Hate Page 7

  I closed my eyes, eager to breath in every second of it, fearful it wouldn’t last. He smelled of aftershave and gum. Strength and despair. Squeezing my eyes even tighter, I breathed my apologies right into his ear. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry about your dad, I’m sorry about yesterday, and I’m really sorry I don’t have anything better to say.” His arms, already wrapped tightly around me, clenched tighter, and his face tucked softly into the crook of my shoulder. I slid my hand up his back and settled it on the back of his neck. After a few seconds, his arms relaxed, but he didn’t pull away, settling his large hands on the shelf of my hip.

  Our hands didn’t move as I looked up into his slightly shimmery eyes. The entire time I’d been here, waiting my turn, I’d never seen him show that amount of emotion.

  Pulling me forward, he placed a lingering kiss on my forehead before letting me go. I smiled again, waiting for him to say something, but he stayed silent.

  I glanced to my left and found the line at a standstill waiting for me.

  Reluctantly, I shifted my weight into my right foot and looked from Blane to Franny. Her head was down, the fall of her hair covering her face, but one single tear fell free, landing on the toe of her shoe with a soundless splash.

  Distracted by the sight of it, I wasn’t ready when the full weight of my body was forced forward by a tug of my hand. I looked up just in time to stop myself from falling, right into the most beautiful pair of haunted blue eyes.

  His voice was rough, almost tortured, when he told me, “You stand here.”

  I nodded, wide-eyed and surprised. He didn’t give me an explanation before he turned back to the line of mourners, his unshakeable facade slipping back into place, and I didn’t ask for one. I just stood there, eager to do whatever he needed me to, no matter how awkward I felt.

  Franny looked up to see me in her place, but she managed a small, if fake, grin. I laced my clammy fingers through hers, wishing I could do the same for the man on my other side.

  But Blane’s hands were busy, clasping his dad’s friends on the shoulder and gesturing as he talked. For all of the rest of the world he stood composed, but he’d shown me something different. Something I’d been hoping for.

  Something I’d yelled at him about just the day before.

  I felt privileged.

  And yet, I also felt angry. Angry that he felt the need to portray anything other than what he was feeling.

  I hated seeing him keep it inside.

  And I hated saying goodbye to his father.

  But most of all, I hated that for him and his mom, this was just the beginning. Saying goodbye to someone you love isn’t really the hard part. It’s living every day, not being able to say anything to them at all.

  I shook my head at the ground, as if it could somehow change things, or at the very least, take responsibility for the emptiness William’s death created.

  My hand clenched in Franny’s, and she squeezed it back. Her seemingly innocuous act startled me so much that I lifted my head, eager to see her eyes, eyes she’d carefully hidden from me before.

  But when I did, I found something else. A completely different reason for Franny’s hand squeeze. In fact, the real one.

  Standing together, my mother and father brought up Gram’s rear. She led the charge, and she didn’t bother to follow protocol. She skipped the line, attacking it from the other side, coming from the back and starting with Franny rather than Blane’s mother. But her eyes stayed on me, staring right through me, and despite the awkward feeling of inappropriateness my parents obviously felt, they followed her.

  Gram walked right past me, the wink from her right eye the only indication that she even saw me standing there.

  She didn’t wait for Blane to finish his conversation, she didn’t wait for him to reach out for her, and she didn’t whisper a simple I’m sorry in his ear.

  No, not my Gram.

  She did it all wrong. Every last thing.

  But really, as I watched her pull the muscular frame of Blane into her equally dainty one, her delicate hand poised on his bent neck, and her warm heart to his, I knew the truth.

  She couldn’t have done it any more right.

  Because she didn’t care about tradition and protocol and formalities.

  Gram cared about Blane.

  She whispered in his ear, the words too soft for me to hear, and I watched as Blane both smiled and cried, his long-fingered hand going up to catch the tear she’d set free.

  He nodded once, and she reciprocated in kind, with one short nod.

  But before she stepped away, she told him, “Love. It’s the only immortal thing in this whole damn world, if you ask me.”

  The corners of Blane’s eyes wrinkled with his smile once more, but Gram didn’t wait around. She stepped to me and kissed me on the cheek, and finally, turned to leave. At least, I thought she did.

  But she turned back, looking right at me. “You can tell me to stay away all you want. But it isn’t ever gonna happen.”

  With that, she was finished.

  Her aftermath still crackled like the embers of a still sizzling fire, the looks of shock still etched into the faces of those around us. My mom tried to apologize, “I’m so sorry,” while my father stood behind looking chagrined.

  Blane just shook his head, his smile growing and growing. Emily took one look at his face, the dramatic lines of his too handsome smile too foreign for the son she knew, looked back to my mother and told her, “I’m not.”

  And as Blane’s rich, lively blue eyes met mine, neither was I.

  I COULD NOT BELIEVE I was doing this.

  Everything about it screamed someone, anyone, other than me.

  The pigtail-necessitating Pippi Longstocking costume, the happy (slightly fake) party going attitude, and the makeup I’d smeared all over my face.

  To top it all off, I was attempting the impossible—rousing a sullen Franny from her melancholy-fueled slumber and convincing her to go with me.

  Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting miracles. As much as I wished I was, I wasn’t that naive. Real problems needed fixing, not just a cosmetic cover-up. I wasn’t even expecting her to stay long. Hell, I’d probably be even more ready to bolt than she was. But I wanted her to get out. To have something to look at besides the dark walls of her bedroom. Maybe if she had some people to watch, she’d have a couple of extra voices to listen to other than the demons in her head.

  At this point, I was banking on the fact that I didn’t think I could make it much worse.

  And Blane, well, for the first day in a long time, he was spending time with just his family. So I knew Franny would be at home by herself.

  I hoped that after yesterday, when he finally showed me some of his rare vulnerability, we would be in a better place.

  The chime of the doorbell was becoming all too familiar, the frequent visits to Franny’s house without being invited commonplace. It was such a far cry from how it used to be, when Franny would often pop in or give me a call just to say hi or get help with her homework, that I wondered if I’d imagined it or lived it in a completely different lifetime.

  Maybe Franny hadn’t been that effervescent life-force that brightened my day every chance she got. Maybe she hadn’t been the kind of girl who looked for the good in everyone.

  Maybe she wasn’t the friend I thought I knew better than myself.

  But deep down I knew that wasn’t right.

  She was that girl.

  And I hoped with everything I was that she would be that girl again.

  For the first time in a couple of months, Franny herself opened the door.

  Her brown eyes were haunted—tortured even—but her clothes were clean and her hair was pulled back out of her face.

  It might not have seemed like much, but it was progress.

  “Hey, Fran-you-la,” I greeted, trying out treating her normally for a change. The kid gloves were a good idea, but it had to get old after a while. For me, the more someone asked me
if I was okay, the less okay I was.

  And normally, I used any variety of nicknames rather than the one given to her at birth. Fran-you-la. Fran-ken-stein. Little Franny Foo Foo. You get the picture.

  “Hey, Pippi,” she responded with a small wave, tucking her hands into the pockets of her loose-fitting jeans afterward.

  Ah, so the costume was accurate enough to generate recognition.

  I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a really, truly horrible thing considering where I was going—a party with people who were practically programmed to latch onto someone’s weakest characteristic and exploit it. And usually, that effect was only amplified when alcohol was involved.

  Luckily, I was dressed as a power female. Pippi held her own. She could lift a horse, for Heaven’s sake. So when I was faced with a taunt or jab of any kind, I’d just shove it right back down their throat.

  And when it came to Franny, I’d make sure I shoved it so hard that it came out their ass. Tonight would be a positive experience for her if I had to bleed to make it happen.

  “Ah, so you noticed,” I joked.

  She couldn’t stop herself from cracking a smile. “Uh, yeah. Just barely, though. It’s pretty close to your normal appearance.”

  I let myself chuckle, the release lightening my load instantaneously.

  “So…” I started slowly. “Who do you want to be?”

  Her smile fled as quick as it came, and her protests didn’t delay. “What? No. Just no.”

  “Oh, come on. You would make a kickass Jasmine.” Lifting my hand and the bag it was holding, I continued, “I brought stuff.”

  “No,” she declined again, this time more vehemently and with a shake of her head.

  I resorted to pouting. For someone who had very little peer association during the early years of my life, I took to manipulation like a natural. I liked to think my Gram had something to do with it.

  “Please. Don’t make me go alone.”

  Her head tilted to the side in exasperation.

  Almost. I almost had her and that gooey heart cornered.

  “Plus,” I added, “I’m going to stand out here until you agree, and it’s cold. And Pippi may be spunky, but she didn’t plan out a good cold weather outfit.”

  For a second, she looked surprised. Maybe she’d expected me to give up and let her off of the hook. And frankly, her thinking wasn’t without merit. If it had been any other time in the last two or so months, I would have.

  As her expression turned from surprised to desperate, my heart fluttered. I was really freaking nervous that I was making the wrong decision. That pushing her to do something she didn’t want to do was the wrong choice.

  But I clenched my lips together to hold in the concession that was fighting to get out, the strength to do it coming solely from the knowledge that pre-pregnancy Franny would have been begging me to go. Which meant that post-pregnancy Franny needed to do the same.

  God, I hoped.

  I was no expert, and I didn’t claim to be.

  What I was, was Franny’s friend. A friend who desperately wanted to pull her out of the abyss of her mind’s making.

  Franny’s colorful world was coming in black and white, and I sought to revive it. Just like a TV antenna, it might take some wiggling, a little back and forth without knowing what would help the most, but eventually, the signal would be coming in strong.

  At least, that was what I had to hope for.

  Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she tilted it back forward, she asked, “What form of torture did you say that bag held?”

  I smiled.

  “Jasmine. You know, from Aladdin?”

  She inclined her head to indicate that she knew who I meant.

  “Come on, that’s cool. She’s, like, got a lion as a pet.”

  Her face scrunched up adorably. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have a lion.”

  “Fine. Lion, tiger, whatever.”

  “There’s a big difference,” she argued.

  “Not really,” I disagreed with a shrug.

