by Kasie West
Micah rested her head on my shoulder. “You know yourself. More than you realize, I think.”
I laughed. “Those two sentences contradict each other and are exactly my point.”
“So you’re going to take that scholarship?” Micah asked. A month ago she would’ve been happy about this, but she didn’t seem to be now.
“I think so.”
“I’ll be right back.” Micah stood and rushed away around the corner.
My mom’s voice, singing away to a completely new song, sounded and then was cut off again as Micah opened then closed the sliding door.
Andrew stood there in silence, then pointed to the seat next to me that Micah had abandoned. I nodded and he sat down. “Was that your dad on the phone earlier?” he asked.
My dad. I’d almost forgotten how badly that conversation had ended. “Yes.”
“Everything okay?”
“I don’t know. A lot of things have become clear to me lately and some of them are hard to accept.”
“I guess that means we’re growing up.” He said it like a joke but he was right. I imagined that was part of growing up—seeing things for how they really were and not just how you wanted them to be. Like you, Andrew, I wanted to say. There was what I wanted and then there was reality—a future that would take us our separate ways.
“You look so sad,” he said, placing his hand on mine. “What can I do?”
“I’m not sad,” I said, looking at him. His blue eyes seemed very intense. “Just being more realistic lately … I just need to … Your eyes are very distracting. You need to take that eyeliner off stat.”
He smiled. I turned my hand palm up, letting our fingers slide together.
He curled his fingers around mine. “I’m sorry I was a jerk to you most of the year.”
I smiled. “Ditto. I’m glad we’re friends now.”
He looked down at our hands. “Me too.”
Friends, I said to myself firmly. We have to be just friends.
Micah’s feet on the wooden porch preceded her arrival. I let go of Andrew’s hand and turned toward her as she rounded the corner. She held my design journal and wore a nervous expression.
“Don’t be mad!” she said. “I know you don’t like anyone touching this. But can we help you? Let us help you.”
I frowned. “How can you help me?”
“Maybe we can look through it.” She nodded at Andrew. “Tell you what stands out to us, what feels unique.”
My automatic instinct was to throw my guard up, to bury my journal in her backyard under the willow tree. But that seemed a little dramatic. It was the wrong instinct. That was my pride talking. What was wrong with letting people help me?
“Okay,” I said quietly.
“Yes?” she asked, excited.
I nodded.
She came to the other side of the swing. “Okay, scoot, scoot.” She gestured for me to slide closer to Andrew. The swing wasn’t built for three, but Andrew inched as far as he could to the right and made more room by draping his arm along the back of the seat. I slid over against his side. He smelled good, like fresh linen and musky cologne. Micah sat on my left and placed my journal in my lap. Then both she and Andrew leaned toward me in anticipation.
“So, it’s kind of messy, and whatever inspiration catches my eye just gets added to it with no rhyme or reason,” I said, clutching the journal.
“Stop stalling,” Andrew said.
“Yes, we want to see what lives in that messy brain of yours,” Micah said.
“Not helping,” I said.
She bumped her shoulder against mine and I opened the book.
I turned to the first page: a sketch I’d drawn over two years ago. It was a basic pencil skirt with a billowy blouse. Nothing special, but it was well drawn. I remembered taking my time on each and every line. I turned the page to where I’d stored a magazine clipping of a pink dress I liked. I didn’t even remember why I liked the dress. It was cute, but it didn’t feel like my style at all. Micah and Andrew were exceptionally quiet and I wondered if they were waiting for me to ask their opinions. I was too nervous to do that.
I kept flipping. It was much of the same. Page after page of sketches and snippets from magazines or scraps of cloth. Micah started humming a little when I turned to something she found cute.
“How is this going to help me exactly?” I asked. I wondered if looking at these was actually lowering my confidence in my ability to become anything but just a really good drawer.
“They’re good, Soph,” Micah said. “I was hoping you’d see that.”
I flipped to another page and was about to flip it again when I stopped myself. The sketch here wasn’t exceptionally detailed. In fact, my lines were shaky and it wasn’t complete, but it felt different from the others. The skirt was fitted along the hips and flared out at the bottom, the front of the skirt higher, the back coming to a soft point. It almost looked like a lily. An upside-down lily. I looked at the date I’d scribbled in the corner. I’d drawn it the week I’d started working at the flower shop.
Andrew must’ve noticed something different about the sketch too. He asked, “What changed?”
“I got my job this week,” I said. I flipped to another page. This one was a sketch of a dress, its buttons roses, its skirt layers and layers like rose petals.
“Flowers,” Micah whispered. “That’s your spin.”
I turned more pages. Not all my designs were flower themed. Not even every third one. But the ones that incorporated flowers seemed to pop off the page, seemed to come alive. I thought of all the images that had popped into my head this past year when I’d been around flowers—the girls in dresses marching through a field of tulips, the ballerinas dancing over sunflowers. Maybe my inspiration had been in front of me all along.
