by Jaime Reed
I grabbed a backpack that was gathering dust in my closet and shoved folders and all of the notes I would need inside. With my stuff packed, I went downstairs and found Mom in the living room surrounded by magazines and swatches of black-and-white fabric. Her latest clients were really into Alice in Wonderland and they wanted their living room to resemble a chessboard. Mom was up for the challenge. She once remodeled an entire house to be an exact replica of that ship from Star Trek. The woman had mad skills.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Mom asked.
She also had eyes in the back of her head. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew they were there underneath all those curls. Her voice stopped me in the foyer, my hand wrapped around the doorknob. I was so close.
Once I set foot into the living room, the interrogation began. Where was I going, and why? Who was I seeing, and why?
I replied with my carefully rehearsed answers. Liam wanted to keep our study session a secret, and the way Mom and Dad clocked my every move, I agreed that was a good idea. Stacey was my go-to alibi and I’d already texted her about the situation in the event of Mom checking up on me.
Yes, I had a brain injury. Sure, my parents loved me and worried about my safety. Okay, my migraines could flare up while I was riding my bike and I could get run over by a garbage truck and die, but … could I at least breathe? I was fighting not just for my freedom, but for my sanity, so a little white lie was a small price to pay. I wasn’t completely irresponsible—I packed extra pain meds and bottled water just in case.
Five minutes and a rundown of safety measures later, I was in the fresh air on my bike heading to the park. As I approached the end of the street, the layout of the playground came into view. Cape Park hid under a shade of trees, designed like a rustic 4-H club. Everything was made out of wood, iron, and dirt and bordered by lined-up logs. Most days the park was packed with young’uns exploring the swings and jungle gym. Today was no different and the sight helped me to recall my own hatching season, back when I was small, fragile, and ignorant of the dangers that came with knowledge.
Liam arrived a few moments after I did and apologized for being late because he had to borrow a bike from a friend. After we docked our rides in the bike rack, I marched across the sand toward the seesaws. I had hoped to get some swing action while I was here, but all four sets were occupied by urchins who hadn’t yet been introduced to the notion of sharing.
Liam followed behind me and didn’t speak until he took position on the other side of the seesaw. He swung a leg over the metal plank, dropped down, and adjusted his weight. As he gripped the handle, an image of a cowboy riding a mechanical bull popped into my head. He pushed the sandy hair from his eyes and squared his shoulders, determined to stay on this wild beast for longer than eight seconds.
He began the ride with a light spring of his feet. “I thought you needed help with schoolwork.”
“I do, but I want to play for a few minutes first. It’s been forever since I’ve done this and I kinda miss it.”
“Me too,” he agreed. “Nostalgia is good sometimes.”
“In moderation.”
He waited until I was airborne before saying, “Are you okay? You seem to have something on your mind.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Other than the fact that you’re still wearing your bike helmet? No reason.”
My feet touched the ground and locked in place, stopping all motion. I patted the top of my head and sure enough, the dumb thing was still on. Mom wouldn’t let me leave the house without wearing it. It was one of those “too little too late” safety precautions, as far as head injuries were concerned, but at least it covered my hair.
“I’m just making a fashion statement.” I sucked in my cheeks in a pouty supermodel pose.
He offered a smile, not buying my reasoning at all. “Let me guess, you’re self-conscious about your scar?”
“A bit,” I admitted and was lifted to the air again, my stomach jumping a little from the takeoff.
“Well, FYI, you’re drawing more attention wearing that thing than anything else.” He saw me flinch then checked himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that—”
“Yeah, you did,” I cut him off. “But whatever. I need to get used to people looking at me funny, right?”
“Hey, don’t do that to yourself. You had an accident. It’s not your fault.”
“Who cares about fault? As my dad would say, Blame is like your rear end and reflection. Seeing either always leaves you looking back. I’m more worried about what’s in front of me. And right now … the view is all messed up.”
“How so?”
We seesawed in silence for a while as I worked up the courage to say what had been on my mind. I’d come to him last week for a reason, and I believed I’d get an honest response from him.
His sea-blue eyes watched from above and then from below, our gazes never meeting in the middle. Up and down. Up and down. No boy had looked at me with so much open and honest concern and it made me dislike the imbalance even more. We both carried enough weight to support the other, but one of us had to let go in order for the ride to continue. Up and down. Give and take.
Sick of the stalling, I drew in a breath then finally asked, “When we were together, did I ever tell you about Babette?”
Liam surveyed the playground for the answer. “Your first pet. Your only pet. She was a cocker spaniel, right? She died when you were fourteen.”
“Yeah.” It shouldn’t have surprised me that he knew, but it did. “She was old and her heart grew too big for her body, and the vet put her to sleep so she wouldn’t suffer. Seeing her sick hurt me more than her actual death. She was sluggish with a black tongue and too weak to eat. Dad wanted to buy another dog, but I couldn’t do it; it was like I was betraying her memory. Anyway, I woke up this morning and just started crying all over again.” I swallowed hard. “That’s been happening off and on for a couple weeks now and I’m not sure why. I loved that dog, but I should be over it by now, and I was wondering if I was still grieving before the accident?”
