by Beth Michele
I try like hell not to grin but it turns into an epic fail. “No, really. I hadn’t noticed.”
She huffs out a grunt. “Isn’t that kind of like the pot calling the kettle black?”
And… she’s got a point.
“Touché. So….” This is the longest interaction I’ve had recently with anyone besides my brother. Anxiety curls in my stomach and I scan the room hoping words fall into my lap. I slide my gaze back to hers, waving my hand from left to right. “So… no Mickey paraphernalia today?”
She sweeps her legs under her knees, leaning back against the sofa. “Paraphernalia. That’s quite a word. I haven’t heard it in a long time.”
I take a swig of soda then place it down on the side table. “Remember? I read. So I use big words.”
“Oh, right.” Her lips turn down in apology at my sarcastic tone. “Sorry about that.” She twirls her ponytail, biting down on her lip. “I have a tendency to say whatever is on my mind.” Then she lifts her arm and taps a finger against her wrist. “But, yes. Mickey also helps me keep the time.” I shake my head in amusement and am about to reply when Avery struts by me looking like the Cheshire cat.
“I know stuff now. Very interesting stuff.”
Fucking great.
“Ooohhh,” Ember pipes up with mock enthusiasm. “I want to know stuff, too.”
I jump up from the chair before this gets out of hand. “I’m going to grab some CD’s.”
Thankfully by the time I come back, the focus is off of me and onto more fascinating subjects. I traipse to the other side of the living room and load the player with several CD’s. When the sound of Coldplay’s Shiver pours from the speakers, I close my eyes as the music washes over me. Julian brings me back from the dark place I retreat to when I hear this song.
“Do you think we can hear something a bit more upbeat little brother?”
I twist at the waist to meet his stare. “What would you prefer?” I mock. “Taylor Swift?”
Ember lets out a breathy laugh. “What’s wrong with Taylor Swift? I’ll have you know we’ve seen her in concert three times.”
“Well, that’s three times too many then,” I scoff, and she laughs again. But Julian’s gaze lacks humor. “Fine. Let me see what I can do.” I push the button to mix up the CD’s when Ember’s words freeze me in my tracks.
“I love that painting. It reminds me a lot of the Impressionist era. Who painted it?”
My eyes move to the painting directly to the left of the staircase—the only picture on the otherwise blank walls of our living room—the one I fought with Dad about for hours because I was determined to hang it there. It depicts a single bench in Central Park surrounded by leaves; reds, yellows, oranges. Dabs of bright color that make it come to life. While it’s impossible to see due to the abstract nature of the painting, Mom, Julian, and me are sitting on that bench. She painted that after we returned from a visit there. Our faces are no longer recognizable. Her blend of colors and that “blotting” method as she once called it, make us invisible.
That was a good moment. I remember how happy she was; the way she chased us around the park, her laughter following us. The pit in my stomach becomes a cavern. She doesn’t smile much anymore. Nor does she paint.
I fight to take breath into my lungs, never mind form a response. She no longer recalls that day. But I can remember it enough for the both of us.
Julian clears his throat. “Our mom painted it.” His voice is hoarse although I seem to be the only one who detects it.
“Really?” Ember’s face flashes with enthusiasm. “I’d love to talk with her about it.”
Julian lifts his chin to meet my gaze. “You can’t, because she’s—”
“Away,” I cut in. “She travels a lot.” My face burns bright red from the lie and from Julian’s narrowed glare. Regardless, what’s going on with Mom is private and isn’t anyone else’s business.
An uncomfortable silence follows until Ember breaks it and Julian finally takes his eyes off of me. “She’s really talented.”
“Yeah. She is.” Julian casts me a wicked sideways glance before he rises from the sofa and disappears into the kitchen, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. Remorse wraps itself around my gut and squeezes but I’m powerless to do anything about it—not where Mom is concerned.
“Vance?” Still lost in thought, it takes me a second to refocus. I blink a few times and find Ember studying me again, her lips tugged into a frown. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s cool.”
