by Lex Martin
In fact, Dani’s expression is haunting as she stares back into the lens. She looks a little too thin, her cheekbones too sharp, her expression too pointed. But Jesus, she’s gorgeous. My heart knocks in my chest, reminding me that we were so close to having something real. Until we imploded.
The second thing I notice is all of her creamy white skin. The crest of her breasts. The elegant lines of her neck.
But the third thing, the one that feels like a kick to my balls, is the fact that Brady’s tattooed arm is tightly wrapped around her naked torso, hiding those piercings, as he presses his bare chest to her back and looks over her shoulder. They look like a couple.
Is that what my sister is trying to tell me? That Dani is with Brady now?
I shouldn’t be jealous. I’ve forced myself to go on a few dates since Dani left. Each one felt worse than the one before because I can’t seem to move on. I’ve been out with gorgeous women, but their touch makes me cringe. And each night, when I close my eyes, there is only one girl who invades my dreams.
I keep telling myself it’s better that I know who Dani really is now before I’m in too deep. I’d rather know that beneath that sweet exterior is a gold-digger.
Fuck it to hell. I hate when my mother is right.
Thirty-Six
- Dani -
I used to love airports. The frenzied way people scurried to their gates and the excitement of what lay beyond the steel-tipped wings of the planes made me buzz with anticipation.
But now, staring down at my boots caked with the salt and silt of a winterized Boston, all I feel is dread that what the future holds are days without my mother.
As I run my thumbnail along the styrofoam of my Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, making small indentations, all I can think about are the goodbyes I’ve said this week. Most were casual because I didn’t want to talk about my mom, but having to hug Travis one last time nearly broke me in two.
“I’ll come out over spring break,” he mumbled into my hair last night as he hugged me once more. “I bet Zinzer will give you your job back in the fall when you come back.” Nodding, I tried to smile even though I couldn’t say whether I’ll ever return to Boston. It feels tainted now.
I packed most of the stuff in my room, and Jenna said she’d ship it to me when I decided what to do, but she wouldn’t let me touch my bed. She said she had a feeling I’d be back, and she wanted me to know it was waiting for me in case I could return.
I’d held back the tears all week until that point, but before I knew what was happening, the waterworks began. Jenna and I had been glued at the hip ever since she walked in on my heart-to-heart with Clem, who filled her in on what went down with Jax. They both showered me with TLC from that moment until the cab came to pick me up this morning.
I can’t believe I thought Clem would hate me for being with her brother. She couldn’t have been more kind or compassionate. She even told me that if she had been in my shoes, she probably wouldn’t have told him what happened on his birthday either.
An announcement blares. “American Airlines flight 243 to Chicago O’Hare is now boarding at gate twelve.”
I have one more thing to do before I board my flight.
Opening the e-reader on my phone, I click on Clementine’s book. My finger hesitates for a moment before it flicks to the left and deletes the file. I know my roommate would understand.
Goodbye, Jax.
I should be happy to be going home because it’s been so long since I’ve been back, but when I take in the Windy City as the plane descends on the runway, I feel even more crestfallen. The snow along every sidewalk and street corner has hardened in the frigid air, and a gray soot blankets the ice, dimming any brightness.
Like the city is already mourning my loss, I think bitterly.
No, I can’t let myself be a basket case. I have to be strong. Mom needs me to keep my shit together.
At least for now.
I pull my luggage behind me as I scan the arrival loading zone, looking for my mom’s beat-up Toyota Corolla.
I expect to see her wearing some silly holiday sweater with ornaments hanging off an obnoxious fringe. I love those stupid sweaters.
“Danielle!” Someone calls my name from the open window of a minivan.
I don’t immediately recognize the woman, mostly because I’m not expecting my mom’s neighbor to be here. Mom has never sent anyone to get me.
Walking slowly to the van, I peer in, hoping to see Mom in the passenger seat, but it’s empty, except for Susan, her long-time best friend who lives next door.
“Hi,” I say cheerfully so I don’t start bawling.
I’m twenty. You’d think I’d be okay with someone other than my mother picking me up from the airport. But deep down, I know this can’t be good.
Susan runs around and gives me a hug before she helps me load my luggage. We chitchat as we drive out to the suburbs, and the longer she waits to explain why my mom’s not here, the more I’m filled with dread.
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. “It’s that bad, huh?” I ask as I stare out the window.
She’s silent, and I turn to look her in the eye.
“Yeah, sweetie, it is.” Susan’s hands grip the steering wheel. “Because you know she loves picking you up from the airport.”
Thinking back to all the phone conversations I had with my mom over the last few months, I’m suddenly able to pinpoint when she realized she was sick.
“My mom’s laptop camera never stopped working.”
“She didn’t want you to worry, honey. Beth thought she had more time, that she could fight it, and she tried one more medicine, but it made her sicker. You know how proud she is of you going to school in Boston. She figured you’d just come rushing home, and she wanted you to finish your degree.” Susan sniffles. “She tells me all the time that she was never as brave as you when she was your age.”
