“Well, that Alternate Universe Jackson isn’t exactly living his best life either,” Jackson says, stepping back. “If you don’t stay in touch, I’m going to have to fly back out here and harass you, and I’m not sure if Wade is going to be a huge fan of that.”
“He still won’t be the boss of me by then,” I say.
“That’s what he thinks,” Wade says.
“Go easy on Theo,” I say. “And yourself.”
“Back at you,” Jackson says.
We hail Jackson a cab. With one last wave, he’s gone. I really don’t know when I’ll see him again, but I promise you, Theo, that we’ll continue taking care of each other, and that I’ll never turn my back on him again.
Saturday, January 6th, 2017
“I don’t know why I agreed to go back to school.”
Thank the Creator of All Universes that Wade is a kind, bored soul who is spending his Saturday morning helping me catch up on missed assignments.
“I think we both know why,” Wade says, pointing at himself. “Solid life choice, by the way.” He is lying across my bed, finishing my math homework—don’t judge me, I can’t possibly do all of this by myself. Team Mountain, remember? His elbow touches my hip, and if this were us months ago, we would’ve shifted away. Now I inch closer to him.
I’m letting my playlist run wild, and after I put the finishing touches on my history report about World War II, I turn to Wade. “Done.” I lie down next to him, knowing I can trust nothing too sexual is going to happen because we’ve left the door open. It sucks, but I’m happy Wade and I aren’t having sex for a while. Our beginning was pretty rocky, so we need a fresh start. This means earning our relationship.
“We should get going.”
Not only am I going back to school this week, but I have a therapy appointment this afternoon with a new doctor. Dr. Anderson was fine and all, but I’m starting over with this psychiatrist my mom’s friend recommended to her. Hopefully Dr. Fergesen doesn’t make me anxious, or I’ll walk out of her office too. I’ll figure out my next move from there.
We throw on our coats and go outside, walking to the clinic.
“I know I’ve been lying to myself about how well I’m actually functioning, and I know I may not be able to scrub myself clean of all the impulses and anxiety completely, but I want to see if I can take some control of my own life back,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Wade says.
“I didn’t say thank you,” I say.
“I noticed. I thought I’d nudge you in the right direction.”
“Thanks for forcing me to be honest with myself,” I say.
“Anytime, champ,” Wade says.
I smile at him before looking ahead. There’s nothing wrong with someone’s saving my life, I’ve realized, especially when I can’t trust myself to get the job done right. People need people. That’s that.
Even though I’m incredibly anxious as to how this session will go, I feel like I can do anything right now, like make snow angels in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers and never get sick, or race Wade up the side of a building, not giving a single damn about gravity.
I’m on his left, of course, but in the middle of his story about his earliest memory at the movie theater, I shift to his right and hold his hand, which does feel weird, I can’t lie. But it feels good, too. I’m no longer waking up on the wrong side of my life.
HISTORY
Sunday, November 13th, 2016
My closet is dusty and so are my clothes after burying some of Theo’s things back there. I change out of my shirt and jeans, throwing them on the floor. I’m walking to my dresser when my phone rings. I’m a little nervous I’ll now have to tell Theo about Wade, but it’s what has to be done for everyone involved. Still sucks. But it’s not Theo calling. It’s his mother.
“Hey, Elle—”
She’s crying.
Everything is blurring from there. She’s lying about Theo drowning this afternoon, right? I don’t know why she would do this, but there’s no way it’s true. But she’s not lying. I’m crying with her as I run out into the living room, passing the phone over to my parents. My eyes hurt and I can’t breathe and I need air.
I go outside and run as I hear my mom calling for me. I bullet down the stairs and almost trip several times and I don’t care. Knock me out, Universe, I don’t care. I get outside and it’s freezing and it’s the first time I realize I’m in nothing but my boxers and socks. My feet are wet instantly, but the cold isn’t slowing me down from racing into the street. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want to live and be here without Theo. I see a car coming, and I can throw myself out from behind this parked one.
I’m going to do it.
I’m going to do it because he broke his promise.
The car is a few feet away, but I throw myself into a mound of snow behind me instead, shivering and crying. Theo wouldn’t want me to hurt myself. But I also don’t know how to be alive in a universe where I can’t talk to Theo McIntyre.
TODAY
Sunday, January 7th, 2017
I have to say goodbye to you, Theo McIntyre.
I’m kneeling before your headstone, my knees buried in the snow, and I hope you know this is what’s best for me. My psychiatrist is treating me with exposure therapy for my OCD, and medicine because she’s diagnosed me with a delusional disorder. I’m not convinced she’s right, but I have to face a version of truth that’s painful—you aren’t actually listening to me. This thought gets me scratching my palm and pulling my earlobe, because if you haven’t heard a single thing I’ve said to you since you died, then you died without knowing the truth.
But now that I’m here, where we buried you, maybe I can talk to you.
