The Year We Fell Apart Read Online Free Page B

the driver’s-side door. It’s warm to the touch and coated in a fresh layer of the yellow pollen that’s everywhere this time of year. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten so into art.”
    “You didn’t ask. Believe it or not, there are a few things you don’t know about me.”
    I rock myself upright and open my car door. A burst of thick, hot air greets me, and I look back at him with as much poise as possible. “I guess there are.”
    He gives me a small wave with his notebook and steps back.
    “Declan, wait.” Goddammit.
    It’s out of my mouth now, and with it comes an expectation. One I don’t actually know how to fulfill. I should say something meaningful here, something that will close some measure of the distance between us. The way his hazel eyes are set on mine, it feels like he would wait a lifetime to hear the right thing.
    “Welcome home.”
    If he’s disappointed, he’s careful not to let it show. But something, maybe curiosity, pulls his mouth to one side. And for that one moment I’m just me and he’s just Declan. The boy I grew up with. My best friend.
    But too soon the moment passes and he’s gone. And all I’m left with is an aching void where all the imaginary reunions I’d carefully planned over the past nine months used to be.

Four
    WE WERE FIFTEEN WHEN DECLAN’S Mom died. Cory, Declan, and I all had the same biology class, and on that winter day sophomore year, we spent the hour burning peanuts and calculating their calories. I was so wrapped up in the lab assignment, in the novelty of being trusted with matches inside a classroom, I barely noticed when the school counselor came in to get Declan. But then he didn’t show up for lunch or the bus ride home, and I started to worry. Cory told me I was overreacting, that Declan probably just had a doctor appointment.
    But we both knew he was wrong once we stepped off the bus onto the slushy curb and found Mom and Bridget waiting for us. Cory and I sat side by side on his living room sofa as Bridget told us how the other driver was drunk and the roads were icy and Natalie’s car spun and spun until the guardrail stopped her. My eyes traced the argyle pattern of Cory’s wool socks. Watched as he flexed his feet against the floor and pushed his back into the cushion, bracing himself a moment too late. Then I stood, thinking if I could just see Declan, he would tell me they had it wrong. Natalie couldn’t be dead.
    I took one unsteady step toward the door, and Mom’s arms trapped me. Holding me tight against her, she matched me sob for sob. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and my mind spun with thoughts of Declan-Natalie-Natalie-Declan . My body forced me to keep breathing even though Natalie couldn’t, and with each inhale I choked on the scent of burned peanuts saturating my sweater.
    The next time we saw Declan was at the funeral.
    From my place next to Cory and our parents, I never took my eyes off him. It was the grayest morning I can remember, the kind of gray that makes your bones cold and your heart brittle. I clutched my winter coat around my waist and listened as one person after another tried to warm up the chapel by sharing stories about Natalie Scott’s kindness and humor and the ways she made each of our lives richer. Declan sat stone still until it was Bridget’s turn to speak.
    His shoulders began to tremble and it was the most terrifying moment of my life, watching helplessly as my best friend was dashed to pieces, knowing that for the first time Cory and I might not be enough to hold him together.
    When it was over, I hugged him as hard as I could. Whispered in his ear that we’d be okay, we’d get through it. He grabbed my hand and didn’t let go for hours.
    Natalie dying, the sight of Declan at her funeral, this is what I think about when Mom leaves for her first chemo session. Because Declan understands how quickly the world can crumble. How everything that used to define you can get choked out. He understands