by Shen, L. J.
“Honestly, I would knee Vaughn in the balls for sugar-free froyo, and you know I think that’s the work of the devil. But, yeah, you were upset. I stepped up. That’s what we did for each other, you know?”
“Did?” I bit down on my tongue ring.
She looked down at her thighs. “Do?”
“Do,” I said with conviction. “No matter how hard or stupid shit gets, Moonshine. Ride or die, remember?”
She nodded.
Fuck it. She deserved to know.
“Mom’s not getting a lung transplant.”
I didn’t know what to expect. Probably a bullshit, long-ass speech about how it was going to be okay—even though it clearly wasn’t—followed by an even more embarrassing attempt to find a silver lining.
Instead, Luna’s face twisted with agony I knew took hold of every inch of her body.
“Fuck.”
She never cursed. Even in sign language. It felt good to hear her say that.
“Thanks,” came my equally unlikely response.
“I’m looking for Val.” She changed the subject.
“Fuck.”
It was my turn to curse. Honestly, though, I could count the number of times I hadn’t said that word in a sentence on one finger. It’d be the middle one, by the way.
She nodded again.
“You feel guilty,” I guessed.
“Don’t I always?”
“You do.” Unless there are other guys involved, of course.
Apparently, I wasn’t done being Bitter Betty. Swear to God it felt like my balls had been surgically removed from the rest of my body.
There was silence, the type I’d grown accustomed to since I’d realized Luna Rexroth wasn’t gross after all. I laced my fingers through hers. Closed my eyes.
“We can do this,” she mumbled, trying to convince herself more than me. “We can be friends. We just need to remember we’re not together, and therefore don’t owe each other anything.”
She squeezed my hand, sticking to her eyes-on-the-ceiling strategy, speaking as if her words were written there.
“Poppy is nice.”
I didn’t want to talk about Poppy. Or about how the one thing Luna had said about Val changed my mind about something—something I was going to do tomorrow, something I’d decided on a whim and wouldn’t tell anyone about.
Right now I wanted to just be here in silence with my best friend. And somehow, I don’t know how, but Luna sensed it. So we sat there for what felt like two hours but was probably a lot less, until I opened my eyes again. Her eyes were closed, too. I watched her for a while.
When she opened her eyes, it felt like she took something away from me.
“Let’s jump,” she said.
“I’m quite fond of my limbs, Moonshine.”
“Stop being such a big baby.”
“Big, quarterback baby who just finished a football season in one piece and would like to keep all his body parts intact.”
She crawled out of the treehouse and settled on the branch. It was thick, but I doubted it could carry my muscular ass for more than a few seconds before snapping. I rolled my eyes and settled next to her. She slipped her hand in mine.
“Three, two, one.”
It was a short, sweet way down.
The next day, I sat on a bench, watching the sun slink into the ocean like a wounded animal disappearing into the woods to die alone.
I knew the woman sitting beside me had made one hell of a journey to come here, that she’d been waiting for days, weeks, months—who knew? who cared?—for me to pick up the phone and tell her to come here. Then she’d hopped on the first available flight to do just that.
And still. And still. And still. I was barely able to look at her face, gold-rimmed by the sun.
Pretty.
Young.
Lost.
Found. Maybe.
That was her version of the story, anyway.
She smoothed her summer dress over her thighs in my periphery, sniffing the sea brine in the air. The action was compulsive. And annoying. And too close to the way I chewed on my tongue ring whenever I was nervous.
“I was sixteen.” She still spoke to the hands in her lap.
Sixteen when she gave up on me.
Sixteen when she handed me to my parents.
Sixteen when they asked her if she wanted them to send her updates and pictures.
Sixteen when she replied no.
She’d said so herself, in her letter to me, apologizing and assuring me she knew what I looked like now. I didn’t ask how, because I didn’t care.
“Boo-fucking-hoo.” I flicked my joint between my fingers, throwing it to the ocean and tucking my fists into my jacket.
