Perfectly Flawed

by Nessa Morgan

  “What?” I ask, caught off guard and feigning innocence. There’s no way she can know what I was texting. I know she doesn’t but she does know to notice about me. I’m hiding something. It’s the easiest thing to discern.

  “That smile.” Hilary points toward my mouth, leaning forward to tug on my lip with her thumb. “It can only be caused by one person.”

  Oh.

  She knows me too well.

  “He’s fine.” My smile beams brighter and I feel my cheeks heat in a flush I feel trail down to my chest. It’s mimicking his hands, heating the same trail he’d lead if he could touch me right now. I miss his electric touch, the fire coursing through my veins as he lazily searches my skin with his fingertips. I just miss him. This is going to so much harder. Harder than I thought.

  “Okay.” Aunt Hil stands away from the couch, a knowing smirk touching her lips. “Just remember, no sexting,” she warns. My smile quickly falls from my face.

  “Aunt Hil!” I whine loudly, the shrill sound shaking Grandpa from his nap in the recliner. “Come on.”

  “What?” she demands as she walks toward the kitchen. “I draw the line on that, Joey.”

  As expected from any guardian

  “Like I’d ever tell you,” I call after her, watching her disappear into the kitchen.

  Her orange head pops back through the doorway. “I would confiscate your phone so fast, Joey.” She tells me, her finger pointing in my direction. “Don’t test me on this.” Hilary looks so serious that the fierce change practically slaps me.

  I raise my arms in surrender, knowing this isn’t a woman to be messed with when she’s creating parental rules. She’s such the Momma Bear that it’s not even funny.

  Grandpa is still watching television—he woke up at some point—trying not to laugh at me and my aunt, but he’s failing as he bites his lip to conceal the chuckling. The least he could do is try to hide the smirk growing on his face, but he fails.

  ***

  “Good night, Grammy.” I wrap my arms around my grandmother before I head out the kitchen, heading up the wooden stairs to the guestroom that becomes mine whenever I’m here. I click on the light, letting it illuminate the purple painted walls. It was my mother’s room when she lived here before heading out to college.

  I take a seat on the bed, placing my laptop in the smooth space in front of me. I promised Zephyr that we’d Skype tonight. While it’s eleven at night here, it’s only nine back home. I’d think that Zephyr has more important or fun things to do than talk with me through a computer screen but he insisted, practically begged me for this minute connection.

  “Hello, there,” a pixilated Zephyr says through the computer screen. His dark hair is tied away from his face and he’s shirtless. Damn, he’s shirtless. Now I really wish I hadn’t left.

  “Hi.” My voice is a nervous squeak, like a mouse, and I don’t understand my nervousness. I’ve talked to him plenty of times, most while staring at his bare abs. How is this different? “How is everything since I left?” I’ve been gone for four days now, I doubt anything big has changed but I’m into small talk at the moment as I stare at his abs when he moves to adjust the light on his nightstand.

  “Dull and lifeless.” He leans back, showcasing his abs again. Holy shit, his abs look better than before I left. It hasn’t even been a week, what has he been doing? “How is Texas?”

  “It’s Texas.” I tell him about what happened at the cemetery and my reason to stay away from town. By now, I’d usually have made several candy runs but I don’t need any run ins with Kathryn or Nana. I can see when he takes interest because he’s no longer lounging back on the pillow displaying a body that looks like it was sculpted from marble, he’s leaning forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, his eyes dark and intense as they stare into the camera.

  “Fuck,” he murmurs when I finish. “Are you okay after what that psycho bitch said?”

  I shrug before shaking my head. I can feel my ponytail swaying against the bare skin of my upper back. “No,” I answer quietly and honestly. He deserves the truth from me even though I want to lie to make this conversation happy. We don’t need to delve into my problems or my issues. I’m trying to put some distance between that and myself, the large the distance, the better I’ll feel.

