Butterflies & Characters

by Liz Hsu

  I was taking AP Drawing and Becky was doing 2D, so she was using paints, while I was using pastels. As usual, Ms. Bellatus made us start cleaning up our messy supplies early, but as I headed out the door to lunch, I felt more energized than I had in a while. It had felt good for my lupus to be less of a secret. Maybe that was why it felt nice with Charles—he knew, so I could let my guard down. Now Becky and James knew, too. It was kind of a relief.

  I asked the guys at lunch if they knew Becky, and Knox flushed red. “What?”

  “He super into her,” Charles whispered. The cicadas buzzed in me as Charles’s breath skimmed my neck. He’d been so sweet yesterday. “She’s always been James’s little sister, but now she’s James’s not-so-little sister. He’s just too nervous to ask her out.”

  “Awe, it’s like a love story—best friend’s little sister. And thanks again for yesterday,” I said, feeling my cheeks reddening probably more than the rash.

  We locked eyes for a moment before Knox asked about band practice, which made me blush even more.

  I caught Charles looking at me twice during lunch, and it made me jittery. We’d been friends for forever and I should have been content with that.

  When math rolled around, Greg tried to apologize for Luke again, but I really didn’t want to talk about it. It was embarrassing just to remember it. Then Greg asked about my “sun poisoning” that apparently Charles had told him about.

  Sun poisoning, yes—that was a good thing to call it. Charles really was brilliant. It made me want to kiss him in gratitude the next time I saw him. Heck, I wanted to kiss him for a whole lot of reasons. My skin heated as I thought about those slow circles on my back or how stunning his eyes had been after he’d played me “Run.”

  By Friday, my face was finally back to normal, or at least normal enough to be hidden with makeup, and the lingering stiffness in my joints seemed to have temporarily vanished. Unfortunately, I knew it’d return the next time I didn’t listen to my body. Although my hamstrings were crying from yoga last night, I felt good—relaxed. I’d never tell my mom, in case she thought it was un-Christian, but the breathing they did at the end of class was really soothing. And the chanting. Maybe there was something to this Iyengar yoga.

  Charles had been bugging me all week until I agreed to let him take me to and from school on the days he was free. It was nice; at least a handful of days a week, we had a few minutes for just the two of us. I hoped Charles felt that way too and wasn’t just put up to this by his mom, because everyone worried about my health.

  On Friday afternoon, I stalled in the car yet again. I was about to meet my dad’s girlfriend for the first time.

  “So, they’ve been dating for five years and you’ve really never met her?” Charles asked.

  “Not in person. She lives in Chicago. She’s a sociology professor at Northwestern, and they met at a conference. He said she’s been respecting our time together because I didn’t used to get to see him very often, but now…”

  “Now you live here,” he finished for me.

  “Yep. I’ve talked to her, though, on video chat. She seems nice…” I trailed off.

  I hadn’t spoken to my stepdad, Mark, whom I’d lived with for more than a decade, since I moved here. Just like I’d always suspected, I was unwanted baggage that came when he married my mom, who was ten years his junior. It made me nervous to meet Dad’s girlfriend in case she felt the same way. Things had been going really well with Dad and me, and I wanted her to like me, too.

  “I’d still like to come to band practice Saturday afternoon,” I told Charles before getting out of the car.

  “Yeah?” he said with a chuckle. “I thought you just—”

  “Maybe they want some alone time. They haven’t seen each other in more than two months. I just realized that.” I blushed. “The apartment is pretty small.”

  He laughed again. “Right, no problem. I can get you at three, no worries.”

  I still wasn’t ready to get out, my belly flopping strangely as I worried whether she would like me. “What are you up to tonight?” I asked Charles.

  “Well, I have this big date”—I felt my stomach drop and then ice over. Of course he did. Charles was nice and smart and cute—“with my calculus and physics books,” he finished. “That GPA doesn’t happen by itself.”

