by Mariah Dietz
Maddie brushes at her face, wiping away tears that stain her cheeks. “Do you still have feelings for him?”
“I think there was a small part of me that hoped I did—wanted to—because I knew Mike. I knew him so well that I knew what to expect and how it would be to fall back into a routine with him. But then I realized I’d had feelings for someone else for most of my life, and the feelings I had for Mike were nothing more than nostalgia and fear of moving on.”
“I heard you and Paxton broke up. That it wasn’t real. That you were pretending to date to get each other’s exes back?”
“The fake dating part is true, mostly.” I tell her. “But it wasn’t to get Mike back or his ex, either. I just wanted to break out of my shell and have fun, go to parties and have people actually notice me, and not just be the redhead. And the fake dating was never very fake, not for me anyway.”
She blows out a breath. “I wish you’d told me that you were Mike’s ex.”
I nod. “I do, too. And I’m really sorry that you’ve been hurt in this.”
“Mike cares about you.”
“I can’t speak for him, and I’m not trying to defend him because right now, I’m pretty pissed at him, too, but Mike’s feelings for me are no deeper than mine were for him. I know this because he never tried. Not once. He had no interest in a long-distance relationship, and we never talked about moving together, and he never reached out to me, ever. I’m not going to defend him and tell you to give him a second chance. That’s your business and your decision, but I don’t think for one second that he has feelings for me that hold an ounce of substance.” I know because I’ve felt the full weight of the sun and know what undiluted, unrestrictive, uninhibited love and how it makes me feel seen and whole, and how it made me want to give without expecting and take without keeping a balance sheet.
“I’m going home for the holidays, and I’m not sure I’ll be coming back.”
“I’m really sorry. I know I keep saying it, but I sincerely mean it. I am so, so, so sorry.” I wish we had met under different circumstances because I could see myself being friends with her, but I don’t tell her this realization just like I don’t tell her she deserves to be someone's first choice, though I desperately hope she knows this.
“I appreciate you being honest with me.”
“If there’s anything else you want to know…”
She shakes her head. “There’s really no point in it. I already know enough.”
My cheeks blaze with guilt. I may not have sewn the lie, but I allowed it to remain on my tapestry when I should have cut it out weeks ago and righted the stitch.
Maddie leaves, and my interest in coffee and the pastry case becomes non-existent. I head to class and sit through ninety minutes of lecture hall but don’t hear a single word before I cut my day of classes short and return home.
Dear Diary,
Telling the truth kind of feels like a cleansing of the soul. Apparently, it was addictive because I couldn’t stop. I vacuumed, washed all of my laundry and Rae’s, I cleaned the fridge, and the bathrooms, and the pantry which reminded me I needed to go grocery shopping, and then I came home and realized I really needed to eat something sugary. So I made a batch of cupcakes. They were my best ones to date. Fluffy, moist, and lusciously chocolate. They’re basically pillows that I want to sleep on. And because I’m not in Vegas with Rae and Paxton and everyone else and I was desperate for a distraction, I spent an hour on YouTube learning how to fill cupcakes and made a marshmallow cream filling and then a chocolate buttercream frosting. They might be the best cupcakes of my life, and our kitchen paid the price. It’s going to take me all of tomorrow to clean it, which is probably a good thing because otherwise I’d spend it curled in a ball on my bed.
I miss the way he smells, and how he felt like my own personal sun when he was near me, and I miss his smiles, and talking to him about everything and nothing. I miss him.
I close my diary as tears burn my eyes. I’ve managed to keep myself busy all day to avoid thinking about Paxton, and the moment my pen hits the paper, it’s all I want to write about—consuming my thoughts.
I head into the chocolate war zone that is our kitchen and fill the cupcake tray with a dozen cupcakes. I should soak some dishes, so the sugar doesn’t harden like cement, but instead, I slide on my coat and take the tray of cupcakes and drive to my parents’ house.
I knock as I open the door so as not to surprise them. It’s something I never did while living here, but now it feels almost customary. “Hey!” I call, setting my purse and the cupcakes down on the hallway table.
Mom comes in from the living room wearing a dark brown pantsuit, a glass of red wine in her hand. “Poppy. You’re a nice surprise.”
“I brought cupcakes.”
She glances at them. “I didn’t know you knew how to bake.”
“I’ve been teaching myself.”
She smiles. “Two great skills for life, baking and a thirst for knowledge. Bring them into the kitchen. We’ll eat one before your dad and Dylan get home.”
“Where are they?”
“Basketball practice,” she says, checking her phone after it vibrates against the counter. It’s strange to not know the nuances of their daily lives, stranger not to be involved in them. Yet, moving out has also helped me gain an appreciation for when I do see them.
“How are things going with school?” Mom asks.
“I’ve declared my major.”
This news has my mom turning to fully face me. “You have?”
I nod. “I think I want to be a teacher.”
Mom’s lips curl up in a smile. “You’d make a fantastic teacher.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. You’ve always been so patient and respectful to others. You could teach kids or even college.”