“I didn’t have a choice.” She shook her head, again, looking at her lap.
“Bullshit. Choices are all we have.” I felt like our conversation had started from the middle. We’d hardly exchanged any pleasantries before we dove headfirst into the real mess.
“But Knight…”
“Really? You drag your ass across the country, and all you have to say to me is a weak ‘but Knight’?”
She burst into tears. I turned my head to watch her, my face dripping nonchalance. She was tall, with blue eyes and blonde hair. I wondered just how dark my dad had been to dilute the Reese Witherspoon genes she was sporting. We looked nothing alike, and that made me happy somehow. Proud.
“Don’t send me any more letters.”
“But…”
“Call me again, and I’ll take it to the police. And never, fucking ever, bypass my parents when you want to get to me, eighteen or not.”
“But…but…”
“Stop with the buts! I didn’t want to open the case. You sure as fuck don’t deserve to make that decision for me.” I stood up, plucking a bunch of bills from my wallet and throwing them in my birth mother’s general direction. “Cab fare back to the airport. Ciao, Dixie.”
I tried to ignore Knight’s existence for the next few days.
I went surfing with Edie every morning, took Racer to the mall twice, and caught up on reading material for college. I rode my bike. A lot.
Even though I didn’t actually see him, Knight was always there, hovering in the back of my mind. Everything I did was tainted with the vision of his face. To silence the demon with stabbing green eyes, I decided to dig deeper into Val.
Last night, I’d gone into my father’s walk-in closet when he wasn’t home, risen on my toes, and slid out the shoebox where he kept everything Val-related. There were mainly legal documents, most of them about me—my birth, my heritage, and the documents proving he had full custody of me. I didn’t know why he still kept them. I was nineteen and wasn’t going anywhere.
Nowhere near Val, and nowhere at all.
The more I dug into my biological mother’s case, the more I realized how much of a mystery she was to me—no address, no background, no relatives I knew of. She had a mother—wasn’t my grandmother curious to meet me?—and not much else.
I decided to talk to Edie about it. Edie was a better bet than Dad because she didn’t have an allergic reaction to the name Valenciana. I wasn’t really sure why, because when I was four, she hadn’t been immune to being screwed over by Val.
I found Edie in the kitchen, making sugar cookies with Racer. They turned around when I entered, both of them wearing matching Why Are You All Up in My Grill? aprons. Edie took one look at my face before she dropped a kiss on Racer’s head.
“Go help your dad in the garage.”
“Help him with what? He’s watching a football game.” Racer frowned.
“Well, he’s old and nearsighted.”
“No, he’s not.”
“He needs you to read the score for him. Go.”
I plopped down on the barstool by the kitchen island, rubbing my face. Edie walked over to the fridge and took out two Bud Lights, popping them open and sliding one in my direction. I loved how she put the Mom cap on when I needed he
r to be the responsible adult, and the Friend cap on when I didn’t want to be lectured. She could always sense which version of her I needed and slipped into the role like a chameleon, changing her colors but still staying the same, sweet Edie.
“What’s the story, morning glory?” She tipped her beer bottle up, taking a sip.
“Val,” I signed.
Edie gathered her long blonde hair into a messy, yet somehow perfect bun.
“All right. I’m listening.”
There was always a dash of guilt thrown in when I mentioned Val to Edie. After all, one of them was an MIA birth mom who wanted nothing to do with me, and the other was a girl who’d met me when she was a teenager herself—nineteen, as I was right now—and immediately took me under her wing, sacrificing her youth for Dad and me.
“Have you ever tried to find out where she was?”
Edie shook her head, peeling the label off her beer bottle. “Your dad doesn’t like talking about her. I doubt she’s in the country anymore. Last we saw her, when you were four, she was deeply troubled.”
“I want to find out.”
“Why, Luna?”
“Why?” I threw my hands in the air, wanting to punch someone. “Because I can’t move forward! Because I have no roots, so how can I know where to grow, in which direction? Because she is my past!”
