“ I thought we were meeting after practice,” I say, raising my voice through the phone.
Muffled voices filter through my bedroom door, and I know they’re talking about me—about Micah and me arguing.
I’m irritated that my roommate and her friends chose now to waltz in, right when I got back. I’ve been trying to reach Micah since I left my aunt’s house. It’s not the first time he’s done this, and I hate it. Because the moment I leave her room, the despair of losing her and being alone hits me square in the chest.
It feels like I’ve been pushed into a dark hole, falling, reaching desperately for someone to pull me out. I reach for Micah, for him to stop me from falling, to tell me everything will be okay, that he’ll be there. But lately, he’s never in reach.
We make plans, and something comes up. I call, and he doesn’t pick up. He always has an excuse as to why. And it’s devastating. He’s been there since we were kids. But now that we’ve left for college, and my aunt is nearing the end, I’ve been spending more time back home and less time with him.
Every day these past two weeks, I’ve visited my aunt, helped her around the house, packed up what she wanted to donate, and brought her favorite meals. Between classes, I studied. But I always made the effort to spend time with him.
All I asked Micah was to meet up afterwards, when we both finished with our day. And every time, he would tell me that something came up.
I know, in part, it’s my fault. Maybe I’m lashing out because I feel guilty—that the time I am making is based on my schedule. Well, mostly. But I don’t regret the time I’ve spent with Aunt Nan. How could I? She’s all I have left.
My aunt has been both a mother and father to me my whole life. My parents died when I was a baby. Sometimes, I think I remember them—a certain smell, a touch, a laugh, a voice. But then it’s gone.
And maybe I’m afraid the same thing will happen with my aunt. Pictures would be useless.
What if I forget her? Her touch, her laugh, her voice? What if I forget what she looked like when my eyesight is
gone? “I was at practice, but then a couple of guys wanted to hang out after,” Micah says, pulling me back to the conversation.
I wipe my silent tears with my free hand and grip my phone tighter with the other, wanting nothing more than to throw it across the room.
My chest tightens as I press the phone to my ear. The weight of my glasses digs into my nose, suffocating. I swallow against the ache. Micah always picks up. He always calls back. Except now. Now, I’m screaming into my head, wanting nothing more than to fix it. To fix us. To tell him that I’m breaking inside. I’m sifting through the madness that is my life, and I need him.
That I hate this. The constant arguing. The excuses. The distance.
I swallow the lump in my throat and let out a slow breath so he can’t hear it in my voice that I’m crying. He hates when I cry. He always manages to make me feel guilty about it, convincing me that I need time alone to get through my emotions.
But that’s the last thing I want.
I take a few steps toward the far wall, away from the door, to keep my roommate and her friends from eavesdropping.
“Well, you could have called me back. I was worried when you didn’t pick up. I’ve been back for the last three hours.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear my phone go off in my pocket. By the time I was leaving, I realized I had three missed calls from you.”
I let out a steady breath. I’m probably overreacting. It’s not like we’re dating. And getting on him like this will just push him away. I tell myself I need to move forward, even if I don’t have an answer as to how we got here or how to fix it. The thought causes my throat to tighten. I swallow hard, forcing down the sob lodged there.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I just… I wanted to see you, okay? It feels like it’s been forever since we hung out.”
“Look, I get it. We did promise each other we wouldn’t become strangers when we started college. I chose this school because of you, remember?”
Relief washes over me.
I remember the day he threw all the other acceptance letters away when he got accepted here—because it was the school I was going to. He even went against his parents’ wishes. He could have gone to a more prestigious school, but he didn’t. He chose me.
He chose me.
“It’s not easy losing family, especially if she’s the only one you have left. I would never make you choose, Selene.”
Guilt claws up my throat. I feel likeshitfor lashing out. He has other friends on the baseball team, maybe even a girlfriend soon. Even if I wouldn’t want him to, it’s a possibility I have to accept.
And then I’ll have to accept that he’ll be with her all the time.
The few people I knew from high school all moved to different states for college. I wouldn’t say they werefriends, but wesat at the same table—the outcast table at lunch—the ones who didn’t fit in.
Micah never had that problem. He was a star on the baseball team, with aguaranteedscholarship to numerous schools. He was surrounded by friends who wanted his attention. He was always accepted. And I always wonderedwhat he saw in me.
There were times I thought hewas forcedto be my friend—because we lived on the same street, because everyone loved my aunt.
“I was going to invite you to the party this weekend,” Micah says. “The team was invited, and they expect me to be there. But I know you need to be with her. As you should be.”
