The Moment of Letting Go

by J. A. Redmerski

  “Maybe not,” Paige says, “but you could be setting yourself up for some drama regardless, that’s for sure.”

  I cringe over that word. Drama. I hate it and fear it like the Dennings family probably hates and fears having to drive through the projects.

  “Just watch yourself,” Paige adds. “See, I should be there with you. Just in case.”

  I laugh and bring my legs up, propping my bare feet on the table.

  “Oh please,” I say. “I can take you down, so I don’t really need your backup.”

  A burst of air sounds in my ear.

  “Hey!” she says with humor and pretend offense, “I’ll remember that next time you need help!”

  “Yeah, too bad you’re not here in Hawaii. Soaking up the sun. Hanging out with me and Luke’s hot friends.” I have to mess with her.

  “He has friends?”

  “No, Paige, he’s a loner who lives in the mountains. Didn’t you see his knee-length beard?”

  She laughs.

  “I hope you have a good time,” she says, setting all jokes aside. “I really do. You’re right, you deserve it.” She pauses and then adds, “Who knows, maybe he won’t turn out to be an asshole and be perfect for you. Just don’t forget to keep in touch—tourists are often targeted, y’know. I worry about you.”

  “I’ll keep in touch,” I tell her just before we say good-bye and hang up.

  After a quiet moment, I look down into the phone and bring up the text message Luke sent me just before he left. *kisses your cheek* glows on the screen and my face flushes with heat every time I look at it.

  Everything about this guy feels right. I’m not even sure what right means at this point, but I’m not giving up until I find out. As I stare at the screen, letting not just everything he’s ever said to me run through my head, but the three simple words on the screen itself, and I can’t help but wonder what Luke’s doing right now.

  Finally I decide to take a leap, not caring if it makes me seem too forward, and I touch the screen just as the light is beginning to fade, and I begin to type:

  What are you up to?

  My heart is beating furiously now. Maybe I shouldn’t have texted him, after all. What if he doesn’t respond? I swallow nervously and sway my crossed feet side to side on the table.

  Just lying here.

  My heart skips a beat when I see his reply and my face spreads into a smile.

  What about you?

  I think about it for a moment, wanting to be as vague and simple as he’s being.

  Just sitting on my balcony, I finally reply.

  Luke: It’s a nice night.

  Me: Yeah it really is.

  There’s no response for six extremely long seconds.

  Luke: I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

  Did my heart just melt? I think it seriously just melted.

  Me: Me too. : -)

  Luke: You can’t wait to see you tomorrow?

  Me: You know what I mean. :-P

  Luke: Come on, throw me a bone and just say it. You can’t wait to see me.

  Now the six-second response time is all on me.

  Luke: *pouty face*

  Do I do it? No! I shouldn’t. We’ve not known each other long and he might think I’m easy or vulnerable or naïve or desperate.

  Luke: Sienna?

  Me: *kisses your cheek*

  Six more long seconds.

  Luke: : -) See you tomorrow.

  Me: : -) Good night.

  I don’t care if Kendra is threatened by me or if the two of them used to have a thing. The past is the past. The only thing that worries me is the future.

  I have to go home sometime.

  THIRTEEN

  Sienna

  The alarm on my phone wakes me to the sound of crickets the next morning. My eyes open a slit to see the clock on the nightstand glaring eight a.m. back at me. Immediately, I leap out of the bed, nearly tripping over my shoes. I’m going to be late for work—I’m always up at seven to get ready. My heart is racing something fierce by the time I realize that I don’t have work today, or tomorrow, or the day after that. Letting out a long breath, I press my palm against my heart.

  “Get a grip,” I tell myself.

  I walk over and open the long curtains on the windows to let the sun shine through. Then I hop in the shower and shave again even though I showered and shaved last night. I don’t want even a millimeter of regrowth anywhere on my body. Not that I plan on letting Luke feel me up, but … well … he might touch my knee again, or pat my leg like he did yesterday. Or, take it upon himself to remove my shoes, which, in turn, means he’ll touch my ankles.

  OK, I think I’m losing it. Why do I feel like a high schooler with a crush on the quarterback?

  My room is a mess before I even halfway figure out what to wear. Clothes are strewn all over the bed and the floor and the chair by the wall.

  I don’t want to over-or underdress—why didn’t I ask him last night if I should dress casual?

  I try on several different outfits, mixing and matching this and that, until finally settling on my cream-colored dress, with orange, black, and light blue flowers around the waist and the bottom, which stops just above my ankles. I top it off with my matching orange purse—big enough to carry my larger camera—orange sandals, and gold bracelets and matching earrings. I pull my hair into a cute braided bun at the back of my head and leave a few wisps to hang about my face.

  And I’m incredibly nervous.

  This feels like a date. Yes, I think that’s exactly what this is. I mean, he never said it was a date, and I never said it was a date, but it really does seem like—

  My phone chimes, interrupting my rambling thoughts, telling me I have a text message. I check it quickly, automatically thinking it will be Luke, until I realize it’s still pretty early.

  Paige: I want details!

