The Girl

by K Larsen

  “The worst part was… I had to go back into the DMV and have my picture taken and do all the paperwork. I mean, I don’t look too awful in the picture. But all my makeup was basically gone,” I say.

  “Can we stop making this about you? I’d like to focus on the fact that people thought I was your mother. Come on, people,” Eve says. I grin at her and she leans sideways, playfully bumping my shoulder as everyone at the table gives another round of laughs.

  Nora reaches across the table, laying her hand over mine. “Are you okay, really?”

  I nod. “It just caught me off guard, I guess.”

  She smiles at me. “Then let’s not dwell on it. You passed! You’re a licensed driver now.”

  “We should warn the masses,” Mike grumbles. He’s not wrong. I’m still not a terribly confident driver. Peals of laughter surround our table and people start to stare at us, but I don’t care. I’m surrounded by my people. Well, almost all of them.

  52

  Dallas

  I shouldn’t be here. I should have turned around the second I saw that hair glinting in the sun. That body sitting in that spot. Our spot. I knew it was her the second I laid eyes on the hair. My whole body reacted physically. My stomach flipped, my hands balled into fists. I involuntarily chubbed up like some horny middle schooler.

  The path I’m on bisects the swath of green grass; people and dogs lounge around on blankets, reading, eating or recovering from workouts, oblivious to the choices and hardships I've lived. Not a single one glows like City. Not a single one makes my whole body ache. Not a single one cares that the hardest choices are often the right ones, or that out of all my losses in life, this one stung doubly. I lost love, but also my best friend. The fluttering under my ribcage increases as I force myself to walk by undetected.

  She’s got a textbook spread open next to her hip, her notebook on her lap, studying and taking notes. School’s only just started back up and yet she’s already in the thick of it. Senior year. Alone at that iconic establishment for privileged dorks. I don’t miss it. Not a single day of it. Judging by her here, alone, doing homework, I’m guessing she’s slipped back into invisible mode and it makes me want to scream. She’s brighter and bolder than this. Guilt creeps up my chest, spreading across my neck and face wondering if I’m to blame.

  I speed walk until I’m far enough away that even if she gets up to leave now, she won’t see me. There’s a bench, tucked off the path near the roaring waterfall. I sit to catch my breath, absently rubbing the inside of my arm. Stroking my tattoo.

  I took her by the shoulders. “This is a permanent reminder of us. The tattoos will be like little promises. Swear that what we have will never fall apart or go away.” The look in City’s eyes makes my heart thump so hard I wonder if it will break free of its cage right here on the sidewalk. I can picture it hitting the pavement and flopping around at her feet like a fish out of water. I put a hand over her heart and my lips against her forehead. Her heart races like mine. It’s comforting. “Swear it to me, City.” My lips move across the smooth skin of her forehead.

  “I swear,” she breathes.

  The memory catches me off guard and throws me as I listen to the water gurgle and gush across from me. That’s when I made the biggest promise of them all. The biggest exclamation in my life to date. I told her I loved her. That wasn’t—isn’t—a lie. I’ve never told a woman that before. I never anticipated telling one that either. But City swooped into my life and left a mark so deep I doubt it will ever wash away.

  Lying to her four months ago was the single most selfless thing I’ve ever done for someone. I set her free. For both myself and for her. It’s not what I wanted. It’s still not what I want. But it was the right thing to do and the just thing to do.

  There was a moment in the hotel room, right before Eve showed up that I was livid. I wanted City out of my space. But not because I didn’t love her… because I did love her. The thing was, I wanted her to leave—to run away. I didn’t want help. I didn’t want intervention. I just wanted to be alone. So yeah, when she called her sister to come, I was enraged strictly out of shame and embarrassment. When Eve told me that she and Ray had talked I was even more ashamed and angry because I knew what it meant. I knew it meant Eve wasn’t taking City and leaving. It meant I had to confront my demons. It meant treatment.

