Her eyes flicker to mine. “Does that mean you decided to move?”
I shrug. “I think so.”
My mom stands up and crosses her arms. “Where will you go? You don’t have any money saved. You don’t make enough walking those dogs, and if you leave, I won’t pay for school. You really don’t have a choice here, Willow.”
“No, Mom.” I meet her gaze, low and steady. “You don’t have a choice.”
She shakes her head. “Fine then. Leave. Just like him.”
Something in my chest falters. “My dad?” I raise my voice. “Just like my dad?”
She glares at me, not even trying to hide the resentment radiating off her. “Yes.”
My throat becomes thick with angry tears. “I remind you of him, don’t I? And you can’t stand it! You think of him when you look at me, and that’s why you hate me so much.”
My mom looks baffled. “Hate you? Don’t be ridiculous, Willow. I love you.”
I swallow. “But you see him in me, Mom. Admit it.” I hold up my arm and point to it. “And only because I’m black!”
She scoffs. “Well, it isn’t your beautiful hazel eyes.”
The anger building inside me explodes. “Well, I’m not him! I know you resent me for what he did to you. For cheating and abandoning you while you were pregnant with me, and maybe even for dying before he had a chance to fix things. But you can’t turn me into you with hurtful words. You have no idea how heavy they are. And ironically, I used to wish I looked just like you so you wouldn’t be in pain every time you saw me.”
I take a deep breath. I can’t believe I’m telling her all this, but something inside me has finally cracked, like a dam, and the giant lake of feelings I’ve been holding in is impossible to contain now. I continue. “But if I had to choose now, I would rather be black, like him. He was never here, but at least he never hurt me like you have.”
Her face becomes impossibly whiter. She doesn’t say another word. Just stares at me like she’s never seen me before, like she doesn’t even recognize me. And then she turns on her heel and marches out the door, closing it a little too loudly.
My shoulders sag. I sit in silence for a long moment, trying to slow my rapid breathing.
It feels like a giant weight has lifted off my shoulders. But at the same time, I know how badly my words hurt my mom.
I grab my phone and call Theo. I need to hear his voice. His British accent could do wonders on even the most stressed person alive.
He answers on the first ring. “Miss me already? We just had school together.”
I melt against my pillows, instantly mollified by his voice. “Come over,” I say softly.
“Tonight. I have something for you.”
I frown. “For me? What is it?”
I hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Patience, little Willow. I’ll bring it to you after your mum goes to work. It has to dry just a bit more.”
He hangs up, and I’m left even more confused than before. But rather than dwell on what the surprise could possibly be, I pass the time reading, occasionally sending Theo emojis and texts. I even pour myself a cup of tea and light a candle.
A few hours pass, and I’m just about to doze off when a knock on my bedroom window breaks me away from my thoughts of sleep. I peek through and see Theo.
I hold up my finger and motion for him to come around to the front door. When I unlock it, we tiptoe through the dark halls, careful not to alert my mom. She’ll be leaving for work any minute. As soon as we’re both in my bedroom, I close the door and lock the handle. The last thing I need is for my mom to check on me before she leaves.
I smile shyly at him through the dim lighting in my room, his face illuminated by the candlelight. His eyes are mostly pupil, dark with rings of light blue. He looks freshly showered. His hair is still damp, the smell of his aftershave sharp and clean.
I realize for the first time he’s carrying a flat square wrapped in tarp. It’s about the size of a small laptop. I point to it. “What’s that?”
He holds it behind his back. “Your surprise.”
“Can I have it?”
“I’ll trade it for a kiss.”
I nod and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him softly. Theo grabs my waist with his other hand, bringing me against him. I pull away, unwilling to let him distract me. I can’t wait a moment longer for my surprise. I briefly wonder if it actually is a laptop, but then remember he said it needed to dry.
Theo places the square on my bed and waits for me to unwrap it. I remove the tarp, careful not to peek until it’s completely off.