  “Whit. A lion has a big, beautiful mane, and a tiger is famous for its stripes. It’s different.”

  “I know it’s different. I just mean, as far as its cool factor goes, a lion is not so different from a tiger.”

  “Cool factor?” she scoffed.

  “Are we seriously having this conversation? Let me in your house. I’m frickin’ freezing. Jesus.”

  Balking, she argued, “I never agreed to go.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Fine. What would you have said if you’d agreed?”

  “Yes, Whitney, I’ll go with you.”

  “Great. So glad you see it my way. Excuse me.” Shouldering my way past her and into the house, I ignored the disbelieving death glare she was aiming in my direction.

  “Hey! You tricked me!” she shouted indignantly. On the outside, I kept my cool. But on the inside, I was jumping up and down like I was on a trampoline. That was the first time I’d heard her raise her voice since that dreadful day.

  Turning to face her, I pointed out the obvious. “Yeah, I did. I’m a tricky bitch. You’re the nice one. This can’t be all that surprising to you.”

  “I’m just surprised I fell for it,” she conceded.

  “I know what will make you feel better,” I suggested.

  “What?”

  “Your Jasmine costume!”

  She was almost as good of an eye roller as I was.

  “I’m assuming you mean my mix between a nun and Jasmine costume, right? Because there’s no way you’re getting me into some belly baring, floaty pant number, with just a sports bra as a top. Tiger or no tiger, I draw the line.”

  “You don’t have to bare your belly. But, yeah, there’s no tiger. See, I didn’t really plan this in advance. All of this is stuff from my mom’s closet, and she just got rid of her tiger last week.”

  “Shame,” she said with a small smirk.

  “I know. Total pity.”

  We stood there staring at each other for several seconds, the relative silence of the house settling around us like an unavoidable cloud. I wasn’t here enough to know what it was really like, but my house was never like this.

  No matter the state of our emotional well-being, there was always noise. Someone laughing, someone yelling. Someone singing along to themselves to pass the time. Even our conversations took place at an elevated volume, and our every feeling filled the nooks and crannies of every square inch of our house.

  Of course, we’d never been in this place. An abortion. One that neither one of Franny’s parents knew about beforehand. And afterward, the messy emotional consequences. It was possible that Gina and Steven were feeling their own forms of depression. Sadness for a daughter that had lost so much. Envy for the family that they used to be. And helpless for a way to make it any better.

  They were talking to Franny, lending an ear—or at least trying to. That I knew. But they weren’t the kind of people that made you talk, pulling on your deepest secrets despite the fortress surrounding them.

  My Gram was that kind of person. She made me talk all the time. Especially when I didn't want to.

  I felt like Franny was lacking that.

  But who knew.

  Maybe she liked being able to process it herself.

  For now, I’d stick with my plan to help how I could. By treating her normally.

  “Come on, San-Fran-cisco. I hear a party, and while it’s not calling our names, it’s whispering them. Like a slight suggestion. Maybe, just maybe, it won’t be awful.”

  “God. You really know how to sell something, huh?” she asked with a tiny smile.

  “I’ve been told I’ve got a gift.”

  “A gift for bullshit, maybe.”

  “Hey. We all have our talents,” I replied on a smirk, pulling her down the hallway toward her room. As we went, I called out to her parents.

&n
bsp; “Hey, DePlunzios! I’m kidnapping your daughter and forcing her to wear a costume. Don’t wait up!”

  This way, I figured she would have a harder time backing out.

  Franny shot me a look. A look, I thoughtfully ignored.

  AS WE PULLED UP TO Grant’s house, the lights blaring only slightly more loudly than the music, I thought for not the first time that this might be a big mistake.

  I didn’t come to these parties. Even when things were normal.

  What had made me think it would be a good idea now, when everything was anything but?

  The streetlight reflected off of Franny’s low, dark ponytail as she sat silent on the passenger side of my Jeep. Her face was in profile, her attention focused on the students milling about Grant’s large front yard.

  I gave us both an out.

  Clearing my throat slightly, I offered, “We don’t have to go in, you know. I’d never really force you.”

  “I know,” she whispered without facing me. What I wouldn’t have given to know what was going on in her head.

  “Just because I bullied you into following through with one of my half-baked ideas, doesn’t mean we have to—” I started, only to stop when her chocolate eyes met mine in the darkness of my front seat.

  “You didn’t. This is the kind of thing I should be begging you to do.”

  “There’s no ‘should be’, Franna-Franna Boo Boo. You don’t have to be anything other than you are. And that includes not having to be who you were.”

  “But I want to be who I was,” she whispered again, turning her head back to the party.

  “Okay,” I affirmed. “Then let’s do this. We look ridiculous, but it’s in the best way possible. Let’s go inside and do it.”

  Turning immediately to my door handle, I pulled it, forcing the door open with the toe of my shoe. Franny sat there frozen for several seconds after I did, the echoing squeal of my girl’s old hinges ringing loudly between us.

  Jumping out, I rounded the car, stepped up onto the curb, and made my way to the door, all while she still sat there, staring at Grant’s house.

  I opened her door, and still, she stared through me.

  “Franny,” I said softly, hoping not to startle her.