“Cheer up,” Gen says to me. “I’ve signed you up to walk the route with them this year.” She points at a group of dancers in blue cowboy chaps and goofy fringed vests.
At least a dozen horrifying clowns in tattered rainbow jumpsuits pop into the drugstore beside us. “Over there,” I say. “They’re looking for you, Gen. They need you.”
“Have you seen those tap-dancing Christmas trees? They asked if you’d swing back around and have a second go with them. You won’t be too tired, right? I mean, I already paid for your tinsel pants.”
“I’m glad you guys didn’t sign me up for anything,” Hattie says. “Because it’s really awesome doing nothing.”
I shoot her an annoyed look. When Gen sees that I’m still not willing to fulfil my usual role as peacekeeper, she steps in. I sink back into myself. Back into the manuscript. I can’t erase this image from my mind: Rashmi, covered in rabbits. The Kermit balloon floats out from behind another building, and I think about rabbits. We get cold and walk home, and I think about rabbits. Maman calls us into the kitchen, and I help her make crescent rolls. Rabbits. I help her set the table. Rabbits. The turkey is carved, the drinks are poured, the toast is made. Rabbits, rabbits, rabbits. The plates are cleared, the mashed potato and gravy remains are scraped into the trash can. My boyfriend loses his virginity, and, oh, who’s that looking on?
It’s a rabbit.
My family parks around the television for a feel-good movie. I’m still thinking about rabbits an hour later, when I hear the faint sound of my phone ringing inside my bedroom. My heart catapults into my throat. I sprint upstairs and barely catch it in time.
“I love you,” Josh says. “Hold on.” There’s laughter and loud voices, and then the sucking sound of a sliding door being shut. “Okay, I’m on a patio. Or a private balcony. Or something. Actually, I don’t know where the hell I am.”
“But you’re at the White House?”
“Yeah.”
Rabbit.
“I know,” he says, when I don’t say anything. “It’s weird. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not that.” Rabbit rabbit. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”
“My mom said I could call you. I’m using her phone again.”
“So, um. How is it?”
“Did you get my package?” he asks over my question. I can practically hear his sweat dripping into the receiver.
“I did. I read it last night. It was great.”
There’s a long, dead pause. “Wow.” His voice is as dull as my delivery. “That didn’t sound convincing even to you, did it?”
“No. I just—” And then I burst into tears, hating myself.
“What’s the matter?” He turns panicked. “What is it? Which part?”
“No. It’s good.” I can’t stop crying.
“Please,” he begs. “Don’t. Listen, I know I was a dick to Rashmi, especially when we fought, but I swear that won’t happen with us. It’s so different with you. I would never be like that with you.” It’s the fastest I’ve ever heard him speak. “I was younger, and I was so much stupider—”
“It wasn’t the fighting. It was…” My tears explode into gut-wrenching sobs. “The rabbits.”
“Rabbits?” But his confusion is only momentary. “Oh. Oh.”
“Why would you draw those things? Why would you show them to me?”
“I-I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal—”
“You didn’t think it would be a big deal for me to see your ex-girlfriend naked? To learn the explicit details of you guys losing your virginity together?”
“I don’t know.” He’s reached a full panic now. “I wrote about it because it happened. And I shared it with you, because I wanted to be honest with you. I wanted to show you everything. The ugly parts, too, remember?”
“Well. Maybe not everything belongs in a book.”
“I’m sorry. Ohmygod. I’m so sorry, Isla.”
I don’t say anything. It’s unfair, but I’m hurt. I want him to hurt, too.
“Please don’t hang up. What about the end, the part with you? How was that?”
“Yeah, those eight whole pages were fine.” I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. I’ve never said anything more selfish in my life. It’s not like he’s even had time to draw us yet. It takes for ever to do the kind of work he does. He shared something personal with me, and I threw it in his face.
His silence is terrible.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” Tears and snot are rolling down my face. “Your book is great, really.”
Josh snorts, but now he’s crying. My guilt quadruples.
“It is. It just caught me off guard. I know what you draw. I should’ve known what would be in there. We shouldn’t even be talking about this, I should be telling you about all of the parts that I loved—”
“And now you’re apologizing to me, and that’s insane.”
“It’s not!” I clutch my phone harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
There’s no reply.
“Hello? Josh? Hello?”
“My mom is calling me. Shit. They’re about to serve dessert or something.”
“No!”
“Do you still love me?” His panic rises again. “You didn’t say it when you answered.”
I pull out a handful of tissues from a box. “Of course I do!”
“I can’t believe I have to hang up right now.”
“Don’t go. I love you.”
“I’ll call you back as soon as I can.” And the line goes dead.
Like the sucker I am, I stay beside my phone all night hoping that soon means “soon”. It doesn’t. How could I have lashed out at him like that? He trusted me. He bared his soul, and I held it against him. I hate this. I hate that I hurt him. And I hate that I’m still upset about his work, and I really hate that I’m gonna have to pretend like I’m not.
I keep the box in my closet, hoping for an out-of-sight, out-of-mind experience, but it’s impossible. It’s the only thing on my mind. By Saturday night, I still haven’t heard from him. Fear of my wrongdoing reaches a critical peak. I have to do something. I add a small peace offering to the box and carry it to the Wasserstein residence, using the return address already on the package. The weight of the box is heavy, burdensome. But it still doesn’t take me long to get there.