by Cassia Leo
Brittany can’t seem to get her short arm around the board and she keeps looking up at me innocently as if I should be helping her.
“Just carry it on your head,” I say as I set off toward the water.
Once we’re all out in the water, Brittany climbs onto her board with ease, but Nadia keeps slipping off. I watch her try for a couple of minutes as her and Brittany giggle every time she slides off.
“Oh, my God! I’m such a dork!” Nadia shrieks and they both laugh again.
I slide off my board and into the water to help her. I come up next to her and get a firm hold on her board to hold it steady as she attempts to climb on again. She knocks me on the side of the head with her hip as she climbs on and I lose my grip on the board. She screams as she slides into the water again and the board flips on top of both of our heads.
“Fuck!” I shout as I push the board off.
“Sorry!” she shrieks. “I didn’t mean to hit you. This is so embarrassing. It’s like my first day at Duke all over again.”
I glance at her quickly to satisfy my curiosity and I guess she could pass for nineteen or twenty. I flip her board over and get a firm grip on it again.
I nod toward the board for her to get on. “How long have you gone to Duke?”
I only graduated from Duke three months ago, not that I would remember her, but we may know some of the same people.
She’s careful not to bump me with her hip this time as she climbs onto the board. “I just started a week ago. Excuse my language, but it’s fucking terrifying.”
I laugh as I climb onto my board. “Yeah, I remember my freshman year.”
We make it through the rest of the lesson without anymore falling or accidental touching. I’m trusting myself more by the hour.
“I won’t be in town next weekend so you’ll be taking your next lesson with Jason or Nayla. They’re both better instructors than I am, so you’ll be in good hands,” I say as we make it back to the sand.
They both look disappointed as they pull on their swim dresses over their bikinis.
“Will you be here the next week? We can wait.”
Nadia’s the one who asks, but they’re both staring at me waiting for my response.
“No, I won’t be here the following weekend either. I visit my girlfriend every weekend at UNC.”
Nadia’s face scrunches up for a split second like she’s been physically punched in the face, but she quickly covers it up by pretending to squint at the sun as she pulls her dark, wet hair into a ponytail.
“That’s cool. Then I guess we’ll see you around.”
I feel a little bad as they turn to walk away. “Hey!” They turn around with hopeful expressions. “Want to hear a joke?”
Brittany cocks an eyebrow, but Nadia’s lips curl into a slow smile as she nods.
“Knock, knock.”
They turn to each other and exchange a can-you-believe-this-guy look.
“Who’s there?” Nadia replies.
“Police.”
“Police who?”
“Police come back next week to continue your lessons.”
After a brief moment of silence that I’m pretty sure is mixed with a bit of confusion, they burst out laughing.
My job is done.
I lift my towel off the sand as they walk away and slip my phone out of the folds. One voicemail from Claire. I play the message and smile at the sound of her voice.
“I got four hours of sleep and now I have to study again, but I wanted to call you to tell you how much I love you and how glad I am that I can trust you. Call me later.”
Putting together this voicemail with what she said earlier about Senia and Eddie breaking up, I’m guessing Eddie must have cheated on Senia. I’ll have to surprise Claire with something nice the next time I see her to make sure I stay in the “good boyfriend” category. I grin as I hang the towel around my neck. I know the perfect gift for Claire.
Chapter Five
Claire
TUESDAY’S APPOINTMENT WITH TASHA SINGER and Abigail’s parents comes too fast, but I know that as soon as this day is over the rest of the week will go by much too slow as I anticipate finally seeing Adam after nearly two weeks apart. My body aches for him. I miss everything about Adam. I even miss the way he stands, his shoulders straight as he looks down his nose at me with that intense glare in his green eyes.
Mr. Collins concludes the lecture on Baye’s Rule and my stomach gurgles—not with hunger—as I stuff my netbook and Probability by Jim Pitman into my backpack. I finish the last few gulps of water in my bottle and tuck the empty bottle next to my books before I heave my backpack over my shoulder.