Liam shook his head. “You showed me pictures and you mentioned how sad it made you, but you seemed over it,” he answered. “I never had a pet, so I wouldn’t know how long the grief period should last.”
“I figured as much.” I noticed a little girl getting off the swings, and thoughts of climbing to new heights distracted me. I hoped Liam didn’t mind waiting until another swing was available, because that one was mine! I got up from the seesaw—a bit too fast. Liam slammed to the ground with a loud oomph.
“Oh! Sorry. You okay?” I went to help him up, but he got to his feet on his own.
He slapped the sand off the back of his basketball shorts. “Yeah. Some warning would’ve been nice.”
I walked backward toward the swing set. “My bad. Come on, let’s get on—” I turned around and saw that my swing had been hijacked.
A chubby little boy sat smugly on the swing.
“Hey! I was next!” I snapped.
The kid cut me a look as if to say, “… and?” then kicked out his feet to gain momentum, spraying sand everywhere.
“I don’t see your name on it,” he retorted. Trash talk could be added to the brat’s many charms as he was so kind to point out, “You look stupid with that helmet on.”
“Well, you look stupid with that face on,” I shot back.
“Ellia!” Liam called behind me, but I ignored him.
I had to step back before the kid kicked me, which was what he was aiming for. “Oh yeah? You’re so ugly, you make onions cry.”
Oh, it was on now. “You’re so ugly, you have to trick-or-treat by phone.”
“Ellia!” Liam yelled.
“What?” I snapped at him.
He watched me in abject horror. “The kid’s like eight years old.”
“He’s gotta grow up sometime,” I replied in my defense. “I’m just saying—what ever happened to respecting your elde
rs?”
Liam grabbed my arm and led me to one of the park benches. “Come on. We’ll just wait.”
I was about to say something along the lines of “he started it,” but that would only support Liam’s case. I was being petty and lashing out at the wrong people, but that kid had it coming. So I plopped down on the wooden bench and sulked instead.
Liam sat next to me, the proximity making our height difference neck-strainingly obvious. “So what is this stuff about Babette? Why are you bringing her up now?” he asked.
“I think that’s the point. I should be over it by now, but the pain feels fresh, like it just happened. The amnesia removed my memories, but it also removed the time it took to heal from that grief, and now I’m back at square one.” I glanced at Liam. “Does that make sense?”
He nodded slowly.
“Kinda like with you,” I continued. “You have all these fond, happy memories of me and you’re back at square one, too. I gotta ask—were we in like-like with each other, or … ”
“Madly in love?” he finished. When I nodded, he said, “I like to think we were.”
That confused me. “You’re not sure?”
“I know how I felt on my end, but … ” His words trailed off and soured the air like a breeze at low tide. And best believe there was something awfully fishy about that answer.
I would never string a guy along and it’s not because I was a good person. I was just lazy. Why act fake for months when it only took three seconds to say, “I’m not feeling you like that. Swerve.” Seeing as I’d been with Liam for two years, we had to be on that what-would-our-babies-look-like? stage in our relationship. That alone was reason enough to explore this connection and see if there was anything left to salvage.
“Did I ever tell you that I loved you? Out loud? To your face?” I asked him.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to think too hard about it. “Yeah. A few times. In fact, you were the one to say it first.”
I felt my heart jump. Oh. “Then I meant it,” I said softly. “I don’t go flinging that word around willy-nilly. That word’s a weapon that should only come out if you intend to use it.”
I saw the smile that he tried to hide. This guy would suck at poker. “But that was then. How do you feel now?” he asked.
I battled with a combination of emotions: fear, confusion, anger, frustration, bereavement over a dog that died two years ago … but instead of going through all that, I grumbled, “I dunno.”
“What do you want to feel?”
That was a strange question, refreshing even, and I gave him the best answer I could. “Safe.”
My reply had him leaning closer. “So … you feel safe with me?”
“Ah, I wouldn’t go that far,” I was quick to let him know. “You’re the same guy who conducts stakeouts in front of my house every morning. Yes, I watch you watching me. You’re not slick.”
He scrambled for an excuse. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare—”
“Liam, if I honestly thought you were a psycho ax murderer, I would’ve called the cops weeks ago and I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now. I’ll admit it was creepy at first, but now I get it.”
His confused expression told me I needed to elaborate.
“When they put Babette to sleep, I closed myself off,” I began. “I wouldn’t talk about it to my parents, or even to Stacey. But I turned the dog collar into a keychain. It jingled whenever I unlocked the front door, and I’d pretend it was Babette running to meet me when I came home. You watching my house is your dog-collar keychain, so I figured you could relate. Somehow I knew I could talk to you about this and you wouldn’t overanalyze or give me stank-face.”
“Not unless you actually stink, then we’d have to have a talk about hygiene.” He leaned in and took a whiff. “You smell good though, like some peach lotion or body wash.”
“I can’t believe you just sniffed me.” I playfully shoved his shoulder.
He playfully shoved me back. He wasn’t a pushover and gave as good as he got. I liked that. I also appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood.
