Butterfly Kisses (The Butterfly Chronicles #2)

by Unknown

  When I show up for work, I’m surprised to see Byron’s car parked in the back row. I walk through the parking lot, enjoying the crisp cool air. It officially smells and feels like fall to me. I go in and put my things away. It’s busy for a Wednesday, but then again, it is Halloween. I take my place behind the counter to relieve Gail, the middle-aged housewife who works days. She wishes us a happy Halloween after she exits the back room with her things. Byron and I have come to an understanding. He now understands that I meant what I said about not saying anything, and I understand that for my silence he’s laid off me a bit. In fact we are almost civil to each other now.

  “Who’d you burn to get this shift?” I ask as I immediately go to the first of two return bins and begin checking videos back in. No one likes this task, but I’m pretty fast at it so I don’t mind it. Everyone usually saves it for me when they know I’m on the shift. These are all the videos from last night and the other bin from today.

  “Henry wanted to go to a party with Melanie,” he says cutting his eyes to me. Henry’s also pretty hot and heavy in a relationship with Melanie. Being pre-occupied, he’s practically forgotten about me. I’m pretty sure they both know I’m miserable right now, for which Byron probably pities me but Henry feels vindicated.

  “Short stick, huh?” I smile teasingly. He returns the smile.

  “I don’t know. Since he got his car and is hooking up with Mel, he’s changed. Like losing his virginity turned him into a douche,” Byron complains. I’m startled. I didn’t know they’d gone all the way. I probably should have known, but I didn’t. It’s strange though, to hear Byron call someone else a douche. On the other hand, he’s sharing with me like a friend would. I’m so desperate for a friend right now, that I’ll take what I can get.

  “I don’t know either. Maybe we are all just growing up and expanding our horizons.” I shrug because I’m fresh out of real pearls of wisdom.

  “He’s not the same.” He pauses for a long time before he leans into me. The store is empty now, but he looks around it to make sure before he continues softly. I can’t help but to lean into him, too. “Can I tell you something? I always felt different. I thought I was supposed to like girls, but I just didn’t. I paid attention though, and acted like the other guys did, still dated and stuff. I never really cared when Henry hooked up with girls because they never lasted. I used to hate you so much because he always carried a chip on his shoulder over you that I never understood. But then when the prospect of Farrah came around, I was relieved because he seemed to forget about you for a while . . . and then he didn’t.” My face feels hot, and I don’t know why he’s telling me this, but he continues, not really noticing. “Farrah was long distance, no chance of things . . . progressing, and I didn’t feel like I was losing him. But then when everything climaxed and blew up, I thought ‘This is it, he’s finally done with her.’ I even fueled his animosity toward you because that’s what I had always done. I was jealous of you, afraid I was going to lose him to you, and I hated you. But that was wrong; I was wrong. I’ve misjudged you all this time. I’m sorry, for everything, the names, the rumors, and sending out that picture of you in your bikini last year. I get why you never liked me.” I’m taken aback and don’t know what to say. I stand there shell shocked. “No one knows, you know, not Bea or anyone. I know it’s not wrong the fact that I like guys. It’s not shameful. I should be proud, but honestly, I didn’t admit it to myself until you said something. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about it. I want to tell Bea and my parents; I’m just not ready yet. How can I explain to someone else something that I don’t yet understand myself? I think my parents will be OK with it, but I’m not sure. You never know how these things will work out.” He shakes his head and looks down. I touch his hand, and he looks back up at me scared.

  “Byron, we all feel different. I don’t ever feel normal. What is normal really? I don’t know. But I can tell you, I’ll be here for you if you’ll let me. I know what it’s like to live a lie and have a secret that you want to share but are afraid to. Actually, I know what it’s like to have a few secrets.” A fresh start, that’s what we both need. I look down, suddenly feeling like we are sharing a Degrassi moment, but continue. “So like I said in the beginning, I’ll keep your secret. You will tell the world when you’re ready, no one else.” This earns me a smile. “And hey, maybe we can role play. I do a mean Bea.”

  “I bet you do,” he chuckles and rolls his eyes. He straightens up and looks at his reflection in the window for a moment before he surprises me one more time by pulling me into a hug and whispering in my ear, “Thanks.” I give him a squeeze as the doorbell chimes. We both turn to see Chase standing just inside the door. We pull apart, so fast I almost lose my balance. Chase’s face is blank. He turns and begins looking at the new arrivals that line the outer walls of the store, starting by the entrance. I look at Byron doubtfully. He simply smiles at me and nods his head toward Chase. My heart pounds as I move from the counter toward Chase who appears to be engulfed in the blurb about a Disney cartoon. Oh, Chase. I walk up beside him and look at the movie. He doesn’t acknowledge me though.

