Little & Lion

by Brandy Colbert

  We have deliveries in two different directions and head west first, toward the office suite in Los Feliz, near the library. Rafaela says they have a business account, so we deliver to them pretty regularly. “Boring, but reliable business,” she muses, turning right from Sunset onto Hillhurst. “Weddings are the best because everyone wants something different, and you never know who you’re going to get.”

  I’m prepared to wait in the van, but she shakes her head and motions for me to get out with her. “I’m not driving and doing the dirty work of talking to people by myself.”

  We walk into the building, each holding a bouquet, and are greeted at the front desk by a girl with big green eyes and long, glossy dark hair. A man stands to the side of her chair; he’s tall and good-looking, which always feels weird to admit when someone appears to be Saul’s age.

  “Hi, we’re delivering from Castillo Flowers.” Rafaela sets her vase down on the desk. I place mine next to hers. “We just need a signature.”

  “The flowers look amazing,” says the man. He walks out from behind the counter, looking from Rafaela to me. “And no offense to the usual guy, but rarely do we get them carried in by pretty girls.”

  Rafaela stiffens next to me, her back straightening even more than it already was. She looks him square in the eye as she says, “Héctor is sick today. I’ll pass along your well wishes.”

  That just makes him grin. “Stephanie, why don’t you sign for these while I talk to the girls for a minute?” He turns to Rafaela. “You do have a minute? I wanted to discuss our account.…”

  He’s practically touching Rafaela, he’s standing so close. Her body is visibly tense, but it doesn’t deter him. The girl behind the desk is pretending to look at something on her computer but the tight pull of her mouth tells me she’s been on the receiving end of his unwanted attention more than once.

  “You’ll need to discuss anything business-related with my aunt.” Rafaela steps back from him.

  “But your aunt isn’t here.” He tries to cover up his gross persistence with a playful tone. “Couldn’t you pass along the message?”

  “I’m sorry, but we have to go,” she says firmly. “We’re on a tight schedule, but I’ll have my aunt call you right away to discuss the account.”

  She’s practically through the door before I can blink. I follow her, looking over my shoulder at the girl behind the desk.

  “Fuck that dude.” Rafaela slams her hand on the steering wheel as soon as I’m back in the van.

  “Have you met him before?”

  “No, but anytime I go on deliveries, it’s the same shit. Doesn’t matter who it is. Like we’ve showed up solely to be ogled by them.” She lets out a breath. “I swear, if it weren’t for guys like your brother, I’d be one hundred percent into girls forever because sometimes it is so not worth the bullshit of dealing with men.”

  “That guy was, like, fifty,” I say, especially embarrassed that I’d thought he was attractive for even a moment. “It’s not like you’d go out with him.”

  “That shit doesn’t start with fifty-year-old guys, Suzette. It starts when they’re, like, four years old and everyone laughs when they’re pulling girls’ hair on the playground because, you know, there’s no better compliment than a boy’s attention, unwanted or not, right?” She smiles when I look over. “Well, I suppose you can check feminist rant off your list today.”

  I smile back to mask whatever I’m feeling—is it jealousy that she was out with Lionel and not me, or something more? “So, I’m guessing the date went well?”

  “I figured he’d already told you everything… Little.”

  I feel my face turning hot but ignore that last part. “I was asleep when he got home.”

  Rafaela buckles her seat belt, then programs her GPS to the next destination and starts out on our route. “I’ll spare you the details, but your brother is… a nice guy. Not the kind of guy who can’t stop telling everyone how nice he is to cover up his raging misogyny, but a bona fide nice guy.”

  “He is,” I affirm. I chew on my lip so I won’t be tempted to ask her if he acted weird in any way. I can’t do that to him, no matter how badly I want someone else to be looking out for him. Or how much I wish Rafaela had a reason to like me better than him.

  “And he barely stopped talking about you all night.”

  I look at her with raised eyebrows. “Really?”