Julian emerges from the kitchen carrying a tray of puffed pastry. It smells fucking amazing but is no doubt organic. It’s probably filled with vegetables. The buttery camouflage draws me in and as he passes by I reach out to grab one. He holds the plate away with lingering attitude. “Ladies first.”
Avery and Ember waste no time devouring several in the most unladylike fashion imaginable, finger-licking included. Ember peeks up through her lashes and catches me staring, her cheeks turning a soft pink. She shrugs it off on a cough mixed with a laugh. “What? I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“Hey,” I lift my palms in surrender, “I didn’t say anything. All I care is that there are some left for me.” I snatch up the last two as Julian walks past me into the kitchen. You know I must be hungry if I’m eating this crap. Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” starts playing and I grin. “Ah. Finally some real music.” Ember’s smile falls off her face and I wonder what I said to upset her.
“Oh gosh,” Avery remarks. “Zack loved Aerosmith.”
“Who’s Zack? He obviously has very good taste,” I mumble around a mouthful of pastry.
Avery swallows and her eyes dart around the room as if she doesn’t know what to do. Her head swivels toward Ember who is now staring at a spot on the carpet.
“Our brother,” Avery says, but it comes out as a whisper.
Before I can respond or make sense of what’s happening, Ember walks away without another word, the screen door slamming shut behind her.
Julian pokes his head out of the kitchen, lifting his chin toward the door. “Where’s she going? Dinner’s almost ready.”
Maybe this dinner wasn’t a good idea after all—for any of us.
I SHOULDN’T HAVE come here. All I want is for this day to be over so I can crawl into bed and forget. Or maybe I can get lost in a dream; the one where Zack latches onto my hand and I pull him from the water, where I’m crying into his soaked body because he’s alive. I’m trying hard to keep it together but it’s not working today. While it’s been two years since his death, there are times when it feels like yesterday, the hole in my chest an open wound that never heals.
I plant myself on the front step, bringing my knees up and hugging them to my chest. My head falls into my hands and I close my eyes, letting the birdsong carry me away. Memories play in my mind like the reel of a film—Zack’s bright green eyes that resembled mine, his shaggy brown hair. The way his mouth curved higher on one side than the other. He always thought he was too tall, too skinny, had too many freckles. But he was perfect. He was the best brother a girl could wish for.
The creak of the door disrupts my thoughts but my head is too heavy to move. Avery lets me sit in the quiet, giving me the space I need. When I’m ready to face her, I breathe out a sigh and look to my left, startled to find it’s not Avery beside me, but Vance. Without thinking, I blurt out¸ “I’m not one of those girls who runs off hoping to be followed. I don’t need to be rescued.”
His hands come up and he leans away. “Whoa, there. I didn’t come out here to rescue you. I thought maybe you needed a friend.”
“Is that what we are now?” The harshness of my tone startles me and I wince. My stomach twists with emotion and I can’t find the control I desperately need to hold myself together. It’s as if pieces of me are falling to the ground and I’m scrambling to pick them up before someone actually sees what a mess I am.
A tiny wrinkle creases the space between his ey
es. “No, yeah… I mean, I guess.”
“Wow.” I heave out a small groan. “I’ve never had someone show this much enthusiasm about my friendship before.”
He chuckles, one of his dark eyebrows disappearing under his hair. “You’re just so….”
“So… what?”
“You really do say whatever is on your mind, don’t you? Honest to a fault, no filter.”
I tuck my fist underneath my chin, contemplating his statement. “Yeah. I just think there’s already too much filter in the world as it is, and it leads to too many misunderstandings. If people wouldn’t mask their feelings all the time, the world would be a better place. There’s something to be said for simple honesty.”
His expression falls, seeming to cringe at my world philosophy. His eyes shift away then return to me. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it. And for the first time, I see it. He’s all hard angles and rough exterior, but vulnerability resides in those clear blue eyes as if they are an open ocean. I get lost for a minute until he pulls me back.
