I leaned back in my seat as the heat kicked in and we put more and more distance between ourselves and my parents, lessening their hold with every house we passed. “So my mom was your English teacher,” I said. “That sucks.”
His lips twisted in a grimace. “Yeah. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Just in case it needed to be said. As much as it felt like Aiden already knew me, that something in him saw and understood the truth of me better than anyone else ever had, I guess we hadn’t yet covered a few of the basics, like where my parents worked or which school he’d been kicked out of.
We’d get there. I wanted to be the keeper of his every detail, the world’s foremost expert on everything about his life. I would catalog and index every fact of him, learn the pieces and moments that made up the whole, keep them safely archived in my heart. Just as he would keep mine.
Aiden yanked the car to the side of the road and shoved it into park. He grasped both my hands in his.
Confusion tottered through me. “What are you—”
“Promise you won’t let them turn you against me.” His voice was low and urgent, his eyes fierce with need.
“What? Never.” I drew back from the intensity. His fingers gripped mine tighter. “Aiden, nothing they can say could . . . I know you. I love you.” The words felt strange on my tongue. I wasn’t used to saying it yet and I worried it sounded hollow, insufficient, even though I knew it was true. I said it again, more forcefully. “I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.”
He kissed me—hard at first, then softer, more trusting, almost teasing. Each touch of his lips was like the quiver of wings, a butterfly released into the air around us, until we were surrounded by them, the whole car filled with flutter and magic. I was high off his kisses, high off him. High on the knowledge I wouldn’t let anything stop us.
“I love you too,” he said, and my heart flooded over with happiness.
“Let’s go to your place,” I murmured as I kissed my way from the corner of his mouth, up his jawline, toward his earlobe.
He shook his head. “No. Let’s go to Canalside.”
I started to laugh but Aiden wasn’t kidding. The rejection hit like a slap. “Really?”
He was already refastening his seat belt. “I told your parents I’d be taking you skating. I don’t want you to have to lie to them tonight. Not because of me.” He touched my lips, soothing the sting. “Believe me, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But we can wait a few more days. I promise I’ll make it worth it.” He tapped me on the nose and I smiled despite my disappointment. “Besides, it’ll be fun.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s skate.”
Seventeen
IT WAS FUN. MORE THAN FUN, ACTUALLY. ROMANTIC and cheesy and teen-movie perfect, right down to the poppy soundtrack and the tongue-searing cocoa.
I had been to the rink at Canalside a few times sophomore year with Jo and Eric and Eric’s then-girlfriend, Jasmyn (sweet, upbeat, and miniature except the boobs: one hundred percent Eric’s type), but going with Aiden was different. For one thing, he really knew how to skate. Circling the ice with Jo was always a bit terrifying—just when I’d start to find my balance, she would clutch my arm with a whoop and pull us both down, shrieking with laughter. Two minutes later, I would do the same to her. With Aiden’s steady, patient hand in mine, I didn’t have to worry about falling. I knew he would hold me up through anything.
Before we’d even laced up our skates, the scene with my parents felt far behind us. It had sucked but we’d gotten through it, just as we would get through whatever else life—or parents—threw our way. I wasn’t worried. Even in that brief encounter, Mom must have been able to see how much Aiden had changed. And if she hadn’t, she would see it soon enough because this boy was in my life to stay.
At three minutes before ten, I turned my key in the front door and was greeted by Rufus’s quick, eager sniffs and the happy swish of his tail. “Hi, Rooey Roo,” I said. “Hi, good dog. Where’s your duck?” He perked his ears, pounced on the duck toy that was slouched near the shoe rack, and trotted into the kitchen beside me. I was suddenly desperate for a tall glass of water. All that skating and talking and kissing had left me parched. I’d been too busy drinking in everything about Aiden to hydrate properly on the ice.
“JoJo?” Mom called from the living room, over the sounds of the television and the tap filling my glass.
“Yup,” I called back. Damn, that water was delicious. Why had I never noticed how delicious water could be?
