Fade to Us

by Julia Day

  * * *

  We pulled into the ballpark with twenty minutes to spare. Our first stop was the snack bar. After getting hamburgers and milkshakes, we moved to the picnic table farthest away from the stands.

  As we were cleaning up, an older couple walked past. The woman’s head twisted as she went by, obviously gawking at us.

  I tossed our trash into the garbage can. “What’s her problem?”

  “Me.” He took a distinct step away from me and slipped on his shades. “I’ll bet there aren’t many Asians around here, and none are hanging out with a white girl.”

  I stiffened. “Why does that matter?”

  “It must matter to her.”

  I swung around. The couple had stopped to watch us. At my scowl, they hurried on. “How often does that happen? To have people acting that way because you’re Chinese?”

  “Not much, at least not in Elon.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Not really. Calling me names might. Stuff like this isn’t worth acknowledging.”

  But it was worth fighting. “If we’re being judged, we might as well look like we’re really together.” I deliberately tucked my hand into the crook of his arm. “The game’s about to start. Come on.”

  * * *

  After the fourth inning, the visiting team switched pitchers. While the new guy warmed up, I faced Micah. “It’s my turn to ask questions.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Tell me about your dad’s farm.”

  “Oh, yeah. Go for the jugular.” Micah polished off his water and tapped the empty bottle against his thigh. “Our farm is small. Something is always being planted or harvested, March to October. Vegetables, fruit, and flowers. Dad rotates crops, depending on what’s in season.”

  “That sounds interesting.”

  “I guess it can be, to you city folk.”

  I laughed. “Is that what you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Not at all.”

  He seemed so happy and relaxed that I hated to spoil the mood, but he’d asked a tough question about my bio father. I had a tough question to ask, too. “Is it hard to be a stage manager for a production like this?”

  The lightness faded from his expression. “Harder than I expected.” He bowed his head. “I’ve been the stage manager for three productions at my high school. Since I know the drama teacher and all of the actors, those productions were easy. I’ve worked with the school’s backstage crew enough to know what they’re capable of.” He stared blindly before him, as if he’d retreated from the ball game to somewhere else. A place that was familiar and necessary. “I’ve been an assistant stage manager outside of my high school before, but always working with a crew who knew their facility well. That’s not true this summer. The arts center is awesome, but it’s new. The whole team is discovering what it can do together. It’s…” He clamped his lips shut and shook his head.

  He seemed down. I wanted to help him. To tell him it would all be okay. I’d been curious why he hadn’t delegated more, and now I understood. He just hadn’t figured out who to trust. “It must be intimidating to be running the first production in there.”

  “Yeah. The arts council wants the show to be great, and they’re not afraid to tell us that every chance they get. Mom’s used to that kind of pressure, but me?” He blew out a noisy breath. “Being paid for something changes how it feels.”

  “Can you ever let the stress go?”

  He turned toward me, our faces only inches apart.

  “I can let it go when I’m with you.”

  His words sank into me softly, and I smiled. I loved that he could find peace when we were together.

  The noise around us increased as the next batter stepped to the plate. I looked away from Micah, like I was concentrating on the game. But I wasn’t. My mind was too busy wondering whether Micah liked being personal after all.

  * * *

  After the home team won, happy fans drifted away. We stayed in the stands while my mom finished a conversation with the other umpire. Micah and I met her as she was coming off the field.

  “Hi, honey.” She held out her hand to Micah. “Hello. Nice to see you again. Did you enjoy the game?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I like this league. There’s a lot of talent…”

  While we walked to her car, she questioned Micah like she was grilling a prospective boyfriend. He didn’t seem to notice.

  I looked around the park. After the brightness of the lights on the field, the parking lot was filled with shadows. Muffled voices. The roar of engines and crunch of tires as cars pulled away.

  “… Do you want to ride home with me, Brooke?”

  “What?” I tuned in. Ride home with her? Mom’s suggestion made sense, but I didn’t want to. I was reluctant to say good-bye to Micah. I peeked at his face but couldn’t read his expression. He wasn’t helping me, so the decision was all mine.

  Well, I’d just have to hope that he either didn’t get how much I craved being with him—or didn’t mind. “Micah’s not familiar with the area. I should go with him to make sure he gets back okay.”

  His “thanks” was quiet. Neutral.

  Mom mouthed GPS. I shrugged. She grinned as she got in her car.

  Once she’d driven away, we crossed to his car on the opposite side of the lot. He put his hand on the passenger-side door, but didn’t open it. Instead, he studied me, unsmiling, his eyes glittering in the light from a nearby streetlamp.

  His scrutiny had me wondering if I’d guessed wrong. Would he have preferred to drive home alone? “I’m glad you came with me tonight, Micah.”

  “Me, too.”

  We stood there, watching each other silently.

  “Okay, then.” I inched toward the car.

  “Brooke.” His hand cupped my shoulder.

  I stilled. He was deliberate about everything he did, and he’d initiated this. Touching me meant something to him, right?

