“My home is your home,” I say when we get to my front door. “And I promise to let you out of the dark at least twice while you’re here.”
Noah groans. “You’ve heard that one?”
“Sure have. Did you hear the one about my snatch?”
“That the carpet doesn’t match the drapes?”
“What?” I whirl around. Noah’s shoulders jump. “Are they suggesting I dye my hair? That’s it!” I stomp my foot. Piercings are one thing, but the authenticity of my hair color? “They can talk about my private parts, but they cannot call my hair color into question.”
Noah reaches for a strand and twists it around his finger. “Don’t worry. I assured them you’re monochromatic.”
My eyes bulge, and I blink twice.
He leans in until I feel his lips on my ear. “I’m kidding.”
Letting out a loud breath, I tip my head back in excruciating relief.
He plants a soft kiss on my temple. “I’d never do that, Ember.”
I nod, turning my face to kiss his cheek. “Come on in,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
We walk in, and my mom and Sky look up. Sky sits on the floor, her elbows propped on the coffee table. My mom is on the couch, one foot tucked under the opposite thigh, as she leans forward over the table. Playing cards are laid out between them.
“What are you playing?” Noah asks.
“War,” Sky answers.
“Can I have the next turn?” he asks, settling in next to my mom on the couch.
“Sure,” Sky says at the same time my mom tells him he better not be a cheetah.
Noah laughs like he’s never heard a joke, but Sky and I roll our eyes. Despite my mild embarrassment, I’m happy to hear my mom make a joke. The last couple of days, she’s been on another planet—staring around, but not really looking anywhere. This morning she snapped at Sky when an open box of pasta dropped out of the cabinet and spilled on the floor.
While Noah plays I go to my room and slip the envelope into my nightstand. I’ll open it later. I’m dying to know what it says, but today is about Noah. About Dalto.
My absence goes unnoticed, and when I return I snuggle up next to Noah on the couch. We take turns playing until Noah’s pocket rings. He looks up at me, his eyes holding both fear and excitement.
“I better go.” He sets down his cards and rises, pulling his phone from his shorts. “I’m on my way, Dad,” he says, waiting to hear a response and then hanging up.
I walk him to his car. He’s quiet, his hands stuffed into his pockets.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. Just, I don’t know…” We stop at his car, and he turns to look at me. “I’m scared to have the thing I’ve always wanted. Sounds stupid, right?”
I grab his wrist, turn it over, and run my thumb across it. His fingers flex and unfurl as I run my thumb over the soft skin once, twice, seven times.
“That’s not stupid, Noah. It’s fear of the unknown. I think working for something your whole life, the way you have with soccer, is kind of like walking up a mountain that ends in a cliff. You have no idea what’s going to happen when you step off.”
“That’s what falling in love with you feels like.” He flips his open palm over and grabs my arm, pulling me in close. “I’m frightened for us, Ember. I don’t know what’s going to happen.” The warmth of his sigh travels over the top of my head.
“Everything will be fine,” I tell him. Placating Noah is more important than telling him how terrified I am for us. He needs a clear mind right now. “Go,” I urge, pulling back. “Call me when it’s over.”
Standing on tiptoe, I kiss him quickly, then step back.
He drives away, and I go back up the stairs, my fingers tracing my tattoo through my thin shirt.
Wyatt needs a bath. He’s covered in paint. Washable paint, thank goodness.
“Come on, buddy.” I turn on the faucet in the bathtub and add bubble bath, then peel off Wyatt’s clothes and set them in the sink. Drops of moisture hit the wall as he jumps into the tub. The water swirls around him, paint from his body mixing in and creating a watery rainbow.
I watch him play, but I’m wondering about Noah. He hasn’t called or sent me a message. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I don’t even know what good or bad means right now.
Is it good if he goes to Stanford? Or bad?
Is it bad if he stays here and goes to community college? Or good?
All I know is that he can’t make choices based on me. That would be—
Splash!
“Wyatt!” I leap off the toilet lid and thrust my arms under the water. My hands slide over his chest, but I’m able to grip him under the arms and lift him up. Free of the bubbles and water, he rapidly blinks wide eyes and draws in fast breaths. Pulling him out of the tub, I sit back down and set him on my lap. It was just one second, he’s fine, but he’s terrified. He clings to me, water drips onto my legs and tufts of soap glide down his face.
“I just wanted to be a dolphin,” he cries, his tiny body shaking. I wrap a towel around his back and rock him back and forth.
“Everything is okay, you’re fine, I’m here.”
We go to his room, where I dry him and dress him. For the next two hours we read and play, and when Wyatt’s mom returns, I tell her what happened. She’s not mad as I feared she would be, but grateful I was beside him. When I leave, I take a heaping plate of guilt with me.
Yeah, I was beside him, but I was distracted. Thoughts of Noah had taken over my brain, and what would’ve happened if I hadn’t noticed the splash?
For the first time I realize what Noah did by running into the lake when he thought I was drowning. Until this afternoon, I’d thought it was sweet and heroic in an overdone way, but now I see how he must’ve felt thinking someone was really drowning. He thought someone needed help, and he was willing to pay whatever it cost.
