Page 106 of The Way I Used to Be

“I never knew any of that, Amanda, I swear.”

“I hated you. So much. As much as I should’ve hated him—I hated you instead. I don’t know why. It’s all fucked up, isn’t it?” She laughs, even as she cries.

“Yeah. It’s all fucked up,” I agree. “But I think it’s going to get better now.”

“It has to,” she says.

“It will.”

As I walk the two blocks up the street, the air feels different, my steps against the ground feel different, the world—everything—feels different.

I push through the heavy wooden door at the bar and I’m strangled by smells of beer and smoke. I spot Caelin right away, down at the end of the bar, looking pathetic and crumpled, his hand curled loosely around a shot glass.

“Hey, hey, hey, you—girl!” the bartender yells at me. “ID.”

“No, I’m just here for my brother—over there,” I yell to him, pointing at Caelin.

The bartender walks down the length of the bar and raps his knuckles twice on the shiny wooden counter in front of Caelin. He raises his head slowly. “Time to go, buddy,” he tells him, nodding his head in my direction.

Caelin turns toward me, wobbling a little as he stands, moving slowly as he reaches for his wallet. “Edy, I said I would pick you up,” he says while ushering me out the door.

“It wasn’t that far. I felt like walking anyway.”

“I don’t like you in there,” he mumbles.

We walk in silence to the parking garage.

“I should probably drive, huh?” I ask, watching him sway back and forth.

“Here,” he says, tossing his car keys to me.

After I adjust the seat and mirror, I decide to light a cigarette—no more secrets. He looks at me like he’s about to chide me, his kid sister, but then he looks forward and says, “Can I bum one?”

I feel myself grin as I hand him mine and light up another.

He tries to smile at me. We drive home, finishing our cigarettes in silence.

I park the car in the street. “Edy, wait,” he says as I start to get out.

“Yeah?”

Uncomfortable, he does one of his half-shrug-head-shake gestures and opens his mouth, taking a few extra seconds for the words to come. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Edy.” He looks me in the eye. “I’m your brother. And I love you. That’s all. I don’t know what else to say.”

I think that’s really all I ever wanted to hear from him. “You’ll stay with me when I tell Mom and Dad?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

He holds my hand as we walk up the driveway. It feels like it’s a million miles away, like it’s taken a million years to finally get here. But it gives me a chance to think. And I think: Maybe I’ll explain this to some people. Maybe Mara. Maybe I’ll apologize to some people. Maybe Steve. Maybe I’ll try a real relationship someday, one without all the lies and games. Maybe I’ll go to college, even, and maybe I’ll figure out that I’m actually good at something. Maybe he’ll get what he deserves. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll never find it in my heart to forgive him. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with that, either. All these maybes swimming around my head make me think that “maybe” could just be another word for hope.