The Beautiful Between - Alyssa B. Sheinmel [39]
“Oh,” I say. Maybe physics is actually an escape for Jeremy, time off from thinking about Kate.
“We can take a break,” he offers.
“It’s hardly a break when I haven’t been working.”
“Well, let’s just give up on the illusion, then.” He reaches for the remote and starts flipping channels.
There’s a reason Jeremy’s my first best friend. He’s the first person I’ve been friends with where there wasn’t this lie about my parents. It’s been so stupidly nice not to have to worry about slipping up; not to have to keep him away so that he won’t get too close, figure out my parents weren’t divorced, see something he wasn’t supposed to. With everyone else, I was so intent on maintaining the story that I never had a chance to think about finding out the truth. He’s the reason I’m going to find out. I want to tell him the whole story. I want just this one relationship, this one friendship, to be real.
“Jer?”
“Hmm?”
“Mute the TV for a second.”
“What’s up?” he asks, putting the remote down.
I slide up onto the couch beside him. “I know you befriended me because you thought I knew about losing someone to cancer.”
“Sternin, we’ve been over this—”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind—we’re good friends now.” I take a deep breath. Even now, saying that makes me happy.
I continue: “But I can’t help you.”
“I know, Sternin. You were so young when your dad died.”
“No, Jeremy, there’s more to it.” I pause. “I didn’t know my father had cancer until you told me.”
Jeremy looks at me like I’m crazy. “I don’t understand.”
“I pretended that I’d known. But my family never told me. I don’t know … I never knew how he died.”
“Why didn’t your mother tell you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Haven’t you asked?”
I don’t answer right away. I don’t want to lie, so I say, “Maybe, when I was younger … I think I always understood that she couldn’t tell me.” I can remember the exact age I was when that became clear, the exact day. Just turned eight years old, just started third grade.
“Why on earth would she want to keep that from you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Is that why you lied?” he asks. “Is that why you told everyone your parents were divorced?”
“Yeah. It seemed easier. That way, no one would ask questions I wouldn’t know the answers to. I could just make up the answers.”
“And never have to worry about finding out the truth.”
“Until now. This is the weirdest part—now I want to find out.”
“Why is that the weirdest part?”
I purse my lips and then try to explain. “Ever since that night when you told me you knew my father was dead—ever since then, I can’t explain it, I’ve needed to know. I’ve been so curious. Like, physically curious—like, it’s hard to sit still in my bedroom if I know there might be some clue in the living room that I haven’t looked for yet. Uncomfortably curious.”
Jeremy shakes his head. “But, Connelly, that’s not strange.”
“Why not?”
“I guess I think it’s stranger that you never looked before.”
This almost makes me laugh. Is it really more unnatural that I’ve never been curious before than it is to be filled with this alien sensation? Would it have been normal to be filled with it all my life?
“I never needed to know before.” I mean that my body needs to know, that my body actually won’t let me relax until I know.
“But I’ve told you about the cancer, so now you know. Why are you still trying to find things out? You have your answers.”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t.”
Jeremy speaks with certainty. “But it was cancer, I know it. I told you—the oncologist.”
“No, there’s more to it. You said that he said it was a tragic story.”
“I think he meant because of you—you know, a young daughter.” Jeremy’s uncomfortable, I can see, adding that last part.
“No, he’s a cancer doctor. He must see that all the time. There must be something more, don’t you see?”
Jeremy considers this, and I look straight at him as I continue.
“I don’t think cancer killed him. Or at least not the cancer alone. There’s something else that makes it worse. I just have no idea—I can’t even make something up about it.