  Butterflies replaced the ice as I met his eyes. “Yeah, well, I bet you’re just counting down until you can gravitate together.”

  We shared a smile over my super lame joke. Now I’d been sitting in the car a moment too long and I felt it getting uncomfortable. I was about to bolt when he leaned over and tucked some loose hair behind my ear. His hand lingered on my jaw.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “She’s really going to like you.”

  I looked up and met those dark brown eyes as a jolt ran through me. I wanted to turn my face into his hand. I wanted to press my lips against his and see if he felt it too, this electricity between us. But I was afraid. I couldn’t lose this friendship. So I just gazed back into his canny eyes.

  “Thanks,” I said pulling back, afraid of the emotions I felt. When we’d dated, Ross had made my body burn for him, and Charles was starting too as well. But Charles also called to something buried deeper inside me. Something frightening. When he looked at me, it was like he saw more than Rayanne Ericson. He saw all the shattered pieces of me, like no one, not even Jeffery, ever had.

  “You can call me later if you want,” Charles said as I put my hand on the door. The comfort of his words slid over me.

  “Thanks, and see you tomorrow.”

  I slipped out and headed upstairs. I could still feel the heat of his hand on my face and the tingling it had sent through me when he met my gaze. Could he feel it too? Was it worth risking our friendship to find out?

  With a deep breath, I opened the door. The aromatic scent of beef stew hit me first. We must have Kalops in the slow cookers, again. Both my dad and his girlfriend turned to me. All five feet of her shot straight up and she hurried over, pulling me right into a firm hug.

  When she pulled back, she introduced herself. “Soraya Hashemi. Ray, it’s so wonderful to finally meet you! Your dad is so happy you are living with him now.”

  I fiddled with my backpack straps as I said, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” I cast a quick glance at Dad, wondering what to say, so I blurted out, “Dad says you’re Persian?”

  Why was that what came out of my mouth? Out of all the things I knew about her, of course I’d have to go say that.

  She bopped her head, her gorgeous mahogany hair temporarily covering her face. It was threaded with a little gray at her temples, reminding me she was a few years older than Dad.

  “I was born here. My parents left Iran in the seventies for college and never went back.” She didn’t say it had been for political reasons, but I had learned that from Dad. Her parents had been political refugees and after 1978 couldn’t return home. “Look at me blabbing. Why don’t you get comfortable and drop your school stuff? I’ll be here all weekend to get to know you. I can’t wait to hear what you’re learning in AP Geography.”

  As I walked into my room, I heard her say, “Nils, she’s even more gorgeous in person! I can’t believe how much she looks like you.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that came to my lips. Looking like Dad didn’t bother me as much as it once had.

  Calmer, I returned to the living room and sat with them on the sofas. “So, what classes are you teaching this semester?” I asked, knowing professors loved their courses more than anything else.

  “The intro humdrum and a fun upper level, but my baby grad course is on gender and social media. We are comparing how audiences respond to women on Twitter versus Instagram, and how males versus females respond to those women. We have a heavy discussion on the role of digitally enhanced images, race, and the projection of beauty
.”

  “Wow, that sounds complicated.”

  “Yes.” She nodded vigorously, and her eyes lit up like Dad’s when he talked about economics, or Charles’s with robotics or music. “A graduate student and I collected research on it for almost two years. He published it as his dissertation.”

  The discussion continued over my head with Soraya and my dad getting into a complex discussion on gendered economics. It was apparent how passionate they both were and why my parents had been doomed from the beginning. Soraya and Dad aligned, unlike my mom’s antiquated views on a woman’s ideal economic role—dependent on a man. When they reached a point they disagreed on, Soraya jumped up and practically shouted at my dad, “Your argument is ridiculously flimsy.”

  The look he gave her back was so heated, I walked to the bathroom, half-afraid they’d start making out.

