Tell Me Something Real

by Kristen Kehoe

Laughter explodes out of me, and my co-worker, Mo, raises her brow from behind the counter. I bite my lips and slouch further back in my chair, holding my phone close.

  Me: Zero.

  Ford: You lie.

  Another giggle escapes me.

  Me: Fine. One.

  Ford: Picture.

  Me: Always with the demands for photographic evidence. Besides, I gave them away. Ever tried to sit with buttons and bling and jewels pressing into your seat?

  Ford: Yesterday, actually. But Beau said they made me look fat.

  Me: Picture ;)

  Ford: I have to head back out. We’re putting bales in cargo holders today.

  Me: Finally got promoted from grunt work, huh?

  It takes him a little longer to answer, and I watch the conversation bubbles while I sit and pick at the salad I made for lunch. When a text finally arrives, the first thing is a picture of the barn floor—our barn floor—so clean it could be eaten from.

  Ford: Finished her this morning.

  I stare at the photo, thinking back to last summer and how different things were. If I close my eyes, I can bring Ford’s face into focus—the unhappy lines that marred his brow, the flat line of his mouth he never allowed to curve.

  Me: Miss you, Ford.

  Ford: I’m always here, Lincoln.

  +

  Me: You awake?

  Ford: Just finished in the fields for the night. You okay?

  Me: Remember that night in the field—the one where we talked about graduation and going to Seattle, no matter what?

  Ford: Yes.

  Ford: I remember everything about us, Lincoln.

  Me: Me, too.

  Me: I’m in Seattle.

  +

  “Hey there, Blondie.”

  I look up from my phone, heart in my throat, because he’s there right in front of me, as if the last nine months didn’t happen. But they have—and because of them, I note the changes in him as quickly as I can.

  His hair is still thick and dark, but instead of curling at his collar, it’s cut short on the sides, left only a little longer on the top. His face has gotten a little thinner, which only enhances those cheek bones and heavy eyelids. And his body… he was an eighteen-year-old high school boy when I left him.

  Now, I’m suddenly looking at a man.

  And he’s looking back at me.

  I lift a hand self-consciously to my hair that I had chopped off to swing at my shoulders, the blunt cut the first thing I did after leaving home. The hairdresser swore to me that the style and the layers would only make me look older, and at the time I didn’t care. I wanted to look different.

  Now, staring at Ford, I regret that, because I want nothing more than to look like the girl he once loved.

  Maybe still loves.

  “Hey yourself, Rich Boy.” I smile, standing tall from where I was leaning against the rough siding of Safeco park, watching the people walk by on their way into the field from work. The Mariners are playing, and three weeks after texting Ford I was in Seattle, this is where we planned to meet.

  I was nervous then.

  I’m terrified now, especially since all he’s doing is staring, his eyes raking up and then down.

  “How’s it feel to be back?” I ask, no longer able to take his silence. We’ve been texting regularly for the past two months, ever since graduation. Those conversations were effortless, even if there were moments of intensity and pain with each goodbye. But this…it’s not effortless. It’s looking at someone you’ve missed for nearly a year, and accepting that they’ve changed, like you, while still hoping that who they were—the person who wanted you—is who they are.

  I’ve changed beyond my hair. I’m no longer the risk taker, though some would say moving from city to city in the past nine months has been risky. Easy, is what it’s been. And freeing. I have only had hypo episode, and I haven’t bolused at random at all.

  In short, I’m doing as Ford asked me, and I’m not taking risks with myself.

  Looking at him, I don’t know if that’s true anymore, because this… it feels like a risk. If he sees me and no longer wants me, it will be one more thing I learn to survive. But, god, it will hurt.

  Because I want him. Looking at him here, even with the changes, I see Ford—my Ford—and everything I felt for him comes rushing back, only stronger, because this man… he was strong enough to let me go. Just like he was strong enough to keep his promise—he’s here, and I want him to stay. So badly.

  “Odd,” he finally says, reminding me I asked him a question. “It feels odd. Who knew traffic was so annoying?”

  I laugh, my chest easing a little because he delivers it in the same dry tone I remember, and it shows me he’s still there.

  “Seriously. We complain about tractors holding up the 99, but rush hour here? Forget it.”

  “Still driving the Neon?”