When I stare at the square—no, canvas—in front of me, I can’t breathe.
“I remember you telling me about your happy place.” Theo says nonchalantly. “You told me when you have anxiety, it sometimes helps when you imagine it. Yourself lying in a spring meadow with a book. Your little black dog on the grass beside you.”
“Theo.” My heart is racing. “You—”
“I don’t ever want it to become hard for you to visualize. When you can’t see it, you rely heavier on your rituals. And when you first told me about it, I thought to myself how lovely it would be to never have to leave the place that makes you feel so at ease. I thought perhaps if you had your happy place with you, to look at and hold in your hands whenever you felt sad or anxious or scared ... you would never have to leave it. You could stay in it always.” All traces of teasing are gone. His voice is so soft, so gentle and I still can’t breathe. I can’t move. I simply listen to his words and stare at him, transfixed.
I’d thought Theo’s paintings invoked specific emotions in me, but things I felt while looking at his previous paintings were nothing, nothing compared to this.
I’m staring at myself on the canvas. My face is painted in shades of light and dark, my expression more peaceful than I’ve ever seen it in a mirror. I’m wearing a long, fluffy, white dress with a matching hat that ties underneath my chin, my curly hair spilling out around me. I’m lying on my stomach, and my ankles are crossed in the air. There’s a book in my hands, and a large willow tree offering me plenty of shade to read. The grass is swaying in the wind, wildflowers sprinkled throughout its body like freckles. Next to me, sleeping soundly, is a tiny black dog.
“Theodore,” I choke, not caring that my face is wet with tears. “Are you serious? You painted my happy place?”
His eyebrows pull together. “Did I get it right? You don’t exactly look happy right now.” He glances down at the canvas.
I reach for the painting and stare at it. I can’t stop staring.
It’s like he’s taken part of my mind and turned it into something tangible. And taken the happy feeling with him too, stitching it inside the wood and plaster and sealing it with the paint.
Fresh tears travel down my cheeks, and I place the picture on my bed behind me, gently, before turning back to him and kissing him with so much force, he’s momentarily astonished.
And then he’s kissing me back.
His lips part mine and his hands tangle in my hair. I urge myself impossibly closer against him, not an inch of air separating our skin.
I tear at his shirt, pulling it over his head.
“Willow,” Theo says. He stops my hands with his own, searching my face. “What—”
“Please,” I interrupt him. “Don’t try to stop me.” I meet his gaze, communicating with my eyes that I want this, to be close to him.
To continue.
Theo releases an unsteady breath and let’s go of my hands, placing his own on the sides of my face so he can kiss me again.
I close my eyes as he makes his way from my lips to my neck. My stomach flutters, and the rest of our clothes come off in a rush. With nothing left but skin between us, we’re closer than we’ve ever been before. And yet, it’s still not close enough for me.
I grip his shoulders and lie down on the floor, pulling him with me.
Theo’s fingers caress my body, heat blazing betwe
en us, until my breathing gets heavier. My body stiffens in anticipation and I move his hand lower, until his fingers are pressed against the most sensitive part of me. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t stop.”
Theo’s eyes darken. “Bloody hell, Willow.”
I kiss him again, more deeply this time, and his fingers move intently, making me squirm and gasp for air. I can’t get enough. “More,” I breathe. “Please.”
A wicked gleam lights the darkness in his eyes and he begins kissing a line down my stomach. The carpet is rough under my back, but Theo’s lips are impossibly soft. His mouth travels lower and lower, exploring freely and continuing even when I grab his hair with both hands. I gasp. A surge of pleasure like I’ve never experienced before consumes me until I’m unaware of space and time, of mind and matter. My body trembles and I’m suddenly weak.
I am liquid.
When my heart eventually slows, I open my eyes. Theo grins, clearly satisfied by my reaction. I part my lips, and he takes the opportunity to kiss me again, this time softly, tenderly. I run my hands along Theo’s tightly muscled arms, caging me. Our gazes lock for a moment and electricity sizzles between us. “Willow,” he says, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “Willow, if you want to stop—"
“No,” I say firmly. I feel the weight of my words as I say them, but they ring true.