“That’s badass.”
I blink out of my trance. “What’s badass?”
“Well,” he makes a sweeping motion up and down my body, “you wear Mickey Mouse like you just don’t care and you say whatever you think. You’re badass.”
My cheeks warm and my lips curve. “Did you just pay me a compliment?”
He bites then releases his lip, scratching at the light coating of stubble on his chin. “Shit. I think I did.”
“So maybe we are kind of like… friends now.”
“Shit.” He extends his hand out between us, a faint smirk turns up one corner of his mouth. “I think maybe we are.”
When my hand settles into his, I don’t notice any zing. That zap Avery always talks about when she holds hands with a hot guy. But what I do notice is the easy way we fit together. I find myself staring at our palms and how they wrap around one another. It reminds me of two interconnected puzzle pieces.
“What’s so fascinating?” Vance asks as he withdraws his hand from mine.
“I was just thinking about puzzles, actually.” I link my fingers together in my lap, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. “I’ve always loved doing them. When my parents were married, every Sunday morning before breakfast while everyone else was asleep, my dad and I would sit down and do a puzzle together. It was kind of our bonding time, and we’d catch up on stuff from during the week. Anyway,” I shrug, “I love puzzles.”
I’m glad he doesn’t ask what made me think of them because it would have sounded odd to explain the hand thing—and now I don’t want to ruin my badass reputation.
“So you don’t do puzzles anymore?” He leans back on his hands, pinning me with those charcoal blue eyes.
“We do. But since he doesn’t live with us now, we do them less frequently. My parents,” I shake my head at the absurdity of it all, “are really close and Dad is over quite a bit. Often he spends more time at our house than he does at his own condo. And they’re still best friends.”
“Wow. That’s pretty fucking rare.” His expression softens as his eyes move over my features. “Listen… I’m… sorry about your brother.” My face must show my surprise because he goes on. “Avery told us that he passed away.” I press my lips together to stop myself from crying, but the sympathy in his gaze makes my eyes water. He edges forward and puts his hand on my arm. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But….” He hesitates only for a beat, resolve forming behind his eyes. “I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love. It’s devastating. In fact, there’s nothing worse.” I nod my head then lower it when I feel the tears spill onto my cheeks.
“Hey,” his voice is almost a whisper, “you don’t have to hide from me. Hell, you don’t hide any other time. Why start now?”
Wordlessly, I nod again. And then for some reason, it’s not only the tears that come pouring out—it’s the pain. “We were triplets… but Zack and I were identical. As in, I was seriously the female version of him.” I pick up a tiny stone from the cement, rolling it around in my hand. “We just… we had this connection and I don’t even know how to explain it. He knew me better than anyone else. The same way I knew him. I feel like….”
“You feel like what?”
My gaze climbs to meet his. “I feel like a piece of me died, too.”
He swallows roughly, his eyes drifting back and forth between mine. “Tell me about that piece of yourself.” His next words come out in a gruff tone. “Tell me some things you remember.”
My gaze wanders beyond his shoulder to the giant oak tree on the side of the house. “We used to climb trees and pretend we were Jack & Annie in those Magic Tree House stories. Going on adventures, fighting pirates and looking for buried treasure. Avery never wanted to because, well, she didn’t want to mess up her hair or her pretty dresses.”
“Not you, huh?” he challenges, drawing my attention back to him.
“No. She was always trying to impress the boys, and I didn’t care much for them.” I finger away the wetness from my cheek. “Zack had these long legs and watching him climb reminded me of a cheetah. It was like he was made for those trees.” I stare down at my feet, the crack in my heart seeming like a vast canyon. “God, he was so… stupid.” My eyes sting as I shake my head again and again. “Such a stupid, beautiful boy.” I try for a breath. Everything about it feels stale. “I just want him back. I want him to come home.”