  “You know it.”

  He shakes his head, dipping his hands into his pockets while a half-smile breaks out on his face. I stare, mesmerized, missing his comment.

  “Should we go in?” he asks, motioning to the game. “Tickets are at will-call.”

  “Sure.”

  I follow, enjoying the time I get to stare at him when he talks to the will-call desk, and again when I walk behind him to get through the line. He’s wearing a faded navy blue T-shirt with an equally faded Mariners logo on it, paired with jeans and Vans. His favored Mariners cap is in his back pocket, and when we get into the stadium, he slips it out and puts it on.

  “This is my first time. At a professional game,” I say, and he whips his head to me. A nervous laugh escapes my mouth, and I clear my throat.

  “So you’re first time is… with me?” He doesn’t go back to looking at the field, even when my face feels like it’s on fire and I have to break eye contact. “You’ve given me a lot of firsts, too, Lincoln.”

  My heart thumps in my chest, beating so hard I’m afraid he can see it shaking my body. I keep my eyes on the field, but I barely see what is going on. “Oh yeah? Like the first time you sat in a car without air conditioning, or did manual labor?” I slide my eyes to his, grateful when I see a smile on his face.

  “Definitely those,” he confirms. “But I was thinking of the others. First kiss in the field,” he says, and I freeze. “First night spent in a hay barn. First love.”

  My eyes widen when he reaches his hand over to pick mine up, his thumb stroking my palm. My body turns molten, and I think I might have my second hypo episode since I left Oregon.

  “Don’t pass out on me,” he murmurs.

  “Doing my best,” I tell him on a laugh.

  Keeping my hand in his, he raises his free arm and motions to a man selling popcorn and soda and all sorts of other things. “Coke,” he says.

  I take the bottle from him when he hands it to me with the top already loosened, murmuring thank you when he hands the man some bills before turning back to me. “You okay? Your levels… have they been okay?”

  I nod, capping the Coke and setting it in the cup holder in front of me. “Yeah, they’ve been pretty good,” I say. “Thanks to you. It helps—having the things I need, not having to worry about being able to afford them. Being able to buy food that’s better quality.”

  “I’m glad I could help you.”

  I look at him now, holding his hand in between mine because that voice—it’s the Ford I remember. “It seems like you’ve been helping me since the day we met.”

  His eyes flick down to my lips, and I feel that familiar rush in my blood, but it’s not from going too high or too low. It’s from being here, with him. “You mean the day you fell through my bedroom window?”

  I laugh, and so does he, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek and slide around to my neck. “I missed that laugh.”

  We’re breaths apart now, the noise of the midday baseball crowd barely heard as we stare at one another. “I missed you, too.”

  He t
akes an unsteady breath, fingers flexing in my hair. “Lincoln…” When he leans forward, he pauses, waiting, eyes searching, asking me if this is okay, if I’m ready. To answer, I lean the rest of the way, my hands dropping his to anchor in the front of his T-shirt and pull him closer.

  His lips part and his tongue sweeps out, tasting my lips before he nips them with his teeth, drawing me closer even while he changes the angle to take the kiss deeper. “Tell me you’re ready for me,” he says, lips still pressed to mine. “Tell me you’ll consider spending the rest of the weekend with me, and then you’ll let me come see you on long weekends and holidays when I’m home from Pullman.”

  I nod the entire time he talks, my fingers creeping up from his shirt to his hair, missing the length that I use to sink my fingers into, but loving the feel of the short, soft strands at his neck. “Yes,” I say.

  “Tell me you love me.” We both freeze—me because I didn’t realize how long he’s waited to know, and him because he probably didn’t mean to say that. “Because I love you, Lincoln,” he finally finishes, leaning back far enough to see me. “And if you need more time, I’ll wait. I’ll keep texting you, but you need to know, the distance and the time… it hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. It won’t change the way I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Once I say them, everything seems to go still—him, me, the air and people around us—it all stops while we look at each other.

  His eyes drift closed, and his chin tilts down until his forehead is resting against mine. “Tell me something real.”

  I smile, my own eyes closing. My heart isn’t beating out of my chest anymore, and my breaths aren’t shallow and uncertain. Everything about me is calm, centered…happy. “I think this should be our normal. You and me, meeting somewhere on long weekends and holidays.”