“Like being a professor?”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I teach a class about why boys are such a pain in the butt?”
“I’d pay to learn why.” She unlatches the top of the cupcake container and grabs two plates from the cupboard. I watch as she places one of the messy globe-topped cupcakes on each plate. She licks her thumb as she passes me one, and I collect two forks.
“Sorry. They’re a little messy.”
“Messy isn’t bad. Sometimes the best things in life are messy.”
I dig my fork into my cupcake.
“Is this about Mike?” she asks.
“No, but he certainly contributed to the problem.”
She winces. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. I’m kind of actively avoiding it all right now.”
Mom offers a tight smile. “Fair enough.”
“Why’d you invite them over for Thanksgiving?”
Mom holds her fork, her lips in a sideways purse like she has to think about the answer. “I know how sad you were when he left and how close you guys were. I guess what I’m trying to say is that sometimes everything I know about boundaries and allowing people to make their own decisions sometimes takes a backseat to being a mom. I just want you to be happy, and I thought maybe you guys spending some time together again would help you realize if he was what you wanted.”
“I hope it won’t impact your relationship with his mom, but I don’t have feelings for Mike. I don’t want to be anything but friends, and I’m not even sure about that right now.”
“I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about it first. I wasn’t trying to trick you, I just wanted to help, but I can see now that I wasn’t helping at all.”
“Good intentions,” I tell her, taking a bite of my cupcake.
“I’m here for you. Always.”
My throat tightens and I nod. “That’s all I need.”
We finish our cupcakes, and when Dad and Dylan get back, we order pizza. I can feel the slight hiccups that reveal I’m changing their routine and schedule that has been modified since I moved out, but no one seems to mind those differences.
I spend the night in my childhood room for the second time this week. These walls don’t seem nearly as confining, yet the moment I close my eyes, my memories reach straight toward that place in my brain I’ve been trying to avoid all day. Tears leak down my cheeks until sleep finally takes pity on me.
Mom’s still home when I make my way downstairs, still wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday.
“You’re here late,” I say. Yesterday I had been the first one up and left right away.
“I work from home in the morning now so I can be here before Dylan goes to school.”
I feel relieved to hear this as I open the fridge and grab a yogurt.
“I wish I’d thought to do it a decade ago. Sometimes when I think back, I realize how many things I missed with you. You always made it so easy on us. I was thinking about our conversation about Mike last night, and I really regret inviting them over. I violated your trust, and that wasn’t right. But I want you to know that you can talk to me about anything. I want you to feel comfortable telling me what you want and what you need. You don’t have to always be my brave and independent girl, taking care of yourself all of the time.”
I take a seat at the island bar as my emotions, which are already frayed and stretched, climb into my throat. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and offer her some assurance since I can’t find words.
She kisses the side of my head. “I’m going to check on your brother.”
I take several deep breaths to dry my eyes and check the clock above the stove. It’s nearly seven. I wonder what Pax is doing. If he’s awake. If he’s feeling excited for their game tomorrow. If he misses me.
I feed Sampson, thinking about how I’m going to spend the weekend so I don’t focus on the landslide of feelings that keep threatening to bury me. The weather is cold, the sky a dark gray that is reflective of my mood. I consider skipping class again like I had yesterday and spending the day baking more cupcakes or getting all of my Christmas shopping done. I could go find a tree or hang lights—something that will keep me busy.
I rinse out my empty yogurt cup and toss it into the recycling bin and catch sight of the pizza boxes waiting to be taken to the compost/yard waste bin outside. It’s ridiculous that pizza makes me think of Paxton, but most things do now. He’s woven himself into nearly every part of my life.
Mom and Dylan arrive downstairs, and we make small talk about the weather and how we’re glad it’s Friday, but the time slips away too quickly, and when Mom says she’s driving Dylan to school, my list of excuses to stay runs out. I drive home to my apartment to shower and change. A note is taped to our door, saying there’s a package waiting for me at the main office. I have no doubt it’s a Christmas gift from my grandparents. Likely pajamas like they get me every year.
I unlock the door and toss the note on our kitchen table to pick up later. I’ve never felt so conflicted. My shoulders sag as the silence of the space fills me, reminding me where Pax and Rae are—where I was supposed to be.
I head to my room, straight into the closet where I flip on the lights and sit in the tiny space, surrounded by clothes, books, and a full shelf of my journals—my memories.
I’ve been recording my life since I was seven. A heavy stream of consciousness, questions, thoughts, details that I’ve kept and recorded in the pages of journals, knowing that memories don’t last forever and are often missing details. I’ve long believed my life to be simple and I to be boring. Painfully normal and predictable. Now, I question why I associated so many negative thoughts toward things I now find reprieve in.
I run my fingers along the spines, feeling the words and emotions as I skim over the volumes of my life. I pull one out that was written when I was ten years old. Pax filled the pages even then. I skip ahead, finding more mentions of him as I hit journal entries from when I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen… He’s been an intrinsic part of my life for so long—much longer than I realized.
