He shook his head and crossed his arms. “I’m not. Who would be more qualified than me to be the replacement?”
I’d considered that overnight - he was right. The part was essentially written for him. By him. About him.
“I have time. I pretty much have all the time in the world now.” It felt embarrassing to admit that out loud. That all of my social interactions had gone out the window when things went bad between us.
He frowned and motioned for me to follow him outside. I did, if only to hear what he had to say.
“Look, I don’t want this to be weird.”
“It’s going to be weird no matter what.” There were so many things left unspoken between us, it seemed impossible that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.
He took a deep breath, his chest expanding at my eye level. I forced myself to make eye contact while the seconds crept by, the silence between us unnerving. Finally, finally, Tucker gathered his composure and said something I never thought I’d hear.
“I’m sorry.”
It hit me harder than I thought it would, hearing those words from his mouth. I’d wanted them, but not under these circumstances. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” I dropped my chin and stared at the top of my shoes. “And I’m sorry I didn’t stick up for you.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
***
He was back in my room. Just his presence there made everything seem right, like something had been missing and it was his body - all six foot two of him - sitting at my desk.
“There’s not a lot of space, but we can practice blocking and the lines. Maybe not the songs and stuff,” I suggested. Sam was sleeping a lot more and I tried my best to be quiet for her.
“Tomorrow we could practice at my house, if you want.”
“I’ll pass. I don’t think your sister would be okay with that.”
The pained expression that flashed over his features caused me to shut my mouth and open the script. We weren’t going to address any of that stuff. We were going to practice and then he would go home and I would do my homework and try to get the image of him in my room out of my head.
That was the plan.
He stood and went to the far corner of my room, by the bathroom door. I remained stone still while he started reciting his lines.
“I knew this would happen.”
“You did?”
“Every day for the past five years, I knew this would happen. I didn’t know what day. What time. But there was no doubt that someday, somewhere, you’d walk back into my life. So I’ve kept my eyes open. Waiting. Always.”
He stepped toward me slowly, and I mirrored him, meeting at the foot of my bed. He dropped the script on the comforter and reached up with both hands, cupping my cheeks, sliding down my neck, and tilting my lips up toward his. I waited, my knees beginning to shake as the seconds ticked by. He blinked once, twice and then cleared his throat and reached for the script again. “And that would be where we kiss or whatever. So we should probably move on to the next scene.”
“I think we should practice.”
“I disagree.”
“Why? It’s for the play, right? How awkward will it be if we’re on the stage and the kiss looks like we can’t stand to even be near one another, much less pretend to be two people in love?” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they had deeper meaning. I just needed him to read between the lines.
I could see his heart rate pick up in the vein throbbing on the side of his neck. He was nervous - and I’d never seen him that way before. My chest felt tight and I rolled the script in my hands to have something to do.
It probably only took a minute, but it felt like an eternity, waiting for him to respond. Instead of saying anything back, he closed the space between us and slid his hands up my neck, his fingers pressing into the base of my skull gently, thumbs resting on my cheeks, rubbing a slow line down to my jaw and back as he looked directly at me. It had been so long since we had been close enough to really truly see one another. It took my breath away.
He tilted his head, his eyes still open, searching. I lifted up on my tiptoes and raised two shaking hands to rest lightly on his sides.
“It’s okay,” I whispered.
“You’ve said that before.” He licked his lips, and stepped into me, his hips pressed just above mine.
“I meant it. I still mean it.” I wasn’t going to beg. I just wanted to lay it all out there.
The second our lips met, I had to fight the urge to push him down on his back, straddle him on my mattress and prove to him that I was telling the truth. I wanted to yank his shirt off and kiss him everywhere. I wanted to tickle his knee and make him laugh and find that smile that I’d been missing so much that it physically hurt to be without it.
His lips were gentle, soft and warm. That was not a stage kiss, it was real. And I fisted his shirt at his sides to gain more leverage, parting my lips to allow him to taste and search with his tongue. He was so good at it, that I didn't even know I’d moaned until he pulled away.
He held me at arm’s length. “Don’t do that.”
“I can’t help it.” I reached up to circle his neck with my arms when he stopped me, placing them next to my sides.
“You can’t do that on stage. I won’t be able to take it. And I don’t need to be up there with a hard-on in front of the entire audience.” He reached between us and adjusted himself, calming his breathing before grabbing his script and walking toward the door. “I think that’s enough for today. Let me know if you’re available tomorrow.”
Once he had driven away, I flopped onto my bed, buried my face in my pillow and groaned in frustration. How was I supposed to not have a reaction to him? It seemed impossible, because I was a hundred percent sure that I finally realized what I had been trying to fight for so long.
I was, without a doubt, completely in love with Tucker Scott.
Mal,
Have you ever heard that old bible verse about the sins of the father and how they run through the bloodline into the next generations – it’s essentially the same thing as the Karl Marx quote: "History repeats itself, first as tragedy, second as farce." It’s not just about men and sons - it applies to women, too.
