Butterfly Kisses (The Butterfly Chronicles #2)

by Unknown

  “You must be Lana,” she smiles as she gives me a hug, and I return it. “We’ve heard such wonderful things about you. I’m Bridget. Come let’s introduce you to Jose.” She smiles at Tomas and me as we follow her from the entryway into the formal living room. Tomas’ dad sits in a chair in a suit. His face is relaxed, and I see Tomas’ mannerisms in him.

  “Jose, this is Lana, Tomas’ girlfriend.” Bridget smiles again, and Jose rises to shake my hand. I step forward and skake firmly, remembering the lecture my dad gave Lacey and me about the importance of a firm handshake and first impressions.

  “Lana,” he says with a slight accent. His expression becomes guarded, and he looks at me suddenly like he recognizes me. It’s unnerving how fast his demeanor hardens in front of me. He drops my hand, and Tomas instinctively takes my other. Tomas noticed too; it wasn’t just me. I glance at Bridget who is now wringing her hands. Jose stares at our hands, and mine begins to sweat.

  “Shall we eat? I believe the turkey is ready,” Bridget says, as she glances at her wristwatch. Jose tears his stern eyes away from our hands and nods to his wife.

  “I’ll help you bring it out.” He rushes to her side and pushes her out of the living room, leaving Tomas and me standing there.

  “Well, that could have gone better,” Tomas says as he rubs the back of his neck and looks at the large living room entry.

  “So it wasn’t just me. I think your dad hates me.” I’ve never been hated. I can usually charm any parent, or I used to be able to. I haven’t really tried to charm anyone lately; maybe my skills are rusty. Maybe I squeezed his hand too hard. I doubted that was it.

  “Come on,” Tomas says, as he leads me to the dining room. The dining table is beautiful with the side dishes placed around a large table with scattered faux fall leaves. Ice water already fills Waterford goblets, and a matching glass pitcher holds ice tea with lemon slices floating on top. All the serving dishes match the china plates with delicate brown, red, and yellow flowers and leaves painted on the rims. Each piece is trimmed in white gold. The setting is elegant, and it’s all I can do to keep from taking a picture of it.

  “Just give her a chance. Tomas sees something in her that you may not.” We hear Bridget on the other side of the swinging kitchen door.

  “Bridget, don’t push me. I won’t ruin dinner, but I have no intention of getting to know her.” My face reddens, and Tomas looks down for a long minute before pulling me into a hug. We separate just as they emerge, Jose carrying a brown glistening turkey that looks like it’s out a magazine. Martha Stewart would be jealous of this dinner party for sure. We take our places, and I sit beside Tomas as far from Jose as possible.

  “I am thankful for my beautiful wife and smart son. This has been a big year for our family, full of transitions, and I am grateful that we’ve survived and are stronger for it,” Jose says as he looks to Bridget.

  “I am thankful for my wonderful family and the opportunity to meet and make new friends.” She smiles at me before looking at Tomas.

  “I am thankful for my family as well, our strong bond and trust in each other. I’m thankful that I met Lana and have gotten a chance to get to know her, and we have both looked past stereotypes.” I can’t help but smile, but when my eyes leave his, I realize his parents are looking at me expectantly. I take a deep breath.

  “I am thankful for new beginnings and second chances. I’m thankful for sunny days and cold winter ones, too, and for the wonderful people who are in my life. I’m thankful that Tomas is as honest and pure as he is.” I look at him, and he’s smiling at me so warmly I want to pull him close to me. Instead I whisper to him, “Thank you.”

  Jose rises abruptly and begins carving the turkey. Apparently he didn’t like my thankful statement. I suddenly realize there will be no winning him over today, maybe later at some point, or in time, but not today. We dish the sides, and I smile that they have a bowl of salsa at the table that Jose and Tomas enjoy with their turkey.

  “Lana, what school activities are you involved in?” Jose asks. I really have the inclination to call him Mr. Gonzalas.

  “I’m on hiatus from school activities,” I say in a small voice, which causes him to clear his voice and look pointedly at his wife.