“Tell me something about us,” I said.
His smile remained. “What do you want to know?”
“Let’s start with something simple. Your birthday, your middle name, your shoe size, what our first date was like; who asked out who. Stuff like that.”
Liam reclined in a way that was primed for a long discussion. His elbows rested on the back of the bench, his long fingers draped over the side and tapping absently on the wood. I noticed that he fidgeted a lot, a nervous sequence of knee bouncing and hair stroking.
The tapping picked up speed as Liam stared out into the yard. “Well, my birthday is January thirteenth. My middle name is James. I’m a size eleven shoe, and you asked me out because I was too chicken to do it myself.”
My gaze lifted from his twitchy fingers to his face. “Really?”
“Yeah, I was in P.E. running the mile and you ran up to me on the field and tackled me to the ground in front of everyone. You pinned me to the grass and said, ‘Homecoming Dance. Friday. Be there. Wear something sexy.’ Then you got up and left me lying stunned on the ground. I’d never been accosted by a girl before. It was awesome,” he said with a far-off look in his eyes.
I drank in the information with a critical ear. “Yep, that sounds like something I would do.”
“The weirdest part of all was that you didn’t even have gym that period. I guess you got tired of waiting and sought me out,” he added. “You’re a straight shooter and you’re not shy around boys.”
That was true. I never really saw the point. It’s not like boys were a different species.
“Well, thanks for answering my questions,” I said. “It’s weird. You’re telling me things, but I can’t even imagine them. It’s like a punch line to a joke that everyone gets but me.”
He tilted his head. “Would you feel better if I asked you questions?”
“You mean questions to stuff you already know?”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But at least it’ll feel like an even exchange of information.”
It was worth a shot. I shifted on the bench so we were facing each other. Our knees touched and we underwent this strange dance where neither of us wanted to move away or else acknowledge the physical contact.
“Okay, let’s start with a speed round of questions. Don’t think—just answer as fast as you can,” he instructed. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Black. It’s slimming and goes with everything,” I answered.
“Mine’s blue,” he supplied. “What’s your favorite ice cream flavor?”
“Vanilla. It’s boring on its own, but you can mix it with anything and make it awesome.”
He nodded in approval. “I’m a Cherry Garcia fan. What’s your favorite book?”
“Matilda.”
“The Shining for me,” he said. “Favorite school subject?”
“Lunch.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”
“The UK. It’s foreign enough, but with no language barriers.”
“I’d like to travel around the whole U.S. Each state is like its own little country.” His eyes went to the top of my head. “Can I see it?”
The question came out of nowhere. “See what?”
“Your scar. You keep it covered up and I figured maybe if you showed it to someone you’d feel more relaxed.”
I glared at him. “You just wanna see if it’s as bad as people say.”
“You say that as if that would scare me off,” he said with a sincerity that could be both heard and felt. “Show me. Please?”
With shaky fingers, I unhooked the chin strap and lifted the helmet off my head. Next came the silk headband. I watched him cautiously, waiting for the first flinch of shock or scrunch of disgust in his features.
The hair on my left side was coming in nicely, although the few centimeters sur
rounding the incision may never grow back. The wound had closed and the stitches had begun to dissolve, leaving a crooked pleat of purple skin and dry scabs. When fluid needed to be drained from inside the skull and an inch of bone had to be reconstructed ASAP, aesthetics were the last thing on a surgeon’s mind, so the scarring would be permanent. I might look like a comic-book villain now, but I had a family-size tub of cocoa butter at home that would be put to good use.
None of that seemed to faze Liam, though. His eyes roamed my face in quiet wonder. He reached out to touch my hair, but then stopped himself. “May I?”
I gestured for him to proceed.
Slowly, his fingers drew up to the bald side and traced the puckered skin. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good.” He continued to trace the scarred area down to where it ended at the top of my eyebrow. “It’s not as bad as you think. Even if you wore an eye patch and had a peg leg, you’d still be beautiful. But that’s just my shamelessly biased opinion.”
I snickered but I couldn’t deny that what he said made me flush. “Beauty is subjective.”
“Tell that to a sunset,” he argued. “No human can see one for the first time and not be mesmerized. Some beauty is unattainable, some beauty is deceptive, and some beauty is intimidating. But yours … ” He paused to look at me fully. “Yours is inviting.”
His eyes lowered to my mouth and lingered there. I found myself leaning in a bit. His lips were thin but well shaped, with a sharp bow at the top, and I knew from recent experience that they felt as soft as they looked. His head tilted slightly. I could feel his breath on my cheek, a warm sweetness that I could almost taste.
Something large and red came flying toward my head at frightening speed. Instinct forced me to duck away from the blow, but Liam’s hands shot out before it made contact. I observed the red ball the size of a grapefruit in his hand. It was just air and thick rubber, but it could be dangerous with the proper aim and intent.
Liam stared out to the playground, his jaw tight and his eyes promising vengeance. I followed his line of vision and saw the rotund swing stealer pointing and laughing at me.
“Ew! Look at the freak!” the brat called from the sandbox. “What’d you do? Comb your hair with a chainsaw?”