  “He just about thinks you’re the best person he knows. So I guess you are one of the good ones.” She pauses. “He told me about his condition.”

  “It’s an illness,” I say automatically.

  “I know. I think it’s… My aunt always uses the word admirable for anyone she thinks is cool.” Rafaela sighs. “So, I know it makes me sound old as fuck, but it’s pretty damn admirable of him to be so open about it. And I can’t imagine being on meds like that.”

  “He told you he’s on meds?” My voice is too sharp, but I can’t believe Lionel would lie, especially when he didn’t have to bring it up in the first place.

  “I’m not some delicate flower. Even in my hometown, where people pretend like ignoring things or only God himself will cure you, some kids our age were on medication.”

  I look out the windshield at the long line of cars blanketing Los Feliz Boulevard. “I guess I’m just surprised he told you all that on your first date.”

  She slows down behind a Mercedes convertible with a bald head shining out from the driver’s seat. “He said… Wait, you’re sure you’re okay with hearing this stuff? I don’t want to make things weird.”

  “You’re the one making things weird,” I say, and I sound too irritable, because she turns to look at me. “I mean, just talk about whatever. I’ll tell you if it’s weird.”

  But I’m irritable because I don’t know what she means. Is the hesitation because I’m Lion’s sister and she still doesn’t understand that we share everything, or is it because of us? I know I haven’t simply imagined her flirting with me. And I don’t know for sure, but I think something could have happened between us by now, if I’d been brave enough to let her know I was interested.

  “Fair enough,” she continues. “Well, he said it feels like he’s known me his whole life, and I know how cheesy that sounds. Guys have said it before and it felt like they were just trying to get into my pants. But… I believe him. And I feel the same way.” When I glance to my left, her hazel eyes are huge and a little scared. “Is that stupid?”

  “Not stupid,” I say quietly. “Honest.”

  then.

  Iris finds me in the dark.

  We’ve just finished taking turns sipping from the vodka bottle and she’s turned off the light. On the floor I sit completely still, my back straight and flat against the edge of my bed.

  She kneels next to me. My skin is warm and the coolness of her fingertips makes me shiver. Her lips find me, too, and it’s the second night we’ve done this, but this time I’m not so tense. I let myself lean into her and my mouth opens with hers and I kiss her like I wanted to the first time.

  Her palms slip behind my neck and she pulls me closer, kissing me so deeply I feel as if I might burst into flames. I push my fingers through her curls, thinking how strange and good this is, how unexpected even though it’s the second time. I pull away, slowly.

  “What are we doing?” It’s the same question I asked last night, except I remember the mild panic in my voice, shocked that one minute we’d been drinking and complaining about the girls on our floor and the next I was pressed against the wall, her lips moving in a swift line from my chin to my collarbone. Tonight there is no panic, just lazy wonder; more of an excuse to prolong what’s happening rather than stop it.

  “What do you want to do?” Her voice is serious as she sits back on her knees and looks at me.

  “I don’t know, I… This is new for me.”

  We’re whispering even though it’s late, even though everyone is in their dorm rooms like they’re supposed to be.


  “New bad or new good?”

  “New good,” I say without hesitation.

  “I didn’t know you were into girls,” she says as we remove our shirts, as my hands slide hesitantly over the side of her body.

  “I didn’t, either,” I say, and when I look at her, she smiles.

  When we’re both in just our underwear, we sit on the edge of her bed for a while. Just looking at each other.

  “You can touch me,” she says.

  And I do, because it’s odd that I’ve been around other girls my whole life and never felt like this. So many gym periods and sleepovers spent changing in front of one another and I never felt this urge. The citrus shower gel I’ve smelled on her since our first morning at Dinsmore is different now. It is so distinctly her and it is the best thing I’ve ever smelled and I keep dipping my head toward the space between her collarbone and her neck to fill my nose with the scent.