  I text her back telling her that she’ll get the details if there are any, which I highly doubt because this isn’t a date and—

  OK, it’s definitely a date.

  And it’s the first date I’ve ever been on where I felt a little nauseous beforehand. Where I can’t think straight and where I actually got up two hours before I’m supposed to meet him, just to get ready. The last guy I dated was lucky enough to get a thirty-minute prep time—I liked to date like any girl, but it was often hard for me because I’ve always been so focused on my career and helping my parents.

  Standing in front of the elongated mirror, I turn left and right and spin around to see the back of my summer dress. I adjust the thin half-inch straps over my bare shoulders and lean over forward to see if my girls are on display and if my strapless bra is doing its job. I look down at my turquoise-painted toenails—if anyone can ever accuse me of having an obsession, it’s more likely to be toenail polish than being a workaholic—and I realize they need repainting, light blue to match the blue flowers on my dress.

  After that, all I have left to do is wait. I glance at the clock on my phone and sigh miserably—it’ll be a whole hour before Luke gets here—and I thought six seconds was a long time.

  Finally the hour is up and … he’s still not here.

  I check my phone in case he texted me or called at some point, hopeful that he had. Nothing. Fifteen minutes late and I’m starting to feel like the girl who got stood up at the prom by that stupid quarterback.

  My phone chimes in my hand, my heart skipping a few beats.

  Luke: Sorry I’m late! I’m almost there. Give me about 10 minutes.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I stand up from the bed and go over to check myself out in the mirror again. Already my face is starting to get oily. Or maybe that’s from my nerves, or sweat from the summer heat. I pat the area between my eyes and around my nose with a square of toilet paper. Geez! I’ve never been so nervous in my life!

  I grab my bulky rust-orange leather purse from the bed and shoulder it—no need to make sure I have everything because I’ve already done that abou
t, oh, at least five times: cell phone, wallet, room key, Canon.

  I head downstairs to meet Luke in the lobby just as he’s walking through the main doors with his cell phone crushed in his hand. For a moment, as he walks toward me, all I can do is check him out as I’ve only ever seen him in swimming shorts and T-shirts—or shirtless—before. He’s dressed in a pair of light khaki pants with the legs rolled up just above his ankles, and a light blue button-up shirt, loosely tucked behind a belt, with the sleeves rolled tight around his bicep muscles. A pair of casual brown leather loafers dress his feet. A thick brown braided bracelet dresses one wrist. A smile that I find myself becoming addicted to. I swallow nervously; the pit of my stomach swims with a sort of besotted shiver.

  I smile brightly to distract from any incriminating evidence of infatuation left on my face.

  “Wow,” he says, stepping up to me, beaming. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you,” I say, unable to hide the blush in my face, and I refuse to waste time trying anymore.

  I look him up and down with an investigative gaze. “And look at you,” I say as my eyes slowly find his. “I’m impressed. Truly I am. Didn’t expect that.”

  He grins crookedly and it melts me a little inside.

  “What, am I not the Abercrombie & Fitch type?”

  “No, I guess I just didn’t imagine you in anything—”

  “You didn’t imagine me in anything?” He raises a brow and his grin appears more devilish. “So you’re imagining me in the buff already?”

  Yes.

  “No!” My hand instinctively comes out and play-swats him on the shoulder. My face flushes and I look at the floor, almost able to see my reflection in it, the tile is so clean and shiny. “That’s not what I was going to say.” Laughter rolls out along with my words.

  “Sure sounded like it,” he quips. “I didn’t imagine you were such a pervert. Too cute to be perverted, in my opinion.”

  I can’t find it in me to think of a witty comeback, so I just stand here with my hands folded together in front of me and wearing an embarrassed smile that covers my whole face.

  He changes the mood by looking me up and down with the explorative sweep of his eyes, which makes me blush harder. “But seriously, Sienna, you’re gorgeous.”

  My smile stretches. “Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same about you—but!” I hold up a finger. “I think I’ve witnessed firsthand another one of your flaws,” I tell him in jest.

  He tries not to smile too broadly, pressing his lips together in a line. “Being late, I know. But in my defense—” He holds up a finger, too, but I cut in before he has a chance to explain.

  “Let me guess—the girl on the bike again? She’s starting to freak me out a little. What if she sees me with you and comes after me?”

  Luke laughs lightly.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I think she’s long gone by now. I was late this time because of the public transportation. But you’re right, it’s a flaw. I’m not always late. To be honest, I’m only ever late to the most important things.”

  I don’t know what to think of that, but I find myself feeling good about it, at least.

  “Well, that’s a little weird, don’t you think?”

  He nods, and I grin and go on, taunting him. “I’ve always heard that people who are often late don’t really care about others, or respect their time. They’re rude, inconsiderate, and selfish.” Actually I’m a firm believer of that observation, but for some reason, I can’t put Luke on their level, not because I’m bewitched by him, but deep down I don’t think he belongs there. I just hope he has a good excuse to prove me right.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, followed by an apologetic sigh. “It’s like the more important something is, the harder I try to make it perfect and then I end up forgetting things or—”

  “It’s all right,” I cut in. “I was just joking with you.” Then I narrow my eyes. “But if you’re ever late again, I’ll have to …” I can’t think of anything.

