Who Can Really Blame You?

I answer my phone when it goes off.

“Ainsley,” Hank says, “I need you in half an hour. Please?”

“Uhm,” I say groggily, having just woken up, “how long?”

“Just an hour,” he says, “Then Bernard can cover the rest of the shift.”

“Fine,” I mutter, “I’ll be there.”

I hang up a moment later and make myself get up. I step on something that crunches under my foot. I look down and stare at the piece of paper, before bending down to pick it up.

You’ve just left. I don’t know what I’m doing that’s wrong. I don’t know where you’re going. I don’t know if you’re coming back. I just don’t know anymore, Ainsley. I want to be your friend, but this isn’t what friends do. You always just run away, and I’m getting tired. I guess I’ll just do what you asked me in the first place. I’ll just stay away.

I stare at the unsigned letter, but know who it’s from. I push the thoughts from my mind, and focus on what I’m doing now. I’ll let myself think about this later.

I change my shirt and mess up my hair a bit more, before grabbing my keys and heading out.

Focus. Turn the steering wheel. Focus. Check the traffic. Focus. Stop on red. Focus. Hit the turn signal. Focus. Just focus on anything but life. Just do that much for yourself.

I sigh as another customer leaves, and Nick and I are alone again. Only twenty more minutes of this shift.

“What’s bugging you?” Nick asks, appearing next to me. I jump.

“Nothing,” I mutter, after the shock’s worn off.

“I’m not an idiot,” Nick says, sitting on the counter, “You keep sighing. You look tired. Who’s the boy?”

I stare at him.

“How do you know it’s a boy?” I challenge.

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” he scoffs, “It’s that tall kid who came in here before, right?”

I glare at him, but it dies on my face.

“Yes,” I sigh, sitting on the chair behind the counter.

“What happened?” he asks. So I tell him. I feel kind of foolish for spilling my guts to him, even though he asked for it.

“That’s stupid,” he tells me once I’ve finished. “If you like him, why would you want him to go away?” he asks, rolling his eyes.

“Because,” I sigh, he doesn’t get it, “Then I’ll get over him, and it won’t hurt me, and he won’t be grossed out by me.”

“You gross him out?” he asks, surprised, doubtful.

“It’s obvious,” I say as a woman hands me a CD to ring up. When she leaves, Nick continues.

“No it’s not. I didn’t get the impression you gross him out at all from what you told me,” he says. I sigh, and glance at the time; just five more minutes.

“No offense, Nick,” I start, “But you don’t really know what’s going on in Carter’s head.”

“Neither do you,” he shrugs, and disappears into an isle, undoubtedly to re-alphabetize the shelves that customers have been messing up.

I hate it that everyone but me seems to have a good point to make.

I get a text message as I’m driving home. I park and check my message before getting out.

Talia wants to hang out. I sigh, and reply with an “I’m at work.”

She doesn’t answer.

I ride the elevator up, alone, and go into my apartment, alone, and finally climb back in bed, alone.

And now I let myself think.

So he’s going to avoid me now. It’s what I wanted but it still hurts that he agreed to it. I always run away? Does he think I’m a coward? Am I a coward? Maybe, but I can’t be the judge of that.

He wants to be my friend. Done deal. There’s nothing to think about on that topic. He wants to be friends, and I knew that he didn’t want more than that. But I let myself hope about him. And I’ve let him down. He’s realizing right now that I’m not worth all this trouble. I knew all along, but I didn’t want to tell him. I should have. Then he would have been able to say he was warned at least.

He’s tired. Does that mean he’s giving up? I don’t know if I want him to. It might be easier if he just backs off right now and quits on me. It’s only been about four weeks, so if he just goes now then I won’t be able to like him more, and maybe it’ll hurt less if it just happens now. Who knows? I’ll miss him.

And now I don’t want to think anymore.

I wake up five hours later. I wasn’t tired before, so I guess it’s a good thing I managed to sleep. But why did I wake up so suddenly?

Then I jump about a foot in the air.

“Ainsley! Open the door!” Someone yells. I jump up, and rush to the front door. My aunt sighs in relief. “Thank god, why weren’t you answering your phone?” she asks.

“It never rang,” I say, already worried, “What’s happening?”

“It’s your dad,” she says, entering the apartment, “We have to go to the hospital.”

I’m frozen, but she’s fluttering around the room, grabbing my shoes and throwing them at me, grabbing my keys for me, grabbing a change of clothes.

“What—” I start, but she tells me to put on my shoes.

“Aunt Carol—” I try again, but she’s ushering me out the door.

“Stop!” I yell as she shuts the door. She stops and looks at me.

“What?” she asks, pushing her hair from her face.

“What’s happening?” I demand, and feel bad when her eyes well up with tears.

“It’s failing,” she says, “They haven’t found a donor.”

The doctors tell me everything my aunt already has.

“We don’t have a donor,” the doctor says. I stare at my dad, who’s awake but looks sicker than anyone I’ve ever seen, his skin even yellower than before.

“Am I a match?” I ask the doctor.

“Well, we’d need to do a test,” the doctor says uncertainly, “But it might not do anything if we can’t find a full liver for your dad—”

“Don’t,” someone says. We all look to my dad.

“What?” Aunt Carol asks, going to his side to hold his hand. He looks at me.

“Don’t donate to me,” he says. His voice is gravelly.

“Dad,” I say, joining Aunt Carol at his side, “I have to.”

“I’m not letting you,” he says. Aunt Carol starts to cry.

“You’ll die!” I exclaim, my eyes filling too.

“It’s my fault,” he says, closing his eyes, “I’ve hurt you too many times.”

“You know I’m not mad about that,” I say, tears falling down my face.

“I know,” he says, taking my hand, and opening his eyes again, “But I can’t let you get sick over me.”

“You can’t ask me not to do this, dad,” I say, looking to my Aunt Carol for support. She shakes her head.

“He’s right, honey,” she says, putting her arm around me.

“No he’s not!” I exclaim, standing, “I want to do this!”

“Sit down,” My dad says, and I do, “This isn’t your decision. It’s my life. I ruined it, not you. I won’t let you take responsibility for this.”

I don’t say anything, and just lay my head on his bed. The doctor comes to the bed to talk to us.

“Mr. Jacobs,” the doctor says. My dad looks at him. “If you do decline your son’s offer, then you only have about five and a half hours to live,” the doctor says. My aunt chokes on a sob.

“I’m sticking with my decision,” my dad says deliberately. I turn to look at him.

“Please don’t do this to me,” I beg.

“You’re going to be just fine without me, Ains,” he says, reaching tiredly for my hand, “You’re going to finish school, and find a great person to spend your life with, and you’re going to do so well for yourself. I just want you to be as happy as you can be. Giving me part of your liver isn’t going to help any of that happen.”

I don’t say anything. I just nod and squeeze his hand tighter and try not to cry.

“Don’t be afraid,” he says, “You’re worth so much more than you think.”

And then I cry.