If Only I Had Told Her

It isn’t until I get Alexis’s text saying we need to talk that it occurs to me we haven’t broken up yet. Somehow, the fact that we never officially got back together doesn’t change the fact that we need to officially un-together ourselves. So I agree to meet her at the coffee shop in Ferguson.

I didn’t put much thought into it, but apparently Alexis did.

As soon as I see her waiting for me at a table in the center of the room, I can tell something is off. For one thing, Alexis is always late. Something about the way her collar is buttoned up and her legs are crossed under the table gives off Sylvie vibes, and not in a good way.

“Hey,” I say as I slump in the seat across from her. I used to think that I was in love with her.

“Glad you could make it,” Alexis says, and it feels like she’s cosplaying as Sylvie, or rather the worst sides of Sylvie. The Sylvie that looked down on you for being okay with getting a C on a quiz.

“Yeah.” Even though I know it’s hopeless, I try to steer the conversation to more casual tones. “Thanks for inviting me. Good to clear the air before school, you know?”

“No, Jack, I don’t know,” Alexis says.

“Oh.” We stare at each other, and then I glance at her coffee cup. Hoping for a reprieve from whatever interrogation this is, I ask, “Can I get you a refill while I get my mug?”

“Sure,” Alexis says. What she doesn’t say is, “That’s the least you can do,” but she somehow manages to convey it.

I pay for my own bottomless mug and fill it up. I can’t help, as I head over to the self-serve carafes, but think about all the times we’d come here with Finn and Sylvie to study. Not much studying was ever done, and that always bothered Sylvie but not the rest of us.

On a whim, I fill her cup up with an extra-dark roast like Sylvie drinks. I add sugar and cream before bringing it to her, but Alexis still grimaces at the first sip. She doesn’t complain though. She pushes the mug to the side of the table and looks back at me.

“Well,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You have been a really shitty boyfriend this summer,” Alexis says to me.

“How is that possible? When I’m not your boyfriend?”

“We’ve been sleeping together all summer.” She says it slowly and sadly, like she regrets expecting better from me.

“You’re the one who said, ‘This isn’t a thing. We’re just convenient to each other,’ remember?”

She waves my words—or rather her words—away with one hand.

“Whether we were technically together or not, it doesn’t matter,” Alexis says. “You haven’t been treating me right, so I’m here to say, once and for all, that I’m through with you. We’re over.”

From the pout on her face, she’s already decided on her reply, and it doesn’t matter what I say next. So I answer, “Yeah, I know. Because we broke up last March, and we haven’t spoken in three weeks.”

“And why is that, Jack?” Alexis asks. “Why haven’t we spoken?”

“Are you serious?” I had been blowing on my coffee to cool it, but I freeze with the mug held under my mouth as I gape at her.

“Yes, I’m serious.” She raises her chin.

“Because Finn died, Lexy.” I’m so confused. I set my mug down with a clink. Some hot coffee spills onto my fingers, but I don’t react.

“Exactly.” She throws up her hands like I’ve proven her point.

“I don’t understand. I’ve been grieving, Lexy.”

“And you left me to grieve alone!”

I’m not sure if the coffee shop falls silent at her outburst or if I’ve momentarily gone deaf. Either way, there’s a ringing in my ears that prevents me from hearing myself when I say, “How dare you.”

Alexis must have a ringing in her ears too, because she cups her hand around her ear as she says, “Huh? Speak up.”

“How dare you say that to me,” I say as this strangely serene feeling fills me. It’s suddenly all so clear.

So many times, I told myself that I’d finally seen the “real” Alexis, that I’d never fall for her antics again, but I always did. I understand now. I’d seen aspects of the real Alexis, but I’ve never seen them together as a whole. Now all those pieces have come together, and I can finally see the whole Alexis.

It’s actually a very simple picture. She’s a really insecure girl who defines herself entirely by the people she surrounds herself with. Her friends are a collection, a planetary system she has built to rotate around her.

“How dare I? Jack, you—”

“No, no,” I say. “If I wanted to, I could have called you here and said, ‘Hey, we were sleeping together all summer, and then my best friend died, and you didn’t even check on me.’ I could do that. You don’t get to do that.” I try not to have my tone sound like I’m talking to a child, but it’s hard.

“He was my friend too,” Alexis says. “Why can’t you or Sylvie see that?”

And it happens again. What’s unfolding is so clear that I laugh.

She’s surprised enough to lose her focus, and in the pause, I share my humorous revelation.

“This isn’t about us, is it, Lex? Sylvie broke up with you.”

I try not to laugh again, because now it feels a little mean, but it’s all so silly and obvious. Sylvie hurt her, so she’s trying to reenact that with me instead of looking at herself and wondering why Sylvie made that choice.

Alexis is sputtering.

“Sylvie and I didn’t break up! We both have a lot going on, and I’m going off to school, and she needs to find a new shrink—poor thing!—and we both needed to take a step back from our friendship.”

Alexis, who I used to think I was in love with, glares at me.

“Uh-huh.” I take a gulp of coffee, which hasn’t quite cooled and burns down my throat. “So my guess is that’s what Sylv said to you, and then you pushed back, because of course you did, and that’s when she said what you said to me, huh?”

“Said what to who?” Alexis sips the highland grog that I know she hates and tries to hide her grimace.

“You left her to grieve alone, Lexy. Damn.”

Once again, I feel like all the pieces have come together and I can finally see what should have been obvious.

“The day after the accident, why were people coming to your house instead of you going to Sylvie’s?” I ask.

“I went to the hospital when her parents called me. I was tired and wanted to go home! And our friends needed a place to grieve together, Jack. Sylvie isn’t my only friend.”

“There’s a basement in every damn house in this city and you know it,” I say. “Sylvie needed you. Damn, I wouldn’t have minded—” My serenity and my voice crack at this point, but it can’t be helped. “It would have been nice if you had said something to acknowledge that he was my best friend, Lex. Maybe my only real friend, I don’t know. But the fact that you compare your grief to mine? Or Sylvie’s?”

I shake my head. The whole conversation is a moot point.

I push back from the table to stand. I don’t think Alexis believes that I will leave without her permission, because she makes a scoffing sound at me.

I look at her one last time. She has a pretty face. For now.

“Sylvie said that you had a lot of growing up to do, but honestly, Lex? If you’re this far behind at eighteen, I don’t know if you’re ever going to catch up. I hope you do, but…” I shrug. I give up and stand up.

“Jack, you are not seriously—”

I am, and there’s nothing she can do about it.