  A sigh escaped his lips. He drew me against him, one hand sliding along my shoulder to the nape of my neck, the other hand gentle at my waist.

  Laughter erupted from nearby. Car doors slammed. We would soon be alone in an empty ballpark.

  “We should go,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  But we didn’t move. We stayed in each other’s arms as the world grew quiet around us. And in many ways, holding him felt as intimate as any kiss I’d ever shared.

  21

  Regret and Apology

  It wasn’t until after midnight that I realized Micah and I had no plans for the Fourth of July. Was that on purpose or an oversight? Even more, should it worry me that I was becoming so attached to a guy who’d be gone soon that I didn’t want to miss a single day with him?

  Yes, it should.

  I woke up early, wanting to call him and ask, but he didn’t get to sleep in often. I texted instead.

  Are you up?

  He responded immediately.

  Yes

  Can we hang out today?

  A pause. Hmm.

  Can’t. I’ll be with my parents

  Your dad’s coming here?

  We’re meeting in Raleigh

  How about tonight?

  We’ll watch fireworks. They start at 9

  Skipping today then?

  Right

  Disturbed by how upset I was, I walked to the window to stare into the world. It was going to be gorgeous—hot and sunshiney. Jeff had already put our American flag out to honor the day. It was my new family’s first Fourth of July together, and we probably had plans, too. So this was for the best. Really. I had to shake it off.

  When I looked at my phone again, there was another text.

  What does the silence mean?

  Disappointment

  This time, he didn’t respond immediately, but I would wait him out.

  I like being with my parents. This has been planned awhile

  So you knew last night

  Don’t often clea
r my calendar with friends

  Wow. Was he being snarky or matter-of-fact? It was hard to know with Micah. Maybe we should just talk. I called.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “I wasn’t complaining.”

  “Kind of seemed like it.”

  “Micah, stop.” I leaned on my dresser and glanced at its mirror. The sight of fresh-out-of-bed me didn’t improve my attitude. “Why are we acting like this?”

  There was a soft exhale. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you last night, but I was enjoying the game and didn’t want to spoil the mood.”

  “I enjoyed it, too. I get your decision.”

  “So … I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “And we’ll both be busy,” I muttered.

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I had to get over myself. Now. “Have a nice time.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  * * *

  Independence Day was nice at our house, too.

  Jeff loved this holiday, and he hadn’t spent it with Natalie in five years, so he was completely psyched about celebrating today. The two of them left in his truck and returned an hour later with bags from the dollar store and sly smiles.

  He handed me a large bag. “Do you want an assignment?”

  “Sure.” I checked inside. Rolls of crepe paper in red, white, and blue. Patriotic dishes, napkins, and a tablecloth. “You actually trust me with the decorations?”

  “I do.” He grinned.

  I tried not to laugh. I was not known for my decorating skills. “Hope that works out for you.”

  “I’m positive it will.”

  * * *

  We gathered on the deck at six, each with our assigned contribution completed. Jeff grilled ribs, corn, and pineapple. Mom made salad and homemade ice cream. I’d decorated with sad little streamers of crepe paper, red-white-and-blue paper products, and—of course—the flag. Natalie sang the national anthem.

  Afterward, Jeff and Mom snuggled on the couch. Natalie and I decided it would be best to go to a movie.

  We got in the Honda, but before I backed out of the driveway, I had something to say. “Natalie?”

  “What?”

  “When Micah and I were driving to the game last night, he asked me about my bio father.”

  “Oh.” Her head whipped toward me. “If this is turning into one of those lectures about being careful with secrets, let me just say in my defense that I didn’t realize it was a secret until I saw the look on Micah’s face. He was shocked.”

  Private was a better word for my story than secret, but it might be hard to explain those subtleties to Natalie. “Why were you even talking about it?”

  “I was telling him about my custody arrangements, and he asked me if you had any with your father, and I said that Jill wanted you so badly she had you completely on her own.”

  Jill wanted you so badly. I loved those words. I loved what they meant. It drained the energy from my anger. “Don’t do that again. It’s my choice who to tell.”

  “I won’t. But how do you just automatically know what’s okay to tell and what’s not?”

  “That’s a hard question to answer.” Before I could start an explanation, she looked away, already leaving this topic behind. Time for me to do the same.

  * * *

  I survived the holiday.

  When Mom pulled into the drop-off lane Wednesday morning, the Daltons’ car was in its normal parking spot. I hurried into the auditorium. Lisa was sitting on the edge of the stage, frowning at her tablet. Behind her, the stage had already been set for today’s first scene. She didn’t look up when I passed her and slipped into the wings.

  The door to the office was ajar. I ran in and tossed my backpack into its normal spot, then looked at the desk. Elena’s in-box was full, so I thumbed through the pages to see if I could handle anything for her.

  There was a sound behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. Micah stood in the doorway.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi.” Nerves slammed into me.

  We stood there, eyeing each other uneasily, neither one of us yielding.

  We had to get past this. It wasn’t like we were dating. Fun and friendly, remember? “How was your day with your parents?”

  “Good. How about yours?”