He exhales and touches his forehead to mine. “Then please tell me you have a condom, since I already know damn well you aren’t on the pill.”
I can’t help but smile. He’s right of course. I’m not on the pill. I’ve never taken it in my life, but I do have a few condoms. I point at my nightstand. “They’re in the bottom drawer.”
Theo takes one and removes it from its package. The break in our physical touch clears my head and for the briefest moment I’m anxious. But the feeling disappears as soon as it arrives, replaced by frantic anticipation.
Theo. This is Theo.
He kisses me again. I grip his shoulders tightly and lift my hips.
Theo breaks our kiss as our bodies connect and pleasure courses through my entire body. Each continuous movement brings our energy closer and closer to a tipping point. I dig my nails into his back, clinging to him desperately.
In this moment, with my blood rushing beneath Theo’s fingertips, with his skin ending where mine begins, with my heart in his hands, I think, there’s no going back now.
And I don’t want to.
My vision transforms into an explosion of stars.
Every nerve in my body intensifies beyond what I can bear. It seems to last forever, and when Theo finally relaxes against me, we lie still together, in a heap on the floor. I have no idea if we lie for seconds or minutes or hours. My arms and legs are wound around him like a tangle of vines and his heart races in my ear, thrumming like a lullaby. As I drift into unconsciousness, I can’t help but think that I’ve never heard anything so perfect.
Nineteen
“Oh my God,” Ash says at school the next morning. She’s already in her seat by the time I clock in and sit at our table. “You had sex!”
“Keep your voice down!” I glance around, horrified, but luckily no one else is nearby and Theo is headed to the restroom. I stare at Ash, my confusion overpowering my desire to remain discreet. “How do you know? I mean, what makes you think that?” I try to keep my tone hushed.
Her lips pull up into a slight smirk. “It’s written all over your face, babe. I just hope it was with Theo. Finally.”
My eyes widen, and I try to mask my features into that of a closed book rather than a wide open one.
Theo comes back, taking his seat next to me. Ash’s eyes light up, but she’s prevented from interrogating him when Mrs. Harrison starts taking attendance. She passes out sheets of paper—which means we’ll be learning something new today—licking her thumb in between each page. Gross.
“We’re learning perms today,” Mrs. Harrison tells us. “Get your rods from your lockers and follow the instructions I passed out. Come to me if you need help, and I’ll be checking your work as you go.”
We get our perm rods and set up our mannequin heads. The odor of the perm solution begins to permeate the room. I glance at Ash, thinking about all the chemicals in the solution. It can’t possibly be good for the baby—for her to inhale and sometimes touch toxic ingredients.
“Is it okay for you to be around this stuff?” I ask her.
“I don’t know, but it fucking reeks,” she complains. “I thought I wouldn’t have to smell actual shit for like, six more months.”
I laugh, and accidentally lose hold of my section of hair. Rolling the perm proves more complicated than expected. It’s a challenge to hold the sections of hair between the endpapers without them slipping out, and to roll them onto the rod without the hair sliding out the edges. I realize I’m not the only one struggling when I look around and see most of the other students in the same predicament as me.
Theo, however, has already completed an entire section.
“How are you so good at this?” Ash asks him.
“He’s a hands-on kind of guy, remember?” I tell her.
Ash smiles and raises a brow. “You would know, Willow.”
One of the girls in our class, Chutney, overhears and I don’t miss the venomous glare she shoots me. I don’t understand, considering she’s never talked to me or Theo before. I swallow and turn to him. “Really though. How are you doing that?”
Theo chuckles. “It’s easy, little Willow. I’ll show you.” He moves behind me, where I’m trying to trap a section of hair between the endpapers. The hair won’t stop slipping out.