I pause to read a few memories of Rae and Dylan, my smile wide as I recall the moments painted in time. I think about Pax again and the rules and what had inspired them. My objective to become more popular and climb out of my proverbial shell and stop being an eternal introvert. I had thought the grass would be greener, the parties more fun, and my life somehow richer if I had a larger social network and was more popular and confident, and what I’ve realized over the past several weeks is that I’m happy being an introvert. I’m happy being Rae’s best friend and Dylan’s sister. I like my small group of intimate friends who I know will have my back and don’t only care about me because of my association with someone else. It may not be a popular opinion, but there’s something incredibly fulfilling and shockingly wonderful found in familiarity and loyalty.
I continue to flip through pages, reading over notes and thoughts that all reveal one alarmingly clear realization: I’ve been in love with Paxton Lawson for most of my life. I’m sure of it. I carefully re-shelf the journal I’d been reading and grab my suitcase from the top of my closet. I need to pack and find a flight to Vegas. Paxton is more than my past and my memories, he’s my future.
My bag weighs well over fifty pounds, I’m sure of it, but I panic packed, and that included a lot of second-guessing about what might happen once I get to Vegas and if I’ll be flying back tonight once I realize this is a mistake or if I’ll manage to get to the hotel and build enough courage to go talk to Pax and sort through this mess.
“Poppy!” Our apartment manager greets me by name. “I’m so glad I caught you,” she says. “Your deliveries are filling my office.”
“My deliveries?”
She nods. “Do you want me to help you carry them?”
“Would it be okay if I come and get them on Monday?”
“Monday?” She eyes my suitcase. “Would it be all right if I have Jimmy, our maintenance rep, put them in your apartment?”
I nod. “Absolutely. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t you want to see them first?”
“How many boxes are there?”
“Boxes?” she asks. “Maybe you should come in for just a second…?”
I debate saying no, but she’s already opened the door, waiting for me. “I just need to get my suitcase in my car, and I’ll be right there,” I tell her. A part of me still can’t believe I’m flying to another state to profess my feelings to Pax, which is definitely not within my normal wheelhouse. But I also know that being an introvert doesn’t mean I’m not strong and confident and capable because right now I feel all of those things and so much more as I stuff my suitcase into my car with a new resolve.
I slam the trunk closed and run into the office, hoping to pop my head in and thank her for having whatever arrived delivered but stop when I see the dozen or so bouquets that sit on every surface. Rather than traditional bouquets of flowers, these ones are made of candy bars, fruit, paper flowers, rolled book pages, and cookies. I go to the one comprised of paper flowers. They are so delicate and perfect they nearly look real.
“I thought you might want to see these since it looked like you were heading out,” she says.
I nod and smile in appreciation. “Thanks for stopping me.” I fish the small card from the bouquet.
You’re my favorite rule. You always have been, and you always will be. Love, Pax
34
Paxton
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Lincoln asks.
“What?” I ask as the elevator doors open to the lobby.
Arlo laughs, but Lincoln scowls. “You have to get your head in this, or we’re not going to stand a chance tomorrow.”
I feel mentally and physically exhausted, but even more so, I feel emotionally depleted. My thoughts are consumed with how to make things right with Poppy, regardless of the cost or sacrifice, and I can tell it’s making Lincoln nervous as he begins to realize this as well. He expels a long breath and looks at Arlo, who shrugs.
“After dinner with the team, maybe you should call her?�
� Arlo suggests as we pass through the doors of the hotel where a large bus is waiting to take us and the rest of the team to dinner. Everyone’s mood is light, anticipation and confidence radiating through their expressions and motions like a drug. I wish I could take a hit of it.
Dinner is filled with speeches and carbs, pastas, breads, potatoes, all of it delicious, which only makes me think of Poppy again. She would love this place. Coach Harris faces me from his seat beside mine. “Tomorrow is going to be your night. I can feel it,” he tells me. “All the weeks and months and years of practicing and studying tape and working are going to be worth it after tomorrow. This game is going to put you on the map. Even if you don’t get to go to the Seahawks, I have no doubt they’ll want you, and you’ll be able to trade to them the following year.”
“Coach, I don’t know if I can play tomorrow.”
Coach Harris barks out a laugh and then sobers too quickly. “You’re kidding, right?”
“He’s bullshitting you,” Lincoln says from my other side.
Coach looks from him to me, his unease apparent as his brows draw together. “Lawson?” he asks.
I slowly shake my head. “I don’t know, Coach. My head’s just not in the right place. I don’t want to fail you or the team. I know how important this game is to everyone, and I don’t want to ruin everyone’s future.”
Coach’s face softens as he sets his fork down. “Don’t you see it, son? You being concerned about your teammates is how I know you’re one hell of a leader. A true leader doesn’t just worry about themselves, they worry about their team, and they take care of their team. They look out for each other, and they try harder than anyone else. You’re a leader, Paxton. This team needs you.”