I’m crying harder again, and my heart can barely stand the pain. I reach over and cup his cheek, tentatively, and wipe his tears away with my thumb. It feels so natural like we’ve always been this way. “I don’t know how many times I thought of doing the same thing.” I take a breath and say, “I blamed my mom at first, but then it was easier to blame your dad for not fighting harder to convince her to stay. I didn’t know about the blackmail until she was sick.” I swallow hard before whispering, “Your dad deserves to know that she loved him until the day she died.”
He hiccups and grabs me to him again, where he crushes us together and we cling like two leaves in a storm. The storm of our emotions batters us from the inside. I feel the shudders from his chest against my damp cheek and stroke my hand against the hard planes of his chest, like soothing a wild horse. Gradually, our breathing steadies and our tears slow. I feel him press his lips against my head. “Don’t leave me again. I don’t think I’d survive it this time, knowing all I do now.”
I shake my head against him and whisper, “Never.”
Once he finally loosens his grip around me, I lean back and ask him, “Can I take you to see her now?”
His lip trembles, but he nods his head and sucks in a breath, releasing me to open his door. He jogs around the truck and helps me out. He grasps my hand, just like we would do as children, and allows me to lead the way.
The cemetery is always so peaceful at this time of night. It’s my favorite time to visit. I pull Cruz along with me as I make the familiar walk to her headstone. I’ve imagined what it would be like if I ever found him again; to bring Cruz here. The reality is both more comforting and painful than I could have imagined. I stop at the simple stone marking with her name, dates, and a small inscription. I smile at her name, Deanna Hamilton-Mason. She insisted her maiden name be included on the stone. The inscription simply reads, Beloved Mother and Wife. It's such a stretch on his beloved wife, but Victor paid for the headstone so that sums it up. I placed a bunch of lilies here just a few nights ago, resting on the ground. I told her that Cruz was back in my life, never imagining he’d be here to see her so soon.
I place my fingers against my lips and then lay them against her name, as I do every time, then move back. “Hi, Momma. Guess who’s here with me? You won’t recognize him now. He’s gone and grown up on us. He’s become quite the football star too.” I smile as I imagine what she would say.
I turn to Cruz and he’s staring at her stone with tears on his cheeks. My poor boy. I can’t imagine how hard all of this must be. I watch as he follows the same movement with his fingers to his lips and then places them in the same spot as mine. After a few false starts where his voice cracks, he says, “Hello, Ms. Hamilton. It’s been a long time. I want to tell you what an incredible daughter you have. She looks even more like you now, well, the way you did when I was a kid. I remember Jo telling me once she thought her mom looked like a fairy princess, and at the time I laughed. But she was right, because I see the same thing when I look at her now. I, um, wanted to let you know dad is good. He misses you. I don’t want to tell him about you, but you used to tell me that one day I’d be a man you’d be proud of, so I want to make you proud of me.” He sniffles but carries on with his heartbreaking conversation. “Will you be with me when I tell him? I hope you will because I could sure use the help. He loves you, but I guess you know that. He never married. I don’t think he ever stopped loving you. Anyway, I wanted you to know. And I’ll be looking after Jo for you, so you don’t have to worry about her.” His hand squeezes mine, letting me know he’s done.
I lean forward and whisper to her about how much I love her and how I will bring her a fresh batch of flowers the next time I come. I stand back beside Cruz and we let the quietness of the night and the peace of those resting here wash over us and help us heal just a little.
We make our way back to his truck, and he tugs on my hand to get my attention. I look up at him and see him looking at me in a way that causes my breath to hitch. “Jo, I meant what I said back there.”
He said a lot to mom, so I say, “Okay.”
He shakes his head and blows a frustrated breath at his bangs. I smile that he still does that. “What I mean is that I plan on being a big part of your life, just like I used to be. I don’t know how to explain this. All these years, I guess I’ve built this fantasy in my head about what we’d be like if I ever found you again. When I was a kid, it was us being best buddies again and going on adventures and playing together like we used to.” He pauses and I smile wider, having had the same fantasies, but he shakes his head again and looks frustrated about not being able to say whatever it is he really wants to say. “I don’t even know how to say this.”
I tug playfully on his hand and bump my shoulder against him. “Just spit it out. We used to always just say whatever was on our minds.”
He turns and grabs my other hand in his and holds them tight. Nerves take flight in my stomach and I don’t even know why when he hasn’t spoken yet. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me right now. He explains it again. “What I’m trying to say is that those fantasies changed as I matured. I didn’t just imagine us as friends, and a lot of those thoughts weren’t exactly innocent.”
I suck in a breath at what he’s implying and only manage a breathy, “Oh.”
“Yeah, ‘oh’. When my fantasies crashed into reality, it sent me spinning. The memories I have of you met with the vision of who you’ve become. The feelings I’ve grown for you and kept close over the years are not those of an eleven-year-old boy. And in none of my imagined fantasies were you with another guy.” He has the grace to look apologetic about that, but he doesn’t retract what he said.