  My hand shakes as my fingers skate across Iris’s skin—her incredibly soft skin. I slide my fingers across the smoothness of her stomach and linger around her breasts until she exhales and kisses me again. After a few moments, she takes my hand in her own and holds them both over her heart.

  “I’ve been with other girls,” she says. “I’ve only been with girls.”

  “I know.”

  “But—do you feel that?” Her heart. It’s beating as fast as my own. “None of them have done this to me.”

  I move her hand to my chest. “No one has ever done this to me.”

  She gently pushes me back on the bed and we start kissing again and when her hand moves between my legs I don’t stop her. When my breathing changes, when she asks if I want her to stop, but it is so clear she doesn’t want to stop, I say no. And when we’re lying there, after the space around us has transformed from a small, dark dorm room into an explosion of fireworks only I can see and then back again, she asks if it was okay.

  “That was amazing,” I say, breathless and wondering if I should feel more embarrassed about what just happened. One of the boys I kissed back in L.A. had tried to put his hand down my jeans and I got too nervous, so I pushed him away. He seemed to know what he was doing up to that point, but I can’t imagine anyone ever making me feel as good as Iris did.

  “Lily and Bianca would be losing their shit right now,” she says, kissing my shoulder.

  Should I be losing my shit? Maybe, but the only thing I feel nervous about is how inexperienced I am, how I don’t know if Iris expects me to return the favor tonight.

  “Lily and Bianca need to get laid,” I say, and Iris laughs with me.

  “Really, though… how much do you think they’d freak out if they knew about this? About us?” she says in a serious tone.

  “I don’t know, but… I’m not sure I want them to find out. I mean, not yet.”

  She’s quiet. I wonder if I’ve said something wrong.

  “I like you,” I say, turning on my side to face her. “But—”

  “But new good is still new. I get it.” Iris pauses. “Are you okay with what happened?”

  “I am. I just…” I put my hand over my heart to see if it’s still beating so rapidly. It’s slowed, but not much. “I need some time to figure out what this is… what I am, before we tell anyone, okay?”

  “Sure,” she says. And she doesn’t sound any different than she normally does, but I wonder if she was hoping I’d say we should ignore the girls on our floor and figure out whatever this is without hiding.

  Or maybe that’s what I was thinking. Because I’m tired of not being my true self around here. I’m tired of hiding things—secrets about me and secrets for other people. And I know better than anyone how dangerous it is to start any kind of relationship based on secrets.

  sixteen.

  Echo Park Lake isn’t a proper lake, but it’s the first lake I ever saw and one of my favorite places in the city.

  It’s just around the corner from home, so I find myself there whenever I need a hit of nature. The day before July Fourth, I’m there with Lionel. This is not the sort of lake people swim in, but you can rent pedal boats and admire the lotus flowers that are so beloved they get their own festival each year. The water is surrounded by golden medallion trees, little bursts of sun sitting among the bushy groups of green fronds. There’s a boathouse that serves coffee and snacks, and an enormous fountain that looks like magic from afar as it shoots up higher than the spindly palm trees and the buildings of the downtown skyline in the distance.

  Lionel and I edge down the small embankment that leads to the paved pathway. We just finished breakfast, lox and cream cheese on bagels from the place Saul says is the only bakery in Los Angeles with any integrity. Lionel complained that the meal felt heavy this morning, that he wanted to walk it off, so I invited myself to come with him, even though his reason makes no sense. We have that exact meal once a week, a tradition from Saul’s childhood, and Lionel has never complained before.

  I breathe in the smell of the water. “You look happy.”

  He shrugs, as if the bounce in his step isn’t new and noticeable. “I guess I am happy. See? Told you I’d be fine. Better than fine.”

  My heart speeds at the tone of his voice. It’s overconfident, more assured than the Lionel I’ve heard in a while. I start to say something but there’s a lecture on the tip of my tongue and we’ve only just started our walk.

  “Do you think…” He pauses and glances at me, then looks straight ahead before I can make eye contact. “Do you think people can be like medicine?”

