by N. K. Smith
“What look?”
Fox shifts in his seat until his whole body is almost facing me. “The one where this,” he says as he reaches out and touches a finger to the crease in my brow, “dominates everything else.”
I relax the muscles in my face and turn toward the windshield. His hand drops to the gearshift as he settles down into his seat. I try to savor the sound the vinyl makes, but the deep creaking evaporates like the light fog on the windshield once Fox turns his old VW on.
“Are we going to be okay?” he asks after a long silence.
I swallow hard and for a moment, the sound drowns out the noise of the pounding blood in my body. “What if you like it over there and stay?”
The breath he lets out is slow and steady, and it should comfort me but doesn’t. “How could that happen? I mean, think about it. It’s not like I have an unlimited supply of money. I don’t know the first thing about working in a foreign country. Sure, I speak the language, but it’s not like I’m going to beat out native born English people for—”
“You’re an adventurous guy. There are tons of books—memoirs, travel diaries—of adventurous guys heading off and never coming back. I’m not—”
“My dad lives here. My mother’s here. I’m not going to go live in England and never see my mother again. She might be a little crazy, but she’d recognize if I stopped coming.” The crinkle of vinyl sounds again, and I turn toward it. Fox cups my cheek in his hand. “And you’re here. I wish you’d believe me when I tell you that you’re enough reason to come back. You’ll be at NYU, and I’ll be in Pechimu and those two places aren’t that far apart.”
I don’t know what compels me to argue, but I say, “What if you come back and I’m not at NYU? What if I ditched college and started my own adventure?”
“Then I’ll drive to California and find you on the beach,” he says. I love the fact he knows if I was going to have an adventure, it’d be on the beaches of California. “There may be hundreds of pretty girls there, but you’ll be easy to find. You’ll be the gorgeous girl holding my heart.”
“I—”
“You can’t give it back, even if you want to,” he says as he faces forward again. “I’ve given it to you and until I take it back, it’s yours to keep.”
I’m speechless as he drives us back to my place. I can think of nothing to say to him as we get ready for bed. Even as he kisses my collarbone after we lie down, I am blank inside. He’s going to leave, and I don’t want him to. I hate that on so many levels. I hate how selfish it makes me, but I also hate that I’ve allowed myself to even get into this painful situation.
Even if he comes back from England like he says he will, he’ll be changed by the experience and I’ll be the same. Just like with anyone else, I won’t be able to hold onto him. He’ll move on. I fully expect him to, just like I expect Myka to make awesome new friends at college and slowly fade from my life. No one stays, even when they mean to.
In the morning Fox gets up to go to work, and I pretend to sleep. He places a single kiss on my temple and it sears into me. Yes, it’s sweet. Yes, I love it, but deeper than that—in some little black box of negativity within me—I hate it.
I hate it because I won’t have it this time next week. Hell, I won’t even have him this time three days from now.
When he has gone to work, I spend my morning and afternoon trying to convince myself that all those damned poets are right. It’s better to feel something than to not, and while most of me is convinced of this, there’s that vocal minority screaming at me, telling me off for letting Fox in at all, because this shit hurts.
When he knocks on my door around four in the afternoon, I don’t bother getting up and letting him in. I just bellow, “It’s open!”
I can’t look at the smile I’m going to miss as he enters the living room. He’s always so damned happy. It’s annoying. “I know it’s early, but I’m starving,” Fox says. “Do you want to be like a couple of old people and get some early bird specials?”
“Not hungry.” I flip through the pages of some book I picked up but haven’t read.
“Okay.” He says it slow, and I know he can tell something’s wrong. Despite what I thought before the summer, I know how smart he is, and beyond smart, he’s intuitive and emotionally connected. “Do you mind if I order something to be delivered because I’m—”
“Starving. I heard you. Do what you want.”
He says, “Okay,” again, but doesn’t move from his spot. I can feel him looking at me. I swear, five minutes passes, and I can no longer keep myself from glancing up at him. As soon as our eyes connect, he asks, “What’s going on, Saigey?”
“Nothing. Just order your food.” I toss the book on the coffee table and grab my laptop.
“If I get Chinese, will you eat some?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Again, he doesn’t speak for a while and the quiet tension almost becomes too much. “Do you know how to make an egg roll?”
It’s one of his jokes, and as much as I want to hear him tell me the corny punch line, I can’t let him. I almost cringe as my harsh voice kills his fun. “You push it. It’s an old joke, and it’s not even funny.”
I look up at him. Fox sits across from me with his phone in his hands. He looks like a kicked puppy, a little lost boy, a guy who can’t believe his girlfriend is going to do this to him. But he knows. I know he can feel what’s going to happen and no matter how much neither of us wants it to happen, we both know it will.
“Today’s the day, huh?” he says. I don’t say anything because the way his eyes get all watery takes my breath away. His voice is a whisper. “Don’t do it.”
We’ve been through all this before, but unlike before, I need to protect myself because Fox leaving isn’t just something that could happen, it will happen in a few days. I have to change my tactic because he’s so good at getting me to concede. I can’t play this soft. He’ll see through that and will use his charm and charisma to change my mind again, which will only lead to more harm and heartache for both of us.
