The F- It List Part 36

"Big b.a.l.l.s it is." I switched on Wipeout, and my heart warmed at the sight and sound of my brothers laughing at others' stupidity.

It wasn't a direct lesson from my dad, and it was about the most sour lemonade I could have made out of lemons, but his death forced -1- me to have a real talk with my brothers for maybe the fi rst time ever.

0- And for the fi rst time in forever, some of my guilt fi nally lifted.

1-

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That night, my mom home, the twins in bed, I sent a text to Leo.

I want to say I'm sorry, but I don't know how.

Those words, "I'm sorry," felt so contrived to me for so long and yet I knew they were important. What Leo did with them was up to him.

--1 -0 -+1 2 1 3.

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CHAPTER.

36.

Snow fell steadily on my way to work Sat.u.r.day, and I gripped the steering wheel to the point of hand cramps. Drivers ed never prepared me for skidding sideways uncontrollably until my possessed car decided to stop inches from a stop sign. Not to mention how other people drove like complete a.s.sholes. I don't know how many times I yelled into my rearview mirror, "Two car lengths, a.s.s- hole!" There were very few things I feared, but driving in snow was one of them. My mom claimed it would get better with practice, but since it didn't snow year- round, how could I ever stay on top of it? I'd either have to move to Antarctica to have snow all the time or the equator to never have it. But I liked the seasons.

I arrived at work shaking and dripping in sweat.

"Did you run here?" asked Ila. She wore fi ngerless gloves, as the front counter received a lot of the draft from the opening door.

-1- I peeled my scarf away from my neck and s.h.i.+vered at the newly 0- exposed wetness. "Snowshoed, actually." I hung my jacket up in the

1-

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back room and pulled my grungy work t-s.h.i.+rt out of my schoolbag.

Before I re- smoothed my hair into a low ponytail and tucked a towel into my waistband, I checked my phone. No reply from Leo. Using Becca's positive thinking, I told myself he probably slept in. Using my usual apocalyptic brand of thinking, I guessed he barfed on the word "sorry" and had his phone number changed.

Since it was only 10:00 a.m., the lunch rush was still to come, although on a snowy day there could either be a ton of people who didn't want to cook or just a trickle of customers. Enough people lived within walking distance, and walking around in the snow was a lot easier than driving. I pa.s.sed the time by refi lling the mayo and mustard squeeze bottles, restocking cheese, and arguing with Doug about the greatest sequels of all time.

"Aside from the obvious Evil Dead and Basket Case, I think A Nightmare on Elm Street 3 was really good," I said.

"I haven't even seen that. I'm sure it sucks. Commercial c.r.a.p."

"Aren't we all pretentious, Mr. College Student? You can't judge a movie you haven't seen. We're talking teens in a mental hospital. At one point, Freddy pulls out some kid's tendons and works him like a marionette. Brilliant."

I was so busy making my obviously winning point that it took me a few minutes to notice Leo watching me on the other side of the counter. He wore a gray winter hat this time with his black winter coat. Not that I noticed. His cheeks were red from where the falling snow burned them.

"You know nothing," I told Doug as I budged past him toward Leo.

"Hey," I greeted him, hopefulness practically exploding off my face.

"Hey." He leaned on the counter, as was his usual position here.

--1 It had been so long, though, did he actually have a usual position?

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"Thank you for the text," he said.

"You're welcome," I off ered. It seemed like enough to start the fl ow of conversation.

"How's Becca doing?" He surprised me with the question, even though it was what a nice person would ask. She did have cancer, and she did once barf in his general direction.

"She's okay. Chemo is over, but she's in radiation which seems to also suck. She's really weak." I didn't like the sound of that, since Becca was trying to kick cancer's a.s.s. "I mean, she's tough, but it's never ending. I still don't understand why the treatment is so unbe- lievably cruel. She pa.s.sed one hundred days. Sick for one hundred f.u.c.king days."

"Seriously? That long? I feel like this year has gone on for ten years."

That wasn't good. I was part of his extra- long year. So was his brother, I knew, but if only I had been there for him when I should have, maybe it wouldn't have felt so long.

"So how are you?" I asked. The dumbest question in the uni- verse. Still working on moving along the conversation.

Leo shrugged, an appropriately ambiguous answer. The awful thing was that I really wanted to know how he was, and that was one of the things that kept me from talking to him since his brother's death. The longer I waited, the less we'd have to say, the more blanks no one wanted to fi ll in. Those blanks could be sadder than that ridic- ulously sad movie I sent to laughless Becca.

"How are you?" Leo asked back.

"Okay," I answered. "I hate this snow. I mean, I actually love it -1- aesthetically and how quiet it makes everything at three a.m., but 0- I'm terrifi ed of driving in it," I admitted.

1-

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"You? Terrifi ed of something? You're full of surprises today."

"Full of them? What else?" I asked.

"I think that might have been the fi rst time you asked me how I am. Ever." He was serious.

"It's not because I don't want to know. It's just such a contrived question. I usually fi gure if someone really wants to tell me how they are they'll just tell me. No need to pull it out of them."

"You are abnormal." Leo studied me.

"Thank you," I answered dryly.

"Sometimes I think you might be a robot. Or an alien. At least ge ne tically engineered somehow," Leo said.

"That would explain my freakish elbow dimples."

"Or how you could just stop talking to someone after what we had."

So it was time to talk about that.

"Can we go sit at a table?" I asked, noticing that the lack of cus- tomers made Leo and me center stage for my fellow sub makers.

Leo didn't answer but led the way to a table, the same table where we fi rst sat months ago. I wished I could say life was simpler back then, but it seemed like life was never going to be simple. Maybe if we were Amish. He shrugged off his jacket and fl ipped it over the back of his chair, which I took as a positive sign compared to the coff ee shop.

His hat stayed on, probably to keep his newly shorn head warm. The hat made him look snuggly, and I had the urge to lean over and rub it.

I resisted, knowing we weren't there yet, nor did I know if we would ever be again.

Leo looked at me intently, and I knew he expected me to speak.

It was he who had come to my work, though, and I hadn't prepared --1 anything. The text was a huge step for me, and I hadn't yet fi gured -0 -+1 2 1 7.

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out what would follow it. I convinced myself I'd probably never hear from Leo again.

Yet here he was.

He kicked back in his chair and slung one arm over the back, his eyes never leaving my face. Feigning confi dence, I continued to meet his eyes, which had the uncomfortable eff ect of making me want to touch him again. Even though I stopped talking to Leo, even though I totally fl ed when he probably needed me most, and even though I made it a point to move on with my semblance of a life, I couldn't dispute the fact that I. Liked. Leo.

s.h.i.+t.

It was so much easier being with guys I didn't like. Davis went off to join the army, and I hadn't thought about him since. For all I knew, he was dead, too, right alongside Leo's brother.

Leo's brother. Right then it hit me what it could have been like if I were with someone like Leo when my dad died. I doubt he would have left me out of fear like Davis left me.

Like I left him.

"I am such an a.s.shole," I said, not quite meaning to, aloud.

Leo didn't disagree.

"I was your Davis," I decided. "I should just go off and join the army."

"Who's Davis? And there's no way you're joining the army."

"Don't tell me what to do," I argued.

"You seriously want to join the army? All fi ve feet of you?"

"I'm fi ve foot two, and, well, no. I don't want to join the army.