  “Don’t listen to her,” he tells me. He looks like he wants to crawl through the screen just to hug me. I want to do the same thing. I want to crawl into his lap and never leave his side. “She’s scared.” He couldn’t possibly know that, not for certain, but his words make me feel better. She’s scared. That woman is terrified of something and I’ll never know what.

  “I’m trying not to.” I avoid looking at the screen; avoid his eyes staring back at me.

  I don’t want to listen to the woman I know I hated when I was a little girl forced to live with her. I learned that much from my dream. The one thing I really want to know is why I lived with her when I had other family, nicer family that loved me despite my father. I don’t ask Zephyr what he thinks, I just ask him more questions about his days and what’s been keeping him busy.

  The gym is his answer.

  The answer explains the body and why he’s not wearing a shirt right now, he wants to show me the effects, he wants to show me what I’ll be coming home to. And I don’t mind one bit.

  We continue to talk until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. It gets to the point where I’m leaning my head on my pillow, the soft sound of Zephyr’s voice slowly lulling me into a nice, comfortable sleep.

  “Joey.” Zephyr’s voice startles me awake. I jump up, practically springing from the bed.

  “I’m up. I’m awake,” I say. “Promise,” I blurt, my palm flattening against my forehead. My glasses are crooked on my nose and I right them before completely tugging them from my face and rubbing my eyes, crusty with sleep.

  He’s laughing as he stares at me, his eyes soft. “You were snoring,” he tells me with jest in his voice.

  “I don’t snore,” I snap lightly, my mouth opening in a wide yawn.

  “Apparently in Texas you do.” I can hear the laughter in his voice. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”

  I don’t want to hang up, but I sort of do because I’m falling asleep—which is completely rude—but I just want to be near Zephyr. Even with nineteen hundred miles between us, I have this deep desire to be near him. “Okay,” I answer, my hand hovering above the keyboard of my laptop as I wish I didn’t have to say good night. “I love you,” I tell him quietly.

  “Love you, too, Jo.”

  Those are the only words that I need to hear before I fall asleep—which happens just as soon as my head hits my pillow after I tuck my computer away.

  We spend the rest of my week in Texas Skyping and texting like lovesick teenagers. There are a few long phone calls, but mostly I spend time with my grandparents. I bake in the kitchen with my grandmother—or stir batter while my grandmother handles all of the hot elements to prevent her house from going up in flames. I play board games with my grandfather; he beats me every time. He doesn’t even try to let me win. And I don’t blame him, I gloat. It’s a big problem.

  Christmas Eve Eve arrives and the family starts driving up.

  I love Christmas Eve with my family, which we all literally countdown to. We spend the day eating and enjoying family, telling anecdotes and tales from the year while making fun of each other. It’s almost a giant party for just the Archembaults, and honorary Archembaults. I’ll get to that in a moment.

  The first to arrive that morning is Sam, his large duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. He shakes his shaggy brown locks from his eyes—that he’s proudly been growing along with a beard since he’s come home—as he wanders through the front door shaking the cold from his body.

  “Mom!” he yells as he wanders down the hallway. I’m too tired to make any sudden movements just yet but I’m slowly waking as his voice grows louder the further he moves into the house. “Dad?”

&
nbsp; “In here, Sammy,” Grandpa yells.

  Sam walks into the kitchen smelling thickly of pine and snow. It’s a little weird because it’s not snowing nor is he a lumberjack. I don’t suspect he’s been chopping down trees in Minnesota but the image briefly drifts through my mind.

  I’m sitting at the kitchen island stuffing my face with a delicious breakfast—mostly bacon—while Grandpa continuously tries to sneak a piece away from me. As I turn to swat at his hand, my uncle steals my toast. I stare at him, my mouth agape, while he lovingly ruffles my hair.

  No one, I repeat no one, messes with my food. If I weren’t half-asleep, I’d throw cutlery at him like I was tossing aiming at a dartboard.

  “Good morning, Joey,” he muses while I scoff at him as his hand further messes up my bed-head. How dare he mess with a girl and her food? I cross my arms and pretend not to notice him and act like a temperamental five year old by sticking out my tongue when his back is turned to me. But then I relent and give him a tight hug.