  “So then I assume you aren’t involved in extracurricular activities? Things to keep you out of trouble?” I already knew that ‘idle hands were the devil’s playground’ or whatever. I could tell him I’m focused on my recovery. I could tell him I go to group therapy and draw on my hands to keep from cutting myself. But I don’t.

  “I’m exploring art, and I used to dance,I was in gymnastics and cheerleading. But those aren’t healthy activities for me, so no I’m not involved in anything besides discovering myself and learning what I’m capable of.” We eat the rest of our dinner in silence. After dessert and the coffee, after I help Bridget with the dishes, we make our way to Nana’s. We don’t talk about his dad’s dislike for me. We don’t wonder what I can do to change his mind. We take the scenic route though, and end up parking behind the supercenter for a short make-out session. I love making out with Tomas. He kisses so well and never pressures me for more. But finally, we have to go to Nana’s. It’s almost five p.m. when we arrive. Chase and Lacey are sitting on the couch. Chase is leaning back relaxing in a thin brown T-shirt layered over a charcoal grey thermal shirt with ripped jeans and work boots that don’t look like they’ve been used for work. Lacey is wearing a dress with an empire waist and three-quarter sleeves, tights, and simple wedge heels. Her hair is in a high ponytail, but already coming loose around her face and the nape of her neck. She’s stiff though, leaning slightly forward, shoulders squared.

  “Hi,” Tomas and I greet them at the same time as we remove our coats. They both quirk up their mouths in the same crooked smile as they look at us.

  “Why, hello there,” Lacey says firtatiously, waggling her eyebrows at us. Tomas’ face darkens under his olive skin while I just want to smack her. I pull Tomas to the love seat, and we snuggle in.

  “Where’s Dad?” I ask. I can hear my mom and Nana debating in the kitchen about the yams. Tomas begins turning the metal band on my middle finger of the hand he holds with his other. I could easily get lost in him and begin kissing him all over again, but I don’t do PDA.

  “He had some things to do at the office, but he said he’d be here by dinner,” Lacey says, still sitting stiffly. Chase pretends to mess with his phone, but really he watches her out of the corner of his eye. His entire body is still relaxed. I wonder what is going on between them.

  “I bet he had something to do,” I say under my breath, but apparently not subtle enough because everyone catches it and looks at me funny. I just shrug. I’m still not ready to tell anyone what I saw two months ago, that I think it’s is still going on by the way my parents are acting around each other anyway. Tomas knows my dad cheated, but he doesn’t know I saw it. Mom appears in the doorway and saves me from further explanation.

  “Chase, Tomas, do you mind going to the basement and bringing up the extra chairs?” Lacey and I share a knowing expression because the extra dining room chairs are buried behind boxes, crates, trunks, and lots of spider webs. Last year that was our job. This boyfriend thing is working out in our favor. Well, my boyfriend and her friend who’s a boy. They rise, and Chase lays his phone on the couch cushion. Lacey eyeballs the phone as we hear the guys stomp down the stairs. Lacey bites her bottom lip, and she looks at me as I wonder what she’s up to. She snatches his phone, grabs my wrist, and drags me through the main level of my nana’s four-story house, counting the basement. It’s full of antiques and Persian rugs, hand-me-downs from her mother. We go into the downstairs bathrooms with an original shell shaped sink and clawfoot bath tub. She shuts the door and turns the skeleton key in the lock and shoves the phone into my hand as she plops down on the closed toilet seat.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask her wide-eyed.

  “Slide the bar to open it
.” She says putting her head in her hands. I watch her for a long moment before I do.

  “It’s passkey protected.” I frown.

  “0-4-0-5,” she says. I type the numbers.

  “How do you know that?” I ask, amazed at my sister’s hacking skills.

  “He’s always worked that number into all of his passwords,” she sighs and leans back.

  “Why?” I ask, as I stare at the wallpaper picture of Chase with his arm around Lacey. I remember taking that picture when they visited me at rehab over the summer. He’s got it bad for her.

  “I don’t know; he just does. Go to the text messages.” I do.

  “What am I looking for?” I ask before I start to scroll.