I haven’t lost my love for you, I swear. I’m actually nervous I may never lose my love for you, as if I’ll start dating someone else and while I’m piecing together that new puzzle, that new story, I’ll find myself reaching for you-shaped pieces. This might be okay for two or four or six or eight pieces, but anything more than that, and I’ll be left with a puzzle that has half your face, half someone else’s. That’s not fair to the guy who’s expecting me to give him my all the way I did with you.
It’s not fair to Wade.
You’re always going to be my first favorite human. No one can steal that from you. But now I have to get it together and allow room for more favorite people, to trust that Wade and Jackson are worthy of their own crowns.
It’s been rewarding to be this honest lately. I’m determined to stay this honest, as if lives depend on it, which I guess they sort of do. No one will die if I lie, but lives can grow and be fuller when I tell the truth. Being honest will end the fight I have with myself when I’m with Wade, and I can see him for himself instead of someone around to fill up the emptiness.
Maybe when Jackson was here he had this talk with you, too. It kind of makes me sick, like we’re all abandoning you for something that wasn’t your fault. But I guess the point of all this is, Jackson and I will always keep you close, but we’re putting ourselves first, and we’re going to move forward as we’re sure you would want us to.
I promise I’ll find happiness again. It’s the best way to honor you.
I stand, shaking a little as I wrap your hoodie around your headstone to keep you warm. I don’t think it’s right for me to keep this around anymore. I wonder what will happen to it. I wonder if it’ll miraculously be here the next time someone visits you, or if the wind will blow it off and bury it deep beneath the snow, only for some stranger to discover it later. This person won’t know anything about how you gave it to me the afternoon we had sex for the first time.
But that’s okay. History remains with the people who will appreciate it most.
I love you, but I can’t stay longer.
It may be a while before I speak to you again. I’m so happ
y you were my first, Theo, and you were worth all the heartache. I hope I wasn’t living in some alternate universe where I wasn’t actually your first love, too.
But this universe is the only one that matters, and I have one last question for you: I didn’t get our history wrong, did I?
Acknowledgments
My editor, Daniel Ehrenhaft, for believing in me very early on, whiplash-worthy edit letters, inhabiting Griffin’s compulsions so thoughtfully, and losing sleep until we got everything right. My publicist, Meredith Barnes, for all the empathy she’s shown toward my very particular mind. My agent, Brooks Sherman, for his super savviness and therapy when I’m doubting myself. My homie, Hannah Fergesen, an editorial wizard who’s been right so many times my ego has suffered. My assistant, Michael D’Angelo, for bossing me around. My beautiful and brilliant higher-ups, Bronwen Hruska and Jenny Bent, and the hard-working champions at Soho Teen and the Bent Agency. When the time comes for the zombie-pirate apocalypse, I’m recruiting my publishing team first.
Luis “LTR3” Rivera, for being the best damn lifesaver in all the land, hosting me for a couple months so I could finish writing this book, epic Super Smash Bro. matches with the bros, and “a fourth thing.” Corey Whaley, for sticking to my right, lion statues, history, and staying in my life. Cecilia Renn, for our psychic connection and checking me when I’m too stubborn to check myself. Amanda and Michael Diaz (and Ann and Cooper), who know my obsessive ways all too well—sorry-not-sorry for all those songs on repeat. Lestor Andrade, for the Carpool of Shame and many other Real Life moments.
Becky Albertalli, for making sure I didn’t throw away my shot when things were at their worst. David Arnold(-Silvera), for the most epic fake-proposal in the universe. Jasmine Warga, for the greatest candy picnic in that swanky bathtub. (Team Beckminavidera forever.) Sabaa Tahir, a Jedi Master who can always sense when there’s a disturbance in the Force. Nicola Yoon, whose generosity is nonstop. Victoria Aveyard, for never waking me up during every movie we see. Hashtag dope. Renée Ahdieh, for not outing me at Comic-Con when gum fell out of my mouth in the middle of our panel. Kim Liggett, for getting me out of the house to write this book and all the gossiping in-between. Lance Rubin, the worst rival ever because there isn’t a bone in his body or word in his brain I could hate. Virginia Boecker, for too many laughs over too many unspeakable things. Dhonielle Clayton and Sona Charaipotra, wise forces on their own, world-changers together.
If I tried to name everyone in the community whose had a hand in my career, this book would weigh twice as much. Thank you all to the readers, bloggers (shout-out to Dahlia Adler and Eric Smith), writers, family (shout-out to my lovely mom for happy history), friends, booktubers, booksellers (shout-out to everyone at Books of Wonder), librarians (shout-out to Angie Manfredi).
And, most importantly, for all the Humans, named and unnamed, who’ve encouraged me to write my way into this life and helped me write my way through my depression. This one is for you—as are all the ones that will follow.
Adam Silvera, History Is All You Left Me
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