I harden myself by squashing down any emotion. “I won’t do it.” The relief in his expression is short lived as I go on. “If you stay.”
“I have plane tickets. I have hotel reservations. I have the ticket to the football match. I can’t just—”
I don’t even need words to cut him off. Just by pressing my lips together, I silence him. He runs his hands through his hair several times until he takes a deep breath and looks me in the eyes again. “You want me to give up something I’ve worked for since I was fifteen? You have no idea what it’s like to work hard for something.”
“That’s not true. How the hell would you know—”
“You haven’t even finished one thing you’ve worked on beyond graduating high school.”
“What about Myka’s Metal Valentine?”
Fox taps his hand on his chest. “You finished that because of me.”
Everything about this conversation is wrong, but I can’t figure out how to maneuver it until it’s right again. “I’ve worked hard for us. Stay with me. Don’t go to England so I can finish our—”
“Oh, my God. Are we doing this? Are we really fighting about England?”
“Yes.”
He licks his lips as he shakes his head. It’s painful to watch, but I know if we just go through this pain together right now, it’ll kill the pain that’s out there waiting for us at some unknown place and time. If I just push through this, he’ll be better off and so will I.
“I already have my tickets,” he says again. “I’ve been saving for five years. That might not mean anything to you, but that’s a hundred warehouse shifts above and beyond what I worked just to help out with the mortgage, food, and the hospital bill.”
“So? I’ll give you the money to cancel the trip. I’ll repay you to—”
“You can’t buy every goddamned thing in the world, Saige! You can’t buy my dream. I don’t want your money, and I d
on’t want to give up England. I’m going to sit in the stands of Anfield and sing “You’ll Never Walk Alone” with the rest of the Liverpool fans and know I’ve earned my place there.” Fox stands up, but immediately sits back down. “Instead of being scared and pissed off and wanting to use the money to buy my dream, know I love you and use the money to come to England with me. Please.”
I push my laptop off onto the couch and cross my arms. “And then what? It’s not like you have life all planned out.”
“No, but at least I have a road map. You don’t have any plan. You’re just content to sit around and let life push you this way or that.”
For most of my life, I’ve tried to avoid confrontation, but when I can’t avoid it and I’m in the thick of it, something within me kicks in, and all I can do is fight. “A road map? To where, Fox? Pechimu’s finest fast food chain and a warehouse? That’s not life. That’s—”
“You’re being so selfish. I would never ask you to give up your plans for me.”
“Then don’t. Stay here with me or we can go to California and—”
“Absolutely not. You and I both know you’re not going to California. At least not right now. You have to actually take steps to accomplish a goal, Saige. You can’t achieve things you don’t work for. And all we ever do is hang out in this damned apartment. Get off your ass and go to England with me.”
I stand up and glare down at him. “I do not just sit on my ass all day, thank you very much!”
Fox laughs. It’s not malicious, but it still cuts into me. “Yes, you do, and I love you for it, but come sit on your ass in England with me.” As he stands up and steps around the coffee table, I can see a little gleam of hope in his eyes. He thinks I’ll see the logic in his proposal. There’s no room in this conversation for hope. I’m ending it for his own good and for mine.
I move two feet to the side to keep my distance. “Whatever.”
He stops. “That’s what you’ve got to say? Whatever?”
I shrug and wrap my arms around my belly as I try to keep the pain within me. I won’t cry in front of him. I won’t be a wounded little girl in front of anyone anymore.
Fox shakes his head as he takes a step back. “You won’t even try? You won’t even try to maybe meet me halfway?”
I don’t know what to say, and even if I did, I doubt I’d be able to say it.
“Jesus. Do I even know you, Saige? I thought you had passion and fire within you. I adore the girl who finally breaks free of all the shit that chains her to—”
“Well, you must’ve misread me. You’ve known before we even started hanging out who I was. Your friends have told you how toxic I am, so why you had hope for anything beyond—”
He motions to me but then lets his hand flop down to his side. “You can’t even give me a real expression. You’re so trapped in your little protective box. You like it in there.”
“Sorry,” I say without much feeling.
“See? You’re so cold, Saige,” he says as he looks away from me. “Fine, I won’t go to England then. Does that make you happy? Can we be together? Can you finally open yourself up to me?”
Things happen in slow motion. I almost float down to the couch. I recognize I’m sitting on my laptop but make no motion to pull it out from under me. Fox walks slowly back to the chair, but doesn’t sit down. “Do you love me?” he asks.
“I think we’re over, Fox.” My words surprise even me. They’re as definitive as it gets.
“I just said I’d give up England for you. Choose me like I’ve just chosen you and we. . .” He doesn’t finish his statement as he drags a hand down his face. “It’s not complicated. It should be simple.” He’s missing the part where I already said we’re over. “Do you love me or not?”
I stay silent because I think it’s the best way to get him to understand, but like always, Fox fills the void. Unlike usual, it’s not a joke though. “You want me to give up my dream for you, but you can’t even tell me you love me?” Fox looks around my apartment. “What am I even doing here?”
