The Beginning of After

At least, not about anything that mattered.
    My hesitation must have been obvious, because Joe said, “Or we don’t have to talk. You just look like you could use a distraction. If your grandmother says it’s okay, can we go have dinner? I brought you a Christmas present.”
    There was suddenly nothing I wanted more than to get distracted somewhere public and normal with Joe. We could eat and maybe do more sketches together and make jokes about the other diners, then make out somewhere in his truck.
    But then I looked down the driveway, and I could almost still hear the Jaguar’s tires screeching.
    The only thing I knew for sure at that moment was that David would be back.
    If I was gone when that happened, would he leave again? For good?
    David, do you know that’s a chance I can’t take?
    Now Joe reached out tentatively, slowly, and took my hand. His glove scratchy, his fingertips icy as they laced through mine.
    “Let me take you out,” he said, trying to sound confident.
    I felt my ears burning and my throat closing and the tears coming.
    “Joe,” I sputtered. “Why are you being so nice to me? I completely blew you off today. You sent me all those sweet, concerned messages and I didn’t answer.”
    I thought he would let go of my hand, but I felt his grip tighten instead. “It’s okay. I understand.”
    “You’re not mad at me?”
    “No.”
    Now I was the one to pull my hand from his.
    “But you should. You should get mad at me, even just a little. You’d get mad at anyone else.”
    “You’re not anyone else,” he said.
    “Yeah, you told me. I’m amazing in spite of everything I’ve been through.” The bitterness was rising now; I could almost taste the bile, and it was all I could do to keep it down.
    “Uh-huh,” said Joe, an almost-question.
    “Joe, I shouldn’t be anything in spite of anything. I want to be someone you can get pissed off at when I do something that’s not cool.”
    His eyes changed shape as he started to get it, and he dropped his head. It reminded me a bit of what Masher did when he knew he’d done something wrong.
    “I’m sorry, Laurel. You’re right. Let’s just go somewhere and talk about it.”
    “I can’t,” I said weakly, forcing it out before my throat clapped shut again.
    I looked toward the road again, and this time Joe followed my gaze. And I could see him get this other thing. David. His face scanned the house and the driveway uncomfortably, like a stranger in a foreign country, hopelessly lost.
    “Joe, you—you are—” What? Wonderful. Delicious. Something that was doomed before it even began.
    “Stop,” he said. Then he took off his hat, pulling it by the pom-pom, and shook his hair out a bit. “It’s all good.” Now he caught my eyes and held them. “I’ll see you.”
    He pulled his keys out of his jacket pocket and loped toward the truck. I walked parallel to him, aiming for the front door, and stood there long enough to watch him drive away. Unlike David’s Jaguar, Joe’s truck moved slowly, but quietly. Maybe he was hoping I’d stop him.
    When he was gone, I took a step and felt my foot knock something over. I looked down. It was a wrapped gift that had been leaning against the house, shaped like something framed. I picked it up and slowly tore it open.
    On a sheet of notebook paper, in pencil, Joe had drawn a figure in jeans and a plain T-shirt, wearing sneakers. Her hair down and her arms hanging simply, confidently, by her sides. Me.
    There was no cape or helmet or anything on my shirt. But Joe had written a name on a slant in the corner:
    SURVIVORGIRL
    Was that what made me so amazing to Joe? I never wanted him to see me as someone with superpowers. Even Superman wanted Lois Lane to love him as Clark Kent, not as the Man of Steel.
    I stared at the drawing until my hands were too numb to hold it. Finally, I went inside where Nana waited for me, knowing better than to ask any questions.
    An hour went by. No David. Two more hours. Then Nana and I ate frozen lasagna on TV trays while watching an old movie. The final credits rolled and still, no David. I saw Nana checking her watch, and I got even more pissed at him, for making her worry, this grandmother he had no official claims on.
    Finally, Nana said, “It’s late. Go to bed. He’ll come when he comes.”
    So I did as she told me, not wanting to cause her another ounce of stress. I changed and brushed my teeth, trying to shake off the pain of Joe’s Oh, I get it