My father left us before I was a teenager and Mom raised us on her own. Your mom is doing the same. And I fall into the same category, more or less. Men, in your life, have been non-existent. I’ve known many a girl or woman who has had the same upbringing, and they search their entire lives for a replacement father figure.
True love is not a replacement for what is missing. It’s the completion of two souls who have finally found their other half.
Don’t depend on anyone other than yourself, because you have to be strong to be in love.
But if you find that one that makes you complete, don’t let it go.
Fight for it.
And break the chain that we’ve created.
Sam
~*~16~*~
Love is a tricky thing. It settled into my brain, repeating the word until I couldn’t decipher it from my other thoughts. All consuming, relentless love for the boy I had to see every day, and pretend that he didn’t affect me. It made me not want to eat, or close my eyes. I needed to feel the burn.
He was closer to the Tucker that I knew before. His voice was gentle when he spoke. He didn’t avoid eye contact when we interacted. What hurt the most was knowing the guilt he carried for so many things. I couldn’t fix him. And I didn’t want to. I just had this need to be there when he finally decided to work through it. Because it would be up to him to accept that he wasn’t at fault for anything that had happened to his sister, his mom, or Landon. Or between us.
That was my burden to carry and to correct when the time came.
Elise Cho was the student choreographer who directed our dance numbers. I’d been so relieved that my part only had one number – and that it was with Tucker. It was a slow dance that spanned the entire length of the stage and requi
red us to be as up close and personal as we could get in front of an audience. I’m not talented on my feet, but with him, it was easy.
She stood to the side, clapping her hands in time. “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Good. Turn your hips. Mallory, point your toe out on the pivot, imagine your dress spinning out when you do.”
The dress in question was a green, thin strapped costume with a plunging neckline. It had a long vintage style skirt that moved like a dream across the black scuffed stage. I’d been fitted just a few days before and fell in love with it immediately. For the first time ever, I felt beautiful. Really beautiful.
We’d done a run through on hair and makeup as well; my hair pulled up into a high ponytail and wrapped with a white satin ribbon. Mercy had a similar look, her dress more juvenile to reflect her character’s age – with two braids accentuated by the same satin. We stood next to one another in front of the massive mirror that covered the entire back wall of the girl’s dressing room and stared.
She smiled so wide, her red lips standing out against her pale skin. “It is pretty perfect, don’t you think?”
I swayed a little, pressing a hand to my stomach as I turned to the side to appraise my reflection. There was little doubt in my mind that everything had been picked out for very specific reasons, but my memory was failing me.
“It’s awesome. We could be sisters.”
“I’ve heard that before, you know. People used to ask me all the time when I was a freshman if we were and I just blew it off because sometimes people just kinda look the same. It’s freaky. But it worked out, right?”
I nodded and twirled on my tiptoes to let the skirt spin around my ankles. “It really did.”
The moment I stepped into the hallway, Tucker was exiting his dressing room, followed closely by Reagan. Given that the other boy had been chosen because he looked so similar to Landon, it was no surprise that the makeup department had darkened his hair a tiny bit. It looked like shoe polish or something.
The way Tucker’s feet stopped so abruptly made me blush. He was in a stripped down version of a suit, missing the jacket – white pressed shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms, hem tucked into creased black dress pants, and around his neck, a slim black tie. I fought the urge to reach out and tug on it, tucking my hands into the pockets sewn into the skirt.
“You look nice,” I offered. “Both of you, I mean. It’s exactly like I imagined it.”
He cleared his throat and nodded in my direction. “Same.”
A photographer was set up in the theater and the entire cast took turns in front of the backdrop. I sat atop a stool and crossed my legs, leaning forward to fold my hands across my knees, channeling the spirit of my character. She was nameless but that didn’t mean I didn’t know her inside and out. She was confident and by the end of the play, she knew exactly what she wanted. I held my head high and tilted it a little as the photographer instructed, giving a closed-lipped smile.
The flash went off a few times and he peered around the side of the camera. “Very pretty.”
“Thanks.” It was probably the first time I believed someone when they said it. Even if I wasn’t me – even if I was playing pretend – I accepted the compliment and slid off the stool, bypassing Tucker as I did.
I could feel his eyes follow me all the way out the door.
Now in practice, as we danced, he averted his gaze, focusing on the choreography, and I let him lead. Because he finally was.
Elise motioned to Sara to stop playing and she hopped up onto the stage. “It’s a bit early for a dress rehearsal, but I think it’s needed. You’ll have to practice moving with the costumes. I don’t think you’ll have as much range of motion in those pants they gave you, Tucker.”
He actually laughed, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard it. He’d been so passive for the weeks that we rehearsed. He’d show up at my house, run his lines, block a kiss, skip a dance – never once would he sing, so I didn’t either. That was reserved for rehearsals.
“Next week is Spring Break. We have two weeks after that before Hell Week begins. I’d say it’s cutting it close.” He kept a good distance between us while he talked to her.
