The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

I stare at her ceiling for I don’t know how long. I should feel better, finally having my answer, but her words keep replaying in my head.

“The opposite,” I hear myself say out loud. “What’s the opposite?”

“Hmm?” she mumbles.

“You said ‘if anything, it was the opposite,’ but what does that mean?”

“Oh,” she breathes, her voice already heavy with sleep. “I don’t know. You always made me feel . . . safe. Too safe, maybe.” She lets out the tiniest laugh. “Kind of ruined me for anyone else.”

“I don’t know how to take that,” I whisper, but I cling to that small laugh.

“It’s just—you know, no one else is like you.”ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

Within seconds her breathing turns slower, deeper, as she drifts to sleep.

“No one else is like you, either,” I say, even though I know she won’t hear me.

The next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes, and I can tell I’ve been out for a while. Eden’s still asleep, her leg draped over mine now. I move slowly, reaching into my back pocket for my phone. It’s almost four o’clock. I shift her leg first, then, as carefully as I can, slip my arm out from behind her neck. I don’t want to wake her, but I don’t want to just leave, either. On her desk, near the lamp, there’s a stack of sticky notes and a jar of markers and pens.

To be continued . . . Sleep well, J

I cover her with the knit blanket that’s folded over the back of her chair and place the note on the pillow next to her.

I tiptoe through her house in the dark, barely even breathing. I don’t know who would be worse to run into in the middle of the night: one of her parents, who have no idea who I am and might think I’m some kind of intruder, or her brother. I make it to the entryway, where I scoop my shoes up and carry them the rest of the way. It’s not until I close the door behind me that I finally let myself exhale. I lean against the railing and try to balance myself while I slide my sneakers back on.

“Hey, Miller.”

“Jesus fuck!” I nearly fall down the steps when I look up and see her brother sitting there in the dark.

“Sorry,” he says. “I was trying to not scare you, actually.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, struggling to get my other shoe on quickly, just in case I need to make a break for it. “Um, I know what this probably looks like, but I’m not sneaking out or anything like that.”

He laughs slowly. “Yeah, this is a little awkward, huh?” he mutters as he lights up a cigarette, illuminating his face, and that’s when I realize he’s got a whole collection of bottles next to him.

“You all right, man?” I ask him, because he looks rough as fuck. Nothing like the MVP, voted-most-likely-to-be-an-NBA-all-star-by-the-age-of-twenty guy I used to play with in high school; he barely even resembles that guy who beat me up at the New Year’s party.

He shrugs. “You want one?” he asks, nearly dropping the bottle of beer he’s trying to hand me. If I ever needed motivation to not drink again, this might just be it.

“No, I’m good. It’s late; I should probably get home.”

He nods and opens the bottle for himself instead.

“Good seeing you, though,” I tell him, even though it’s actually sort of horrible seeing him. Like this, anyway.

“Miller?” he says, as I take one step off the porch. “Did you know?”

I don’t need to ask him what he’s talking about. “No, I didn’t know. I wish I had, honestly.”

“Is she okay, do you think?”

I’m not sure what to say, but I try to answer anyway. “I think she’s . . . doing her best. You should ask her yourself,” I add.

He nods but doesn’t say anything. I raise my hand to wave and take a step away from him. “Hey, for the record, Josh . . . ,” he calls after me. “I’m sorry for punching you in the face that time.”

“It’s all right,” I tell him. I take another step but stop and turn around again. “You know, I really do care about her. I always have. It was never what you thought.”

Caelin nods again and stands, taking a couple of unsteady steps toward me, extending his hand. And as I take it, he reaches around me to pat my back, much like we’d have done after a game back in the day. “I’m glad she has you . . . as a friend, or whatever,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I have her too,” I tell him, hoping he’ll remember this conversation in the morning. “Take care, all right?”

“Yep. Later.”

By the time I’m pulling away from the house, he’s already inside.