I say nothing, not because I would have agreed to go, but because I understand.
I can’t be mad at him. It’s not his fault my life is turned upside down.
It’s not like I want to be around his teammates. The last thing I want is to be around them.
It didn’t go well in high school, and so far, college isn’t any better.
I won’t tell him how I feel about them because then I’d bea shitty friend—like I’m trying to make him feel sorry for me.
When theinevitablehappens—when she dies—everyone around me will keep going.
The world doesn’t stop. People don’t stoplivingjust because someone dies. Life keeps going,like the spinning wheels of an old clock.
Even if it feels like a part of me is missing, I have gone through every scenario in my head. People will tell me how sorry they are, that she’s in a better place, that she’s watching over me. But none of it will make me feel better. Nothing anyone says will bring her back. And then, eventually, they’ll expect me to move on.
But how?
There is no manual for grief. No set number of days, weeks, or months before I’ll be able to smile again, before I’ll be able to laugh. But I can’t think about that right now. It hasn’t happened yet.
“You’re right,” I finally say.
I did tell him I needed to be with my aunt as much as possible. I have to keep reminding myself it’s not his fault she’s going to die.
“I haven’t seen you much,” I admit truthfully. “And I know it’s my fault.” This is my way of smoothing things over—of snapping myself out of this spiral.
Because it would be unfair of me to ask him to come with me to visit her. No one wants to visit someone who’s about to die.
He visited her before he moved to the dorms, and then it was awkward between us.
It started to affect him at practice.
“Nothing is your fault, Selene,” Micah says, lowering his voice. “Remember that night… prom night?”
My breath catches. Tiny butterflies take flight in my lower belly, fluttering alongside something heavier—something that has been buried for months. There were times I thought he forgot about that night.
But I didn’t.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I do too.” His voice is softer, quieter. “There are times when I’m about to go to sleep, and the memory of that night pops into my head.”
It was both the best and worst night of my high school life. We went to prom as friends. He broke up with his girlfriend three days before and then asked me. To be honest, I didn’t expect him—or anyone—to ask me. It was last minute, and there was no way I would have said no. I wanted to go.
We left early and ended up at his house. It was the first time we were alone there. His parents were out of town, and my aunt had trusted Micah to bring me back at a decent time. I think she was more excited about us going together than I was. He made popcorn, and we watched a movie in his room.
We sat on his bed, our backs against the headboard. I’m not sure if he could tell I was nervous. I practically ate the whole bowl of popcorn because I didn’t know where to put my hands.
Our thighs were so close together, part of the fabric from my dress covering his black pant leg.
When the movie was over, I took off my glasses to clean them with a napkin from his nightstand. When I looked up, he kissed me. There was a hitch in my breath. My hands were shaking. I let the shock of his lips on mine settle, waiting for my brain to catch up. I was relieved when he didn’t pull away. He started slow, like he was waiting for me to accept what was happening.
I always thought Micah was attractive, but he was my best friend. He had numerous girlfriends. They hated that he included me most of the time, but I respected his space. He never hinted that he wanted more. He never looked at me that way—the way I wished he would. I wasn’t going to act like I didn’t have a crush, but as time went by and the more popular he became, I knew I never stood a chance. It was luck he talked to me at all. He never gave me any inclination that he wanted more, and I knew he was leaving for college.
I figured our friendship—or whatever it was that night—had an expiration date, that he wanted to be with me in the true sense.
“You do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I remember how beautiful you looked,” he says. “I also remember there was no way I could resist touching you.”
My ears burn, and I know I must be blushing. Heat spreads across my cheeks. I didn’t think he remembered that night the way I did. “I was surprised. How I said yes. How I gave him what I thought I wouldn’t give anyone.”
My virginity.
“I would be stupid not to.”
My stomach twists into knots—a mixture of excitement and dread. I don’t know how to feel about that night. I’ve spent so much time trying to forget it—trying not to let it ruin what we have. The highs and lows, but I’m glad it was him, not some random guy I picked to get it over with.
Who knows if I ever would have gotten the chance? Micah was there. He made me feel wanted. He made me feel good, even though I couldn’t see his face and everything was blurry.
It helped that I found him attractive—the brown hair, the lean body, the cute dimples. The boy-next-door charm that girls always fell for. But I don’t know why he would bring it up now, seven months later.
Does he want more? Is this what my aunt meant when she told me to fall in love? “But we’re friends,” I say, trying to sound casual, trying not to sound like my pulse is hammering in my ears.