Without anything else, he turns and walks to the hallway that leads to the foyer. Panic rises and I blurt out the only thing I can think of. “What about the book?” I ask as I reach for it on the coffee table.
Fox stops, but doesn’t turn around. His shoulders are slumped forward and his head hangs. I’m the world’s worst person for hurting him like this, but what’s done is done and now he can go on with his life free and clear of me and my toxicity.
When he does crane his head enough to see all of his work for the gods and demons novels stacked in my hands, I can see the pure anguish in his eyes. “Pitch it,” he says before he walks out of my apartment.
As soon as I hear the door close behind the best guy in the world, the gut-wrenching pain stabs at me. I curl into a ball and try to convince myself that this is for the best; this pain has to be better than the pain that would have surely come at some point if we would’ve stayed together.
But I’m not sure I’ll ever be certain of it. My only hope is that time and seclusion will bring relief.
Chapter 22
Fox
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s been trying to break up with me ever since we got together.” I turn to my mother like she has the answers.
“My Foxy is sad, but I told him she was a spy.” She’s taken to referring to me in the third person today, but it’s better than her not recognizing me or thinking I’m a demon.
“I don’t think she was a spy, Ma. I like her.”
“I liked a spy once, and he promised to give it all up and come away with me. He said he could hide us where no one would find us,” she said. My mother won’t look at me. She keeps her eyes fixed on the line of trees in the distance. “But spies can’t change. They are like the sky. The blue might darken into gray and black, but it always becomes blue again.”
Ma is surprisingly sensible this morning. Maybe it’s just because I’ve had such little sleep that her irrationality has become rational to my tired mind. After I left Saige’s last night, I went back home, but I couldn’t focus on much of anything. All of the drawings and paintings of her stared at me until I got up and tagged some more bridges. I didn’t paint the green leaf though. I left that out but put a silvery tear at the corner of the foxes’ eyes.
The foxes didn’t look as cool as I thought they would.
A warm breeze blows and tries to ruffle my mother’s hair, but all it can do is make the knots flutter a bit. I pick up the hairbrush I’ve brought outside with me and stand up behind her. It always takes a long time to untangle her hair, but it’s almost therapeutic in a way. I start at the bottom and just concentrate on getting one patch of hair straightened out before moving on to the next patch. Through this process I lose about a half hour of my day, but I gain a little peace as well.
When I’m done, I sit back down, face my mom, and tuck her hair behind her ears. “You look like a painting.” I feel better now, almost like I am painting instead of grooming my schizophrenic mother.
“Am I a painting?”
I try to take her hand just to hold, but she slips it out of mine. Our palms slide against each other and suddenly I’m swept away by sadness again. “No, you’re not a painting. You’re very real.”
“That’s what my Fox says, but he doesn’t know.”
“I’m flying to England in a few days, Ma, so be nice to Pop, okay? He’s going to visit and brush your hair while I’m—”
“Only Fox brushes my hair.”
She lets me run my hands through her dark, silky locks. “It’s going to be a crazy mess by the time I get back,” I say.
“They have spies in England, too, but they are called agents. My Fox will be careful not to step into their trap. He will remember how to get away. He has to bring me back the prize.”
“What’s the prize?”
Now my mother looks at me. “Fox is the prize, and it’s better if not everyone knows it. Fox is hidden in plain s
ight, and only the most extraordinary agents and spies can see him for what he is. That is why his spy couldn’t see. She was not gifted enough.”
Some visits with my mom are harder than others. This one is tearing at my heart more than usual. Beneath her words of spies and agents, she’s telling me how special I am. That’s what mothers do. Mine just can’t use regular terms or patterns of speech.
I think about what she said the entire ride back to Pechimu. I’m the prize, and Saige just can’t see it. Other girls will, but I don’t want other girls. I want Saige and her patched together heart and the fortified concrete walls she hides behind. It doesn’t make sense that I want her, especially since she’s so hardened, but I don’t think love is supposed to make sense all the time.
My world is filled with love that defies all wisdom and logic. My father loves my mother even though she’s violent half the time he visits her. I love her even though it would be easier not to. Gage falls for women all the time. He won’t tell anyone, but I know he does. Gage just doesn’t want the world to know he’s human with feelings like the rest of us. And Myka and Valentine are an odd couple. He’s an earthy guy who likes to dye his hair black and put eyeliner on and she’s a transplanted Wild West saloon girl in the middle of prim and proper London. I guess they make sense if I look at their theatrical presentations, but otherwise it doesn’t seem like steampunk chicks would go for gothic hippie dudes.
Love doesn’t have to make sense, and I don’t have to understand it to know how I feel. As soon as I get home, I call Saige, but it goes to voicemail, so I let a few Avett Brothers songs play until the recording cuts off.
I’m not giving up my trip for her, not because I wouldn’t, but because there’s no reason to give it up beyond proving something to her. No matter what I do, I don’t think we’re going to get over this because it’s not actually about going to England. It’s about Saige making a choice—a hard, solid choice about what she wants in her life.