  “Great.”

  “Sorry,” we said in unison.

  His smile drew me like a magnet. We met halfway, arms reaching for each other, locking us into an embrace full of regret and apology. I loved the way he smelled. I loved the way he felt, too—his body lean and strong against mine.

  “No more surprises, Brooke.” His lips brushed my hair. Intentionally?

  I nodded, too enchanted by that almost-kiss to speak.

  “Micah,” someone called in the hallway.

  He groaned. “It’s time to get started, but we’ll talk later.” His smile sent a promise, and then he was gone.

  * * *

  Micah’s voice came over the headset around noon. “Counselors, lunch break. It’s not too hot right now, so lounge or patio. Brooke, can you meet me in the prop room in five?”

  I glanced at Lisa. At her nod, I said, “Sure.”

  When I entered the prop room, he was already there, setting a chair in the tiny bit of free space by the door. Without acknowledging me, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, dusted the chair, then turned. “Sit, please.”

  I sat, my heart racing. What was going on?

  He closed the door and stood there a moment, head bowed and hands jammed into his pockets. His breathing sounded labored.

  This was disorienting. “Micah?”

  His head popped up. “I’ve made a decision.”

  “About what?”

  “Us.” He crouched before me, our eyes at the same level. “I can’t pretend any longer. We have to stop ‘hanging out.’”

  I gasped and shrank away. Not what I’d expected. Not what I wanted.

  “Please hear me out, Brooke. I’m not giving you up. Yesterday proved to me that ‘hanging out’ isn’t enough. I want more.”

  I swallowed hard. “Go on.”

  “The whole time I was with my parents yesterday I kept thinking about how much I wished you were there. How much I missed even one day without talking with you, seeing you smile, watching you make life better for everyone around you.” He sucked in a nervous breath. “I’ve never done this before but … I’d like for us to have real dates.”

  Real dates? Relief struck so fast that it was dizzying. “Me, too.”

  He rose and held out both of his hands. I took them and let him pull me up. We didn’t let go, though. We stood there, smiling at each other under the light of a bare bulb, in a musty room full of furniture and fake plants.

  How do I break this to Natalie?

  No. I would not allow my worries to mess up this moment.

  “Hey,” he said, giving my hands a light squeeze. “Is something wrong?”

  I shook my head at him. At me. I wouldn’t let bad thoughts intrude. For now, I would savor how amazing it was that Micah wanted me in the same way I wanted him. “I’m just thinking that you’re only here for another nineteen days.”

  “We’ll find a way to make the most of it, but no more pretending about the friendly and not-too-personal stuff.”

  “Agreed. Can we have our first real date tonight?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What about tomorrow night and this weekend?”

  “Tomorrow night, yes.” His face fell. “Mom and I are going home for the weekend.”

  Why was the universe sending us obstacles before we’d even gotten started? Fortunately, I didn’t care about the universe’s opinion. “When do you leave?”

  “She wants to go Friday night.”

  Disappointment had me sagging into him.

  “I can talk Mom into Saturday morning.”

  “Could you stay?”

  “I don’t want to. Peter’s decided to come down from D.C. for the
weekend. Jude will come if he can get the day off, although I’m not telling Mom yet. I don’t get to see my brothers very often. This might be the last chance for a while.”

  “Of course, you have to go.” I released his hands. We’d gone through a lot of changes in the past ten minutes. I needed some space to process it all. “We should get back.”

  He reached around me for the door. “What will we do tonight?”

  “Just be together.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Micah?”

  “Yeah?”

  Standing on tiptoe, I touched my lips to his.

  He jerked in surprise, stared at me wide-eyed for a second, then leaned forward to kiss me back. Our noses bumped, his mouth landing on my cheek before sliding to my lips.

  Our first kiss.

  22

  My Definition of Perfect

  Micah’s I’m here text came around seven-thirty, earlier than I expected. To distract myself, I’d been editing Jeff’s website. After saving my changes, I jumped from the bed, stuffed my feet into ballet flats, and rushed out the door.

  “Brooke?” Natalie called.

  I halted at the stairs. “Uh-huh?”

  “Are you busy?”

  Yes, I was. “What do you need?”

  “Check my choreography.”

  “Um, sure.” I stared with longing down the stairs, at the front door, then turned to go into her room. As I sat on the bed, my phone buzzed. I read the text.

  Ready?

  Not quite

  She frowned. “Who’s that?”

  I wanted to lie. “Micah.”

  “What does he want?”

  “It can wait.”

  Her frown turned suspicious. “Does he text with you, too?”

  “Some.”

  “Okay. Now watch.” She brought up the video clip on her tablet and mimicked the dance. Her movements weren’t very smooth, but they weren’t totally wrong either. She had them in the right order and generally in rhythm with the music.

  When that section ended, she paused the video. “How did I do?”

  “You’re getting better.” The choreographer would have to put Natalie in the back, though, which she might prefer.

  “But not good enough yet.”

  “You have the steps down, so all you need is more practice. You’re very close.” I slid off the bed and crossed to the door.