  “I thought you were going to Columbus tonight,” I say quietly.

  “I changed my mind. I can do that.” He glares at the cover a second before his face is impassive again. “So what, you’ve moved on to the next best thing since you can’t have Henry?” He doesn’t hide his glare this time as he looks at me.

  “Well, that’s not fair,” I say acidly and cross my arms. I watch Byron retreat to the back room and am grateful.

  “That’s what I’m thinking since he’s basically treated you like crap for eleven years.” He sets the video down and moves past me to another movie.

  “It’s not like that. Working together we’ve reached an. . . understanding,” I say, turning to face him and looking him square in the eye.

  “I know how your understandings work, Lacey,” he states, trying to move toward the door, but I step in his way.

  “Chase,” I say, exasperated. “This isn’t working, is it?” He stops and stares at me. The fear of finality is raw on his face.

  “I guess not.” His jaw is set, and I feel my eyes get glassy.

  “I miss you,” I whisper for lack of anything else to say. I just want to hold him and feel his strength, but I can’t. That’s taking and not giving in return. I can no longer be a selfish friend. I can’t lead him on, give him false hope, my wishes, or any untruths.

  As if reading my mind he says just as softly, “I knew what I was getting into with you from the beginning.” I don’t know if he’s talking about my crush on Henry, being Farrah, or just screwed-up me to begin with. Before I have a chance to ask, he pulls me into a tight hug, and I let out a sigh of relief. I’m home. I wrap my arms around his back and snuggle into his shirt that smells like him, fabric softener and soap, my favorite smell in the whole world. “I want things to go back to the way they were. I can’t live like this,” he says into my hair, and my heart pounds against him. Then he begins to laugh. It starts as a low rumble, and crescendos to a thunder clap as he lets go of me. I look at him with a quizzical smile on my face because his laughter fills my heart with warmth and sunshine and makes me happy even when I’m upset with him. He touches my chin gently and says with smiling eyes, “I’ve wanted to do that for a month.”

  “Yell at me?” I tease, crossing my arms again, feigning annoyance.

  “Well, yes, but not what I’m talking about, holding you,” he says shyly. His front pocket begins to make a tornado siren sound. I assume it’s his phone ringing, but he doesn’t go for it. I look from his pocket back up to his face questioningly. He has this mischievous grin on his face, the kind of grin he gets when he’s about to say something irreverent or inappropriate to me. My cheeks prickle, and I look away, realizing he still makes me nervous.

  “Like the view?” And. There it is. He chuckles again as he slides his hand into his pocket to silence his phone.

 
“Who was that?” I ask red-faced, trying to ignore his question. I’ve never heard that ring tone before.

  “No one important,” he says, his gaze still on me. “Where were we?”

  “I think you were over there looking at the Disney movies,” I say, turning and pointing to the movie he held in his hand just a few minutes ago.

  Lana

  Dr. Mace has told me since the beginning of my recovery not to base my happiness or sadness on other people. I’m supposed to find contentment within myself because people get lost and spiral when they base their existence on others. He wants me to be self-reliant. But it’s really hard not to be affected by Tomas. He understands me, and I’ve let him in like no one else. We’ve spent hours talking about how we’ve grown up. He used to live in the city limits, and his parents pushed sports which helped him learn discipline and kept him out of trouble. His grandparents emigrated from Mexico, and his dad grew up in California. He moved to Indiana when he was accepted at Indiana University and that’s where he met Tomas’ mom, a nursing major. The rest, as they say, is history. Eventually, most of his family relocated to Indiana too because the cost of living in the Midwest is so much less than the West Coast. I have shared a lot of stories about how I grew up. We’ve talked a lot, too, about how I used to be. Tomas doesn’t judge me. I’m really grateful for that. Over the past six weeks we’ve spent as much time together as possible. He comes to my house a lot. Mom and Dad set the rules immediately; we are not to be alone. We watch movies, TV, or do homework. Sometimes he hangs out with Britt and me when we have plans, but mostly he’s giving us our space. Britt has kept me at arm’s length since our first and, so far, only fight. We still hang out and have fun. I’m pretending everything is OK, and I think she is too. I am not confiding in her, which I never really did. She’s not the deep feeling, analyzing emotions kind of friend. I save that for Lacey, who has been miserable. In fact, last weekend I had Tomas take me to Dooley’s Auto Shop where Chase works for his dad, and I had a talk with him. When I arrived, there was only one guy in the office. I walked to Chase, who was leaned over some classic car.

  “Hey, short-stuff,” he said without glancing back at me. Tomas hovered in the raised garage doorway.

  “What the frack is wrong with you?” I asked, putting my hands on my hips and looking at him as Lacey sometimes looks at me.

  “So this isn’t a social call?” he asks sarcastically.

