Between Here and Forever - Elizabeth Scott [69]
“Look, I know how Tess is—was,” I say, and it hurts to say that, to put Tess in the past tense. Even now, hearing that she broke Claire’s heart because she wanted to keep on being the girl everyone wanted, the girl who was always just out of reach, it hurts.
I didn’t know I loved Tess this much. Not until now.
I look down at the ground, blinking hard, my eyes burning.
“I know how she was,” I say after a moment. “She was—she loved being adored, and I … you know I hated living with that. Being Tess’s little sister. Being the one who wasn’t as nice, who wasn’t as pretty. Being the one who had to watch her get everything she wanted. But she—when she found out that you were pregnant, she changed. It was like she had … like she decided her life was a role or something. She’d go out smiling, but at home she was upset. She was so silent sometimes.”
“Oh, so she was quiet?” Claire says, and although there’s scorn in her voice I hear something else too, something wounded and hesitant, and think of how Claire always manages to come by Tess’s room at the hospital.
I think love is huge, overwhelming. I think it’s terrible and beautiful, and I wish Tess had found a way to live with it. To let it in when she had the chance. I wish she hadn’t broken Claire and then broken herself.
“I never saw her cry,” I say carefully. “But she … she would come home and sit in her room and just stare at nothing for hours, and I thought—well, my parents told me she was worried about college, and you know how her grades were.”
“I remember,” Claire says, but I can tell she is thinking of something else. Of a Tess I never knew at all.
“She was unhappy,” I say. “She was—”
“And I was what, spinning around full of joy?” Claire says. “Tess broke my heart and then made life impossible for me. She was beyond cruel.”
“Your name is her computer password,” I say in a rush. “She kept pictures you sent her. She even—you’re the reason why she and Beth broke up. She didn’t—”
“What? Love Beth the way she loved me?” Claire says. “I’ve seen Beth visit her, I see how Beth looks at her. I know that look. Tess wouldn’t choose her either. Beth was just smart enough to be the one who left.”
“It’s not—I don’t think she knew how much …” I take a deep breath. “I don’t think she knew how much she loved you until you got pregnant. Until you … I guess maybe she thought you’d come back or—”
“You know the really pathetic thing?” Claire says. “I would have. I would have gone back. I told her I wanted to actually kiss her in public, that I wanted people to see how much I loved her, but I would have kept on being the best friend. I would have kept on going on double dates with her and making out in my room, in the dark, when we got home.”
She taps ash off her cigarette. “I would have done anything for her. But she couldn’t get over the fact that I got drunk, had sex, and got pregnant. She couldn’t understand it. That’s what she said. ‘I don’t understand.’ Sometimes I think that’s what made her the maddest, you know. That I could want somebody else, even if it was for just a little while.”
“Tess wasn’t—she isn’t evil, you know.” I’m surprised to hear myself say it, because there have been times when I’ve pretty much hated Tess. Times before the accident. After the accident. But she wasn’t—she wasn’t who I thought she was. And now that I’ve learned more about her, the real her, I see what a mess she made of things. How imperfect she was.
How she could and did break her own heart too.
“I know,” Claire says, and then seeing my face, adds, “I do. Now, anyway. The first time she came home from college and I saw her, I didn’t feel like I was going to die. I just thought, ‘Oh, there’s Tess. I wonder if Cole’s hungry.’ Having him—” She shrugs. “I couldn’t think about just me anymore. I can’t think about just me anymore.”
“But you miss her.”
“No,” Claire says, shaking her head. “I just—I look at her lying there, and I think, No. I think Wrong. I wish she’d wake up. I wish we were fifteen again. I wish I’d never met her. I wish she’d said, ‘I want you, just you.’ I wish she’d