by Marie, Tessa
“But you were so young.” I was still scared of my basement up until recently.
“Yeah, but since the youngest kid was five, I had no choice. When my foster dad would pass out on the couch, I’d take his car out and go to the store. I had some money from chores. My foster mom gave me fifteen dollars a week if she wasn’t too high to remember. I used that money to buy us food.”
“What kind of chores did you have to do?”
“Clean the bathroom, vacuum, dust, do the laundry, cook dinner for the other kids. That is how I learned to drive and that is how I learned to cook. Two birds, one stone.”
“That’s terrible.” We go silent for a short time while we finish eating.
His life seems so unfair.
“How’d you wind up on the streets?” I think I already know, but I want to hear it from him.
“I couldn’t stand being beaten anymore. There’s only so much one person can take. So in the middle of the night, when my foster mom was at work and my foster dad was passed out on the couch, I threw what little belongings I had in my backpack and took off. I never looked back.”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose. It’s hard to decipher whether he’s suppressing anger or pain.
“It was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”
Why?” He had no choice. Anybody in his situation would have run. I would have. Or I would have wanted to. I don’t think I would be brave enough to actually do it.
“I bailed. I never even said goodbye.”
“You were only a kid too. You did what you had to do. You can’t feel guilty for that. ”
“Maybe so, but I should’ve done something for them. Called someone. I can only imagine how many times he hit them, demanding to know where I was. How many bruises he gave them and how many burns…” he chokes on his words and covers his eyes.
I turn his arm over and run my finger across the circular scars on his forearm. “Did he do this to you?”
“I shouldn’t have walked in front of the television when he was watching football. He missed the interception. Punishment was me becoming an ashtray.”
I shudder at the thought. The pain, I can’t even imagine. I have so many more questions. But I don’t ask in fear he’ll relive more torture.
Instead, I lower my lips and kiss the three circular scars on his arm as if it will wash away the years of abuse. Erase all the pain and suffering.
“We should clean up,” he says. I get it. It’s uncomfortable and painful to talk about the past. It’s just easier to forget.
With a nod, I stand up, take the plates from the table, and bring them to the sink.
“I’ll clean,” he says.
“Nope, you cooked. Go get comfortable on the couch. We’ll watch a movie or something.”
He kisses my head and leaves me in the kitchen.
I finish cleaning up and meet him in the living room. His body relaxes into the large cushions of the couch and the remote sits on his knee. That unruly curl of his rests on his forehead, and I fight the urge to walk over and push it back into place.
“I checked on Katie. She’s still mumbling,” he says.
He checked on Katie. Another simple gesture that means so much.
“She does that when she’s trashed. When she’s sober she doesn’t make a sound in her sleep, believe it or not.”
“I can believe it. Where’s your ice pack?”
“My head feels fine. Don’t worry about it.” The Advil must be kicking in.
“Let me see.” He holds his hand out, and I slide mine into it. Slowly, he pulls me towards him, and I sit beside him on the couch, my head down so he can examine it.
“What’s the diagnosis, Dr. Lando?”
“The bump seems to have gone down, which is good.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my jaw for a moment. “I want you to know I’m not usually like that. The whole angry-psycho-guy thing. I snapped. Watching that asshole push you. Seeing you on the floor…” His body tenses and his jaw ticks. I move closer, enough so our knees touch. He takes a deep breath and the ticking stops.
I rest my hand on his cheek and caress the slight stubble. “You were protecting me. I know that.”
He places his hand on top of mine. “Good, I was afraid I scared you, Preppy.”
“We already went over that. I have no reason to be scared of you.” I let my fingers fall from his face. “Besides there’s nothing scary about a guy who eats cinnamon raisin bagels, reads about ancient civilizations for fun, and does his own laundry. You’re actually kind of a dork.”
“Is that so?” he says as he reaches for me. I scream out a mixture of laughter and distress as his fingers tickle my sides.
“I’ll stop. Just say I’m not a dork.”
“Never!” His fingers start moving faster and the intensity increases. I twist and turn trying to break free.
“Okay! Okay! You’re not a dork.” His fingers stop. A sharp pain shoots through my head. Stupid bump. I reach for it and close my eyes until it passes.
“Are you okay?” Dean asks, concern laced in his words.
The pain dissipates and I open my eyes. Somehow I wound up with my legs draping over his, practically in his lap. My eyes lock with his. Neither of us moves, the silence becoming awkward.
Then as if in slow motion, he moves towards me. My heart races, and my stomach twists in knots.
His lips hover just shy of mine, and my breath catches in my throat. When his mouth brushes against my own, my head spins. I pull him closer, wanting more. He lowers me on to the couch, and I move with him until I am lying beneath the warmth of his body.
I glide my hands down his chest then tug on the bottom of his shirt until I manage to pull it over his head. It should bother me Katie is upstairs, but it doesn’t. All I want is to be as close to Dean as I possibly can.
My fingers slide across his body, taking in every curve. I follow the rises in his skin from the years of abuse, wishing I could wipe the memories away. His lips trail down the crook of my neck, shooting chills down my spine.