Good people deserve good things.
I hope that coach is coming for something other than wine.
My phone might soon become a 3D fixture on my wall, like a piece of avant-garde art. Here is an expression of teenage frustration. Noah still hasn’t texted.
At eight o’clock, I was worried.
At nine o’clock, I’m ticked off.
When my mom opens my door at nine-thirty, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen, her cheeks taut, I stop thinking about my phone and the messages I’m not getting.
“What is it?” Sky asks, sitting up from her pillows and tossing aside an article she’d printed out about cultivating good study habits.
“Mom?” I ask, uncrossing my legs and swinging them over the side of my bed. Sky and I are both waiting for her to say something, but her eyes dart back and forth and she moves her hands around as if she wishes she had something to do with them.
“Mom,” Sky’s voice is stern, “you’re freaking us out. What happened?”
Slowly she walks into our room and sits on the end of my bed. “I’ve lost four houses in the last few weeks,” she finally answers, her voice low. “I know neither of you watch the news, but some things are happening and people are nervous. When people are nervous, the first thing they do is tighten the hold on their wallets. Buh-bye, extras.” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. When she opens them, her gaze stays on the dingy carpet. “I’m an extra.”
“No, you’re not,” Sky and I argue.
I scurry across the small bed and wrap my arms around my mom from behind. Sky comes to sit beside her and piles her arms on top of us.
Mom sniffles. “It will all work out, but in the meantime, things will have to get a little tighter around here.”
“I’ll call on Monday and cancel my classes,” Sky says. “I’ll get a second job and go to school when it’s a better time. I’m sure those scholarships will still—”
“No,” my mom says sharply. “You will not do that, Sky Marie. You will stay enrolled. You will not give up.” She untangles herself from our limbs and stand
s up. Turning around, she points at me. “And you won’t either. You’re going to college…on scholarships, I guess.” Her eyes move away, and I know they’re seeing her nightstand with its envelopes of saved money. College cash will be moved for certain, going toward Food and Rent. Not that there was much to begin with.
“I haven’t been accepted anywhere,” I lie, thinking of the stack of acceptance letters hidden under my mattress. They are all screaming at me, but it’s the one that arrived today that sears me with indignation. Stanford. We’re delighted to inform you…
“You’re kidding me?” Sky asks, eyebrows on her forehead. “AP classes, good grades? And nobody wants you?”
I shake my head and shrug, the lie churning in my stomach. “It’s tough out there, but I’m happy. I need a little time to think about what I want from life. Who really knows at eighteen what they want to do for the rest of their lives?”
My mother stares at me. Her anguish and disappointment has beaten her down. I can tell. On most days she would challenge me, but on this day, she caves.
“You’re going to college one day, Ember. I promise you that.” Her face is earnest.
“Yes, Mom. I will.”
She leaves with slumped shoulders. Sky and I climb in bed, both too shocked to say much. I wait for Sky to fall asleep, and then I feel it. The sting of salt, the burn at the top of my nose. I’m quiet as can be as I cry. Just because I’m letting go of a dream on purpose doesn’t mean I can’t mourn it.
15
Noah
The first thing I do when I wake up is grab my phone. By the time Coach Dalto left last night, it was too late to call Ember. In an apartment that small, it feels like calling her is like calling her mom and sister too. I sent her a message instead, but she didn’t respond, probably because she was already asleep.
And she’s probably still asleep, because it’s six o’clock in the morning. Sleep is but a dream for someone who just found out they’re going to put their cleats on Stanford grass in the fall.
I pull on my running clothes and head downstairs, stopping to grab a set of earbuds from a drawer in the kitchen.
It’s dark outside and the grass is slick with dew. Turning left, I run on our property until our expansive yard gives way to one edge of the vineyard. The blue of the sky is developing into shades of deep purple, like a bruise, and then slowly changes to light pink and orange, like sherbet.
I love it out here, love the way my lungs take in breath, the way the gentle sloping hills make my body work harder. At the top of a hill I pause, turning in a circle. Grapes forever, it feels like. Behind me, in front of me, and beside me. I reach out and gently pinch a large, dusty purple one that sticks out from the bunch.
Last night my father was ecstatic. He shook hands with Coach Dalto and his wife, Priscilla, thanked them again for coming, and for giving me the opportunity. When they left he said nothing of what this could mean for him. Four more years of another son who doesn’t want to learn about the vineyard.
It’s not forever, it’s just for now.
After my run, I shower and eat breakfast. My dad comes in and pours a glass of water. He tosses something into his mouth and swallows the water.
“Too much wine last night?” I ask. Hazard of the job, I suppose.
“Yep. Celebrating your acceptance and got a little ahead of myself.” One side of his mouth turns up into a grin, and he shakes his head. “Poor choices are not only for the young.” He walks to the pantry and steps in. Boxes move across the shelves, and then he steps out with cereal in hand. “What do you think you’ll do about Ember?”
His eyes aren’t on me. They’re focused on pouring his cereal, as if it’s that hard. He grabs the milk from the fridge and adds some to his bowl. Anger flares inside me. When it comes to Ember, it feels like there’s always a fire burning in my chest and the flames need only an errant comment to be teased out.