“Come in here and talk with us,” she said.
I refilled my water, stepped just far enough into the living room to be technically present, and leaned against the door frame. Even parents couldn’t pop my bubbling good mood, but that didn’t mean I wanted to settle in for a long winter’s chat.
Dad hit pause on their show. “How was the skating?”
The smile took over my face before I could stop it. “Fun. Really fun.”
“Good. Did you eat?”
“Yup. Grilled cheese. Hot chocolate. Oh, and half a pickle.” Aiden was right—it was nice I didn’t have to lie about what we had done.
Dad quirked a grin and I remembered he sometimes almost had a sense of humor. “Sounds nutritious.” I wondered what he’d been like before he met my mom.
Mom cleared her throat and gave him a pointed look. He set down the remote. “We’re glad you had a nice night and got home safely and on time,” he said. Mom nodded along. “But your mother and I discussed it and we’re not comfortable with you hanging out with this guy.”
My heart stopped. “You what?” Dad shifted in his seat, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. I didn’t wait for him to continue. “That’s not fair. You don’t even know him.”
“I do know him, much better than you do,” Mom said. I opened my mouth to object, then shut it, realizing that as far as they knew I’d spent a grand total of about four hours in his presence. Disabusing them of that notion would not help my case. “And although I’m sure he’s grown up a lot in the past three years, the Aiden I knew was a very troubled young man. He showed a lot of unchecked anger toward authority, especially women in authority, and had some highly destructive tendencies, toward himself and school property and others. It takes a lot to get expelled, you know.” I didn’t react. I was feeling a lot of anger toward authority myself, but it wouldn’t help to show it. “I trust he was on his best behavior with you tonight, but he’s not someone your father and I approve of you spending time with.”
“But Mom—”
“It’s not open to discussion. I’m sorry, JoJo. You’ll have to find someone else to go out with.”
“Find someone else?” I repeated. Could she even hear how ridiculous she sounded?
“Maybe Eric has a nice friend he can set you up with for prom,” my dad said.
I gripped my water glass. This conversation was getting inaner and more insulting by the second. As much as I wanted to fight back, I knew the best thing I could do was let it end, stat. I’d be eighteen in five weeks, done with high school in fourteen. What were they going to do, lock me in a tower until graduation? Continue to micromanage every aspect of my existence until I was as old and unhappy as they were?
“I know we can’t protect you from everything, but it’s still our job as your parents to help you make good decisions. And getting mixed up with Aiden Jamison would not be a good decision,” Mom said. Her voice sounded firm but I could hear, too, that she wasn’t enjoying this.
I let my face go flat. “Whatever. I don’t know if he was even going to ask me out again anyway.”
She gave me a pitying little smile that made me want to explode. “If he does, feel free to blame your big, bad parents for why you have to say no. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
I steadied myself on the exhale. “Am I excused? Are we done here?”
She nodded. “Good night, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
I put my glass in the dishwasher, gave worried Rufus a pat of reassurance, and headed upstairs to bed. It was a disappointing end to an otherwise wonderful evening but, now that they’d had their say, I couldn’t even muster up real anger about it. As I washed, brushed, and flossed through my nighttime routine, I just felt deflated. It was sad how my parents kept proving their irrelevance. Obviously I was not going to stop seeing Aiden. Obviously they couldn’t do a damn thing about it. How annoying that we still had to go through these motions. But if they didn’t want to have a real relationship with me, fine. We’d keep playing pretend until I was out of here for good, never to look back.
Their loss.
Jo texted, How did it go?
Ludicrously, I wrote. They don’t want to let me see him
Ugh, she replied, and I could only shake my head. Not exactly the rush of sympathetic rage and support I might have expected from my best friend.
You okay? she asked.
Yeah, I responded. Whatever. Tell you more tomorrow
I’m sorry, Bee
I slid into bed and pulled the blankets up high, my whole body tense as I waited for the sheets to get warm. Fuck my mother, too, for always keeping the heat turned so low. It was a miracle I didn’t wake up winter mornings with frostbite on my nose.