  The car ride to the hospital was simply a time for me to prepare myself for our goodbye. It added to the enormous pain I already felt. It was the only time I had to garner enough resolve to hurt City where it would count, so that she’d walk away and forget about me. She didn’t need my shit in her life dragging her down. We all knew that. Eve knew that from just the look I gave her in the parking lot. She nodded at me. She knew what I was doing.

  I push to my feet, the early September sun too hot on my black tee, and head home.

  What I didn’t expect was how hard Charlotte would try and fight for us. No one ever fought that hard for me. It made everything so much harder. It made me work harder on myself, dig deeper in therapy, grow more than I would have in any other ninety-day span.

  What blew my mind was the letter Eve sent me. I almost didn’t read it. I thought it was another from Charlotte, like the one Ray brought when he visited. I didn’t read that letter, and I almost tucked aside Eve’s as well, but I didn’t.

  Dallas,

  I hope you’re getting stronger and better. I truly do. Thank you for loving my little sister as hard as you did.

  Not exactly riveting or lengthy, I know, but it kindled something deep in my gut that kept me moving forward. Something I wasn’t familiar with—pride. In myself. I liked the feeling. Fed off it. Am still feeding off it. I want to always feel proud of my choices in this life. Someone else saw me. Acknowledged the sacrifice I made. That short letter went a long way. More than Eve will ever know. I’d like to tell her how much it meant. Honestly though, I’m not sure if it’s best left unsaid.

  “Did you drop that stack of mail in the mailbox?” Ray asks, as I push through the front door.

  “For the third time, I mailed them last week,” I laugh. There’s no way I would have forgotten. I mailed Charlotte a birthday card. No return address. No ‘Love, Dallas’ inscription. Just the most brilliant card ever. When I saw it, I couldn’t pass it up. I couldn’t.

  A goose on the front—wings up looking aggravated. It read, ‘It’s just a birthday’ and on the inside ‘nobody’s gonna squawk about your age’.

  And I left it at that. No inscription at all. She’d get it. Hopefully she’d smile and laugh thinking about the killer geese we encountered. I didn’t need to point out it was from me. I just wanted her to know that I remembered her birthday.

  Ray’s head pokes out from the kitchen, an amused expression on his face. “I don’t know why I keep asking you that.”

  I shrug. “Old age.”

  “Hey now. I’m not even fifty-five yet for Christ’s sake,” he complains.

  I widen my eyes in mock terror. “That’s basically retirement-home age. Should I start researching nursing homes?”

  Ray smacks the back of my head as I pass by him. Not hard. Just in good fun. “I don’t need a nursing home, I have you to take care of me.”

  “Oh, is that why you wanted to foster? Free in-home elderly care?” I laugh.

  “Sometimes you’re a real shit, you know that?” he says in good humor.

  Chuckling, I nod and shove a bite of banana in my mouth. “You love it,” comes out more like ‘eweluuuit’ with my mouthful. Ray chuckles and heads to the living room. “Hey, don’t forget about my appointment tonight.”

  “I won’t,” he calls back. A smile creeps over my face as I think about how I landed in this house with this man who seems rough around the edges, but has ended up being the most steady and rock solid pillar in my life. He used to remind me of my therapy appointments. He used to remind me to take my meds. Now, we’ve fallen into a comforting routine together where I take on my responsibilities, leavin
g him to offer nothing but support and friendship.

  It’s a nice change of pace to feel like I have solid footing in the world. To have not just a roof over my head, but a home. It’s just missing one thing.

  In my room, after Ray’s left for the shop, I flop backward onto my bed and stare up at the many faces of Charlotte. An easy grin spreads across my face at the sight of her. My ceiling is covered with pictures from the disposable camera we took on the trip. Charlotte sleeping. Charlotte laughing, hair blowing across her face next to me. Mountains, grinning faces, oceans and endless road. Pink-painted toenails hanging out the truck window, the greenery just behind them blurred from our speed. My favorites are the candids. The ones that capture City naturally radiating light. Straight white teeth, crinkle-corner eyes, wisps of blonde. I taped all but two up there.