  When I came back, they were holding hands. Then the oven chimed, and Dad stood to take our bread out. He served the Kalops stew that had been in the slow cooker into our mug bowls. I made the salad, while Soraya set the table. It felt very domestic, the three of us. During dinner Soraya asked about my AP Art portfolio.

  Reluctantly, I always got nervous when someone wanted to see my work, I showed her some of my pieces when we finished eating. She stared at them more intently than even Ms. Bellatus and asked me a series of probing questions about why one color over another; why this angle; why the one opposition was the colored one. I felt like she saw my art as no one ever had. She understood.

  When I finally yawned, she looked alarmed. “Oh, I could do this all night. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, and left my room with a goodnight.

  I tried not to think what my mom and Granny Young might say about Dad’s unmarried girlfriend spending the weekend here. I didn’t know why after five years they weren’t married or at the very least, living in the same city. But she seemed like Dad’s perfect match.

  I hated it when people nosed into my personal life, so I certainly wouldn’t butt into theirs.

  I’d had an amazing time with Dad and Soraya all weekend, and she’d be driving back to Chicago soon. I didn’t know what time she’d be leaving, but I’d be at church for the next few hours. The way she and Dad had been looking at each other, it might not be immediately. I’d given them some privacy when I left to practice with the Snowblowers, but the weekend had flown by. And Soraya had seemed to enjoy my company as much as I’d enjoyed hers. She hadn’t made me feel like she was waiting for me to leave once. It was nice. She was nice.

  As I waited outside the church, I straightened my skirt and a deep voice called my name.

  I turned, waving to James and Becky. Standing side by side, their resemblance was undeniable. “Hi! Thanks for inviting me,” I said.

  Becky and James laughed. “Isn’t that the point?” Becky said. “This is church, after all.”

  “Yes, I guess.” I fiddled with my cardigan, hoping it’d be like Jeff’s church.

  Inside, it was much more elaborate than the church back home, and I immediately liked it. A bouncy, energetic man rushed over, who Becky and James introduced as the preacher. He looked to be around Dad’s age.

  “Welcome,” he said, putting both his hands around mine. “Ray, we are so happy to have you join our family.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered as we found our pew and the service began.

  Something warm and homey filled me during the readings, and it turned to pure joy when it came time to sing, especially with James and Becky beside me. The words felt powerful, righteous in a way Mom’s church never had. I’d only ever felt this way before at Jeff’s church. Becky and James both made me feel like I belonged, as well.

  As I left the youth group hours later and strolled back to Dad’s in the twilight of the night, the one thing that felt like it had been missing in my life here in Michigan clicked into place. A cold misty rain started up, and the wind had a bite that Savannah rarely did, but I’d never felt happier to be in Michigan than at that moment. I could make it work here—or at least, I was finally hopeful I could.

  I laughed at Ray as she bent over, stretching her arms on the back of the basement sofa.

  “My hamstrings, Charles, owww-eee. Are you sure this yoga is good for me?”

  “I’m sure you’ll get more flexible.” I briefly fantasized about saying something like, I could give you a massage, but didn’t.

  Ray and I were in the same place as weeks before. Sometimes I swear I caught her looking at me as more than a friend, like last Friday, when my hand had lingered on her face too long or when I’d held her last Monday, but then I’d tell myself I imagined things. The more I’d gotten to know her, the more beautiful she’d become. Also, the less I believed she’d ever date someone like me when she hadn’t even responded to Greg’s flirting.

  “Why wouldn’t this type of yoga be good for you?” Kevin asked. “Are you special or something?”

  Ray ignored his dig and glanced at me and then James.

  “I’m ready to start back up,” James said breaking the tension, and we all got back to positions, except Ray. She sat back down with her art supplies. “Let’s practice the covers, Ray.”

  “All right,” she said and hopped back up with a grin covering half her face.