My phone buzzed and I groped for it on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a text from Aiden. Good night beautiful. I love you
The glow washed through me, pushing everything else out. Sweet dreams, I wrote back. I love you too
I pictured his smile and let my hand slide back under the covers, down to the spot where I wished his hand would go. I imagined it was Aiden’s fingers pressing against me in a slow, steady circle that got firmer and faster until all the day’s stresses were released.
Fuck what my parents thought. Nothing mattered but us.
Eighteen
I WOKE UP SLOWLY, HALF IN DREAMLAND, HALF OUT, and blinked against the fog of morning consciousness. The house, my room, seemed somehow off, unfamiliar, in my still-sleepy blur. All was quiet, yet the light through my curtains already blared with the full force of the day. I rolled over to check the time through half-shut lids and my heart bolted at the jumpstart: 9:37. Shit.
Of course the one time in the history of existence that my parents let me sleep in was a day I was due at work by ten and had not set an alarm. Because usually in this house an alarm was unnecessary.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. I untangled myself out of bed and gave my armpits a quick sniff. There was no time for a shower but I definitely needed to take two minutes to soap off in the sink.
I stumbled into the bathroom, pulling my hair into a ponytail, gargled mouthwash while peeing, soaped my hands, face, and armpits, applied deodorant, brushed my teeth, and was done. Today’s customers at the Sugar Shack would have to be forgiving. This was as attractive as I could get in eight minutes or less.
I was too late to eat breakfast so I almost missed the note my mother had left on the kitchen counter: Hope you slept well. Have fun at Jo’s tonight. Please don’t forget to get gas before you come home.
I exhaled my annoyance. I never forgot to get gas. It was yet another rule that had been drilled into me: When you borrow the car, you must return it with a full tank. Probably the only reason my parents ever allowed me to drive was so they wouldn’t have to stop at a gas station. I crumpled up the note and tossed it at the recycling bin. Perfect shot.
The gods of traffic and parking took mercy on my soul and I slipped through the employee entrance in the back and punched in at 10:04:49—late, but borderline acceptable.
“Joanna! You made it.” Mr. Sugarman lifted his impressively bushy eyebrows toward the clock.
“Yes, I’m so sorry I’m late.” I shoved on my visor, tied back the apron, and gave him my best ready-to-go face.
“Well, luckily the customers are a little late this morning too,” he allowed. “We’ve got a new shipment of caramel corn and some milk-chocolate rabbits to stock. It looks like Easter is all about the milk chocolate this year. Nobody wants the white rabbits or the dark. You’d think they’d mix it up: pair a milk-chocolate rabbit with some dark chocolate eggs, but no. Milk, milk, milk, milk, or nothing.”
“Hmm.” I tried to look like I cared. “Maybe milk-chocolate buyers are all early birds and the dark-chocolate people are more last-minute types.” Easter was still several weeks away.
“Perhaps,” Mr. Sugarman said. “Perhaps. We must be prepared either way.” He lifted his fist. “Onward! The work of the day awaits us!”
We got to it. For the next few hours I hoisted, unpacked, and broke down boxes; bagged, weighed, and priced the caramel corn (while sampling several kernels to avoid passing out from hunger); swept, sprayed, and scrubbed all kinds of surfaces; rang up purchases, helped with flavor conundrums, and snuck in a few texts while Mr. Sugarman was in the back room or jollying it up with customers. Aiden was at work too—changing oil, fixing headlights, and replacing some lady’s transmission—so his responses were short but sweet. Jo was either sleeping in or not near her phone because my SOS no breakfast. Hurry, send falafel message went unreturned. Jo never missed an opportunity to joke about falafel.