My nerves are zinging with the anticipation of today’s meeting as I descend the steps in the lecture hall, holding my breath as I squeeze past a girl wearing too much Chanel perfume. As I make it into the corridor, the thumping of my heartbeat in my ears drowns out the sounds of students clamoring around me to get out of the lecture hall. I see Chris leaning up against the wall next to an announcement board and just the sight of him calms me a little.
He’s wearing sunglasses and his head is tucked down as he thumb-types on his phone. I can’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy as I wonder who he’s texting, if he’s even texting anyone. He could be looking up driving directions for all I know.
It’s actually more likely that he’s just trying to keep his head down to keep from being recognized, and he seems to be doing a good job. He’s wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt that covers his tattoos and perfectly distressed designer jeans. He looks up when I’m a few feet away, as though he can sense me. His lips curl into a smile and I have to remind myself of all the ways we’ve hurt each other so I don’t melt in the middle of the corridor.
“Hey, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“Hey, baby.” I storm past him and he chuckles as he catches up to me. “I’m just teasing you. Give me your backpack.”
“I can carry my backpack. I do it every day without you and I’ve managed not to keel over yet.”
“Have it your way, sis.”
“Ew. Don’t call me that either.”
He slips his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans where he just tucked it away a few seconds ago. I can’t help but glance at the screen and I see the notification that he has two new text messages. I stare straight ahead to avoid bumping into anything as we descend the steps out of Philips Hall toward Cameron Avenue.
“Where did you park?” I ask, trying not to sound too annoyed that he has his face buried in a text conversation.
He finishes typing and sends the message before he looks up and glances around. “Oh, fuck. We need to turn around. I parked behind the annex.”
By the time we make it to the parking lot, he’s already received and responded to three more text messages and attempted to make small talk about my statistics class. I don’t think I can be any more annoyed with him until I see the motorcycle with two helmets hanging from the locked seat compartment.
“You expect me to go to an important meeting like this with helmet hair?”
“We have two hours before the meeting. We’re going home to get my car first and you can freshen up over there.”
Home. It’s such a small detail amongst everything he just said, but it means so much.
“Why didn’t you just come in your car? Why do we have to make an extra stop?” I ask as he unlocks the seat compartment and pulls the helmet strap off the hook. If Adam were to find out that Chris picked me up today on his motorcycle, he would hate Chris even more.
He hands me the helmet and I’m grateful he hasn’t tried to put it on me.
“Because I can’t bring my car here. It’s too fucking obvious and I’m trying not to get noticed.”
I tighten the straps on my backpack before I take the white helmet from him. It’s the helmet he bought me two years ago. It still has the sparkly pink Roxy heart sticker on the back. I tighten the strap under my chin and he can�
�t resist double-checking that it’s tight enough. I step back so he can’t touch me with his hot fingertips, calloused from years of strumming those steel guitar strings.
He smiles as he shakes his head. “Just trying to keep you safe.”
He secures his helmet and climbs onto the bike. Just looking at him on the bike brings back so many memories. Good memories. I bite my lip as I climb on behind him and slide my arms high around his waist so they’re almost over his chest. He grabs my hands and slides them lower.
“Sorry, but I’m going to suffocate if you hold onto me like that.”
“Just go.”
This isn’t his old bike. His old bike was blue. This bike is silver and looks as if it cost more than my entire UNC tuition. He pumps the throttle and I feel the vibration of the engine murmuring between my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut and loosen my arms a little as I try to block out the memory of the time we had sex on his blue bike.
He rolls slowly out of the parking space and I tighten my arms around him. I know Chris and he loves to scare me whenever I’m riding with him. As expected, he accelerates quickly as soon as we hit the highway and my stomach flips as the inertia pulls me back. He leans forward and I have to lean with him as I hug him tightly, my heart pounding as I try not to lose my grip.
Thirty minutes later, we’re home. I step off the bike and pull off my helmet then punch him in the arm.
“Did you have to go so fast?”
“Ow!” he cries as he hangs his helmet on the bike then rubs his arm. “Yes, I did. You want to have time to get prettied up before we go, don’t you?”
“Is this your subtle way of telling me I look like shit?”
“Claire, it’s impossible for you to look like shit. Come on. My mom’s dying to see you.”