Hot tears stream down my face as the city rushes by my window. I would never call myself brave. Two weeks of avoiding my roommate attests to that fact, but I don’t bother to defend myself because the boulder-sized knot in my throat prevents me from saying anything.
When we pull up to my house, I wipe the wetness from my face. If I’ve ever needed to be brave, now’s the time.
Thirty-Seven
- Jax -
The older man approaching me in front of my apartment building has a strange expression on his face.
“Jax Avery?” he asks as he looks down at a piece of paper.
“Who wants to know?” God, I sound like a dick. Happy fucking holidays.
“Maxwell Smith. I’m the director at the Boys & Girls club of Roxbury.” He extends his hand to me, and after eyeing him warily for a minute, I extend mine. It’s Christmas Eve, and I’ve never been in a worse mood.
“What’s up?” I have forty-five minutes before I need to get on the road. I’m meeting a few friends in New York for winter break, and after the last few weeks, I could use the distraction of getting out of Boston.
“Sir, I just wanted to thank you.” Hearing him call me sir makes this interaction even odder.
I laugh, but it lacks any conviction. “I’m sorry. What are we talking about?”
The man pats me on the shoulder. “The donation. I wanted to thank you for the donation.” What the hell drug is this dude on? “We are able to keep our doors open for the next year because of you, and your assistant expressly stated that we needed to maintain the soccer program, which we will of course. In fact, I was wondering if you’d like to do a couple of small camps with the kids. They’d be thrilled to see a real soccer star, and—”
“My assistant?” I’m seriously so lost. I scrub my face with my hand. “Honestly, this is strange.”
He chuckles. “It was very strange indeed. It’s not every day someone donates that kind of money and then turns around and waits to catch a bus.”
“Okay, back up. I’m confused.”
He grins sheepishly. “Please forgive me for
tracking you down. I know the young lady said you wanted to remain anonymous, but I had to thank you in person, and your name was on the check. This money is going to help so many children who would otherwise be relegated to spending time on the streets, getting in trouble.”
“What young lady?” Even as the words leave my mouth, I know what he’s going to say. Time stills as I wait for the answer that will elate and kill me in equal measure.
“Pretty girl. Red hair. She didn’t tell me her name, just stipulated that the soccer program had to be developed.”
Dani.
My heart sinks as I put the pieces of the puzzle together.
What have I done? I accused her of one of the worst forms of betrayal without ever asking her to her face, and she goes and does this? She basically signed away all of her rights in that non-disclosure agreement and then gave away the money. To a cause she knew I’d love.
Goddamn it. I’m a fucking idiot.
I don’t remember the rest of our conversation. I barely remember how I get into my apartment. When I knock on Ryan’s door an hour later, I can hear voices talking cheerfully, and the pit in my stomach grows. I know my sister is here, glued to her boyfriend Gavin, and even though I suspect the odds are slim that Dani is still around, I need to talk to her.
Jenna opens the door, her usual easy grin sliding into a forced smile.
“Merry Christmas, Jax.” She pauses and looks away as she opens the door a little wider. “Come in.”
Behind her, Ryan and Gavin sit at a card table as Clem stalks toward me.
I guess by the expression on my face she knows why I’m here because she points her finger at me and says, “You’re too late, Einstein. She already left for Chicago.” Clem shakes her head. “And she’s probably not coming back.”
“What? Why?”
“Her mother is dying.” Clem looks at me like I’m an ass. “She has family obligations and some pretty heavy shit on her shoulders, not to mention you jerked her around like she was trash. But, yeah, she packed all of her stuff before she left. Jenna is waiting to hear what things are like back home before she calls UPS.”
Dani is leaving. Possibly for good. Fuck.
The friendly banter that floated from this room when I got here is replaced with a thick, suffocating silence.
“If it’s any consolation,” Clem says, her eyes narrowing, “I think you were the icing on the cake. Jesus, Jax, this girl has enough going on. Did you really have to fuck with her?”
Ignoring the uncomfortable atmosphere, I ask, “She told you I’m the reason she’s not returning to school?”
“She didn’t have to. She avoided coming home for two weeks. She stayed with Travis the whole time because she was embarrassed about what happened between you two. Thanks for fucking up my roommate, by the way. Couldn’t you have picked one of your slutty dates to entertain you that weekend? Did you have to screw with Dani? She’s a nice girl.”
That’s what I can’t explain—that I tried to stay away from her, and the longer I tried, the closer we got as friends and the more I liked her.
“You don’t know the whole story, Clementine,” I tell her gruffly.
Clem’s eyebrow tilts up. “Enlighten me.”
“She lied to me. She knew me this whole time, since my birthday, and—”
“And she didn’t fall and worship at your feet after you left her high and dry at the club without saying goodbye?”
Well, when Clem says it like that…
My sister pins me with a glare. “Did you realize there’s a photo of you online the night of your birthday leaving Cages with that model?”
Shit.
Clem doesn’t wait for me to respond. “The same girl who, coincidentally, stuck her tongue down your throat at Ryan’s? You really expected Dani to interrupt that when you couldn’t remember her name because you had a goddamn concussion?”