I’m about to lift my shirt up when he shifts, resting behind me, and holding me against his chest. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, his breath tickling my ear.
“Is that a bad thing?” I’m so beyond my normal territory, I am completely clueless.
“A very good thing, and that is why I’m stopping us before we do something we shouldn’t.”
I may be out of my territory, and I may not know much about guys, but aren’t guys all for sex? I mean, isn’t it like a prerequisite for them?
Maybe it’s me. I’m cool to hang around with and kiss, but anything more just doesn’t appeal to him?
“Hey,” he says, turning my face to look at him “What’s wrong?”
“I…”
“I know what you’re thinking, and it has nothing to do with you.”
“Nothing to do with me and all to do with you right?” The easy letdown you hear time and time again from distraught girls who can’t seem to comprehend the true meaning. Read between the lines, he just doesn’t have the guts to say it to your face.
“Well, yeah. I mean, even if we really want to, I don’t have anything with me.”
He’s playing it safe. Being responsible. I’m the definition of responsible. It’s just when Dean touches me it’s like my head is in the clouds.
I run my hand across his tattoo, wanting so desperately to know what happened to his parents. He looks down at my fingers as I trace the jagged lines of the broken heart.
“It was a car accident,” he mumbles.
“I’m sorry.”
“They were on their way home from a parent teacher conference. My parent teacher conference. They were in the right lane, two exits from our house, when a tractor trailer drifted from the middle lane into their car. The driver fell asleep. They didn’t have a chance in hell.”
My eyes burn because I know exactly how he feels. Losing a parent is not easy. Losing both is incons
olable. I know this because the day Dad was murdered, I lost Mom too. I lost her to denial, but at least I still had a roof over my head.
“You don’t have any other family?” I ask.
“My mom’s parents died before I was born. My dad’s parents not too long after. My dad had a sister, but she was so addicted to drugs the courts saw her as an unfit guardian. My parents’ friends didn’t want the responsibility of two kids and that’s how we wound up in foster care.”
“We? You have a…?” He reaches over me to his backpack. When he comes back up, he hands me a picture, a mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. Dean is the exact replica of his father. They have the same copper eyes and same dark hair. His mother is beautiful with medium length, dirty blonde hair and a smile that would give Julia Roberts a run for her money. And his sister, who has her light brown hair in pigtails, is holding a stuffed seal.
“Her name’s Josie. She was five when we got separated. I’ve spent the past two years trying to find her, but keep coming up empty. That’s why I started going to the library in the first place. I don’t know if she has been in and out of foster care like me or if a family adopted her. She’s my sister, all I have left in this world, and I don’t even know if she still has the same last name as me.”
He pushes his palms into his eyes. I reach up, cupping his chin in my hand.
“I’ll help you.” Hope fills his eyes and I want him to believe me. Need him to. “We’ll figure it out.”
He nods then says, “I hope so.” He shifts, pulling me closer. I rest my head against his chest and listen to the beat of his heart. Feel his chest rising with each breath he takes.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
I drag my finger in circles on his stomach. “I don’t want you to go.”
“You made me accept a job from Marv. I’m not going anywhere.”
“No, I mean. I don’t want you to go tonight. Will you stay with me?” I outline the broken heart on his arm again, but instead of following the jagged lines, I create my own lines making it complete.
“I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.”
“Anna.” I nudge her shoulder. I hate to wake her. She looks so damn peaceful, but she’ll probably wake up with a stiff neck if I don’t.
“Hmm,” she mutters and man if that isn’t the cutest sound ever.
“Wake up, sleepy head,” I say against her ear. One eye pops open and she smiles. “Time to go to bed.”
I’m prepared to stay on the couch, but Anna wraps her hand around my wrist and guides me upstairs. We walk past Anna’s room where Katie is sprawled out on the bed.
“This used to be Seth’s room, but he hasn’t been back since he left for college two years ago,” Anna says, tugging my arm into the sage green room. She climbs into the black rod iron queen size bed, and I join her under the down comforter, holding her close to me.
I close my eyes, relishing in her warmth and the sweet smell of cherry blossoms, pretending for one night, I’m a normal guy, who has a bed to sleep in and a girl to hold. A girl who wants me to hold her. A girl I’m falling for. Hard.
I wake up the next morning with Anna still in my arms. I don’t want to ever leave this spot. I smile at the realization I came to last night. Somewhere between the playful banter and the study dates I’ve fallen for Anna.
My eye catches the clock on the night stand, and I slowly let Anna go, sliding away from the warmth of her body. I climb out of the bed and watch her for a moment. She curls her arms around her pillow, her hair framing her porcelain face and she lets out the slightest moan.
It takes all my restraint not to crawl back under the covers with her, but I have a job to get to. A job I was too proud to accept before. Maybe things are going to start looking up. Maybe I’ve been given a break. Just maybe I’m meant for more. I never thought I was. Until Anna. She’s given me the hope I’ve never had.
