In her photo album are pictures from her trip to see me last fall, and I swipe through these quickly, because I will not drown in images of a life that no longer exists. Not now, maybe not ever. I lazily hit her text messages. I’m hoping she had supportive friends, that she hadn’t entirely closed herself off. My messages are at the top, and I swipe past what are clearly confirmation texts for doctors’ appointments, but then I stop, because something else has caught my eye.
A name. A name that is so familiar to me that I didn’t even see it at first.
Esben Baylor.
My heart pounds when I hit the text thread.
I scan the last messages from just a few weeks ago.
Are you sure she’s doing okay? Steffi wrote. You promise?
She is, really. This is all difficult still, obviously, but she’s honestly doing well. I know it took a while after the call, but Allison is tough.
I scroll up to an earlier point in the thread. From Christmas Day.
Is Allison’s Christmas fun? she asks him. Are you seeing her tonight? What did you give her? What did she give you? Did you love meeting Simon?
Esben answered with a long, detailed reply, telling Steffi everything she could possibly want to know about winter break until that point. He told her how beautiful I looked in the red sweater Simon bought me, about the trifle mishap, Christian and their dance, about our plans for New Year’s Eve . . . everything.
I scroll up again. There is a picture of the bracelet he picked out for me, and he asked Steffi if I would like it.
The words grow blurry in front of me, and I shut my eyes for a moment. When I open them, I scroll back until I reach the beginning of their conversation.
It takes me an hour to get through all of Esben and Steffi’s messages to each other. What I read rips out what’s left of my heart.
It’s after ten in the morning when Esben wakes, and I am still frozen in this chair. My anger and sadness have had hours to spread their venom into my heart.
“Hey,” he says hoarsely. “You been up long?”
Slowly, I turn to him. I cannot hide the pain on my face. I don’t want to. “Esben, what have you done?” My voice breaks, but I resolve not to fall apart.
He rubs his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
I lift the phone in my hand. “This.”
Esben shakes his head. “Your phone? What?”
“This isn’t my phone.”
It takes a second for this to sink in, and Esben drops his head and takes a big breath before looking at me again. “That’s Steffi’s, isn’t it?”
I nod.
He starts to stand, but I stop him. “No, stay there.” My voice shakes.
“Allison, let me explain.”
“You don’t need to explain, Esben. It’s all right here. I read every message. Steffi went to see you when she was with me at Andrews. The night she went out to pick up Chinese for us, I remember that she was gone way too long . . . she went to you then, didn’t she? And she told you that she was sick, that she was going to die.”
“Yes,” he says somberly.
“And then she asked you to look after me. To get close to me.”
He hesitates. “Essentially. But it was because she wanted—”
“I know what she wanted. She knew that I was alone, so she wanted me to have someone. She saw the video, and she decided to push us together. Steffi also knew the kind of person you are. That you could never say no to something like this, right? You wouldn’t do that.” I look out the window at the glaring sunshine. “You wouldn’t turn down a dying girl’s request,” I state factually.
“No, it wasn’t like that,” he says strongly.
“She set this up. From the minute she saw that video of us, she hatched this plan. So, this supposed relationship you and I have?” Now I turn to him with hurt and unbearable sorrow. “This relationship didn’t happen the way I thought. Not at all. It was an obligation that you had to fulfill. You . . . you made me believe in so much, but none of that really existed, did it? It’s like this was your biggest, grandest, most selfless social experiment, huh? But I know you . . . that can’t be right. Please tell me that can’t be right.”
“Of course that’s not right.” Despite my putting my hands up to stop him, Esben crosses the room and kneels beside me. “You know as well as I do that there was something very real that happened between us before Steffi came into the picture. You know that, Allison. I didn’t know how to handle it when Steffi showed up at my door. I mean, what was I supposed to do? I tried to convince her to tell you what was going on, but she was adamant. I just . . . I told her what she wanted to hear, but I only meant that . . .” He shakes his head. “I don’t know. You know that I pretty much fell in love with you the moment I met you. And everything we’ve built together? Steffi could never make that happen. You and I made that happen. This is real.”
“And this whole time”—I am so confused that I can hardly hear what he’s saying, and I can hardly speak—“this whole time, you knew. You knew she was sick for months before she told me. If I’d known what she was facing, maybe I could have done something. I might have flown out here and ignored the way she was deflecting me. Simon might have been able to convince her. Something. Maybe you loved me, but you still didn’t give me any options.” It’s so hard not to cry. “You did what the dying girl wanted.”
He shakes his head hard. “I would never want to hurt you. I’m so sorry, Allison. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to respect Steffi’s choice. You saw the texts. You saw how many times I tried to get her to tell you herself.”
“You slept with me and—” I stop myself.
Oh no.
Suddenly, my body flips into a panic, and I stand and walk the room while I piece this together. “Maybe Steffi was right.”
“About what?”
I stop and look at him. “We get one. She always said we only get one. Remember I told you that? She was absolutely right. I had her.” I laugh in painful understanding, and I am stretching for air. “I had her, and I switched her out for you. Is that why she died? The world wouldn’t let me have you both? If I hadn’t listened to her . . .” I see what I’ve done now.
Esben shakes his head hard. “Allison, that’s crazy. You know that isn’t true. That is not how the world works.”
“If there hadn’t been a you and me,” I say, mostly to myself, “Steffi wouldn’t have gotten sick again. She’d be alive.”
“No, Allison,” Esben says sharply. “Steffi was going to get sick no matter what. You couldn’t have controlled that. We don’t get to make bargains like that.”
He’s right. Or maybe I’m right. I have no idea. I suppose it doesn’t matter, because Steffi is dead, and nothing will change that.
I pick up my purse. “I have to go,” I say numbly. “I have to go home.”
“No, please don’t leave. You’re not thinking clearly, sweetheart, you’re not.” He touches my arm. “Allison, I love you. I love you with my entire heart. Tell me you believe that.”
I’m afraid that I’m going to start crying and never stop, so I swallow back my tears when I look up at him with unbearable sadness. “I do know that. And I love you, too, Esben. But that isn’t enough now.” My entire being aches like I have never felt before. “Or maybe it’s too much. You will always remind me of Steffi’s death. I’m grateful, more than I can say, for how you got me to Los Angeles. But I will never be able to look at you and not think about Steff. You will always”—now I start to break down—“always break my heart because of what we’ve been through. What we had won’t work anymore.”