I stand still for a moment as I emotionally prepare myself to see Jackie Knight. Chris takes a few steps then looks back at me.
“Are you coming?”
“Does your mom know?”
Does she know what a horrible person I am, I want to ask. Does she know I kept the worst kind of secret a person could keep from you?
Chris’s sparkling features are dulled by this question. He takes a few steps toward me and looks me in the eye. “As much as I would love to tell my mom, just to have someone to talk to about it since you don’t want to, no, I haven’t told her. And I won’t tell her until this is all figured out. As far as she knows, we’re just going out to lunch today.”
“You can’t let her think we’re getting back together.”
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“No, I just don’t want to feel double the wrath.”
This makes one corner of his mouth quirk up in a tiny half-smile, but it disappears quickly. “Claire, let’s just drop one bomb at a time. If she wants to think that us having lunch means we’re getting back together then let’s not shatter her heart any more than it already is.”
He’s referring to the fact that I didn’t contact Jackie for almost a year after I found out I was pregnant. I couldn’t face her while I was pregnant with her grandchild. Then I couldn’t face her knowing I’d given up her grandchild for adoption. I’m beginning to wonder if I should even go to this meeting with Abigail’s adoptive parents today. What kind of parent would allow their child to be anywhere near me? I might sell them to the highest bidder or get bored and leave them at the McDonald’s Playland.
“Hey, don’t start getting down on yourself,” he says as he grabs my face to force me to look at him. “We both fucked up. I should have been there for you, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and thinking I could replace you.”
I pull his hands off my face as I turn away. I can’t look him in the eye and talk about this at the same time or I’ll fall apart.
“Please stop being so understanding.”
I walk up the paved brick pathway leading to the front door of the only real home I’ve ever had; the home I shared with Chris and Jackie for three years until I moved into the dorms at UNC two years ago. Jackie and Chris both insist that this is still my home, but something feels different. Like I broke this home and I shouldn’t be welcome here.
Chris rushes past me to get to the door first. He unlocks the deadbolt and my chest tightens. He looks over his shoulder and flashes me a soft smile before he pushes the door open.
“Welcome home.”
The smell hits me first; the scent of the lavender-bamboo scented candles Jackie buys in bulk because she’s certain they’re going to discontinue them one of these days. I step inside and it looks different. Chris must have paid for some renovations. Dark hardwood floors have replaced the beige carpet. The wallpaper is gone and the walls have all been painted soft neutral colors. Most of the furniture has been replaced and the house now looks like the inside of a Pottery Barn catalog, comfy and classic.
I want to cry. Jackie has worked so hard all her life, first as the oldest child in her family then as a single mom to Chris. But she always made room in her heart and her home for her foster children. She deserves this and I’m so happy that Chris has been able to give her the home she deserves.
The water is running in the kitchen and I follow Chris toward the sound. As soon as we step into the kitchen the water shuts off and Jackie looks over her shoulder straight at me. She looks exactly the same as I remember.
Her dark hair is cut short and stylish, but I notice a few red highlights. Her makeup is impeccable, as usual, and she’s wearing a classy gray cardigan and jeans that hug her round hips. Jackie was always stylish and always took the time to make herself pretty, even when she had foster kids climbing the walls.
For a moment we’re both frozen, stuck in a kaleidoscope of memories and unspoken words. Then the first tear trickles down her cheek and I go to her. She opens her arms and I throw my arms around her waist and bury my face in her shoulder.
“Oh, honey. You’re home,” she murmurs into my ear as she smoothes down my hair.
I tighten my arms around on her and breathe in her soft, floral scent. I don’t want to let go.
Chapter Six
Chris
WATCHING CLAIRE AND MY MOM comforting each other fills me with the worst kind of longing for the way things used to be. Claire should have spent the last year here, not bouncing around from the dorm to Senia’s house then to that apartment. She needed us and because of my stupid pride she suffered alone.
They finally release their grip on each other and my mom brushes the tears away from Claire’s face. Claire’s eyes are red as hell the way they get when she’s crying uncontrollably. I’ve seen that look on her too many times.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she says.
“That’s water under the bridge. The important thing is that you came back and that you never, ever do that to me again.”