I ease the door open and make my way down the hall. Her bedroom door is still shut. I’d be surprised if Katie wakes before noon. I take my bag into the bathroom, wash my face, brush my teeth, and put a t-shirt on. I still have an hour until I have to start walking to The Bagel Hole to begin my first day on the job.
I tip toe down the stairs, trying to prevent them from creaking. In the kitchen, I rummage through the cabinets and find a box of Bisquick. Pancakes it is. I grab some frozen blueberries from the freezer and toss them into the batter.
In less than thirty minutes, I have a massive plate of pancakes. I hope Anna and Katie are hungry. Before I do anything else, I clean up the mess. It wouldn’t be fair to have Anna wake up to a sink full of dishes.
I throw three pancakes on a plate, grab the bottle of maple syrup, and pour a glass of orange juice. It doesn’t look like I have time to eat, so I take the plate and head back to the guest room. Anna’s still asleep.
She’s wrapped up like a burrito in the comforter, looking absolutely adorable. I place everything on the nightstand and lean down to kiss her forehead.
“Hmm.” Her left eye opens slightly.
“Morning, Preppy,” I say, brushing the hair off her face.
“Good morning,” she says, but she’s still half asleep so it comes out in almost a whisper.
“Go back to sleep. I made you some pancakes for when you wake up. I have to go to work.” I press my lips to the top of her head. “I’ll see you later.”
“Mmmhmm.” Her eye closes, and she falls back asleep.
I grab two pancakes on the way out and eat them while I walk.
I’ve walked the street towards The Bagel Hole more times than I can count, yet this time it’s different. There’s an underlying feeling of hope the closer I get.
One night with Anna managed to change my view on my impending future. I don’t want to just get by. I want to succeed and become someone she will not be ashamed to be with. Because, let’s face it, if she goes off to college, she’s not going to want to introduce her homeless boyfriend to her classmates.
Maybe if I can get myself on track, get my GED, I can start looking into community college. I know I’m jumping ahead of myself, and with my life I know not to get my hopes up, but it’s something to aim for.
I push through the door of The Bagel Hole, the first time I’ve actually used the front door. Marv always expects my knock at the back.
Change in the right direction. I spot Marv behind the counter. His eyes widen, but just as quickly they go back to normal and he smiles big.
“Hey Marv,” I say, walking towards him. “So where’s the apron with my name on it?”
“I’ll give you an apron,” he says, holding up his fist, obviously joking. “In the back hanging next to the sink. Take the one closest to the sink.”
“I was joking about the apron.”
“I’m not. Wouldn’t want you getting your clothes dirty, now would we?”
Marv shows me how to cut a bagel and how much butter and cream cheese to put on. It’s not rocket science. He tells me he doesn’t trust me with using the meat cutter yet, so we skip over that. Then he shows me how to use the register.
It all seems relatively simple until the line streams out the door and people are shouting from every direction. Thank God the chaos doesn’t seem to bother Marv’s other employee’s, Jackie or Louis.
Louis must see I’m struggling because he tells me to write orders down and hand them off to him. Once I take a minute to breathe and catch my composure, I get into a groove. Before I know it, it’s two o’clock, and the morning and lunch crowds die down.
When the last person in line is helped Marv calls for me to follow him into the back. I turn the corner, and he hands me a mop.
“I’m assuming you know how to mop.”
“How hard could it be?”
“You’d be surprised at how many don’t have a clue.”
“I can handle it.”
“Figured you could.” I start to walk away when Marv calls out, “Hey, Dean.”
“Yeah, Marv?”
“I like that Anna girl. You seem different with her. Happy.”
“I’m starting to realize life is what I make it and failure is not part of it anymore.”
“What the hell have I been trying to tell you all this time?”
“I just didn’t see it until now. And in spite of it all, you’ve always believed in me. So thanks for that.”
Marv shifts uncomfortably. Neither of us do the deep soul-searching honesty thing.
“You best go start mopping if you want to keep this job. Your shift’s over at five, so when you’re done, I’ll show you how to slice cold cuts.”
“Sounds good.”
I start to walk away again when he says, “Now don’t go messing it up.”
He’s not talking about mopping or cutting my finger off.
“I won’t.”
The sun shines bright through the window and I wake up to no Dean. In his place a plate of blueberry pancakes and a glass of orange juice. My head is foggy, but I vaguely remember him coming in with it.
I’ve only had breakfast in bed once before and that was when I was six and had the flu. Dad delivered it on a wooden tray. It was the best breakfast I ever had.
Breakfast is amazing and I would stay in bed all day savoring the pancakes bite by bite, but I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for last night’s events. I need to check on Katie.
I lift myself out from under the down comforter and the lingering scent of Dean, a mix of soap and spice. I stop at my bedroom and peek in. Katie is sprawled out on the bed, her legs slightly bent at the knee and hanging off the bottom while her arms are hanging off the side. She looks like the outline for a crime scene. I flinch at the thought.
What if I ignored her call last night? What if I didn’t get to her? Would she have taken something else? My stomach twists in knots just thinking of what could have been.