My heart breaks for her. Lily may not be my soul mate, in the way I thought Kylie was last night, but she’s been my girlfriend for almost a year. I can’t do this to her. It’s not fair.
“I’m not breaking up with you, Lil. Yesterday was a…mistake.” Right now, I just want to make Lily feel better. And get in the car and head back to Freiburg. I’ll worry about the rest later.
“Okay. Good.” Lily collapses into me. I pull her close. She smells like lemon and ginger, the shampoo she always uses. This is such a familiar place, it’s hard not to just relax and fall into the same old patterns.
“It’s okay, Lil,” I say as I stroke her hair.
“Is it, Max?”
Lily looks up at me, beaten, broken. Last night, with Kylie, I would have said without a moment’s hesitation that things between Lily and me were done. But now, in the harsh light of day, with Kylie hating me and Lily in pieces, the night has given way to the realities of the morning.
Lily leans in and kisses me on the lips. It doesn’t feel the least bit sexual. More like a kiss from a friend. But maybe I’m just feeling numb from everything.
“Don’t break up with me,” Lily pleads.
“Okay,” I say.
“You’re my soul mate. If we’re going to make it, we’ll have much more than this to weather.”
Maybe last night was just a blip on the radar. A crazy Mexican dream.
“You know what, Max? We don’t have to tell each other all our dirty little secrets. It’s cool. If you say nothing happened, then nothing happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I say again. Less and less convinced that it’s true. Everything happened.
“I just want to know we’re okay.”
“We’re okay,” I say.
“’Kay, let’s head back to La Jolla,” Lily says.
And just like that, Lily has rallied. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s so Lily—a whirlwind of ever-changing moods. It’s better than her staying pissed. Only problem is, are we really okay? I don’t know. I look at her—her gorgeous body showing through her thin T-shirt and shorts, her long blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail, revealing her flawless face. She’s beautiful, like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, like a Barbie doll. Are we okay? Maybe. I know all her junk, and, in a way, that’s a relief to not have to learn someone else’s stuff from the beginning. But is that enough? Maybe not. Shit. I am out of my league here. I thought I could handle these types of situations, but I’m crumbling.
“I love you so much, Max. I don’t want to ever lose you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work.”
“Yeah, me too,” I say. As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I know I don’t mean it. Maybe I did at one time. But not anymore. The problem is, I don’t know what else I can say. I’m losing my grip on things. It’s harder and harder for me to see what’s real. Maybe when the hangover lets up. Maybe when I’ve had some time to think and put it all in perspective. Or maybe it is what it is—one awesome night in Mexico with a girl I barely know. Maybe life is full of moments like this—fleeting, genius moments that don’t bleed into real life. And don’t mean much when they’re over.
I want to throttle him. I am so not in the mood.
“Who gives a shit about your music, Will? We have such bigger issues. How the hell are we going to get to graduation now?” I’m going to lose it on Will. He’s hardly earned it, but he’s the only likely candidate for my rage.
Juan has the good sense not to get involved. He looks out at the ocean, waiting, I assume, for us to resolve this nightmare somehow or seek his counsel.
“Kylie, this is not my fault, darling. How could I have known my car would get vandalized? Damn. The border cop actually told me to get insurance, and I thought he was just trying to scam me. Who knew? I should have listened to him. My dad is going to kill me. He just bought the Mini a few months ago.”
I can feel myself losing it. “Listen, Will, I feel bad about the car, but you can deal with it later. I’m sure your dad can figure this out. Right now, we’ve got to focus on finding a way back to school. Shit. Shit. Shit. What are we going to do? This is so typical. You know what, Will? You attract trouble.”
I know it’s not Will’s fault, but somehow, somehow…I feel like it is.
“What? Let me remind you that you’re the one who got kidnapped and taken to Mexico, not me. I’m the one who hauled ass and came down here to rescue you. So I think you better just lose the ’tude.”
Will’s righteous anger tugs me back to reality. Why am I treating my best friend like shit? Because I let some guy treat me like shit, that’s why. It’s not fair. I’m better than this. Will deserves better than this.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. I just don’t know what to do.”
“It’s all right, chica, I know you’re stressing. We’re going to get back; we’ll figure this out.” Will puts his arm around my shoulder. “‘Make anyone cry today?’”
“‘Sadly, no. But it’s only four thirty,’” I say. 10 Things I Hate About You always brings a smile to my face. I love that movie. And Heath Ledger in it. And Will for bringing it up.
I have to stop acting like such a tool. And feeling sorry for myself. Yes I got my heart broken, but at least I put it out there. Maybe next time I’ll pick a better contender, like Will did. Right now, I’ve got to throw everything I’ve got into Plan B.
I turn to Juan. “I don’t suppose you have a car, Juan?”
Juan smiles weakly. “No. I’ve got a bike.”
I’m sure Max, Lily, and Charlie have already hightailed it out of town. Max seemed eager to be far, far away from me.
“We’ve got to see when the next bus leaves. It’s our best option,” I say. “Let’s go back to Manuel’s. He can help us figure out the schedule.”
We turn and trudge back toward Manuel’s. It’s hard to buck up. The self-pity is creeping back in like roaches at a seedy motel.
At this point, I know it doesn’t even matter, but I must look like such a train wreck. My hair is frizzing out and the ends are coated with dried vomit. I’m still wearing this goddamn wedding dress, but the lace hangs off the hem, shredded. My white espadrilles are gray at this point, and my skin has a greenish hue. It’s certainly an original look for the Freiburg valedictorian.
I dig into my backpack, pull out a tube of lip balm, and swipe it across my lips. I may look like hell, but at least my lips will be moist. It’s not much, but it’s something. As I’m putting the lip balm back, I catch sight of my key chain from Jake, attached to the zipper. It’s a plastic palm tree with the words san diego written up the trunk. I have no idea why he thought I’d like it so much, but I do. I treasure it. The thought of Jake pulls at my stomach. I’ve been so busy making a mess of my life, I haven’t thought about him in a while. I wonder how he’s doing without me. What did Mom tell him? Jesus. I can’t go there, not now.
I feel the ring on my hand and glance down at it briefly. I’m not even sure what it means. I search the recesses of my brain and find, deeply hidden, a vague recollection from the pier last night. There was a priest, couples, a wedding ceremony. Is it even possible? We couldn’t have gotten married. Could we? And even if we did something that stupid and reckless, doesn’t it take a lot more than some priest on a pier for an American to get legally married in Mexico? It was probably just a joke. An idiotic, foolhardy, drunken joke. Whatever it was, I’m sure it’s fixable. The rest of the mess is less easily mended.