“Did I miss the segue?” My voice is harsh. “Because it sounds like you were talking about bad decisions, and then you asked about Ember.” I hate how I have to defend her. I never had to defend Kelsey. My parents accepted her without comment.
Dad rubs a hand over his forehead. “Calm down. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was only asking what your plans are.” He looks at me with somber eyes. “You know she’s not going to Stanford.”
I argue without hesitation. “She could. Her grades are Stanford material.”
Dad sets his bowl on the counter and leans against it. His mouth turns down, not a frown but more a pensive hopelessness. “Son, I know what a girl like Ember can do to you. She’ll make you think anything is possible even when it goes against all logic. You’ll start thinking maybe you can work.”
What does that even mean? A girl like Ember? How is she any different from anybody else? I shake my head, looking down at my shoes. The truth is already in my thoughts. She’s different, and I know it. She operates on a different frequency than all the girls running around our high school. Ember is better. Still, I want to know just what my dad meant by that. I open my mouth to challenge him, but stop short when I see his face.
His eyes have gone somewhere, someplace outside this kitchen, away from this house to another time. What is he remembering? I feel uncomfortable, because I know whoever he’s thinking of, it’s not my mom.
“She’ll be something else altogether, a being you didn’t know existed. She’ll make you think any dream you ever had is possible.” He turns his gaze back to me, and he’s back from wherever he went inside his memory. “I’m speaking from experience.”
I only nod, keeping my mouth shut. It doesn’t matter what he says. He can’t possibly understand. He doesn’t know what’s inside my chest when I look at Ember. Tight and full, ready to explode at any minute.
“You’re young,” he continues. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s true. You’ve been given the opportunity you’ve worked for your whole life. Don’t take it lightly.” He picks up his cereal bowl and peers into it, his lips turning down slightly. I’m sure it’s soggy by now.
He walks from the kitchen, pausing just before he steps into the next room. “Nothing lasts forever, Noah. That’s all I’m saying.”
He’s wrong. He doesn’t know Ember. Doesn’t know Ember and me together. We’re not a typical teenage romance. We’re deeper, better, more everything. There aren’t proper words to describe how perfect Ember and I are together. Or how wrong my father is.
We’re going to work out.
We have to.
“I love it here.” The words tumble from Ember’s lips.
Sunshine, breeze, birds talking in the trees. I think I needed our spot at the lake as much as she did today. She lays back on the blanket I brought. Her eyes are closed, and she breathes in deeply. Her chest rises, falling back down when she exhales.
“Ember, I love you.”
She opens an eye, looks at me, and blinks after a moment. “And I you.”
I lay my head back down onto folded forearms, but remain silent.
“You want to talk about it?” Her voice curls into the folds of my arms.
Ember already told me she’s not going to come with me to Stanford, but I won’t give up so easily.
“I’m brainstorming ways to make you change your mind.” My voice is muffled.
“Noah,” Ember sighs my name, and it sounds like a tired warning. “We’ve been through this.”
“I’m not giving up.” Sitting up, I look at her. “I won’t go.”
She sits up too, her eyes alarmed. “You better be kidding.”
“I’m not. I won’t go.”
“Noah, you’re not thinking clearly. Of course you’re going to go. Stanford offered you a spot. Stanford. The college of your dreams.”
“Soccer won’t last forever. You’re my forever.”
Ember shakes her head. “No way. Not happening.”
Her absolution frustrates me. “What’s the real problem, Ember?”
“We�
��ve already discussed the real problem.”
“No. I want to know why you’re not coming with me. Why you’re not even trying.”
“I can’t, Noah! I can’t. My mom needs help. Real help. You don’t have the problems I have, and to be realistic, they’re not even problems. They’re roadblocks. She said the economy has been squeezed, and the first thing people do is cut the excess. Restaurants, gym memberships, cleaning ladies.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what to say. The threadbare couch, the chipped wood coffee table, plates that don’t match. It’s clear Ember’s mom isn’t exactly raking it in. And all that dried pasta in the cabinet. Until now, I didn’t realize why a cabinet full of pasta and canned goods struck me as odd.
Our fridge is loaded with wild-caught fish and grass-fed meat. Organic vegetables and non-GMO pasture-raised eggs. Our bread might as well have been breathed on by angels.
“What does this mean for you?” I hate that we have to talk about this. I hate that her circumstances are different from mine. I even hate that mine are different from hers. I never thought I’d resent my comfortable lifestyle, but in this moment I do.
“It means I need to get another job. Put all college on the back burner, even community. Not forever. Just for now.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to. She reaches out beyond the edge of the blanket, scooping, and lets the pebbles drip through her fingers, like sugar through a sieve when Gretchen bakes a pie.
“You don’t have to.” My words are vehement. “You don’t have to give up on your dreams.” The things I love about Ember are the very same things making me frustrated now.
How is that possible? How can she drive me to insanity at the same time that I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her tight, press my lips to hers and let her essence engulf me?
“I’m not giving up, Noah.” Ember’s voice hardens. She’s mad too. “I’m pressing the pause button. It’s different.”
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