The world shifts, and all I know and believe realigns. In my heart, I’ve harbored the same fantasies of finding the boy I knew and having an epic romance, but that was just a silly dream. Wasn’t it? And he’s saying he had the same dream? Is it even possible to change the dynamics of our newly rekindled friendship so soon? What if something goes wrong and I lose my friend all over again? That thought causes me to hyperventilate. My breath is sawing through my lungs as I process thoughts so fast my head is spinning. And what about Dean? Poor Dean, who has been nothing but sweet and patient with me all week, is waiting at home for me right now to call him so we can make plans for our first date.
I gasp out in a panicked rush, “What do we do?”
Cruz pulls me to his chest and runs his hands in soothing circles on my back. “I can see how much this has caught you off guard. We don’t have to do anything, Jo. I just wanted to be honest with you like we’ve always been with each other.”
Honesty. Right. Then I need to be honest too. “It only caught me off guard because I’ve had the same thoughts. I would lie in bed at night and picture you riding in like a prince on a horse to rescue me, and we’d ride off into the sunset together. Well, maybe that was about five years ago.” I chuckle nervously against his chest and hear the quiet rumble of his own laughter. “In the last few years, I guess my own imaginings have been far from innocent, too. But I’m scared. What if we discover we don’t like the people we’ve become? Or, what if one of us hurts the other, and we lose our friendship? I can’t risk losing you, so where does that leave us?”
He kisses the top of my head and my heart speeds up at the tender gesture. “It’ll never happen. We used to fight like cats and dogs when we were kids, but there was always something there that kept us together. That won’t change. We’re still those kids from six years ago, life has just aged and shaped us into who we were always meant to be. We’ll go slow and get to know each other again. It’ll be perfect, Jo. You’ll see.”
I want to have his faith, but my life has only shown me pain, so how can I trust in the picture he’s painting? Plus, he doesn’t understand what my life at home is like. I can’t even imagine how he’d react. Disgust, maybe? That thought is sobering. No, he can’t know about Victor and the things that have happened. It would ki
ll me to see the disgust on Cruz’s face. I must be extra diligent in making sure Victor doesn’t expose his depraved desires around Cruz. I wouldn’t put it past him if he thought it would isolate me from a boy who could be a threat to him.
But then there’s the other issue between us. I take a breath and say, “I don’t know what to tell Dean.”
He goes still against me and asks in a careful voice, “How do you feel about him?”
I think about that for a moment and stick with honesty. “I won’t lie. He’s been sweet and kind to me. He’s a good guy and I don’t want to hurt him,” I feel Cruz loosening his arms around me, so I hug him tighter and continue, “but it doesn’t feel like it would have become much. I don’t feel about him the way I imagine you’re supposed to feel about a boy whose lips you need to breathe.”
I know the exact moment when Cruz remembers me saying those words to him, all those years ago. His arms band around me and I feel the heavy beat of his heart through his chest. “The words your grammy said to you.”
And suddenly, everything feels like this is the way it was always meant to be, and all the obstacles between us, fade into the background.
Hard Truths
I’m sitting on my bed staring at the phone in my hand, knowing I need to call Dean but not knowing what to say. Cruz dropped me off about fifteen minutes ago, and thankfully Victor wasn’t home. He spends more time away than actually here, which is good, and even goes a night or two without coming home. I suspect he has lovers he spends those nights with, and I’m more than fine with both his absence and his appetite being fed. If it weren’t for the maid service and our cook, Sophie, Byron and I would be alone in this big house. Victor makes his appearances, but he is barely here.
I’m stalling by thinking about this and I know it. I need to tell Dean the truth, even if I’m not sure what that entails. I dial his number and take a breath for courage as I wait for him to answer.
He picks up on the first ring. “I was starting to worry, Jolene. You said you’d call when you got home.”
I grimace, noting the concern in his voice and feeling even worse now. “I’m sorry. I only got home a few minutes ago.”
Silence registers in my ears, then he asks, “Where were you?”
I’m not sure how much Dean knows about my family dynamics or my mom’s passing, so I hedge. “Cruz and I went somewhere to talk. We’re still catching up on the time we’ve been apart, and his dad wanted him to ask me about a few things.” Not a lie, even if it’s evasive.
“I see. I know you mentioned you guys knew each other as kids, but I guess I didn’t realize how close you were. So, um, did you go back to his house then?” He is trying so hard to make it sound like a casual question, but I can hear the strain in his voice.
“No, we stopped somewhere to talk.” An awkward silence fills the line again, and neither of us seems to know what to say. He deserves better than this, so I cross my fingers for luck and pray I can say this right. “Look, Dean--”
“Please don’t say it’s you and not me, then ask if we can still be friends. I think I deserve something more than that.” He doesn’t sound angry, but he’s not happy either.
