Can I Call You Tonight?

November

Ever since her birthday, Peyton and I are closer than ever. We text and talk all the time. I had no idea everything she's going through. I can't imagine one of my brothers dying—it's bad enough that we lost Joe in a lot of ways. But, man, he was her twin. And she told me that even though she always competed with him, they were really tight. She said he was one of the kindest, most thoughtful people she's ever known. That he told her, before he died, about how she needs to let people in, about how all we have is people, and that he doesn't want her to be alone.

I asked her if I could call her tonight, or if she'd be busy. She said she had some English paper to work on, but she could talk around ten.

I watch the clock on my phone...at 10:15, I give her a ring. Don't want to seem too eager.

"Chaplin," she answers.

"Thomas," I reply. "Watchya doing?"

"Driving home."

"Where you been?" I ask her.

"Marshall's house."

What? Fuck.

"Oh. On the rez, huh?" Be cool. 

"Yeah. We were helping each other revise our essays."

"How'd it go?" Still cool.

"Good, he gave me some really good suggestions. He's much more intellectual than me, so I doubt I helped him all that much."

Fucking Batman.

"Yeah, he's hella smart," I say, trying really hard to sound chill.

"Yeah. So what have you been up to?" She asks.

"Not much." I lie down on my bed and throw my Econ book on the floor. "So sick of homework. Looking forward to a break from school."

"Got a ways to go, Chaplin. Christmas break is three weeks off."

"Yeah, Thanksgiving was such a tease."

She laughs. Then I hear a crash and a muted "shit."

"You okay?" I panic. "Thomas?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I dropped my phone. Pulling into the drive now."

I exhale in relief. "Everybody home?"

"Emma's probably spying on me from her window right now."

"How's Em?" I ask.

She's quiet for a minute. Then she sighs.

"I can feel you rolling your eyes on the other end of the phone," I say.

She chuckles. "She's fine. Things seem a little better now that Dad is out of the house for a while."

"Good. Good."

She carries me with her through her house. I hear her talking to someone in a muffled voice.

"Okay. I will," I think she says. "Yes, tonight." She sighs again.

"Talk to me Goose," I say.

"My mom. She wants me to put my clothes away and clean all the dirty cups and bowls out of my room."

"I didn't know you were such a slob, Thomas."

She laughs. "Hang on, let Slobby Slobberson clean her clothes off the bed."

I hear sounds of drawers opening and shutting, glasses clinking together, more muffled rustling, and then I think she flopped onto her bed. I wonder what she's wearing. Maybe she changed into her jammies. I imagine her in a white tank top and boxers and get turned on.

"Okay, I'm back," she says.

"So what you got going on for Christmas Break?" I ask her.

"I don't know. Not looking forward to it if I'm being honest. Holidays are the worst."

"You mean cause he's not there?"

"Yeah...it's always bad, but holidays are grief on steroids."

Okay, I need to redirect. Something positive that doesn't change the subject. "So what was the best thing about Pax?"

She's quiet for a long time. I sit there listening to her breathe in and out, getting slower. And then she starts talking. "I was always pretty socially awkward, but I had him, you know?"

"Yeah," I say. I turn out my light and lay back on my bed. I pivot to my side and prop the phone against the other pillow, and just stare at it, as if we were on a video chat or something. But we're not. I just like to watch her voice coming out of the phone.

It's pretty weird. 

"He wasn't socially awkward at all—he had tons of friends. Everybody liked him. He was so...I can't explain it...curious about people. And empathetic. With everyone. It was like he could feel what other people were feeling. He was like that with his friends. With me. My parents. Even Emma."

"Didn't you have friends?"  

"Kind of. But I never really felt like I fit anywhere—not with girls, even though I'm a girl." I hear a wrapper crinkling. Now she's munching on something.

"What are you eating?"

"Oh, you heard that? My before bed meal. Tonight it's a protein bar."

"Lil' midnight snackie?"

"Yeah, trying to bulk up. Got too skinny during football season."

"You're gonna need more than a bar to get those gains, Thomas."

"Well, I also have a bowl of grapes and some milk. And maybe a cookie..."

"So, why no girl friends? Girls can be cool."

"I guess. But most of the ones I knew were obsessed with shit like make-up and clothes and selfies. Hard for me to relate to."

"What about guys?" I ask. 

"Yeah, most of my friends were boys. But I didn't really fit with them either because there was always this wall—like an unstated understanding that while they may tolerate me, I'd never be one of them. I'm not like Pax. I have a hard time opening up to people."

"No!" I say sarcastically.

She laughs. "Shocking, I know. It's just safer to keep yourself closed off. The only person who I ever really let in was Pax." 

"What about now?"

"It's getting better, I think. I've got Marshall and the other guys."

Hello? Um, chopped liver over here...

"And, you, of course."

"Yeah," I say.

"You were so nice to me when we first met. I didn't trust it."

I laugh. "Damn, Thomas."

"I mean...I just didn't get it. But now I get it—you're pretty nice to everyone." And then she sighs.

"Yeah, that's true," I reply. "With a few exceptions."

"But you're not really friends with anyone, are you?"

"What do you mean? I have a lot of friends."

"I mean, yeah, you have acquaintances, but you're not close to anyone. Except maybe Bree." 

She's probably right. I hold people at a distance. It's just easier that way.

Wait...is she jealous?

"Is she your girlfriend or something?" She asks.

Jealous.

Definitely.

Maybe.

I take a deep breath. "I don't really know, to be honest. We've never officially locked it down."

"Do you want to be her boyfriend?"

"I'm not really looking for anything like that...with her. Besides, now that she's not at school, I don't see her much."

"You don't visit her?"

"Ma is pretty freaked out that she'll give me the Mono and then my appendix or my spleen will burst or some shit."

"Is that what she has? Mono?"

"Yeah."

"The kissing disease?"

Dammit.

"Is that what they call it?" I play dumb.

"Pretty much," she clips. She's quiet on the other end for a few beats. Then she says "11:11, make a wish."

"Huh?"

"It's something me and Pax used to do. Our birthday is on November eleventh. So we'd always look at the clock at 11:11 and make a wish."

"Okay. Do I tell you my wish?"

"No!" She shouts. "You can't tell your wish, or it won't come true."

"Oh, my bad."

"I mean everybody knows that, Chaplin."

"Well, I'm a little slow. Okay, silent wishes on three. Ready? One. Two. Three."

I sit there in silence wondering what she's wishing for.

My wish is simple.

Please, God, let Bree dump me.