The Way I Am Now (The Way I Used to Be)

We’ve been on the roof all day, drinking sun tea Parker made in a big glass jar. “If it’s gonna pretend to be spring in the winter, then I’m making some goddamned homestyle tea,” she’d said before lugging it up to the roof yesterday.

Dominic and Luke had been doing a good job of keeping me distracted with stories about Luke’s many band camp adventures while Parker added jabs and sarcastic comments here and there to keep things exciting. I’d barely been listening, my mind going back to Eden and the trial and what was happening hours away. The not knowing is eating a pit in my stomach, and the not being there was almost painful. I’d spent a good fifteen minutes on it last night at Al-Anon. Ida, a retired professor and our group’s designated leader, went over how important it was to have self-care, reminding me to put my oxygen mask on first, even if the plane might be going down, and I try to keep doing that.

I run downstairs to grab sunscreen when Parker complains she’s lobstering, and as I open the door to the roof, I see her and Dominic huddled over my phone.

“What is it?” I ask, hearing the tremble of fear in my voice. “Is it guilty? Is it . . .?” I can’t even say the other option.

“We’ve got good news and bad news,” Parker starts.

“Parker—” Dominic cuts her off. “Don’t say it like that.”

Bad news. And good. There’s no equation that works here for me, no way those two things can come together. It’s either guilty and good or not guilty and bad. What happens if it’s bad? How bad will it get if it’s bad news?

“The jury’s gonna be out for a while,” Dominic explains, reading off my phone, likely noticing my freaked-out expression. “Eden’s lawyer said it could be days.”

“And that’s the bad news?” I ask. It’s not great but not that bad. I can deal with this. “What’s the good?”

“Eden’s on her way back right now,” Parker says, a sly smile on her face as she hands me my phone. “And she wants to meet you at the fountain—whatever sinful place that is—at six tonight.”

I get there early, and while I wait for her, I think about that day in the grass with the dandelions. I was watching her for a few minutes before I ever walked over, sitting there all quiet and intense. It was like she was the only thing in color to me, everything else in my life felt so gray. I don’t know how I convinced myself to go sit down next to her. She was unlike anyone I’d ever known, and I was so intimidated by her—but I liked her. I wanted to know her, wanted her to know me. It was that simple. I was sure. She was worth whatever risk came with trying. Then and now.