  One I carry on me at all times. It was right after we got our tattoos and we had the guy take it for us. I’m looking right at the camera, holding up my arm, flexing to show off the tattoo on my inner bicep, and City, she’s looking at me. Longingly. Lovingly. With joy. The single picture reminds me every day that she loved me. That it filled me up so wholly that I could let her go—save her from me—when the time came. If she had loved any less, I might have kept her. I might have been selfish.

  The other is of us naked, but partially under blanket cover, in her bed at the cabin after we had sex. She’s crazy flushed and extra glowy in it. Smiling like the coy sex kitten she is at the camera, and me. I’m gazing at her—captivated. Awestruck at the incredible human in my arms. I keep that one in my messenger bag. On bad days, I pull it out and let myself go back to that moment to relive it. To bolster the emotions slipping inside that are worth fighting for. The positive ones.

  “You gonna talk to her one of these days? Or just keep creeping out to her pictures on your ceiling?”

  Ray’s voice is soft, but scares the crap out of me nonetheless and I jackknife up.

  “I thought you were gone.” My voice is five times too high to be cool and unaffected, and Ray knows it.

  He holds up his shop keys. They clink and clank as he jiggles them. “Got there and realized I forgot them. But think about it.”

  “About what?” I blow out.

  “Talking to her,” he says, and jabs a finger at my ceiling.

  “It’s too late.” I shake my head. “I hurt her too much. I’m just happy she’s happy, you know?”

  Ray rolls his eyes at me and grunts. He doesn’t believe a word of it.

  Rightfully so.

  53

  Charlotte

  What the actual eff!” I squeal in frustration. The car, my new-to-me car from Liam, limps into the breakdown lane. A flapping sound followed by grinding, solidifying the fact that I have no choice but to pull over and inspect. I’m late for work.

  I put the car in park and unbuckle my seatbelt with the sort of flair only an angry scorned woman can pull off. I push open the door and hop out, hoping there will be nothing to see. A bubble of air blows between my lips when I see my passenger side front tire completely flat. Like, more than flat. Like, shredded. A frustrated groan follows as I pull open the passenger side door.

  Grabbing my phone, I tap out a text to Eve letting her know that I have a flat tire but that I’m safe, and okay.

  I consider Googling tow trucks or tire shops when Eve’s reply lights up my screen.

  Call Ray’s.

  My shoulders tense. I type back, No.

  Lotte. Call Ray’s. He’s got the most reasonable rates around and loves you.

  I know she’s right, Ray would do anything for me after working for him. After Dallas. But what if Dallas answers the phone? What then?

  The anonymous birthday card that came was bad enough. I mean… don’t get me wrong—I loved it. I laughed so hard I snorted, but it also stung too. He remembered my birthday. He thought about me. He found a card that was… he found the card. It couldn’t have been more perfect. But the feeling that descended upon me afterward was crushing. If he hated me, if it was all a lie… why would he do that? Ugh. I squeeze my eyes shut and push my emotions into the neat little box labeled ‘Dallas’ that I keep them in.

  Holding my breath, I pull up Ray’s contact and hit send, then wait. I’m near passing out from lack of oxygen when Ray’s voice finally greets me.

  “Ray’s, what can I do for you?” Air rushes out in relief.

  “Ray?”

  “Charlotte? That you?” he asks.

  “Um, yeah,” I answer fiddling with the hem of my shirt. “I’m on the boulevard, stuck, with a flat. Actually, it looks shredded—the tire I mean.”

  “You need a tow? Are you okay?” His concern is sweet and it reminds me that I miss seeing him. I actually enjoyed working with him—however briefly it may have been.

  “I’m fine. Just irritated really.” I pace the length of the car.

  “Don’t sweat it. I’ll get you taken care of. Be there in a few to pick you up.”

  “‘Kay. Thanks,” I say. He ends the call and relief floods me. He’s coming. Thank God. He can drop me at the park before he gets to the shop and I can walk home from there and won’t have to run the risk of seeing Dallas up close and personal. I’m finally good with where I am. I don’t harp. I don’t obsess. I don’t pine the way I did. Sometimes. Sometimes Dallas sneaks in and steals my thoughts and emotions, but I can quickly tuck them, and him, away. I’ve got one school year left. If I focus, keep my head down and push through—I can go anywhere. Do anything.