“Exactly. You can’t do anything about your past. Focus on your present. On your future. Hell, on anything other than that woman.”
I shook my head. I needed to know.
Edie looked around. Her shoulders sagged with a sigh. “If we open this can of worms without telling your dad, he’ll be devastated when he finds out. And he will find out. I can’t betray him, Lu. You realize that, right?”
I looked up at her. I didn’t want to do it. Every fiber in my body didn’t want to do it, but I dug out my manipulative streak, dumping it between us on the kitchen island, baiting her. Guilt-tripping her. For the first time in my life, I did something completely selfish.
“I don’t have the money for this, Edie. Or the connections. I deserve to know.”
Edie’s teeth sank into her full lower lip. She examined her sugar-dusted fingers, her huge wedding ring catching the sunlight streaming from the large windows.
I thought about Knight. About how he refused to open his adoption case. Last time we’d spoken about it, he’d said, “I have two functioning parents with their shit together. Why would I let some random walk into my life and mess it up?”
He had a point. But Knight wasn’t like me. He didn’t need answers. He dripped validation. He was vastly loved and admired by everyone we knew.
Edie turned around, giving me her back. She braced herself on the kitchen counter, thinking. I hated myself so much for putting her in this situation.
“I’ll hire a PI, but you have a week to tell you dad,” she announced metallically. “I’m not lying to my husband, Luna.”
As a gesture of good faith, I spoke the words to her, “Thank you.”
She dipped her finger into cookie dough on the glossy marble of the counter, licking the pad of her finger thoughtfully.
“Whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope it’s peace and not a relationship. She doesn’t deserve you, Luna. She never did.”
My perfect streak of avoiding Knight (and vice versa?) ended on a Wednesday afternoon, the day before Christmas Eve. I was headed down to the dog shelter on Main Street for a pre-Christmas adoption day, one of the busiest days of the year. Clad in my checked Vans, mustard-hued beanie, boyfriend jeans, and a cropped sweater that showed a hint of abs from all the cycling I did, I hugged Eugene and Bethany, the elderly couple who ran the shelter. Eugene had white caterpillar eyebrows and wore a uniform of suspenders and hiking boots. Beth was a willowy thing who was always on the move. I’d come in before the other volunteers to help clean up, arrange the refreshments on tables, and print out leaflets for prospective adopters.
Since Eugene and Beth didn’t speak sign language, I had to type on my phone to communicate with them. I’d been volunteering with them for many years, and communicating was never an issue, but today, they were squinting at my phone more than usual, rubbing their eyes when staring at the tiny text. I hadn’t considered that they were getting older.
My heart was drenched with sorrow. I tried to open my mouth and speak. The wall had been pierced—why not try again? But nothing came out. I closed my mouth, snagged a blank page from the printer, and wrote with a thick Sharpie, I’m so sorry. Maybe I should go?
Beth ripped the page in half while it was still in my hand, snapped her fingers together, and smiled.
“Our grandson, Jefferson, studied sign language. He’s going to become a speech therapist. Let me call him.”
The last thing I wanted was someone else added to the mix. As it was, the place was going to be teeming with people, my least favorite creatures to hang out with. But I couldn’t exactly shut down the idea, either. So I watched as Beth coaxed her grandson (rather aggressively) to stop by the shelter on his way back from the gym.
Half an hour before we opened the doors to the general public, the volunteers started trickling in. They were mostly faces I recognized, but that did nothing to calm my social anxiety. Most people smiled tightly when they saw me and made themselves scarce to keep things a little less awkward—for them, not for me. Not that I cared either way, as long as I was back to being my blissfully invisible self.
I was arranging leaflets on red-clothed tables when Beth shrieked behind me and said, “Oh, lookie here! My favorite English rose.”
My blood froze in my veins. I could practically feel whatever was left of my calm evaporating from my body, like mist, even before I heard Knight’s voice muttering, “Shit.”
Shit, indeed.
I resumed my leaflet arrangement, keeping my back to them, like nothing had happened.