  We’d written two new songs, one with James and one with James and Ray that we’d practiced at the very beginning of the afternoon, but Ray’d been drawing for a while. Our covers, which we hadn’t practiced yet, were “The First Cut is the Deepest,” George Ezra’s “Shotgun” with Ray in the chorus, and Kid Rock and Cheryl Crow’s “Picture.” It was fun hearing Ray really crank out her country.

  We ran through the first two with no issues, but she missed a word twice in a row when we begun “Picture.” Kevin grumbled loudly about starting up a third time while Ray blushed. It was almost six thirty when James’s stomach growled.

  “Sorry, I was dreaming about shawarma,” he said with a laugh.

  “Huh?” Ray said.

  “Shawarma,” James repeated. Ray shook her head. “No, Ray. Tell me you’ve had Middle Eastern food before?” When she shook her head again, James continued, “Where is this place you are from? Okay then, who’s up for a road trip to Dearborn? I think we need to show Miss Ray here what I’m dreaming about.”

  Murmurs of agreement went around and we loaded into my car to head to the birthplace of Ford and where the “best” Arab food in Michigan was to be found. Not only did forty percent of Dearborn mark “Arab” on the last census report, but it was also home to the country’s only Arab American National Museum.

  When we got to Dearborn, Ray marveled at all the signs either in Arabic and English or just Arabic. Even though it was a solid hour drive from Ann Arbor, nothing beat Dearborn for this type of food. “Wow, this place is amazing,” she said. “All the times I’ve been to Ann Arbor, I’ve never been here.”

  “Ray, get off. You’re all bony,” Kevin grumbled.

  I peeked in the review mirror and saw Ray was half on top of Kevin. “Sorry, but did you see that?” she exclaimed.

  Knox chuckled and pulled Ray back to the middle. “We’ve been here before.”

  She giggled out, “That tickles,” and I wished I could trade places with Knox.

  We pulled into the place James had been craving and the hostess seated us. Ray picked out something with a little assistance and everyone but Kevin offered to let her try some of theirs. After thoroughly stuffing our faces and driving back, everyone decided practice was over and crammed onto the basement sofa and chairs to watch Guardians of the Galaxy instead. Kevin and James claimed their two usual chairs while Knox, Ray, and I flopped onto the sofa. Knox took one end and Ray took the middle, curling her knees so they slanted toward me.

  “Here,” I said, moving a pillow so she could lean on it against me. She smiled and curled into a fetal position on her side. My arm hung
awkwardly until I found a spot for it on the pillow behind her head. Her warm shoulder settled against my side, and I wished I were brave enough to ask her how she felt about me.

  Halfway through the movie, Knox and Kevin went upstairs to make popcorn. I glanced down at the warmth of Ray nestled against me. She’d fallen asleep. Her hair was a riot, obscuring part of her face. Something tugged inside me, and I couldn’t resist tucking some of her hair behind her ears and gazing down at her angelic face. Her rash had finally faded, and I was glad. Not because it’d looked bad, but because of what it meant and the way it dulled her personality.

  “What’s the reason you won’t date her? Or at least try?” James said from the chair, startling me into remembering we weren’t alone. “I thought about your question, and I don’t think being Asian would be an issue for her.”

  “Because of how she is,” I said, not wanting to have to elaborate on the differences between us.

  He looked disgusted. “You mean lupus?”

  “No!” I said in a firm whisper. “I just don’t think, that is…she’s my friend.”

  “Whatever. I thought you were better than that.”

  “That’s not why, and how do you even know about her lupus?”

  “Becky. Our aunt had it, remember?”

  I shook my head, no. Then did vaguely remember he’d had an aunt who was sick, but she’d died.

  “So, if not that, what?” James interrupted my thoughts.

  I shrugged. He wouldn’t understand. James had lived next door to Knox since forever, but he’d always been miles cooler than us. He was mad fit with huge dimples and a ready smile. I’d seen all the girls, even Ray, stare at him. Beauty and the geek might have seemed like a joke to him, but it seemed insurmountable to me.