  It’s the beginning of October. Still warm during the day, but in the evenings, the temperature drops off and gets chilly. My sweater is at N.E.L. I didn’t think I’d need it between leaving school and getting to work, but my arms are covered in gooseflesh as the wind whips up stray leaves. I hop in the car and grab my book to pass the time while I wait.

  I’m elated when Ray’s tow truck finally pulls up in front of my car. I grab my purse, book and keys and jump out to profusely thank him for coming to my rescue.

  Clutching my belongings to my chest I start walking toward the tow truck. “Oh my God, Ray, you are the be—”

  Dallas, all six feet of him clad in black and jeans and boots, stands ten feet from me. The air in my lungs permanently sticks mid-inhale as I take him in. Hands shoved in his pockets, hair a little longer than before, eyes looking everywhere but mine. My heart hurts as its beat slows down to the point I wonder if I might actually be dying.

  “Hi, City,” he says.

  “Just get the car hooked up please.” It is a curt and a rotten thing to say. And not at all what I’m thinking. My tongue remembers my car ailment when all my brain is thinking is run, cry, scream, embarrassment, run, run. Danger.

  His brows shoot upward, wrinkling his forehead, and he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods.

  I didn’t mean that. I love you. Are you happy? Healthy? God, why do you look so good?

  I fly past him, my sneakers kicking up errant pebbles on my way to the truck, knowing after a summer at Ray’s that I’ll have to ride in it with him. How could Ray do this to me? Why would Dallas agree to it? Did Ray tell Dallas it was me he was picking up? The idea of being trapped in the cab of the tow truck with Dallas has me panting with claustrophobia. I dump my armload into the truck and crawl inside—barely noticing the mechanical whirring coming from behind me.

  I snort. How ironic that being trapped in a truck cab with him now seems terrifying.

  “City,” he says, and I jump in my seat. His expression drops into something akin to dejection.

  “Don’t call me that please,” I huff. I can’t look at him. I can’t meet his eyes. I feel awkward and out of place. Suddenly sick and exhausted.

  He nods and looks at the truck door instead of me.

  “Charlotte, I uh, need your keys.”

  My eyes feel like they may bug out of my head. Obviously, he needs my keys.

  “Oh, right.” I drop them twice before getting them to him, extra careful to
make sure our skin doesn’t touch in the process, and I swear in the side view mirror I catch a quick grin, the one that slayed my heart, before he returns to his towing duties.

  By the time Dallas is done getting my car onto the tow bed and crawls into the cab, I’m a mess. An emotional dumpster fire. Half of me wants to proclaim that I’m fine to walk, get out of the truck and start hoofing it, and the other half never wants to let Dallas out of my sight again. And I hate myself just a little bit for still feeling so strongly about him after five months of silence and heartache. He hasn’t started the engine yet. He’s just sitting staring out the windshield—quiet.

  “Are you going to start the truck?” I ask.

  “I didn’t say I was sorry and I can’t say it enough—but I am. And it didn’t matter how many times you told me you loved me, it would have never been enough.” He turns to me, eyes pleading with mine, for what I don’t know.

  “We don’t have to do this,” I say.

  Dallas shakes his head quickly. He reaches out to touch me and I recoil. Dropping his hand, he says, “I couldn’t get better for you. It had to be for me. It was torture knowing you were sitting in that family visiting room—waiting for me. So many times, I almost lost my resolve and went to see you. So many times, City.” My nickname on his lips makes my entire body tingle.

  “But why didn’t you? I needed you too.” My eyes fill with tears. I silently will them to stay at bay. I will not cry another drop for him.

  “It was time for me to really dig into my issues. To want to get better and stay better—for only me. It couldn’t be about you too. I couldn’t hinge my desire to be responsible, take my meds, do the therapy, on pleasing someone else. I needed to grow the fuck up and do it for me.” His words are rushed, his face sincere. My heart cracks open—the delicate stitches that hold it together undone again.