Page 98 of The Beginning and End of Everything
She holds up a paper bag with a little panda on it. "Got you that crispy seaweed you love."
There is a God. The highlight of my day is going to be that seaweed. "See, this is how I know this is true love."
55
Poppy
February 2016
Hope lies on the couch, her head hanging off the edge, her feet on the wall. "Come to Auntie Hope, Mort." She clicks her tongue, and the cat goes prancing over to her. “Where’s the pikey?”
“The gym.”
“So…” Hope waits for a second before blowing a hard breath through her nose. “How’s he doing?"
"Fine."
"No, really?" Her legs drop from the wall to the couch, and she sits up, static causing her red hair to shoot out in all directions. "Brandon O’Kieffe has never been fine as long as I've known him."
"Hope…" I sigh.
Every once in a while, she does this. She thinks I'm hiding something from her or lying to her. She refuses to believe that Brandon’s doing okay, even though there’s no more fight ring, no more rage. He still has his ups and his downs, but he’s much better.We’remuch better.
"Look, I'm just saying, something's going to give at some point."
"Why does something justhaveto give at some point?”
"You do realize he has done a complete one-eighty, right?" She stares at me, chewing at her lip the way she does when she wants to say something she thinks may piss me off. "People relapse. It's part of life, Poppy, and I just don't want you blindsided when it happens."
"He. Is. Fine."
"Brandon was beating the shit out of lads twice his size when he was fourteen. By sixteen, he was winning money, and by seventeen, he was a bare-knuckle boxing champion. He joined the army where his job was to kill people.” She stares wide-eyed at me for a moment, as though those statements should bring me to an epiphany. “That boy is a hot-blooded male through and through. He lives to fight, and he's damn good at it, and now, he's a security guard?" She shakes her head. "I don't buy it."
I take a breath, then grab the remote from the cushion beside me and turn on the TV, pressing the button hard when I flip through channels. I know she’s trying to help, but she’s not, so I hope she’ll just drop it if I don’t respond.
"All I'm saying is, don't be naïve.”
That strikes a nerve, and I toss the remote onto the coffee table before shooting her a glare. "Who the hell are you to give me any kind of life advice? Your dad gives you money whenever you want it. You get to flounce around and do whatever suits your fancy. Just…" My face grows hot. "You have no idea what real life is like, Hope."
She flinches like I just slapped her, and in a way, I guess I did.
"You can hate me for it, but I will always tell you the shit you don't want to hear." She scoots Mort out of her lap, shoves her feet into her heels, and slings her Hermes handbag over her shoulder before she crosses the room with a huff. “Because God knows, someone needs to.” Then the door slams behind her.
I stare at the wall, my skin tingling with adrenaline. And guilt. Guilt because a small part of me knows Hope is right, but I don’t want to believe it. So I pretend I don’t see the way Brandon glances at the alcohol behind the bar when we go to a restaurant or the way his leg bounces under the table. I tell myself it’s nothing to worry about when I feel his body tense beside mine anytime we ride the subway or go to a museum or movie.
Because things are better. They have to be.
56
Brandon
March 2016
People meander through the park, smiling and laughing while I sit on the bench and watch a woman throw a ball for her dog. I fiddle with my phone and skip my music to a different song just as a text appears on the screen.
Finn: U around today?
I chuck my phone back inside my pocket without responding. As far as Poppy is concerned, I'm with Finn now, training at the gym. I've been doing this normal, everyday bullshit for three months—the stuff every other person on the planet seems to cope with just fine, but all it does is bring me down.