So what if they were here? I’d been volunteering in the shelter for eight years, practically since I was a pre-teen. Today was going to be wonderful. Puppies and elderly dogs alike were going to find new, loving homes. I was going to make the most out of it. Besides, Knight and I had agreed on a truce.
“Knight Jameson Cole. How’s your mama?” Bethany bellowed behind me.
“Well, ma’am. Thanks for asking. And yourself?”
“Been worse.”
“But never looked better.”
“You little charmer.” She let out a hearty laugh. “Is that how he caught you, Miss Astalis? With his smooth tongue?”
“Ma’am, you haven’t the slightest clue,” Knight drawled.
I bit down on a grin and rolled my eyes. He’d gone there. In front of a senior citizen. The horn dog.
“He makes me so happy,” Poppy gushed, clapping her hands together.
I wanted to gag. The only thing stopping me, in fact, was Bethany calling for me to come say hello to my good, good friend.
We lived in a small town, where everyone knew Knight Cole and Luna Rexroth were a package deal. He’d come to the shelter with me so many times, his mere presence here with someone else felt like a slap in my face.
Truce, Luna. Truce. He’s not yours, remember?
Drawing a calming breath, I turned around and plastered on a polite smile as I made my way to them. I waved hello to Poppy and Knight just as the door behind them opened and a person I assumed was Jefferson walked in.
Everyone went silent.
Jefferson was, for lack of other words, uncomfortably stunning, even in his gym clothes, sweat making his shirt stick to his six pack. I’d always been drawn to people with distinctive faces—a scar, a crooked nose, chipped tooth. Anything imperfect went, as long as they were flawed.
Knight’s saving grace was his eyes. Everything about him was perfect to the T, an all-American superhero who could slide comfortably into Chris Pine’s shoes and give him a run for his money. But his eyes were slightly different colors, one the shade of moss, the other more hazel. He was imperfect, but only if you looked real
ly closely. Too closely for his comfort. Too close for him to ever allow. I could never fall in love with a hundred-percenter…but Knight was a solid 99.99%.
Jefferson, however, was three-figure perfect: thick, silken mane the color of sand and a jaw squarer than a Rubik’s Cube, a la Scott Eastwood. Since I was the reason he’d arrived, I was the first he reached out to for a handshake when Beth started with the introductions. I normally wasn’t hot on physical contact with people I didn’t know, but something about the situation pushed me into getting out of my comfort zone. Or rather, someone. Knight.
Jefferson gave me a gentle squeeze, peppering the gesture with a wide smile. He couldn’t be much older than twenty-two. I didn’t know why I was expecting someone older, considering his grams had mentioned he was still a student.
“Grandma Beth asked if I could save the day.” He grinned, his teeth sparkling like in a cartoon.
Typically, I wouldn’t answer him, in sign language or otherwise. But I could practically feel Knight’s gaze putting more layers of clothes on me to try to hide me away, one item at a time, as he tried to fence me back into being timid and shy. Not today, though.
“I appreciate it. You must be so busy.”
“Never too busy to be a beautiful girl’s knight in shining armor.”
I smirked. Interesting choice of words. Karma was definitely working extra hours today.
“She’s not a tortilla chip. No need to put so much cheese on it.” Knight tousled his own hair, his eyes drenched with disdain as he threw Jefferson a scowl.
Jefferson was still staring at me and shaking my hand, his chiseled face smiling radiantly at me.
“Actually, I’m vegan,” he deadpanned.
“I’m vegetarian.” My eyes bugged out.
Why was I surprised again? His grandparents ran a shelter. They were both vegetarian. Eugene and Beth looked between us, sharing a sly smile before they left to open the shelter doors to the general public.
“What are the odds?” Knight feigned interest. “I bet Harry Styles was both your favorite Fifth Harmony member.”
“Harry Styles was in One Direction,” Jefferson pointed out.
Knight spread his arms triumphantly. “Damn, son. You walked right into the trap. Not the kind of information that should occupy your brain cells.”