  He hugs everyone else in the room as other family members arrive. There are the cousins who drove in from Oklahoma, the other cousins that flew in from New York. My family is spread out across the country. These are just the ones that fly in. While they aren’t related to me, they are my grandparents’ foster children throughout the years. While they only legally adopted three, they fostered a few dozen children throughout the years. They figured that since they had such a large house with so many rooms, they could use the space to help some children.

  “So, Joey,” my younger cousin Lia starts as she takes the open stool next to me at the kitchen island. I decided to spend the rest of the day with Grammy and Sam baking treats for the next three days. “How’s every going for you up in Washington?” Her southern accent is thick with twang and it makes me smile. I love to hear her speak—I love the accents that fill my life.

  I remember from an old family photo album that her parents met in the foster system. They were in some of the same houses before being switched to my—our—grandparents. They always had feelings for each other; they just never acted on them until they aged out. My aunt Lauren went off to college in Oklahoma, the state where she was from to a college that gave her a full ride scholarship for swimming, and my uncle Chase followed her to see if they could successfully have a relationship away from the tension of the foster care system.

  Six months later, my grandparents received an invitation to their wedding and Grandpa walked Lauren down the aisle.

  Seventeen years later and I’m sitting next to Lia as she relays everything that’s happened to her since I saw her during the summer while Lauren and Chase playfully argue with Hilary and Sam in the living room.

  Later in the evening, we play board games, which I dominate at when I play against the entire family and my grandfather isn’t mind-tricking me, then head up to bed. My room is filled with air mattresses and blankets, Lia, her little sister Margot, my other cousins, Jessica and Alice, are in my room while Lia’s brother Grant bunks with our uncle. The parents, my aunts and uncles are in the other spare rooms.

  On Christmas Eve morning, we all start preparing for Christmas morning—after we devour the most delicious breakfast that someone in the house made, I think Lauren was the mastermind behind it. We all pitched in; though my helping was limited mainly because I think the holidays would be better spent with a roof over our heads. I watch Sam tackle most of the breakfast, who knew that the man could cook so well? Then it’s time to wrap presents—in different rooms—read some Dickens, and load everything underneath the Christmas tree.

  Happy holidays, everyone.

  I’ll nervously admit we still leave milk and cookies out for Santa, aka: Grandpa. He openly complains when we don’t. Thanks for keeping the dream alive, Gramps. We stopped believing in Santa years ago but we keep the tradition up. He likes to keep little kids’ dreams alive even when we’re close to graduating high school.

  On Christmas, we all run down the stairs excitedly—someone literally gets tripped but they don’t fall down the stairs, luckily—and start ripping open presents. I get clothes, shoes, a lot of books, and a treble clef keychain, which I find to be very random. I give my aunt her gift. She loves the scarf and nearly dies from laughter when the five tubes of bacon Chapstick roll from the bag. I give Grammy a green scarf and Grandpa a hat he probably won’t wear but claims that he loves—the man is hard to shop for.

  When everything is over, we decide to split onto cookers and cleaners. I decide to clean when everything is over and played the usual Christmas poker with those that chose the same path as me—the majority of my cousins, Chase, and Grandpa. It becomes heated halfway through and Grant ends up winning all the Monopoly money—as if we’d play with real cash. Because he won, it means he gets first choice at dessert.

  Everything ends with without fights, without grease fires in the kitchen, and enough gifts that I’m happy Grammy has an extra suitcase for me and Hilary to lug everything back to Washington—extra bag charge be damned.

  We arrive at Sea-Tac and I practically crawl from the plane. I’m so happy to be home but so tired that I just want to dive into the nearest chair and sleep for a few days. Family can be so exhausting. There was turbulence on the plane back that I didn’t dare close my eyes for fear that when I opened them, we’d be hurdling toward the hard packed Earth so fast and I’d barely get out my Hail Mary’s before the impact.

