You Are Not Here Read Online Free

undone.
    I am undone.

I had been waiting
    for the right time
    for a long time.
    I had been waiting
    for romance,
    for candles,
    for rose petals.
    But when the time came,
    I hadn’t even shaved my legs,
    and I wasn’t wearing fancy underwear.
    It just happened.
    After weeks of saying no,
    I said yes.
    I thought that afterward
    I would cry
    or do something dramatic.
    I thought
    I would feel different,
    but I didn’t.
    It was everything around me
    that felt different.
    As I walked home
    from Brian’s that afternoon,
    I suddenly felt connected
    to the birds, to the trees,
    to the people around me.
    I felt a part of everything.

Not including the day Brian died,
    Marissa and I have only spoken twice
    in the last few weeks.
    The first conversation,
    the one that deepened
    the already growing rift,
    went like this:
    “You did what?” she asked.
    “We did it,” I said.
    “Is he even your boyfriend?”
    “Not exactly.”
    “Did he say ‘I love you?’”
    “No.”
    “Did you?”
    “No.”
    “How do you feel?”
    “Okay.”
    “Did it hurt?”
    “Not really.”
    “Well, at least that’s something.”
    “Why are you being like this?”
    “Like what?”
    “Like a bitch.
    Can’t you just be happy for me?”
    “All you do is complain
    about Brian.
    And now you have sex with him?
    Good plan, Annaleah.
    I don’t want to hear about it
    when you start freaking out.
    Because if you do,
    it’ll be your own fault.”
    “I can’t believe you.
    You don’t even know him.
    You’re probably just jealous
    that I had sex and you didn’t.”
    “Hardly, Annaleah.
    Hardly.”
    “Thanks for the support, Maris.”

It bothers me that I can’t remember
    all the details
    of the last time Brian and I had sex.
    I didn’t know
    it would be the last time.
    If I had,
    I would have traced Brian’s face,
    run my fingers over his eyelids,
    nose, and mouth.
    I would have connected
    his freckles and beauty marks,
    memorized them
    like a star chart.
    I would have ruffled his soft, dark hair,
    run my hands over his chest and arms.
    I would have held him
    tightly—
    measured the space
    he took up in my arms.
    I would have
    nestled into his neck,
    smelled him,
    taken all of him in—
    enough to make it last
    my whole life.

I can’t
    stop thinking
    that Brian and I
    never
    danced.
    I don’t know why
    it sticks out so much,
    but it does.

The last time Marissa and I talked
    before the day Brian died,
    went about as well as when
    I told her Brian and I
    slept together.
    She called and said,
    “Hey. How are you?”
    “Okay,” I answered.
    “And Brian?”
    That was new.
    She never asked about him.
    “Good. I saw him a few days ago.”
    “I saw him today.”
    She said those four words so quickly
    they practically blurred.
    “Oh. Cool.
    Did you say hi?”
    “No. He was with some girl in the park.
    She was blond and really pretty.”
    “Oh.
    Okay.”
    “They looked cozy.”
    Was she trying to start a fight?
    Because this was a great way to do that.
    “It could have just been a friend, Maris.”
    “Or not.
    Have you talked about being exclusive yet?”
    “Maris, what are you doing?
    We haven’t spoken in a while
    and this is what you call me to say?”
    “I’m trying to get you to see
    that he’s not good for you.”
    “Well, this conversation
    doesn’t feel like it’s
    any good for me.”
    “I thought you should know.”
    “Well, now I know.
    Thanks.”
    And I hung up.
    I tried not to think about what Marissa said,
    but that night I called Brian
    and asked what he had done that day.
    His answer was,
    “I slept late and then hung out with Peter.”
    Maybe he didn’t mention the girl
    because he thought I would get the wrong idea.
    Or maybe it was because Marissa was right
    and something was going on.
    It made me sick to think about,
    so I just stopped thinking.

Marissa comes back from the bathroom
    and wants to know
    my plans for the rest of the afternoon.
    Do I want to hang out and talk,
    watch a movie, go for a