“Is that the flower I gave you?” Andrew asked. He kept me from turning a page again by placing his hand on the book. A pink tulip was pressed flat. The page behind it featured a sketch of a scalloped-sleeved blouse. That was the day I’d met Andrew. I’d thought the design wasn’t going anywhere, but it was. Now that I looked at it, I knew I needed to add layers to the sleeve instead of just the scallops.
“That is not the flower you gave me,” I protested. “I’d put this in before we even met.”
“Sure …”
“This one was a throwaway. The stem wasn’t long enough.”
“Just keep talking,” he said in that teasing voice of his.
I pinched his side and he laughed. I closed the journal.
“Wait, what are you doing?” Micah asked. “We’re not done.”
“We are,” I said. “You’re right. Flowers are my thing. I’m going to perfect all my flower designs and that will be my portfolio for design school applications.” I felt a rush of certainty that warmed me.
“For New York design school applications,” Micah said.
I hugged my book to my chest and nodded.
Micah threw her arms around me.
“Thank you for pushing me.” I glanced over at Andrew, hoping he knew that statement was for him too. His smile said he did.
Mr. Williams appeared around the corner. “There you are,” he said. “It’s time for dessert.”
“We’re coming,” Micah said. “Let’s eat some pie, y’all. We’ve earned it.”
Hey, Gunnar, do you want to play football with us?” I asked after we’d eaten dessert. I wasn’t sure why the tradition of physical activity existed on the day when everyone overate. It seemed like naptime was the only thing that made sense, but that wasn’t happening.
“I can?” Gunnar asked, jumping up.
“Yes,” I said. “I want you on my team on account of you being such a fast runner.”
He cheered and, as if proving my point, ran out the door and into the Williamses’ backyard.
“I guess that means I’m on your team,” Andrew said to Micah. “Are you any good?”
“I’m the best,” Micah said, following Gu
nnar outside.
“Nice. You’re going down, Sophie,” Andrew said.
“Kind of like that rock you tried to skip in the lake?” I replied.
“Um … yes actually. Were you meaning to back up my statement?” he asked.
I thought about it. “No, I was trying to insult your throwing abilities.”
Micah picked up a basket of flip-flops by the back door, which she always used to mark out boundaries on the grass. “Next time just say: ‘Well, you can’t throw, so there,’ ” Micah said.
“I thought you were on my team,” Andrew said to her.
“I am, but Sophie needed help with her smack talk.”
“Since when?” Andrew asked, glancing at me. “You’ve been flinging the best insults at me all year.”
I kicked at his leg as we walked to the grass. “I know! I’ve gone soft.”
“I have a feeling that’s not true at all.”
We’d been playing for a while when the adults came outside, wanting to join us. They’d never done that before and I wondered what had happened inside to make sports with us seem appealing.
Mr. Williams answered my question when he said, “Jett has never played a game of touch football.”
“Plus,” Mom said, “he thinks it looks easy.”
Gunnar had probably been making it look easy. He’d caught almost every throw I’d passed to him and was just as fast as I’d hoped. We were totally killing Micah and Andrew, much to Andrew’s dismay.
“We’ll take my parents!” Micah called out, waving to her mom and dad to join her and Andrew.
I gave Jett a once-over as he came to join my team. “Are you going to make me lose?” I asked him.
Andrew laughed.
My mom seemed to be assessing Jett as well. “We got this,” she said to me, holding her hand up. I complied by giving her a high five.
“Sorry you felt like you needed to wear that dress,” I said to her quietly.
“It’s really comfortable.”
“You never have to wear it again.”
She laughed and pulled me into a side hug. “Love you, kid.”
“Love you too.”
I remained in my position as quarterback. It seemed to be Andrew’s new goal, now that he had extra people on his team and didn’t have to play receiver, to try to get to me before I could throw the ball. For the fourth time since the adults had joined us, I found myself trying to outrun him. Gunnar was being double-teamed by Micah’s parents, my mom was illegally holding Micah to keep her in place, but Jett was open downfield.
I hadn’t thrown to him once and he held out his hands and called, “Give it up, flower girl!”
I pressed my lips together and threw just as Andrew reached me. He picked me up and spun me around.
“Too late!” I called out to him.
He laughed and then paused, me in his arms, as we watched his dad catch the ball and run into the end zone.
“Ha!” I called out.
“It figures that my dad’s a natural,” Andrew said. “And that he’s on your team.”
Gunnar came running our way and slammed into me and Andrew, knocking us both down. Andrew landed on his back with a grunt and I landed back first on top of him, with Gunnar lying flat on me.
“We win!” Gunnar said, rolling off me, jumping up, and doing a lap around the yard to rub his victory in everyone’s faces. I rolled off Andrew and onto my side to face him.
“You okay?” I asked.
“No air,” he said, still on his back, holding his chest like he couldn’t breathe.
I smacked his arm. “Good thing we didn’t play tackle, wimp.”
He stared up at the sky, a small smile on his face. “This is why people don’t cater on Thanksgiving,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because being with family is so much better.”