  “People?”

  “Like, being around someone.”

  I smile, thinking of what my mother said, that me being home is good for him. I wonder if she said something to him, too.

  But before I can ask, he says, “I’ve never felt better than when I’m with Rafaela.”

  Different parts of my heart crumble for different reasons.

  “I just feel like… not like she’s the one. We’re not old enough for that. But she gets me. She likes me for me.”

  “Lots of people like you for you.”

  “Not like Rafaela. She says I have a gorgeous mind.” His voice is inflated with pride.

  “Does she know you’re off your meds?”

  “No.” I look at him just in time to see his face closing off—his eyes turning a stony blue, his freckles somehow disappearing more into his skin. “I want her to like me for me, not some doped-up version.”

  “Lion…” But I don’t finish and he doesn’t prompt me to continue.

  We walk without talking for a while and stop when we’re halfway around the lake. I sit down on the grass. I can see his knee jerking, like he’s itching to keep moving, but he plops down next to me after a few seconds.

  “You want me to go back on them,” he says, so matter-of-fact that it disturbs me.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why? I’m not doing anything wrong.” He picks at a blade of grass. Across the lake from us, a group of people with yoga mats under their arms starts to assemble.

  “No, but… your energy has been up lately. You’ve been staying up late the last couple of nights.” I swallow hard, aware that I sound more like his babysitter than his sister. “And this morning…”

  He was sitting at the table, making a list of tasks to complete and books to buy and potential places to take Rafaela on future dates. He tried to hide it—the pad of paper was covered in more doodles than writing. But I looked at the page when he was rinsing his plate and I saw all the lists, separated into three boxes that blended into the rest of the scribbles.

  “Little, I don’t need anyone keeping tabs on me and I don’t need a lecture, not even from you.”

  “I wouldn’t say anything if I didn’t think…” I take a breath and start over. “You know what could happen after this.”

  “How do you know this is hypomania? How do you know I’m not different because I met the best girl ever? You’re not a doctor. And you know, nobody ever asked if
maybe I like this part of being off the meds. It’s not all bad, you know—I’m more productive and I get shit done and don’t you think that’s better than staying in bed all day?”

  “I think that… maybe it’s good now, but what if you don’t know how bad it can get? You’ve been on meds since the first episode and—”

  He lightly drums his fingers against his thighs. “Sometimes… sometimes I think you’re jealous of me.”

  My lips part while I pause, try to think of how I can possibly respond to that without sounding as rude as he did. “I don’t know why you’d say that to me.”

  “Because I’m happy!” he says, throwing his arms wide. “Because I’m with Rafaela and she’s amazing.”

  “Well, I’m with Emil and he’s amazing,” I say, wishing I didn’t sound like I’m trying to one-up him.

  “But you think she’s amazing, too. Rafaela. Right?” He’s staring at me now and I’m afraid to meet his eyes, afraid to confirm that he’s saying what I think he’s saying. That somehow, he knows. Sometimes I forget that being so close with him means we can read each other in the same ways.

  “I think she’s cool,” I say. “I like working with her.”

  “So you should be happy. That we’re together.”

  The force behind his voice makes me look at him and I wish I hadn’t.

  He knows.

  “I am happy for you.” I sound like I’m choking on the words, but there is no other acceptable response. Even if he doesn’t believe me, I have to say it.

  “Good.” He stands and brushes off his pants and now he’s the one not looking at me. “I didn’t come to sit. Let’s walk.”

  So we do. In silence.

  And with each step I take, I am pounding out a regret: that I ever met Rafaela, that I ever started working at the flower shop, that I ever trusted that the abandoned meds are a secret of Lionel’s that I can handle.

  I’ve never questioned my loyalty to my brother, not since that day so long ago, in Saul’s garage. The flip side of loyalty is betrayal and Lionel deserves better than that. Even when I told our parents they needed to take him to the doctor, I didn’t repeat my conversation with him. I never told.