  “You and Lacey are miserable. Will you make up already?” He laughed bitterly.

  “How do you know so much about our friendship?” He put a little sting into the word friendship. I ran my fingers through my hair and took a deep breath.

  “If you could take your head out of your ass for five minutes, you would realize how much she cares about you. She’s so worried about how it will all end that she can’t live in the now. She’s so different than she used to be; she has the confidence to let her personalities voice be heard when before she hid it under her breath. That’s mostly because of you, you know. You pushed her until she had to shine. Jade and Tasha didn’t do that; Henry didn’t do that; you did. She just needs time. I think she’s almost there. I don’t know what happened between you two,” I lied, “but it’s time to get past it. You’ve licked your wounds long enough. Suck it up because she thinks she’s lost you.” His back was still to me, but his head slumped more with every word I said.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking me to do.” But I think I did.

  “I’m asking you to be a real friend. She misses you. And I know you miss her,” I countered.

  Finally, he turned and looked at me with a sad determination on his face. “OK, short stuff, I’ll think about it.” Then he rubbed his dirty finger down my nose, and I squealed, slapping his hand away and rubbing at it, getting black all over my hands.

  I’m thinking about all of this, sitting on my front porch waiting for Tomas to pick me up. He’s taking me to his cousin’s birthday party. I’m meeting his parents for the first time today. I smooth my jeans nervously, watching down the road where I know he’ll be coming from. His parents have wanted to meet me for almost two months; it’s just never worked out, which builds the tension. I see his truck turn the corner and grab my purse. I meet him at the curb.

  “Ready?” he smiles as I open the door and jump in. I shrug and pull my hoodie closer to me. “Are you cold?” he asks as he tugs me and I scoot closer to him. We kiss a soft kiss hello, and he puts the car in drive.

  Thirty minutes later Tomas pulls up to an older house just like the other surrounding it.

  “You ready?” he asks for the fifth time. He must be nervous too because like I would be ready. I suddenly do not want to be here. When we get out, I scrunch my nose at the strong odor. He exhales slowly. “There’s a few factories around,” he says, a little embarrassed. I feel like a bitch. “Let’s go.” He looks down, takes my hand, and leads me to a chain link fence and gate. We step up on the crumbling concrete step. I can already smell the Mexican food and hear the music that makes me think of the mariachi band that comes to the Los Torros Mexican restaurant every Friday night in the burg. We enter through the screen door and stand in the middle of a living room with black leather furniture. A few women sitting with babies in their laps speak to each other in Spanish. They still as we enter, and I give them a weak smile.

  “¡AAH Primo!” cries a round, dark-haired, dark-skinned boy in baggy jeans and a Raiders jersey. He holds out his arms to Tomas as he enters the living room from the dining room behind it. His hair is faded, and he looks like every stereotypical Mexican thug I’ve seen on TV.

  “¿Que onda, Jorge? Where’s the party?” Suddenly Tomas’ accent is more noticeable than ever before, and I look at him like I’ve never met him. He ignores me.

  “Out back, wey. ¿Esta es tu chava?” he asks as he appraises me; I grip Tomas’ hand tighter.

  “Sí amigo. Así que no hagas nada para avergonzarme.” I was totally lost in this conversation.

  “Well, come on Then, homes.” He waves. I suddenly realize that all the eyes in the room are still watching us. As we start to follow Jorge, Tomas smiles to the women on the couch. “Tia’s hola, este es mi amiga, Lana,” he says.

  “Hola, Lona,” they say staring at me with straight faces.

  “These are my aunts, Pita and Maria.” With such a warm greeting, I’m not anxious at all to meet his parents. Yes, that was sarcasm.

  “Hi,” I smile and give them a small wave.

  “Vamos, Wey,” Jorge calls from a room to the left of the dining room. We follow him to this room, which is the kitchen. It is small but has trays of food lining the counters and four tall metal pots on the stove. We step out onto a small concrete porch and descend the stairs into the party. There are all kinds of lights strewn across the fence. A mariachi band plays on a platform in the back corner near the garage. Tables are everywhere and people dance in an area I assume is the dance floor since there are no tables there, just grass.

  “Is your skinny chava hungry? Jorge says his I’s like E’s, his Y’s like J’s, and his U’s like long O’s. He takes something from a girl’s plate as she walks by. He unrolls it from its cornhusk wrapper and bites half of it off.

  “HEY!” she squeals, stopping and staring at him. She’s really pretty with jet black hair, dark eyes darkened even more with smoky makeup, a round face, and a mole just above her shapely lips. She’s wearing low-rise, hip-hugging jeans and a black haulter tank that shows half of her stomach.

  “You can go get another, Tina,” Jorge laughs and sits down at the table. She frowns.