He’s said that to me before. “Yeah?” I ask.
Josh lifts an eyebrow and smiles. “Yeah.”
It’s not until I’m walking away that I wonder if “both” means Meredith and me, or St. Clair and me. I hope both means both. I return to Résidence Lambert, and I knock on her door after a quick trip to my own room. “Mer? Can we talk?”
She cracks open her door. “Hey.” Her voice is gentle enough.
We stare at each other. I hold up two mugs. “Chocolat chaud?”
And she looks like she could cry at the sight. She lets me in, and I set down a cup on her desk. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Meredith.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk. I had no right to be angry with you.”
“That’s not true, I knew how you felt about him, and I kissed him anyway. It wasn’t right. I should have told you that I liked him, too.”
We sit on her bed. She twists a glittery star-shaped ring around her finger. “I knew how you felt about each other. Everyone knew how you felt about each other.”
“But—”
“I didn’t want to believe it. After so long, I stil had this . . . stupid hope. I knew he and El ie were having problems, so I thought maybe—” Meredith
chokes up, and it takes a minute before she can continue.
I stir my hot chocolate. It’s so thick it’s nearly a sauce. She taught me well .
“We used to hang out all the time. St. Clair and me. But after you arrived, I hardly saw him. He’d sit next to you in class, at lunch, at the movies.
Everywhere. And even though I was suspicious, I knew the first time I heard you cal him Étienne—I knew you loved him. And I knew by his response—the way his eyes lit up every time you said it—I knew he loved you, too. And I ignored it, because I didn’t want to believe it.”
The struggle rises inside me again. “I don’t know if he loves me. I don’t know if he does, or if he ever did. It’s all so messed up.”
“It’s obvious he wants more than friendship.” Mer takes my shaking mug. “Haven’t you seen him? He suffers every time he looks at you. I’ve never seen
anyone so miserable in my life.”
“That’s not true.” I’m remembering he said the situation with his father is real y terrible right now. “He has other things on his mind, more important
things.”
“Why aren’t the two of you together?”
The directness of her question throws me. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think there are only so many opportunities . . . to get together with someone. And
we’ve both screwed up so many times”—my voice grows quiet—“that we’ve missed our chance.”
“Anna.” Mer pauses. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“But—”
“But what? You love him, and he loves you, and you live in the most romantic city in the world.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then let me put it another way. A gorgeous boy is in love with you, and you’re not even gonna try to make it work?”
I’ve missed Meredith. I return to my room feeling both solaced and saddened. If St. Clair and I hadn’t fought in detention today, would I have tried to
apologize again? Probably not. School would have ended, we’d have gone our separate ways, and our friendship would have been severed forever.
Oh, no. The horrible truth knocks me over.
How could I have missed it? It’s the same thing. The exact. Same. Thing.
Bridge couldn’t help it.The attraction was there, and I wasn’t there, and they got together, and she couldn’t help it. And I’ve blamed her this entire time.
Made her feel guilty for something beyond her control. I haven’t even tried to listen to her; I haven’t answered a single phone cal or replied to a single email. And she kept trying anyway. I remember what Matt and Rashmi said again. I real y do abandon my friends.
I yank out my luggage and unzip the front pocket. It’s stil there. A little beat-up, but a smal package wrapped in red-and-white-striped paper. The toy bridge. And then I compose the most difficult letter I’ve ever written. I hope she forgives me.
Chapter forty-four
The rest of the week is quiet. I mail Bridge’s package, I rejoin my friends at our table, and I finish my detention. St. Clair and I stil haven’t talked. well , we’ve spoken a bit, but not about anything important. Mostly we sit beside each other and fidget, which is ridiculous, because isn’t that what this is all about? That we won’t talk?
But breaking old habits isn’t easy.
We sit a row apart in detention. I feel him watching me the entire hour, the entire week. I watch him, too. But we don’t walk together to the dorm; he
packs his things slowly to all ow me time to leave first. I think we’ve arrived at the same conclusion. Even if we managed to begin something, there’s stil no hope for us. School is almost over. Next year, I’l attend San Francisco State University for film theory and criticism, but he stil won’t tell me where he’s going. I flat-out asked him after detention on Friday, and he stammered something about not wanting to talk about it.
At least I’m not the only one who finds change difficult.
On Saturday, the Mom and Pop Basset Hound Theater screens my favorite Sofia Coppola movie, Lost in Translation. I greet the dignified man and
Pouce, and slide into my usual seat. It’s the first time I’ve watched this film since moving here. The similarities between the story and my life are not lost on me.