Vance’s posture grows stiff, hard. “I know.” He doesn’t say anything else as we continue to stare at one another, the air filled with a silent struggle. Me, trying to cope with my brother’s loss, and him, with… something I can’t put my finger on. He raises his other arm and I think he might reach out for me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he holds me with his eyes as they dart back and forth between mine, telling me so many things—that he understands, that he’s sorry, that he wishes he could change it for me.
It’s too much, and the back of my throat burns. I need to do something—anything—so I keep talking. “Sometimes, it hurts too much to remember. I keep expecting to see him when I pass by his room. Or wake up to him crunching cereal at the table. Or hear him yell ‘hurry up, squirt’ when I’m taking too much time in the bathroom. Sometimes, I… I think it would be easier if I could just forget.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t want that, trust me.” Something sharp slices through his words and catches me off guard. As if he senses this, his tone warms. “I mean, without our memories, what are we? We have nothing. We are nothing. We’re…,” his Adam’s apple bobs in his neck, “alone.” He eases forward and plucks a white dandelion from the grass, twirling it between his hands as if he needs a distraction.
“Zack used to say if you make a wish on one of those and blow the petals in the air, your wish would come true.”
“My mom,” he admits quietly, “she used to say the same thing. Here.” He holds the stem out in front of me and I take it between my fingers. “Make a wish.”
His stare is intent on my face as I pucker my lips and blow against the feather-light petals. They disperse in the air, the subtle breeze carrying them away. I want to feel like that—light and airy. Free. I close my eyes and inhale through my nose, breathing in the fragrant scent of lilacs surrounding the porch. When I open them again, Vance is still watching me. And somehow I do feel lighter.
“Thank you,” I tell him with a half-smile, my cheeks covered in dried tears.
The lines around his mouth soften. “Don’t mention it.”
“Oh, but I think I will.” That earns me more than a slight curve of his lips, and I’ll admit, Vance Davenport smiling is a pretty glorious thing.
I might like to see it happen again.
“SHE LOOKS SO lost today,” Julian whispers as we watch Mom doze by the window. The sun paints her face in shadows, her delicate fingers curved against the armrest of the worn leather chair. Her dress is too big for her frail body. It
hangs loose around her neck and the sleeves of her arm.
“She’s like this a lot now,” I counter with a heaviness in my chest. It kills me to come here, and yet, it keeps me alive. “She’s alone, Julian. All alone in her head. She can’t remember the important things, and pretty soon she might not remember the little things either.”
“Yeah.”
We sit in silent contemplation for a long time, both in various places in our heads until Julian barges into mine.
“It’s like I’m eight years old when I see her and all I can think is that I want my Mommy.” He glances from her to me, his eyes reflecting the same gut-wrenching sadness that tears me up every day. “How messed up is that?”
“It’s not messed up at all.” I rub my palms back and forth over my jeans like I’m trying to start a fire, garner energy. It’s useless, though. I’m depleted. “We were lucky. We had a mom who was always there, present, in all the ways that mattered. It’s only natural that we want her back.”
“But,” he swats away a fallen tear, “she’s not coming back.”
“Don’t say that.” Though I do, in fact, know how this works. Anger churns and swirls within me, but this isn’t the time or the place to let it out. “I won’t give up hope, Julian. I can’t.”
My eyes wander to my mother’s face, peaceful in sleep. Premature creases line the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her dark hair is a messy nest over her shoulder, tiny frame swallowed up by the chair. She’s so young, but this fucking disease has aged her well beyond her years.
I need to hit something. To bleed for her, the way she bled for us. Abruptly, I push the chair back against the faded tile floor, the screeching sound harsh and loud. She doesn’t wake up. And why would she? What does she have to wake up to?
Julian calls for me as I bolt out of the room, needing to find the nearest exit. Mr. Hinkle also yells out and asks if I’m okay. I pay him no mind. I’m a ticking time bomb, ready to explode—right the fuck now.
The brick wall on the back of the building is ready for me, standing its ground when my fist connects with it. It hurts like a son-of-a-bitch but I welcome it—inviting the numbness into my heart, my chest, and ultimately into my life.