This gets a small, congested chuckle and a smile out of Claire, but the pain she’s hiding from my mom quickly returns to her dainty features.
“All right, that’s enough,” I say. “Claire has to freshen up so we can get going.”
“Oh, poo. You just got here,” my mom complains as she glares at me across the kitchen. “You can’t leave yet. You two can hang out later. Let me have some time with my girl.”
Claire looks at me and I can’t help but gaze at her for a moment. I love that Claire has never been good at hiding her emotions. It took almost a year after she arrived at our house for her to allow herself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. But once I tore down those walls I fell irrevocably in love with her. She’s so hard on herself, but I’ve never met anyone more loving than Claire.
I know she gave up Abigail for both of us. I have no doubt that she believed she was making the right decision. But I can’t reconcile the girl I fell in love with—the same girl who made me wait more than two years to have sex with her—with this girl who fell in love with a guy she’s known less than two months. Is this guy better than I or did I just leave her heart wide open for him to get ins
ide?
“Stop staring at her, Chris,” my mom says and I’m snapped out of my thoughts.
Claire looks down at the floor. She knows I’m thinking about something we can’t discuss openly in front of my mom.
“Sorry, Mom, but we have to go. I have to get Claire back to the dorm soon so she can study. I’ll bring her by another time. I promise.”
The disappointment on my mom’s face kills me. She nods, looking a bit defeated, then turns to Claire and grabs her hands.
“In case I don’t see you anytime soon—”
“I’ll be back. I—”
“Shh! I don’t want you to promise me you’ll be back soon. I know you’ve got classes and lots of studying and parties and all that college nonsense. I just want you to promise me you’ll come home for Christmas. It just wasn’t any fun without you last year. Right, Chris?”
Fuck. Knowing Claire, she’s going to think I put my mom up to this.
“Mom, Claire probably already has plans for Christmas. Let’s not put any more pressure on her.”
“Oh, come on. You were miserable without Claire here last Christmas.” She turns to Claire in full gossip-mode. “You should have seen him. He was a mess, brooding in the bedroom with his guitar for days.”
“Come on. She doesn’t want to hear that shit.”
Claire wipes the tears from her cheeks as she stares at me. She’s not thinking about how pathetic I am. She’s thinking of how sorry she is for not being here last Christmas. I want to tell her that she has nothing to feel guilty about, but I can’t speak openly about any of that stuff here.
She finally turns away to face my mom. “I’ll be home for Christmas if I have to crawl here.”
I try not to let this statement get my hopes up, but right now I’m just insanely grateful that my mom seems to be more convincing than I am. They embrace again and I give them a moment before I break up the love-fest.
“All right, all right. You guys can cuddle some more later. Claire and I have to get going.”
I place my hand on the small of Claire’s back, something I’ve done a million times, but this time I expect her to push my hand away or shoot me a severe look. She doesn’t do either. She allows me to lead her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her old room where she can fix her hair and makeup. I open the bedroom door and wait as she stands at the threshold for a moment.
I take a few steps inside and turn around. “We didn’t change anything. It didn’t feel right since it’s still your room.”
She steps inside and gazes around. Her twin bed is still covered in the lilac comforter and white pillows. Her shelves are still stacked with dozens of fantasy novels. I haven’t even upgraded the ancient desktop computer on her desk. Everything is the same.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have come here,” she whispers.
“Just brush your hair and we’ll get out of here.”
She takes a few tentative steps toward the white desk and sits down in the rolling desk chair. She slowly pulls open the top drawer on the right and pulls out a purple brush. I can’t help but feel nostalgic as I watch her run the brush through her soft, blonde hair.
I can’t stop myself as I spin her chair around and place my hands on her knees as I kneel before her. “I know that everything seems awkward and fucked up right now, but this is your home. Whether or not we’re together. Don’t let that Christmas shit make things weird. You know my mom is just being pushy.”
“It’s not awkward or fucked up and I think that’s what’s getting to me. I expected it to be weird, but it’s not. It’s just… home.”
She looks me in the eye as she says this so I know she’s telling me the truth. I want to kiss her so fucking bad that my whole body aches for it, but I