How to Love

broken. “What about her?”

“What made you like her?”

“Reena, why do you want to do this?”

“Just answer me.”

“I don’t know!” he said, sighing noisily, head back against the seat. Eventually he started to talk. “She was really … open, I guess. And mellow. Like nothing ever worried her.” I wondered if he was framing this description specifically to hurt my feelings, to highlight the differences between my best friend and me—his old girlfriend and his new one—or if we were just such polar opposites that he couldn’t help but sound that way. “She was just … fun.”

Fun. Right. I took a deep breath, peered at a road sign, took a wide right turn. “Would any of this ever even have happened if she hadn’t …” I trailed off.

“She died, Reena.” He wasn’t looking at me, was staring out the window instead, watching the lights blink by. “You might as well just say it, if we’re going to talk about this. If she hadn’t died.”

“If she hadn’t died.” I swallowed. “Would you ever have wanted to be with me if Allie hadn’t died?”

“What the hell is up with you, huh?” he asked. “Can we not do this?”

“Just answer me!”

There was a long silence. He seemed to be weighing his options. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know! And there’s shit you don’t know about me, and there’s sure as hell shit you don’t know about that night—”

“Well, then tell me!”

“I can’t!”

I didn’t argue. What was I expecting, really? Surely it was dangerous for me to be driving like this. Surely it would have been smarter to pull over, to sort it all out. But I was tired now, and I wanted to go home. I stopped short at a light I hadn’t realized was red.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

“Shut up,” I replied.

We rode without speaking the rest of the way, the croon of the radio the only sound inside the Jeep. You know you done done me wrong…

The sky was a full, heavy purple when I pulled into Sawyer’s driveway. Probably it was going to rain. The yellow house loomed like something haunted. I screwed up my courage. “You need help, Sawyer.”

“Oh, please.” He made a noise, something dismissive, in the back of his throat. “Don’t start that with me.”

“Well, you do!”

“Stop it.”

“You’re not in school, you have half a job that you’re constantly on the edge of losing, you’re wasted all the time—”

“I am not!” he interrupted.

“Honestly, Sawyer, the only thing you have going for you right now is me, and you’re doing everything you possibly can to mess that up, too!”

“Right,” he muttered. “It’s all me messing this up.”

“I can’t help it that I’m going away!”

“It’s not about you going away!” he shouted.

“Then what is it about?”

He didn’t answer. “Well?”

Still nothing.

“Do you like this?” I demanded. “This stupid badass act that you pull all the time? Is it working out for you?”

“You keep asking me that. Do you like always being the good girl? Does that do something for you?”

“It’s not being the good girl, Sawyer! It’s being myself!”

“Well, maybe that’s what I’m doing, too. Just being myself.”

“That’s not you!”

“Maybe it is.”

“Then I don’t know you.”

“Maybe you don’t.” He sighed, opened the door of the Jeep, and slid out.

“Do you anticipate quitting all this bullshit anytime soon?” I called out the window.

He smirked. “What bullshit is that?”

“You know what bullshit!” I wanted to hit him. I wanted to be as mean as I possibly could. “I’ll tell you, Sawyer, the novelty of you is really starting to wear off.”

Sawyer recoiled, then got very still. “The novelty of me?” he asked quietly. And that was the moment I realized I’d gone too far.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I told him. “I didn’t mean—I just—”

“Forget it.”

“Sawyer—”

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” he said, almost to himself. He was on his feet, across the yard, almost before I knew what was going on. His hands were like white spiders in his hair. “I’ll see you around, Reena.”

This time, he didn’t kiss me good-bye.

45

After

I drop Hannah off with Stefanie and drive too fast to the hospital, a change of clothes and a bagel for Sol on the passenger seat beside me. She looks like hell, but my father looks all right, considering: He’s groggy and sallow, an IV taped to the back of his hand. I have fifty things to tell him but none of us says anything and I sit at the edge of the bed while we watch the Today show, an incredibly boring segment about finding the best summer produce. It makes me want blueberries. I fidget. I think of how disappointed he’d be if he knew I’d just spent the last twelve hours repeating every stupid mistake I ever made with Sawyer, or if those are just the kind of bad calls he expects from me after all this time. I feel so foolish on top of everything else, letting myself think I could make it work after everything that’s happened.

“You scared me,” I tell him finally. I want to say I’m sorry but I don’t know where to start. “Don’t do it again.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods and leans back against the pillows, the skin beneath his eyes pale and gray. His cheeks are speckled with a day’s worth of beard. “Soledad already read me the riot act.”

“I’ll come by later with Hannah,” I promise on my way out. I kiss him on the forehead and don’t cry until I get to the parking lot. I feel like a bad bruise.

* * *

Sawyer shows up at ten to seven to take over for Joe, who slips me a butterscotch Dum Dum for Hannah before he heads home to his wife. Sawyer grew up behind that bar, just like the rest of us, and right away he makes himself at home amid the SoCo and grenadine, setting up as if he’s never been gone.

I try as hard as I can not to watch him, not to notice as he flashes an expert grin at a middle-aged woman in heavy makeup or chats baseball with a couple of suits in town for a conference. Still, we’re not particularly busy, and the restaurant isn’t offering a whole lot by way of distraction. I hide in the kitchen for a while, fill Finch in on what’s happening with my dad.

By eight the place fills up enough that I can get into a strange, familiar kind of rhythm: split checks and olive oil, extra knives and plates. I ring my drink orders in from the computer in the back hallway and I don’t look at Sawyer at all.

Eventually he notices me not noticing, though, catches my eye as I head toward the kitchen with a just- balanced armload of dirty plates. I don’t know what I’m expecting, exactly, but it’s not the bland newscaster smile he shoots my way. “Something you needed, Reena?” he asks.