Mostly.
Still, Shay knew her too well even now for Gabby to pretend that everything was normal. She took a deep breath. “I was kind of dating Ryan for a while,” she began, then wasn’t sure how to continue.
Shay nodded, plucking at the edge of her plastic to-go cup. “Yeah,” she said, “I heard something about that.”
“It’s over now,” Gabby said. “We’re not—yeah, we’re not anything. And there was never anything between us while you and I were—”
“No, I know,” Shay said quietly. “I wouldn’t think—”
“Okay.” Gabby nodded, feeling herself blush. “Anyway, I guess I’ve been taking it sort of hard or whatever.”
“That’s too bad,” Shay told her. “I mean, not that you guys aren’t dating anymore, I’m not going to act like I’m sad about that, but like. If you’re not friends anymore, either. That kind of sucks.”
“Yeah,” Gabby said, swallowing hard. “It kind of does.” She looked at the shredded mess on the table; she thought of all the other messes she’d made. “Was I impossible?” she asked, before she could stop herself. “To be around? Like, is that why you broke up with me? Was I just so exhausting and weird after a while that—”
“Gabby,” Shay said, reaching out and laying a delicate hand on her arm to stop her, squeezing tight. “No.” She sat back then, shrugging a little. “Like, are you always a picnic? No, of course not. But nobody worth being with is. And you are really, really worth being with.”
Gabby shook her head. “You didn’t think so in the end,” she said, trying not to sound bitter about it. Trying not to sound young.
Shay sighed. “I didn’t break up with you because of your anxiety, Gabby-Girl,” she said. “I didn’t even break up with you because of you. I broke up with you because I didn’t want to have a girlfriend for a little while, that’s all.”
“Yeah,” Gabby said, swallowing down the memory. They’d broken up in a parking lot on the last night of Shay’s spring break, snow falling fast and furious even though it was halfway through March. Even after everything that had happened since then, the memory felt like someone squeezing her heart like soft clay. “I know.”
They hugged good-bye outside the coffee shop, Gabby breathing in Shay’s familiar lavender smell and willing herself not to start crying right here on the blacktop. “I’ll see you in the city in a few weeks, okay?” Shay asked, tugging at the end of Gabby’s braid and looking at her worriedly. Gabby didn’t know how to tell her she wasn’t sure how in the world she’d ever get that far.
GABBY
Later that night Gabby was lying on her bed allegedly reading The Tudors but actually staring at the ceiling and reliving in Technicolor an awkward conversation she’d had with Sophie the week before graduation during which she thought Sophie might have thought, mistakenly, that Gabby was coming onto her, when somebody knocked on her door.
“Hey, bug?” her mom said, easing it open. She wasn’t alone: it was both of Gabby’s parents, which was alarming. The last time the two of them had sat her down together had been when Gabby was in eighth grade, when Grandma Grace had died.
“What’s wrong?” Gabby asked, sitting up and tucking her hair behind her ears, alert. If anything really bad had happened they’d be telling all three of them at once, right? Or—oh, shit, did they somehow know about her meltdown on the train the other day? Had Michelle told them? Had somebody else seen? Gabby’s heart hammered, a fist against a wall.
“No no, nothing’s wrong,” her mom said quickly, holding her hands out as she perched on the edge of Gabby’s mattress; her dad sat down in her desk chair, looking too big for the space. “We just wanted to talk to you for a sec. About how you’ve been feeling.”
“I’m fine,” Gabby said immediately. She stared back at them for a moment, her face carefully, purposefully blank. “What, ’cause I broke up with Ryan? I’m fine.”
“It’s not about Ryan,” her dad said gently. “Unless it is about Ryan, and that’s okay too. But Mommy and I have both noticed that you seem pretty unhappy lately. More anxious and wound up than normal. Maybe a little depressed.”
Oh, Gabby did not want to have this conversation. “I’m doing fine,” she insisted. “Like, am I an anxious person? Of course I’m an anxious person; you know that, you’ve met me before. But I’m fine. I’m handling it.”