breath in, a turn sharply away from his humorous moment. "I mean, it's kind of morbid, but when my dad got sick, like really sick, I felt like I should've known. Like I could've stopped it or something."
"Like the universe was trying to tell you to do something and you just didn't know what it was?"
"Yeah," He said slowly. "How'd you put that so well?"
"I don't know," I stuttered, my face heating up. "Just experience with the universe and all its miscommunications, I guess."
Clay laughed. "You have no idea."
We sat in silence for a bit, but instead of awkward, it was peaceful. Before I could even stop to think I leaned into Clay and he put his arm around me, and the world slowly faded away until it stopped.