  “Messages from Emily or any other girls. I can’t bear to read them; you have to read them to me. He’s been hiding something from me, and it’s driving me crazy,” she says, avoiding eye contact. I scroll through and find lots of texts from other girls, but none of them are responded to. I can’t believe how girls throw themselves at him; I scroll further down and find the name Emily. I look at her unsure.

  “Read it,” she pleads.

  Emily: It was so good to see you last night.

  Chase: Yeah. It’s been awhile.

  Emily: We should get together soon, talk about old times.

  Chase: How’s Max?

  Emily: We broke up.

  Chase: For how long this time?

  Emily: I have no idea what you’re implying ;)

  Chase: I’m not interested in looking back only moving forward.

  Emily: I heard you were into a fan girl, I just didn’t believe it.

  Chase: Let’s just say, I’ve moved on and leave it at that.

  Emily: She’s cute, not pretty but cute. Lacey is it? You’ll get bored soon.

  Chase: Not your concern. Call Max, make up for the millionth time and just leave me alone. I’m happy now.

  I look at Lacey, but I can’t tell if she’s relieved, worried, happy, or scared. She just stares at our grandmother’s floral shower curtain that circles the tub on an oval brass rod.

  “There’s a bunch of messages from his mom that he’s not replied to,” I say, and she looks up at me questioningly. So I go to the first non-responded message.

  Mom: Honey, I need to talk to you.

  Mom: I have some exciting news, will I see you this weekend?

  Mom: I guess no response means no, I miss you.

  Mom: Chase, will you call me, your dad says you’re well.

  Mom: I’ve been calling, texting and emailing you for a month, why won’t you call me?

  Mom: I just miss you.

  Mom: I expect to see you this weekend.

  Mom: This is ridiculous stop acting like a child and call me.

  Mom: Your father said you are fine and not in a coma, haha so there’s no reason you shouldn’t call me.

  Mom: I’ve had enough—

  Lacey holds up her hand to stop me.

  “I get the idea,” she sighs and puts her chin back in her hands. I sit on the rim of the tub and look at her.

  “What’s going on with you?” I ask, my eyebrows knitting as I try to read her.

  “I like him. And I don’t know how to tell him, and I was afraid that he might like someone else, now, so I had to know before I tell him and . . . he rejects me. I shouldn’t have had you read me those texts, but I had to. I’m so confused.” She looks down at her feet, toes touching, heels apart. She looks so young sitting there.

  “Just tell him.” I grab her hand and put the phone back into it, making her head jerk up as I go to the door.

  “How?” She looks lost. I roll my eyes at her and open the door.

  “You’ll figure it out.”

  We make it back to the living room just as the boys bring up the four chairs. Wow, it always took us two trips for four chairs, but they are boys with more muscles. Lacey puts the phone back where Chase laid it just before he comes back into the living room. She leans against the arm of the couch away from him and stares blankly at the TV that I only just now realize has been on this entire time. He picks his phone up and it dings in his hand. He frowns and looks down at it. Lacey looks anxiously at me, but I give her a “chill out” look. He throws his phone back down on the couch, and it bounces.

  “I need you tomorrow,” he says, looking at Lacey. By the expression on her face she needs him today.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. He pauses and takes a deep breath before answering her. They have apparently forgotten that Tomas and I are still here. Maybe now would be a good time for some PDA; I don’t think they would even notice.

  “My mom is coming to my house tomorrow for dinner with my grandparents and my dad. She’s up to something, and I could use my best friend at my side.” Lacey’s shoulders fall slightly. Tomas leans his head against my shoulder as he wraps his arms around my waist.

  “Sure. Is everything OK?”

  “She’s wanted to tell me something for weeks, months maybe, and I’m a little worried about what it might be. I just . . . don’t want to be there alone,” he says, looking down at his phone again.

  “Of course I’ll go.” She begins to scoot closer to him, and he matches her movements until they are embracing each other in a hug.

  I’m not sure how much more I can take of them before I take control of their relationship and dictate to them how they will feel for each other further. It’s so obvious to everyone, and it’s about time to do something already, right?!?

