Page 27 of Shut Up and Drive

Thane’s laughter weaves in with mine, and the joyful sound swirls all around us. For a moment, it’s just like old times. We could always get each other laughing—much to the annoyance of Bash, who hated it when I tagged along. But Thane and I had a friendship unlike any I’d ever had with my girlfriends. He was slightly inappropriate—yet gentlemanly—and matched my sarcasm beat for beat. He knew exactly what lame, cheesy jokes would make me laugh until I cried. And the best part was that he reserved that side of himself just for me.

Laughing with Thane made me feel special.Loved.

And then, one day, it stopped.

The joyful light dimmed and extinguished with the stitches across his forehead and his black-and-blue eyes. Our special bond was gone, and a part of my heart broke when I realized that I’d never have that part of him again.

Lying there in the darkness, laughing like teenagers again, is cathartic. It tapes the rips in my broken heart—albeit temporarily—but I welcome every part of it in spite of myself. I never realized how much I’ve missed it in my life until tears collect and drip from the corners of my eyes.

When a fist pounds on the wall next to us, followed by a “Quiet down! People are trying to sleep!” we temper thevolume. Although, like church laughing, the snickering doesn’t stop.

I catch my breath and wipe my eyes. “Okay, I’ve had enough of your breathing lessons. My face hurts now, and I still never did that diaphragm-whatever-you-call-it breathing.”

“Diaphragmatic. And it’s a real thing. I promise.”

“I’m not sure I believe you. I think that guru took you for a fool and stole your money.”

“He had a belly-laughing class too,” Thane says with a chuckle. “Even a fake laugh can release endorphins.”

“So you’d sit around and fake-laugh?”

“Yep!”

“And youpaidfor that?”

“Maybe… But in my defense, it felt so ridiculous that the laughs turned into real ones pretty quickly. That was his most-attended class.”

I roll over toward him. “I seriously can’t believe you paid someone to teach you to breathe and pretend to laugh.”

“I seriously can’t believe youhaven’tdone it. Who’s the one missing out? Definitely not me,” he says, rolling to face me too.

Our faces are mere inches apart, sharing the same space, the same air. Our energies synchronize, and the fact that we can barely see each other allows for a vulnerability that daylight can’t give. One where I can be more honest because I can’t see the expression on his face or the honesty in his eyes. And who am I kidding? It’s so he can’t see those things in me, either. The mood shifts as my mind races with what I want to say next.

It’d been five whole years since I saw him. Since we shared the same space. Since we laughed from our souls. Since he teased me incessantly. I pretended to be annoyed, but in my heart of hearts, I loved it. It may as well have been a lifetime for how much we’d grown apart, yet I’d give anything for ‘the way we were’ to be present tense.

I gather up all the courage I can muster and whisper, “Where have you been, Thane?”

He clears his throat and swallows so loud I can hear it. “Well, you know about Costa Rica, and now, California,” he begins slowly, matching my timid descent into a deeper topic. “I spent about a year in Key West, I worked for nine months on a cruise ship, then I spent nine months backpacking in Europe.”

I snicker. “That last one is so cliché.”

He chuckles. “I know. But I couldn’t help myself. I had a great opportunity to stay when the cruise ship I was on docked for repairs in Spain. I trekked through ten countries and met some really great people along the way.”

My heart aches for how much life he’s lived compared to me. It had always been my dream to see the world, but after Bash and Thane’s accident and Thane’s disappearance from my life, I could barely face a future at all, much less entertain the idea of chasing my dreams.

“From the looks of it, you seem to have it made. I’m glad you’re happy.”

“Who said I’m happy?”

“Your Instagram posts, for one. And the fact that you never came home…” I trail off. A lump forms in my throat, and I force myself to stop talking before I cry. No matter what, I can’t let him see how much his leaving hurt me. If I have it my way, he’ll never know, but he has a way of pulling the truth from me. There’s a fine line between saying too much and saying too little when it comes to Thane, and I stagger across that line like a drunken clown at a circus.

“Sure, the parties were fun—full of booze and beautiful women. I had amazing experiences all over the world, but not everything is what it seems,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Parties are different when you’re the only sober one in the room. And I was surrounded by company, but no one reallyknewme. No one permanent was there when I woke up in the morning. I shared my highlights with strangers, but I faced the lows alone. I could go anywhere I wanted—whenever I wanted—but there was no one leaving a porch light on for me. I went everywhere—except home. What do you call that, Fina? Freedom… or loneliness?”

His words are a sledgehammer to my heart. I have been watching him live it up on social media for years, sometimes angry that he had the high life when I could barely move on. I was so blinded by the smiles and scenery in his photos that I failed to notice the sadness in his eyes.