“Yeah, of course we are. Best friends. Nothing changes that. I promise.”
I let out a breath. Then why does it feel like something has already changed?
“The memory of that night just snuck into my mind,” he says. “And I wanted to know if you thought about it sometimes.”
The truth is, it happened, even if he wants it to stay between us.
He said the same thing that night—that nothing would change between us.
I held back my tears then, the same way I’m holding them back now.
It wasn’t like I expected anything more from him just because I agreed to sleep with him—just acknowledgment. He didn’t need to label us or anything. I just wanted to belong to him.
But once it was over, the moment went up like a cloud of smoke.
It took everything in me to bury the memory, to pretend it never happened and never, under any circumstance, bring it up. Even though part of me didn’t want to forget.
At the time, there was hope for a repeat, but the next day at school, he acted like nothing happened—like we didn’t share something monumental and hadn’t held my heart in the palm of his hand.
I cried alone in my room that night, but I would never tell him how much his dejection hurt.
I remember feeling like Cinderella at midnight. As soon as my glasses were back on, the magic was gone.
“Right,” I say. “It just happened, and it stays between us.”
I repeat his words back to him, trying to sound unaffected, trying to save myself from wallowing in self-pity.
But something inside me stirs. I should leave it alone.
But instead, I find myself pushing. “Do you want me to come over?”
Silence.
“Now?” he asks, surprised. “Uh… do you think that’s a good idea? I would come over, but I have class in the morning.”
My stomach drops, taking a nosedive for my self-esteem.
I hear it before he speaks: the sound of someone laughing in the background, then someone saying his name.
Then, I hear it: someone laughs in the background and then calls his name.
He doesn’t want me there.
His teammates. Maybe Dereck was right about me. I think back to that night when I called Micah before bed and overheard Dereck’s snide remark in the background—that I was needy.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, my face burning.
He didn’t even ask if I was okay.
My eyes linger on the vintage clock on my dresser. It’s eight o’clock, and I hate myself for practically suggesting a repeat. “It was just an idea.”
He yawns audibly through the phone.
“No, it’s fine,” he says, but his voice sounds distracted, like he’s half paying attention.
The hesitation. “I need to shower and get some sleep.”
I press my lips together.
Micah has a good chance this year. Boise University’s baseball team is strong. With him on the team, they could go far, and I don’t want to be the reason he’s distracted.
“Selene?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the best,” he says. “Get some sleep, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hesitate. Then, like an idiot, I say it anyway. “Love you, bestie.”
I need his reassurance. I need something.
I hear a female voice this time. He clears his throat. “Me too.”
I flinch. “Yeah, um… goodnight.”
Closing my eyes, I hang up. I lean my head against the wall and blow out a slow breath. “I’m such a dork.”
When I walk out of my bedroom an hour later to get water from the kitchen, Diane and two of her friends are seated on the small futon in front of the TV. Stacy and Nicole look at each other and then at Diane. I know Stacy and Nicole talk shit about me ever since they found out I was Micah’s best friend and their boyfriends are on the same team, but I don’t care.
“Hey, I heard you on the phone when we got in. We didn’t want to bother you. Is everything okay?” Diane asks with a small smile, but I can tell she’s worried by the look in her eyes.
“Everything is fine. Considering…” I trail off, not wanting to talk about my personal shit in front of Stacy and Nicole as I walk to the small kitchen that is more like a kitchenette.
We don’t have a traditional stove. Instead, we cook small meals on a hot plate, but at least we have a normal-sized refrigerator and a small sink. I’m not sure I should tell Diane anything since they seem so close. I have had my fair share of people trying to be fake friends.
I open the fridge, ignoring the snorts behind my back. It’s probably Nicole; she’s more of a bitch than Stacy. She’s also the more vocal one between the two.
I grab a bottle of water.
“I would have hung out with you,” Diane says behind me, solidifying any doubt in my head that they overheard me arguing with Micah.
I close the fridge, turn around, and twist the cap. “It’s fine,” I reply before taking a sip while watching Stacy and Nicole collect their things.
“Well, see you tomorrow, Diana,” Nicole says with a fake smile. “We’re tired. Hanging out with the guys at Duffy’s was a lot.”
“Thanks for the ride,” Stacy adds as they head out.
“Thanks for the invite,” Diane replies, but I can tell it’s forced.
Nicole’s gaze flicks to me as she answers, “Anytime.” Good to know it wasn’t just the guys Micah was with, but I won’t call Micah out on his bullshit excuse.