Okay, I guess Dani told her more than I thought. But there’s one thing I’m sure she didn’t disclose that convoluted everything.
Her arm waves in front of me, cutting me off. “Don’t even start about the money.”
I still, my body going rigid. “You’ve known?” I feel the pulse in my temple. “For how long?” Now I’m pissed. My own goddamn sister knew Dani didn’t keep that check, and she didn’t tell me.
“Since the day after Daren’s banquet. She told me everything and apologized.” Clem shakes her head. “Aside from what I’m guessing was the pure humiliation of hooking up with some guy who didn’t remember her, she was afraid I’d judge her or be pissed that you two got together.” Her lips tighten. “That’s my fault because I don’t have anything nice to say about the typical women you date, but I certainly don’t include her in that group. So I assured her my cautionary words about you had everything to do with you being a slut and not about me thinking she wasn’t good enough for my brother, dim-witted though he may be.”
Emotions churn in my stomach like grinding gears. “So you knew that she donated thirty grand to the Boys & Girls Club?”
“Yup.” Clem’s nonchalance has me one step away from strangling her.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Because if you really thought she was into you for the money, then you don’t know her, and you certainly don’t deserve her.” Just in case I’m not listening, Clem pokes me in the chest. “Let me be clear. You haven’t convinced me otherwise.”
I run my hands through my hair, exasperated. “I jumped to conclusions. I admit that. But I’ve been burned by a girl like this before, and it just cut too close to home.” Giselle decimated me with one lie, and then she took the money and ran. “Clem, I think you understand what that feels like.”
For years after her breakup with Daren, my sister was a mess. Didn’t date anyone until she met Gavin earlier this semester. My eyes slide to him, and he stares back, his expression telling me I need to chill out.
I take a deep breath, willing myself to back off the ledge.
Clem’s shoulders relax marginally, and she’s quiet a long minute. Finally, she nods.
“I’m listening.”
Thirty-Eight
- Dani -
The white house sits nestled in a blanket of snow, but the walkway is clear. Never in my life have those steps been harder to make. I thank Susan for the ride and force myself forward, my eyes trained on the slight figure sitting on the couch near the large front window.
“Mom?” I call out in the entryway after letting myself in.
“In here,” a weak voice says.
After I close the door behind me, I pause. The air is cold, not quite as frigid as outside, but cold enough that I can see my breath. It should smell like cinnamon and sage, my mother’s favorite spices. Instead, antiseptic and bleach scent the air.
I drop the handle to my luggage, turn up the thermostat in the hallway, and head toward the living room where I stare at the person in front of me, not quite recognizing my mother.
“Hi, darling.” She waves me closer.
She’s a rail. Thin and pale. Like she hasn’t left the house or eaten properly in months. She’s swimming in a bright red sweater that features Rudolph, whose nose blinks on and off like a broken stop light.
“Like it?” She points down at her chest, and I try to ignore her bony fingers.
“Yeah.” I have to clear my throat. “It’s great, Mom.” I sit next to her and wrap my arms around her narrow shoulders. Tears sting my eyes and the back of my throat as she pats my shoulder.
“Hey, kiddo. I’ve missed you.” She kisses the top of my head, and I almost lose it.
I will not break down. I will not break down.
Biting my cheek until it hurts, I focus on that pain instead of my dying parent. When we break apart, the look of love in her eyes threatens to shatter me. Where will I ever find that kind of love again? Once my mother is gone, I’ll be alone.
“None of that!” she chides. “No crying before Christmas. That’s some kind of sacril
ege. Susan left a few meals in the fridge for us. Why don’t you pick one out and pop it in the oven for dinner.”
I bring the food to her when it’s ready so she doesn’t have to expend the energy to get up. She smiles, tipping her fork toward me. “I love your red hair. It’s beautiful. It’s bold. It’s perfect.”
In the blur of coming home, I had forgotten she hadn’t seen it.
I return the smile and push the food around on my plate.
“So,” she says, breaking the silence, “I’m considering getting a small apartment in Boston. What do you think?”
Staring into my bowl of noodles like I might be able to find the right words somewhere in the Alfredo sauce, I nod and force another smile.
“Sounds great, Mom.” The lie slips off my tongue. But I’ll play along through Christmas. Maybe even through the New Year. After that, I won’t be able to hide my plans to come home.
She talks animatedly while I eat the casserole, but I know what she’s doing—pretending this isn’t as bad as it is—but it’s hard to ignore how she picks at her food and clenches her jaw like she’s trying not to throw up.
Our discussion about Boston reminds me of how I’d always ask for a pony when I was a kid, and she would describe where we’d go to buy one and the stall where we’d keep him, the kind of apples he’d like and the little sounds he’d make when we’d pet him. We could talk about my horse for hours even though I knew we could never afford one. The talk was what mattered, the possibility, the hope. I see the same look in her eyes now. She just wants hope. A reason to live.
After I put our dishes away and settle back on the couch with two mugs of hot chocolate, my mom reaches for a manila folder and hands it to me. I open it and stare, not sure what I’m looking at.