  The sky is a pale, gray-blue; the color of early morning, and I see Patrick standing, waiting for us after we grab our luggage. Next to him is a very wide awake and extremely happy Zephyr. The sight of my boyfriend surprises me so much it wakes me up and I find my pace quickening before I plow into his arms with so much force that we nearly knock over. His familiar scent of nothing but himself and soap is pure home to me.

  He’s the one thing that can make flying easier for me because once I saw him, I immediately forgot about the plane; I forgot that a mere thirty minutes ago I was soaring high through the air, defying the basic laws of physics. Now, I’m in his arms, his warm, safe arms, and that’s all that matters to me.

  Twenty

  The music is too loud, the drinks are disgustingly warm, the room smells like sweat, but I’m supposed to be having a good time. That’s what I told Zephyr before he left to find colder beverages. We ditched the beer after the cans were handed to us, now he’s in search of anything better than alcohol.

  Anyway to take in the New Year.

  I lost track of anyone I know. I think I saw Kennie when I got here, I know I saw Duke and wherever he is, she is, but that was hours ago at the start of the party. They probably snuck off to a room the moment they could; this place has plenty of them. Harley and Avery decided to spend the night at her house, curled up on the couch, waiting for the fireworks to shoot from the Space Needle. That’s what I wish we were doing. Instead, I’m at a party, something that Zephyr planned when I was in Texas. I didn’t expect it, not really. He knows how much I hate parties. He knows, since Ryder, that they just irk me, but here I am. It’s something he wanted to do, and I wanted to do it with him.

  I still hate these things.

  It’s harder to blend into the wall when everyone knows your boyfriend. Damn him for being such a social butterfly. He probably sent people over to look after me the longer he was gone and mingling. Whatever he’s doing better be worth it because this place is getting weirder and more crowded by the minute.

  “Hey,” Ksenia says as she pops through the crowd. She looks amazing in skinny jeans and a black tunic top with black heeled boots. How I didn’t see her with that height I’ll never know, she towers over everyone, especially in those heels she’s sporting. She’s also boyfriend-less, like me. I wonder where hers is.

  “Hi,” I answer back, smiling and happy to see a familiar face, yelling to be heard over the booming music. I smooth my hand over the top of my head, smoothing down my hair. I pulled it back when the temperature crept higher than normal. We should all be outside wi
th how hot this place is getting. If only it weren’t snowing. And it’s sticking to the streets, damn it.

  “Jackson and Zephyr will be back, they’re trying to find non-alcoholic drinks.” I knew that but better to let her explain, I don’t want to be rude and tell her I knew that all along. I just didn’t know she was here.

  I don’t mind. Ksenia is awesome. And she likes me. Who would’ve thought that? Like, she actually talks to me like a human being, not talks about me like yesterday’s gossip.

  “Where are they looking? Alaska?” I ask, hearing Ksenia giggle.

  “Must be?”

  A few more moments pass and we fall into that dreaded awkward silence, that lull in the conversation we can’t seem to overcome, but for us it seems okay. We’re fine not talking around each other. It’s eerily comforting.

  Familiar brown hair swings in front of a familiar face and I smile when Zephyr emerges from the crowd, his face slick with sweat. He holds out a can of Dr. Pepper and I take it happily, popping the tab and taking a long drink. I’m not sure why that’s the first thing I do instead of thanking him but the look of amusement on his face is enough to make me swallow that regret. If he’s going to laugh at me, why should I thank him?

  Jackson’s right behind him, holding his own soft drink and a bottle of water for Ksenia.

  We just stand there, talking about random things with school and after school things, waiting for the clock to hit midnight. It seems to be taking years not just hours and I’m getting tired of the wait. But I need to head to the restroom, the soda going through me faster than I thought. Or maybe it’s just nerves; I’ve never had a boyfriend on New Years’ before and I want to start this year off right.

  I tell Zephyr I’m going to find the bathroom and he tells me not to get lost. Yeah, like that could happen… And it does—because this house is freaking massive.

  I head up the stairs, searching door after door, room after room, for the one with the toilet. The halls seem endless and the rooms just the same.