The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 32

How can I still be crying?

I have cried so much in the last two days that I think I have broken my eyes. Even when I close them, they tingle, and the top half of my face is swollen no matter how many cold compresses I put on it. It’s as though all the tears I should have cried in the last twenty-eight years of my life have come out in two days, and I am powerless to stop them.

I have relegated myself to the spare bedroom, my old room. It’s the only room in the house where I can’t see the ghost of Noah.

He has been calling me. He has been texting me. He hasn’t yet come to my house, but just in case he does, I have restricted my movements as much as possible. I don’t turn on the lights. When I need food, I pull up my t-shirt to create a kind of pouch, akin to a kangaroo, and fill it with as much food as possible. I have been eating like an abandoned baby at a birthday party, but I don’t care. My body is preparing itself for what is coming: when the mere notion of food will make me nauseous. When all I will be able to manage is beige food. Cold, beige food. Crackers. Porridge. Plain mashed potatoes if I’m feeling brave. But now, there are KitKat wrappers stuffed into every furniture crevice I can reach. I have also watched so much television that I can no longer tell who my actual friends are.

I’m in the middle of a reality TV episode when I hear footsteps in my house. I freeze and pause the show. I will have to watch the rest of the argument later.

‘Paige?’ I strain to listen. ‘Paige, are you in there?’

The voice belongs to Sara, but I cannot be certain that she is alone. I listen out some more, to make sure. I can hear her as she works her way around my apartment. She starts in the kitchen, the lounge, my bedroom (where I think she even opens my cupboards), my bathroom and eventually …

‘Paige? What are you doing in here?’

My face is still squashed into the duvet. I half-heartedly try to create some space, using very limited movements. ‘Sorry.’

‘Why are you apologizing?’

‘Are you alone?’

‘Yes, why?’

‘I just wanted to make sure.’ Just in case Noah has somehow also snuck in.

She sits down on the bed next to me. ‘I wish you had told me you needed me. I would have come earlier. Although I’m glad I came early to pick you up. We might want to think about showering before heading … out.’

It takes me longer than it should to realize that she is talking about my hospital appointment. With all the crying and the snacking, I had forgotten what day it was. ‘Sorry.’

‘Stop apologizing and let me in. I’m coming for a hug.’

She starts making a move to get under the covers. I have to hold her off.

‘No.’ I’ve trapped myself like a burrito, but wiggle so I am wrapped even more tightly in.

Sara looks a little offended, but she does stop trying to breach my duvet.

With my defences worn down to an all-time low, I can’t come up with a plausible fake excuse for her to stay away. All I can say is the truth. ‘I’ve created a fart pod in here. If you open it up, the gases will all be released, and I can’t do that to you. It’s not good.’ My whole body is malfunctioning, and yet, somehow, my eyes are still working fine. They start to produce more tears, and not from the gases. I’m almost relieved to know that they still work; I didn’t think they were capable. But it’s as though all my internal pipes are mixed up, because as soon as my eyes start watering, my nose also instantly starts running. In a shameful turn of events I wipe my eyes and blow my nose directly into the duvet cover.

Sara doesn’t flinch. I make a mental note to never play poker with her. She just continues sitting, hand on my side, comforting me.

Nose clear, and able to talk, I mutter, ‘I don’t know why I am crying so much. I really wish it would stop.’ I try to blink the tears away so I can see her. I am only partly successful.

‘I know.’

I blow my nose again. I’m powerless against the grossness. I must just accept it.

‘It just seems so much more sad this time.’

Sara exhales.

‘Firstly, I would like to remind you that it still could be nothing, we don’t know yet, so don’t write yourself off already. And secondly, why is it worse this time? Tell me. What’s going on in that head of yours?’

Now it is my turn to exhale. I shrug as much as the burrito will allow. ‘I guess … I just … Last time I didn’t know what was ahead of me.’ I shift a bit in bed. ‘Last time, yes, the timing sucked in a way, but now I realize that it was almost good timing.’ If there is such a thing. ‘I didn’t have much to give up. And my nan was here.’ And Noah wasn’t. At the thought of his name, and hers, my tears go from a gentle stream to a waterfall. I pop a hand out and rub my eyes in an effort to stop them. I rub so hard that I worry they have been pushed too deep into the socket. Upon reopening them, all I can see is a static kaleidoscope.

‘I’m here. If you need it, I can help. I’ve already spoken to Nick about converting the office into a bedroom for you.’

I smile. ‘Thank you.’ I hope to god that I won’t need it. ‘I know I’m worrying about something that might not happen, but I just can’t get it out of my head. I keep trying.’

‘I know. But it’s OK. At least we’re on the way to knowing. It’s always the not knowing that is the worst bit.’

I attempt a nod.

‘What did Noah say when you told him?’

I remain silent, stilled by the mention of his name.

‘You did tell him?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘And by “not exactly” you mean …?’

‘I haven’t told him.’ And I’ve been ignoring him altogether.

She doesn’t say anything – that isn’t her style – but she does give me a look.

‘I know.’

‘Paige.’ She exhales and looks away. ‘You know when you came over the other week and Nick was waxing lyrical about himself.’ She looks back at me.

I nod so she knows I am listening.

‘Well, he’s more of a romantic than I am with all that chat about the “little things”. It’s a romantic notion, but for me, I’m less about the romantic notions and more about the practical. I’ll say it again, I love Nick because he turns up.’

I look at her. ‘But any time you talk about him, you always seem kinda …’ I try and fail to find quite the right word ‘… apathetic.’

‘Oh Paige.’ She rolls her eyes at me. ‘You’re my best friend, so of course I’m going to complain more to you than I do to anyone else. And I’m not gonna lie, relationships aren’t always easy or exciting.’ She gives me a hint of a cheeky smile, probably in an effort to lighten the mood. ‘Although, Nick and I finally had an actual argument and it was just what we needed.’ She looks up, remembering. ‘The sex afterwards was great, and we’ve decided to get a babysitter every other Friday so we can go out together. But Paige’ – the mood turns serious again as she looks back at me – ‘Noah is the guy that turns up. Don’t underestimate how important that is.’

My eyes start watering again. Because he’s stopped turning up. Because I pushed him away. I scrunch my eyes shut and turn my face into my pillow. Sara leans down to give me a hug.

‘Why can’t I stop crying?’

Sara rocks me, as much as she can. ‘Well, sweetie, sometimes the healing hurts more than the breaking.’

All of a sudden, I feel too warm. Far too warm. Luckily, she lets go just before I push her off.

I feel more than see her reach for something behind my head. ‘Is that …?’ She pulls it out and looks at it. ‘Is this a KitKat wrapper?’

I nod.

She shakes her head and puts the wrapper back where it belongs. ‘Do you think you can shower?’

I nod again.

‘Good. You do that and I’ll go on a treasure hunt for rubbish.’