  Lacey

  On Friday I get up and get ready to go to Chase’s house for dinner. I’m nervous to say the least. The role of the fearless best friend will be played today by Lacey Baxter. I put on a coral dress. It has a high waist and a pleated full skirt that hangs straight. It is soft satin and hits my leg mid-thigh. I pair it with a short button-up sweater and some wedge slip-on heels. I braid my hair diagonally across the back of my head and roll it into a bun at the nape of my neck on the left and do my makeup minimally. I leave around eleven, hoping I won’t arrive too early since dinner is more a lunch today. I drive slowly and give my nerves a pep-talk. My job is to support Chase with whatever he feels like his mom is dropping on him, not confess my feelings. Not. Confess. My. Feelings. Finally, when I arrive, there are two cars in the driveway that I don’t recognize, a cheery red two-seater Mercedes Benz convertible and a Navy Blue Ford Explorer with Michigan plates. I park beside the Explorer because the Mercedes is blocking the drive to the back of the house and the walk-out basement that is Chase’s living space. Chase’s house is a very fancy brick house in an expensive neighborhood. Looking at both him and his dad, you wouldn’t think so though because they are two of the most down-to-earth guys. I slowly, carefully walk up to the door. I ring the bell, and within minutes a pudge, grey haired man opens the door wide. He wears dress pants and a sweater with fall leaves all over it.

  “Why, hello there,” he smiles. I return his smile.

  “Hi.” He takes my hand and shakes it firmly.

  “I’m Chase’s Grandpa Joe.”

  “Lacey.”

  “Chase is in the basement if you want to go on down. Mike and Grandma Birdy will have dinner ready in about a half an hour.” He says “Grandma Birdy” like we’re old friends and have known each other for years; I nod and make my way toward the kitchen. The counters are lined with covered desserts and side dishes. A grey-haired woman stands over the stove while Mike washes dishes. In the great room on the couch sits someone whom I assume is Chase’s mother Michelle, and her boyfriend Ted, silently watching a talk show. Her hair is dark blond, and her clothes look expensive. When she looks up at me, I can see that her face is heavily made up. Ted looks like a used car salesman. He’s wearing a shiny suit, and his thinning hair is slicked back over a weathered face with a pointy nose. Mike looks young, rugged, hip in his plaid button-up shirt and cargo khaki pants. If you were to stand them beside each other, it was obvious that she had definitel
y traded down. Mike looks over at me as his dad enters behind me.

  “Hi, honey. Chase is downstairs,” he smiles warmly.

  “I already told her, Mike.” Grandpa Joe goes to the trash can and begins pulling the full trash bag out.

  “Hi, Mike. Happy Thanksgiving,” I say as I make my way to the basement door. I descend the stairs quietly, which also means delicately. As I round the corner, I see Chase sitting on the sectional watching the Real World marathon. He stands when he sees me and lets out a low whistle as his eyes travel from my head to my heeled shoes. I stand there and can’t help the quickening of my heart, which causes my brain to go dead, so all I do is gawk at him. His messy hair is the same as always, but he’s wearing a pair of distressed khakis and a thin crème button-up, long-sleeved shirt over a tank undershirt. It’s tucked in smoothly and showcases his woven, olive-green belt.

  “I do the same thing.” I waggle my eyebrows at him, and he chuckles. That’s it, same ole teasing Lacey, best friend extraordinaire.

  “My mom’s here,” he says sadly in a voice that reminds me of a young kid.

  “I know.” I walk over and sit down, pulling him down beside me. We sit there and watch the rest of the show silently. After it ends, as if on cue, the door opens upstairs, and Grandpa Joe calls to us that it is time to set the table.

  “Showtime.” He stands, and I follow him upstairs. He takes the china plates and cloth napkins as I take the real, fancy, silverware to dining room. He sets the plates and napkins down as I set the silverwear along each place setting behind him. When we finish, we help bring the food to the table. Michelle pours drinks, and we carry those to the table as well. Then we sit, Mike and Grandpa Joe at the heads, Chase by his dad; I sit between him and Grandma Birdy. Across from Chase sits his mom and Ted across from me.