When Mr. Sugarman finally released me onto my lunch break, I scarfed down a sandwich and walked a few blocks to try to clear my head. My brain kept replaying last night’s conversation with my parents, cycling through everything I wished I could have said to them. How insulting it was that they didn’t trust my judgment. How infuriating that they wouldn’t even engage in a real conversation about it, just decided what they thought should happen in my life and laid down the law. How delusional they were to think it was up to them.
The more I replayed it, the angrier I got. They hadn’t even bothered to pretend to respect my choices. And they had in no way given Aiden a chance.
Jo’s theory about my mom was that she was even harsher with herself than she was with the rest of us, and that she felt so much pressure—as a woman and as a control freak—to do things the Right Way that she was unable to let down her guard, even a little bit, ever, so she was always one small push away from snapping. Jo felt mostly sorry for her, but Jo had the luxury of distance. I not only had to put up with my mom every day, I had to worry about her neuroses being echoed in me. My biggest fear was that I would end up just like her—and if she had her way, that’s how it would be. No wonder she found Aiden so threatening. But I knew, I knew he was good for me.
I lifted my face to the sun, breathed deep, and tried to let it go. My parents could say whatever they wanted; I wouldn’t let it affect my life. There was power in deciding screw them. But it was frustrating that I even had to.
I returned to the Shack to find Mr. Sugarman gone, Lexa scooping ice cream for a mom and her three already-bouncing-from-the-sugar kids, and a familiar figure lingering by the St. Paddy’s Day candies: Eric. I went over. “May I help you, sir?”
He gestured toward the display. “I’m overwhelmed. Who knew there were so many different shamrock lollipops?”
I adjusted my visor. “So you need assistance choosing amongst the many kinds of suckers?”
He nodded emphatically. “Yes, please. Which one sucks the best?”
“I assure you they all suck,” I said. “Deeply.”
His dimple appeared and I felt a rush of satisfaction at making him crack. “But which one delivers the happiest ending?” he asked. The mom shot us a dirty look and ushered her kids toward the register. Lexa gave Eric a little frown. He mouthed sorry and we shared a conspiratorial grin. Eric’s girlfriends never appreciated our sense of humor.
The customers left and Lexa pouted adorably while Eric gave her a quick kiss good-bye. I pulled out my phone. Finally, a text from Jo.
Gaaahhhhhh you won’t believe what happened
What? The bells jingled as Eric pushed his way out the door. “Later, Betts,” he called. I waved back to his salute.
I’ll tell you when you get here. HUR
RY UP
I grinned at the screen. “Aiden?” Lexa guessed. She sighed. “You’re so lucky.”
I slid the phone into my apron pocket. “My parents want us to break up. They think he’s ‘trouble.’”
I dropped the air quotes and her eyes went Bambi wide. “But you guys are so perfect for each other. It’s, like, destiny. You can just see it.”
“You can?”
She nodded and I realized I was quite fond of her. “It’s obvious. I saw it from the start. You guys have something really special.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “We do.” That seemed ungracious so I added, “But so do you and Eric, right?”
Her shrug was so small I almost missed it. “Eric’s great but it’s not the same.”
Pride and curiosity battled for space inside me. “It isn’t?”
“I mean, I love him, don’t get me wrong. But it never feels like he’s really mine. He’s such an enigma.” She paused. “To be honest, I used to be a little bit jealous of you and him.”
“Of me and Eric?” That was shocking.
“Don’t be mad. You just . . . you guys have always had this easy back-and-forth and you know each other so well. It’s so clear in his face that he admires you and thinks you’re really smart. He never looks at me that way.”
I laughed. “He never looks at you like you’re his pal and his sister’s best friend because you’re his girlfriend and he wants to make out with you. It is different. I’m just his friend.”
She looked at the floor and I almost wanted to hug her. I’d never seen the fragile side of Lexa before. “He’s such a good boyfriend but he doesn’t really let me in close, you know?” I shook my head. I didn’t know. Eric had never been like that with me. She looked up. “It’s been six months and he’s still never said ‘I love you.’ And we don’t . . . we’re not having sex. I want to but he doesn’t, so we’re waiting.”
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