“First of all,” he tells me, “your sections are too large.” Theo’s voice is husky and deep as he reaches around me from behind to grab my section. “Far too much hair. And you need to get your tissues wetter.” He holds a paper-thin slice of hair between his fingers before sandwiching it in the endpapers he’s holding, and then soaking them with my water bottle. “There. Now, hold it like this.” He grasps my hand and puts the hair in it, moving my fingers into the right position. They stick perfectly. His touch lingers on mine longer than necessary before he moves back to his own mannequin, and Ash smirks at me.
Mrs. Harrison walks around, checking everyone’s progress. She stops often, showing the students the correct way to roll the rod, or hold the endpaper. When she gets to our aisle, she checks Theo’s work first. “Amazing job,” she says, taking off her glasses to look him in the eye. “You really got the hang of this pretty quickly, eh?” She turns to my mannequin. “Not bad, Willow,” she says, putting her glasses back on. “Try to keep your sections even, like Theodore’s, if you can. You want each curl to come out the same diameter as the rest.”
Theo gives me a cocky smile when she leaves, and I squirt perm solution at him.
“Oi,” he complains. “That burns!”
I laugh, and he sprays me back. It does sting a little, like lemon juice.
“Knock it off you two, or I’ll hose you down with water from the shampoo bowls,” Ash tells us.
At lunch, Theo and I get coffee—only one, since we don’t have an extra cupholder on his motorcycle. Luckily, he buys the biggest size and we manage to ride back to school without spilling it. The sky made up its mind to be foggy today, but the slight wind that tickles my neck is hot. The afternoon crowds of students weave in between cars trying to park, some holding fresh to-go cups of coffee or bags of fast-food.
“Shut the fuck up,” Ash says when she sees us in the parking lot.
I let my arms fall from around Theo’s waist. “What?” I ask.
“How did you not have a conniption fit on the way here?” she demands. “You’re riding that thing with him again?”
I shrug. “It’s actually kind of fun.” Sometimes I forget the progress I’m making isn’t obvious to everyone. Every hurdle I face is such an achievement to me, I feel as if I’m constantly wearing triumph on my face like a mask.
Ash gapes at me, but
I ignore her, taking Theo’s hand and letting him help me down. “You guys are too much,” she says. “I’m going to find Joseph.”
We drink our coffee on a bench near the cosmetology building, taking turns sipping it.
“I never used to drink so much coffee,” Theo tells me, “until I came here.”
I cock my head. “What did you get your caffeine from?”
“Mostly black tea. Coffee now and then, I suppose. But you Americans take it to another level.”
I laugh. “I can’t imagine my life without coffee. It’s tangible happiness.”
Theo chuckles. “More like energy, if you ask me.” He glances at his pocket. “Someone’s ringing me.” When he takes his phone out, he frowns at the screen, and then turns it around to show me who’s calling. Dad.
I raise my eyebrows. “Are you going to answer it?”
“Of course not.” Theo ignores the call. “I never do.”
“What if it’s important?” I ask.
Theo shakes his head. “He’s only calling to demand I come back home, I’m sure.”
Theo’s phone rings again, and this time Eliza is calling. “Answer it,” I suggest.
Theo sighs and brings his phone to his ear. “What on earth do you want, Eliza?” Theo’s tone is clipped. She says something back to him, and his face remains unreadable. Bored. “I don’t care,” he states before promptly hanging up.
I lean forward. “What did she say?”
Theo sighs. “That my dad is sending me a warning. If I don’t return home tomorrow, that is.”
I raise my eyebrows. “A warning? What kind of warning?”
Theo shrugs. “I’ve no idea. Nor do I believe him.”
My thoughts are a flutter of chaos as I try to glean what could possibly happen, what Rob could do from England to warn Theo. Would he do something that could actually harm him?
Breathe, I tell myself. Don’t tap. Just breathe.
The bell rings, signaling the end of our break. Most of our class is nearby, and they come inside promptly, not wanting to be late. Theo and I clock in last, just after Raymond and Charlie.
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