“Give me three nights.”
“I have to work.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “But if we need it, then I can call in.”
She threw a fist in the air. “Damn right we need it. Give me Monday through Wednesday. It will make a huge difference.” She leapt off the stage to join Sara at the piano.
I pulled my script from the back pocket of my jeans and shrugged like I was just talking to an acquaintance. “Are you going anywhere for Spring Break?”
His head was turned when he answered. “I’m picking up a few shifts. My dad’s pulling overtime like crazy. So I’m going to be taking Eliza to a couple of her therapy sessions.”
“Gotcha.”
The rest of the cast headed off behind the backstage curtain. Save for Elise and Bastian, the theater was pretty much empty.
“Well, if you need any help or anything, I’m home, too. No plans. It kinda sucks that this will be my first year of college with no Spring Break but I’ve never been super excited about road trips or anything. No big deal.”
That’s when he actually looked at me. Like I was there.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you offering to help with Eliza because you feel bad, or . . .”
“No ulterior motives. I’m free, that’s all.”
He nodded a couple times. “I’ll let you know.”
I smiled a little. “You know where to find me. You have my number.”
***
That night, when I got home, there was a large envelope sitting on the kitchen counter.
Holding it in my grasp, I knew exactly what it was. The upper corner held the name I’d been dreaming of for so many years – Vanderbilt. I’d decided to apply there for a lot of reasons. It wasn’t so far away that I couldn’t come back home, but it wasn’t far enough north that I’d be tempted to visit Boston. I’d been to Tennessee once when I was little, to visit the aquarium before we got one of our own downtown. I remembered the trees the most – how spectacular the colors were. I could see myself there, walking the campus between classes.
What was weird was, with as excited as I should have been, it was eclipsed by the feeling that I suddenly wasn’t as ready to move on as I had fooled myself into believing. Everything was up in the air. It settled deep in my gut as I opened the packet and pulled out the acceptance letter along with registration information. A welcome folder had beautiful pictures of the campus; a promise of things to come.
Another envelope held my grant information. And I wanted to tell someone. But it dawned on me, in the silence of my childhood home, that there was no one to share it with.
Sam disappeared like some recluse, and every time I knocked on her door she would tell me that she was sorry but now wasn’t a good time. It seemed like it was never a good time anymore. And I didn’t want to be in a pit of despair with her, so I spent as many hours out of the house as I could.
I had no idea what to do with myself for a week. It was on that Wednesday that I visited the library, figuring that I could spend some time reading and losing myself in a fantasy of someone else’s making. Maybe I’d take a book to the park and read on a blanket, like I’d seen other people do. They were content with their own company. I was getting there, too.
I scanned the shelves for a while, not rushing while I pulled one out and read the description. Dropping to my knees, I slid a hardback out and read the inside flap.
“Mallory?”
Turning quickly, I dropped the heavier of the two books on my foot. “Damn it! That really hurt.” I laughed, staving off the pain. I stood and waved awkwardly at Sara as she leaned against the shelf.
“I thought that was you. I saw you walk by a couple times. But I was studying so I wasn’t really looking that hard.” She adjusted her glasses and ran her fing
ers along the spines facing her. “So, we haven’t really talked in a while . . .”
“I noticed.” It wasn’t mean, just honest.
“Look. I know what happened with Tucker and he’s one of my closest friends so I . . .”
“Had to take a side. I get it. I’ve been there.”
An angry shhh came from across the room. Sara turned and scowled, raising her middle finger by her waist and looked at me again. “Want to go somewhere and talk?”
Once upon a time, an invitation like this would have made my stomach twist with anxiety. But not today. Because it was time to be honest and if she was willing to listen, I was willing to talk.
We ended up in the glass encased back room of the Burger King, facing one another over Coke Icees. She took a long sip and winced, pressing her palm to her temple before she laughed. “Brain freeze.”
“My mom always said to think about the sun or fire and your brain will automatically shut that shit down.”
She squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds before they widened in surprise. “It worked.”
I shrugged and took a drink. “Sometimes she has good advice. Not so much lately, but she used to.” I wasn’t sure if this was the part where I confessed that she’d been gone for almost a year and not six months like she’d promised, so I just didn’t address it.
Sara settled her elbows on the table and leaned forward, still cradling her drink. “What the hell happened, Mal? With Tucker, I mean. One second the two of you were practically attached at the face and then . . . nothing. I know his side of the story but there has to be more to it. Because I’m watching you suffer up there every day like you’re paying some sort of penance.”
“Maybe we both are? I don’t know. He thinks what happened with Landon is his fault. I know I hurt him. So, I can do this. It’s just a few more weeks, right?”
“I don’t think so. This isn’t . . . this thing between the two of you? It’s not right. But I don’t know your side of the story.”
It was hard to put into words. Aunt Sam was the only one I’d told everything to and the disappointment on her face was enough to make me want to hide it away forever. Gathering my resolve, I struggled to find the right words – the true ones that weren’t twisted into some excuse.
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