  “Kissing?” he asks, eyes still closed.

  “Definitely kissing,” I say, turning to brush my lips over his.

  He turns his head, drawing me closer, making me laugh when he eventually lifts me out of my seat and onto his lap. People around us start to snicker, a few making cat calls, until I finally bury my face in his shoulder.

  “Feels like a movie again,” he says.

  I shake my head. “It feels real.”

  He nods, those lips searching for mine once more. “Because it is.”

  Lincoln,

  I guess we’re probably fighting again, but that’s okay—it’s kind of our thing, fighting. That’s what family does—they fight and they make up, and then they get angry with each other again. And after all of that, they forgive each other. And they still love each other.

  No matter what.

  That’s how I feel for you, Linc. You’re my family, and no matter how mad you are right now, or how confused, I’m always going to love you. If you believe anything, believe that.

  Remember the first time we met? We were both sitting in the principal’s office, me for mouthing off in class, you for falling asleep, and when the principal asked us who wanted to go first, you looked at me and said “Go ahead. I can wait.” But you looked so scared. When I got done and you took your turn, I sat back down and waited for you. We’ve been waiting for each other since that day—nothing has changed.

  I’m waiting for you. In another time, in another place, I’m waiting, so take your time.

  You don’t understand this—I know that. And I don’t expect you to, I just hope you can forgive me. You were my constant, Linc, the one thing that kept me in the light, but even you couldn’t save me from this. I need you to know that. Where I am now…it’s better. I’m better. I’m just sorry that in order to stop my pain, I had to bring yours.

  Don’t cry for too long, okay? Check on Evie… tell her I hope she got her dream. She deserves it. Kiss Beau and Maggie—and remind them that they were the parents I always knew I could count on. And then go find Ford and hold onto him; trust him, Lincoln. Let him take care of you. Let him get you out of here and show you the world you should be living in. Let him love you—you both deserve that.

  Don’t hurt for me, Lincoln Brewer. Because I’m not in pain anymore.

  I’ll see you when the sun rises on a new day, in a new place. Until then, be happy, and know that I’m okay. I’m free.

  -Colt

  p.s. Don’t forget to check your levels

  In memory of C.S., E.C., and J.C.

  Gone too soon from a world that will forever mourn their loss.

  Sometimes, there are books and characters who speak to us long before we are ready to hear them. I first thought of Lincoln three years ago, but I didn’t know her story. It wasn’t until I began to see Colt, and then Ford, that I realized who she was. Who she had to be.

  In my eleven years as an educator, I have known teens like these three—known teens who were stronger, more worldly, and more patient than any sixteen or seventeen-year-old should be. I’ve known teens who battled through neglect, homelessness, addiction, and abuse, just to get to school every day where they could spend eight hours doing something for themselves before going home to endure it all over again. And I’ve known teens for whom the weight of their life is too much, and for whom darkness wins.

  Each day we fight, each day we love, and each day we hope that we can be the reason someone reaches for help, but there are no guarantees. According to NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) 1 in 5 people will experience issues with their mental health in a given year. These experiences will affect and impact major life experiences or activities, limiting a person and their feeling of worth. Please, don’t let this be you. Speak out. Speak up. Ask for help.

  If you or anyone you know is struggling, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.

  Don’t carry your burden alone—because you are not alone. You are loved, and cared for, and always, you have options.

  I started writing a long, long time ago. As with everything in life, it took me a while to figure out what genre I wanted to participate in. I write what many would commonly refer to as contemporary romance. I just call it life.

  Although I began with the young adult when I published my first novel, Finding You, I quickly progressed to what I consider mature young adult with Beyond the Horizon 1 and Life interrupted (The Life Series book 1). The Light of Day (BTH 2) is new adult and Tripp (The Life Series book 2) is mature young adult. I write for my characters. I write them because they are people I see and feel and hear and I have a need to put them on paper.

  When I'm not writing for a character, I'm blogging about mommyhood, teacherhood, life, or just being a girl. Join my conversation some time because I LOVE chatting with people. If you want to be a part of my team and receive books before they’re released, sign up for my ARC mailing list! http://eepurl.com/bMslT5

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  Happy reading. <3 Kristen

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