“I wasn’t going to say that, and you’re right, you deserve better. Actually, you deserve better than me. I’m a mess right now, and it’s not fair to you. Seeing Cruz again, and being with him, well, it’s messed with my head. I need time to reconnect with him, and that wouldn’t be fair to you. I’m not saying Cruz and I are more than friends, because we’re not. That’s not what this is. It’s just that I’ve missed him, and I’ve missed so much time with him. I don’t know what I’m trying to say or what I’m feeling, but I know that while I figure it out, it’s not fair to start something with you. Does that make sense?”
I hear him exhale, then he replies, “I heard more than you probably realize. Just answer me something honestly?”
I swallow and answer truthfully. “I’ll try.”
“If Cruz hadn’t come back into your life, would we be making plans for that date instead?”
I almost want to cry at how sad he sounds. I never meant to hurt him, and no matter how I answer this, I know it will not be what he wants to hear, but I try to be honest. “You’re a great guy and I had fun with you tonight, but I don’t think I feel for you the way you want me to. I’ve never dated before, but even I know there should be something there. I wanted to like you that way, I really did, but I don’t think I do. I’m sorry. I never meant to lead you on, Dean.”
He laughs, but there is no joy in it. “Yeah, I’m sorry too. I’ve waited a long time to ask you out, but I guess I waited for nothing.”
“No! Don’t feel that way. I’m a mess and not what you need. It has nothing to do with you.” I feel the first tear trickle down my cheek, knowing I’m just making a mess of this even more.
“And there’s the ‘it’s me, not you’ line. I’m a big boy and don’t need to be coddled. You said you felt nothing for me, so let’s leave it right there. I’m sorry I wasted both our time. I wish things were different, but I guess that’s on me. Take care, Jolene,” then he hangs up, and I’m left clutching my phone and feeling like the biggest bitch alive right now.
I drop my phone to the bed and curl my arms around myself to hold in the pain. I knew he would be hurt and upset, but I didn’t realize how much that would hurt me. I don’t know how I thought the conversation would go, but I know I could have handled it better. Thinking back on what I said, I shouldn’t have been so honest and tried to let him down without telling him I didn’t have feelings for him, but that would have only encouraged hope, right? I don’t know what Cruz and I are to each other, but he was right in saying we can’t drag other people along while we figure it out. If it turns out that we will only have a friendship between us, there’s plenty of time to date other people after; we need to discover the parameters of what we feel for each other first. I feel even worse about Dean when thoughts of Cruz and me being more than friends causes an excited flutter in my stomach.
Needing comfort, and knowing who I want it from, I grab my phone off the bed and dial Cruz’s number. As soon as I hear his voice say my name, I cry. He talks fast, asking me what’s happened and what’s wrong, but I just continue to sniffle.
His voice is firm when he says, “Jo if you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m driving back to your house!”
Getting myself under control, I say in a shaky voice, “I spoke to Dean.”
I can hear his heavy breathing like he’d been running. “Shit! You had me scared something bad happened. I was just about to jump in my truck and come get you.”
Sniffling again and whispering in a shame-filled voice I say, “Something bad did happen. I hurt a nice guy who didn’t deserve it.”
I can hear Cruz blow out a breath. “Jo, I don’t want this hurting you. Maybe we should just stay away from each other for a while until we figure out what we want.”
“No,” I blurt out in a panic. “I don’t want that. I can’t stand the thought of having you so close again, only to stay apart.”
“Okay,” he says with relief. I hear him moving around, then a door close, and he says louder, “I don’t want that either, but I shouldn’t have put you in this position. You obviously felt something for the guy, or you wouldn’t be this upset.”
“I didn’t feel anything like that for him. I told him as much, and that’s when the conversation went to hell. I’m not in the habit of hurting people, Cruz,” I say a bit defensively.
“I know you’re not that kind of person, and I wasn’t implying that. I’m just feeling like an ass over here for basically suggesting you break up with your boyfriend because, well, just because.”
“Cruz, he wasn’t my boyfriend, and you didn’t make me do anything. I was already feeling bad about agreeing to a date with him when I knew that I felt nothing for him past a warm friendship. Can I ask you something?” I really don’t know if he will answer my question, and I don’t know how I
want him to answer, but I ask anyway. “Have you kissed a girl before?”
He sputters, then says, “Yeah, of course. Why?”
Well, this will be painful. “I hadn’t. Not once, until this week, so I have nothing to base this on, but shouldn’t you feel something when that happens?”
I hear him shifting around like he’s on his bed. “Yeah, you feel something, but Jo, how can you say you’ve never been kissed? Like, ever?”
This is so embarrassing. “No, but that’s not the point. The point is, you feel something like, I don’t know, butterflies or tingles, or something that makes you weak in the knees, right?”
There’s amusement in his voice when he says, “Something like that.”
I move on while I’m still brave enough to ask this. “And you want to do more after you’ve felt that kiss, right?”
“Jo, I don’t think--”
“Just answer the question,” I grit out between clenched teeth.
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