I smiled, sitting up, and looked around. My mom was showing Jett how to hold a football. Micah was tickling Gunnar while telling him that she let him win. Mr. and Mrs. Williams were studying some weeds at the edge of the grass, his arm around her shoulder. We weren’t all technically family, but I knew what he meant. Family was everything.
FORGET-ME-NOT
With a bloom of one centimeter or less, one might see how this tiny flower earned its name. But with its pretty blue color and self-spreading nature, which help it easily take over flower beds, it makes sure that it’s pretty unforgettable.
I sat in the flower van, close to hyperventilating. I didn’t want to feel this way. I took a deep breath in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to calm myself down. I hadn’t seen Andrew since Thanksgiving and I was getting myself worked up about seeing him tonight.
He had helped cater a few out-of-town events with Micah in early December, the business picking up speed, just like Jett had promised, and then Andrew and his dad had gone back to New York for Christmas. We’d been texting back and forth a little. I forced Micah to send him the camera I’d bought him for Christmas, saying it was from both of us, so he wouldn’t read too much into it.
I pulled out my phone and read through our most recent text exchange.
Merry Christmas! Thanks for the camera, friend. I didn’t know we were exchanging gifts or I would’ve gotten you something.
Like I said, I found it at Everything. You know I’m in there all the time. No big deal.
I thought Micah found it.
Right. We found it. She found it. When we were in there.
Well, it’s amazing. I love it! Did I ever tell you that I wanted one almost exactly like this?
Yes, you did.
You make dreams come true.
How has your Christmas been so far?
My mom is here. It’s weird.
You okay?
Yeah, actually. It just feels like a cousin visiting or something. Like, I know her, but I don’t know her. You know?
I know.
I thought you might. Speaking of, have you talked to your dad since Thanksgiving?
He called today and acted like nothing had happened. I’m learning that’s kind of how he is. Not good with confrontation. But the good news is that he’s flying Gunnar out to see him during spring break.
Just Gunnar?
He knows I would’ve said no.
Would you have?
Probably.
I’m sorry.
Don’t be. Take some pictures of Christmastime New York and text them to me. It will help.
He responded with pictures. Pictures of lights on trees and in department store windows. Pictures of a dog wearing reindeer antlers and a skinny Santa on a street corner. Pictures of people ice-skating and big red ornaments stacked on top of one another. And snow. Snow on railings and stairwells, and frosting tree branches.
He must’ve been all over Manhattan taking those pictures. Or maybe that had been one city block. I didn’t know. The last picture he sent was a selfie of him on a rooftop somewhere, in a beanie, colorful lights behind him, a goofy expression on his face. I smiled as I looked at it now and then tucked my phone away with another deep breath.
It was no big deal. I was seeing Andrew. We were friends. And we had obviously proven we could continue to be friends even when we were in completely different states. My pep talk seemed to work on me and I climbed out of the van. Completely calm. I walked around to the back.
An explosion of blue and white greeted me when I opened the van doors. Forget-me-nots and baby’s breath arrangements filled several boxes. The Barn always had some indoor and outdoor tables that we decorated. But most of the night was for dancing, with a live country band providing the soundtrack.
“When someone said this was at a barn, I was picturing something more rustic.” Andrew’s voice from behind me made my heart pick up speed again. Breathe, I commanded myself. I hadn’t heard a car pull up so Andrew must’ve already been here.
“It’s not a barn, Andrew. It’s the Barn. I don’t think it’s seen an animal in decades.” I finally allowed my
self to turn, having proven I could talk like a normal person. Andrew looked … amazing. He wore his suit from the Eller-Johnson wedding and I had forgotten how cute he was. I don’t know how. It felt like his face had been in my brain for the last month.
“Wow,” he said, taking me in. I wore a sleeveless dress, the bodice fitted and silver. I had hand stitched little blue flowers onto the blue lace skirt. It flared and hit me several inches above the knees. “I … you …”
“What?” I asked, looking down and smoothing out my dress, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“You look good,” he finished lamely.
“This was one of the dress designs I sent off with my applications.”
“Then you are going to be accepted for sure.”
“I hope so.”
“How have you been?” He stepped forward and gave me a side hug.
I thought he was giving me a full hug, though, so I turned into him, which made us both fumble with hand placement for a moment. I stepped back.
“It’s like we’ve never hugged before,” he said.
“Have we?” I asked, going over the last year of events in my mind.
“Corn maze?” he asked, seeming to have done the same analysis. “Should we try again?”
I laughed, but he wasn’t kidding. He stepped forward and wrapped me in a hug, then rocked me back and forth dramatically. “See, I’m an excellent hugger.”
I smiled and lay my head on his shoulder, returning his hug. He stopped teasing and gave me a real hug. He smelled good and felt even better against me.
This could not happen. I dropped my arms and turned back toward the van. “Will you help me carry some of these boxes inside?”
“Of course.” He lifted one box and I lifted another and we carried them silently into the Barn.
“I think I picked the wrong job,” Micah said when she saw me. “I want to be a babe tonight.”
I laughed. “I thought you’d talked your dad into letting you dress up.” I slid the box onto a table.
“Obviously not,” she said, tugging at her polyester cater waiter pants.