  He smiles. “You’ll have to what?” he challenges.

  “I don’t know, but I’ll figure something out.”

  “All right,” he says, “but if I’m on time from here on out and you accuse me of not thinking you were important enough to be late for, I’ll have to do something, too.” He nods swiftly once, as if to underline his point.

  I chortle and say, “I’ll try to remember that.”

  He grins and then steps to my right, arcing his arm out at his side, offering it to me. “Shall we?” he says, pretending to be sophisticated, and I smile, looping my arm through his, and we leave the lobby together.

  We catch the bus and ride to the community center not too far away, where we get off and walk the rest of the way. I’m past wondering if he has his own car, and although it concerns me a little, I’m too afraid to ask him about it—I don’t want to offend him. But it does seem strange, because I’ve not once seen him drive, and this is the second time I’ve left the resort with him and we’ve either taken a bus, or ridden with one of his friends. If Paige were here, she’d already have drilled him about it by now, not to mention the particulars of his two part-time jobs, and we’d already know where he lives and what brand of toilet paper he uses in his bathroom.

  The community center is very spacious, with white-painted brick-like walls and a ceiling of average height, made up of popcorn tiles and long fluorescent lights—it reminds me of the library back at my high school, minus the books.

  There are few people here and there, setting up paintings and sketch art and even beautiful photography on prints as tall as me. Dozens of tall display easels—most of them empty—are set amid giant portable partitions that separate one artist’s section from another.

  Several black-and-white photographs of an old woman’s weathered hands catch my eye instantly, and I want nothing more than to get closer and check out the sharp detail and the gray and black tones that make up the shadows. But the next thing I know, Luke is leading me away from the display floor and in the opposite direction.

  “You’ll like Melinda,” he says, pulling me along gently beside him with his fingers collapsed around my hand. I feel like I have feathers in my stomach and a tiny fire burning behind my pelvic bone.

  We approach a set of wide steps that lead not onto a second floor, but a platform floor of sorts that overlooks the art display area. As we make our way up the carpeted steps, a woman with curly black and gray hair, and wearing a pair of black slacks and a pretty white blouse, sees Luke and her eyes light up.

  She makes her way over without hesitation.

  “I’m so glad you came,” she says sweetly, taking him into a hug with her thin, frail arms. She pulls away and smiles over at me and instantly I like her; there’s warmth and honesty in her that reminds me of my mother.

  Luke introduces us and she shakes my hand.

  “Looks like things are coming along,” Melinda says, glancing out at the display room. “I didn’t expect the artists to start bringing in their pieces this soon, but if you need space to set up, you can have it all moved into the room down the hall.”

  “Yeah,” Luke says. “I told a few they could go ahead and start bringing it in if they needed a place to store it—especially the larger pieces.”

  Melinda nods and looks between us both, beaming; her hands are clasped together down in front of her like a little basket.

  A few more people ascend the stairs, and Melinda makes note of them right away, as if preparing to have to mingle with them next.

  “Are you going to hang around for a while today?” she asks Luke.

  “Not for too long,” Luke says, and I feel his eyes on me briefly. “I’ve got a day planned with Sienna. She’s only here for two weeks and there’s a lot to show her.”

  “Oh, well, that’s wonderful,” Melinda says sweetly. “Where are you vacationing from?”

  “San Diego,” I answer.

  “I’ve been there,” she says. “
Nice place.”

  “Nothing like Hawaii,” I say.

  She purses her lips and nods. “Yes, I guess I have to agree with you on that one.” She smiles softly.

  “Too bad you can’t be here for the event,” she says, looking between me and Luke.

  “Yeah, I go back home on the twenty-first,” I say, beaming at them both, “but I’d love to stick around and help set up.”

  Luke squeezes my hand. “Hey now, remember what I said—”

  “Yeah, I know,” I interrupt, squeezing his hand back.

  Melinda’s face brightens.

  “Perfect,” she says. “I think it’s really going to be our biggest event yet—I do it every year, but this year I decided to hand over the reins to my two favorite people.” She looks at Luke, indicating he’s one of them. “Luke is a special young man,” she says, and instantly I notice his face flush under his tanned skin.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Luke cuts in respectfully, a blushing smile covering his whole face. He looks at me with a grin and says, “Melinda is just biased because she’s practically adopted me.”

  “Hey, if I could really adopt you, I certainly would,” Melinda says.

  “Well, maybe you and my mom can work something out,” Luke jests.

  I find their kind banter adorable, especially the way Luke is with her.

  Melinda smiles.

  The people who had just come up the stairs approach us, and Melinda’s attention begins to split between us and them. Luke decides it’s our cue and then he says, “I’m going to show Sienna around for a few before we head out.”

  “OK, dear,” she tells him and takes him into another hug. “Let me know if you need anything.” She looks right at me now. “Hang around for as long as you’d like. There are drinks and snacks in the kitchen—Luke can show you the way.”

  “Thank you—it was nice meeting you.”

  “You too, honey,” she says.

  Melinda greets the other people while Luke takes my hand again and leads me back down the steps.