For whatever reason, they hate when Micah invites me, and I won’t give Stacy and Nicole the satisfaction of thinking she caused a rift between me and Micah.
As soon as the door shuts, Diana’s shoulders sag in relief. She turns around to face me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry.” I feign indifference, pushing my large glasses up my nose.
“For what?”
“Not getting them out sooner. I hate that I have classes with them this semester. Is everything okay with you and Micah? It must be tough with…everything.” She means dealing with my aunt. “I overheard you on the phone,” she says, bringing it up again.
In her case, it isn’t the first time she’s heard us. It also doesn’t help that Stacy and Nicole are showing up. They’ve wormed their way in using the excuse that they have classes with my roommate, so it’s natural for them to hang out. Except, I’m never invited.
“It’s my fault,” I admit, even though I’m not sure right now that it is even true.
She shakes her head. “Your aunt is sick, Selene. No one has control over when their loved one is sick. If he can’t understand what you’re going through right now, then that is on him.”
A pang hits my chest, reminding me all over again how lonely I’ll feel without her. No more late-night calls, visits to see how she is doing, or tales from her favorite book that she’s tried to convince me to read since I was in seventh grade.
“I know, but every time something comes up.”
Her expression turns to disappointment. “Why can’t he come here? Why is it that you always go to him?”
She has a point. Diana isn’t very fond of Micah. I don’t know why, but Micah’s been there for me throughout middle school and high school.
“Are you going to the party this weekend?” she asks.
I plop myself on the futon next to her and stare at the half-empty water bottle. “I told him I wasn’t coming.”
“Surprise him.”
I look over at her. “You know I can’t.”
“How about after? He’ll be happy when you show up. It will give you a chance to unwind a bit. Spend time together among friends on neutral ground.”
I’m not sure why she is convincing me to go, but maybe she’s right. It will get us back to the way things were. “Fine,” I agree with a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”
“Good, I’ll see you there if you decide.”
My brows furrow in confusion. “But you hate parties.” She’s always declining Nicole and Stacy’s invitations to frat parties, opting to stay in and study. The most she agrees to is the bar in town.
“I know, but I can’t hide in here forever. Besides, as your roommate, it would be shitty of me if I don’t go with you.”
I almost forgot she was there when Micah introduced me to his friends for the first time. It was after her class with Nicole and Stacy. As soon as Micah was deep in conversation with the guys, she heard the catty remarks about my glasses when they thought I couldn’t hear. I may be going blind, but I wasn’t deaf. I was relieved when Diana didn’t go along with it, but at the same time, I wasn’t so sure.
Not once has Diana mean-girled me, but I still didn’t understand why she hung out with them if she didn’t feel the same way.
Either way, ever since that day, his friends treat me like I’m an outsider. It was the same back in high school when Micah and I would hang out with his friends, and I was the odd one with the large, dorky glasses.
I’m lucky Diana being my roommate isn’t one of them. At least, I think she isn’t.
“Diana?”
“Yeah?”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
She picks at her nail and then looks up. “I wasn’t the popular girl back in high school. Let’s just say I know how it feels for people to treat you like shit when they don’t even know you. Honestly, I don’t like girls like Stacy and Nicole, but I’ve learned to deal with girls like them. But you, I think you’re genuine, Selene. There aren’t many people who are honest and caring like you anymore. It’s refreshing. And I hope you don’t think I’m being fake nice because I’m not. I’m hoping you’ll go because I want to be your friend. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that.”
Needles prick my eyes, hoping my lenses don’t fog up. She doesn’t know how much her wanting to be my friend means right now. There was a fraction of a second earlier when I thought she was like all the others. Diana didn’t come across as someone not from the cool kids' table and would never in a million years have seemed to have it bad socially.
To be honest, since I started college, she’s bought me dinner when I hadn’t eaten, held me when I’ve been crying at night, and couldn’t stop out of fear that I’d wake up one morning and find my aunt gone.
“Why don’t you like Micah?” I ask, changing the subject. Maybe she has a reason not to like him that I’m not aware of.
She shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, maybe I think he doesn’t try enough to be your friend. I always see the look on your face when he turns you down or makes an excuse not to hang out, or when he says he’s too tired. But you’re never too tired.”
She has a point. I never looked at the situation from her perspective. Maybe I am going out of my way for Micah, but it’s because he’s always been there before, and I have no one else. He’s been the one constant in my life besides my aunt.
My aunt once said that when we’ve been around someone for so long, we overlook their flaws because we accept them for who they are, failing to see how bad they can become.