by Jay McLean
Her smile’s gone now; her features bunched in a way that makes her look confused for some reason. She widens the opening of the bag and empties its content onto the palm of her hand. After setting the bag on her knee, she picks up the ring. It’s a quarter-inch thick, silver and has the words I shoot like a girl engraved with a picture of a camera. It’s also extremely lame. And going by the look on her face, she thinks so too.
“It’s stupid,” I rush out, smacking it out of her hands.
She catches it quickly and turns her back to me, inspecting it further. After a few moments, she faces me, a single tear streaming down her cheek.
My eyes widen, and then roll stupidly high. “Great, I’ve made you cry with the ugliest present known to mankind.”
“Shut up, Josh,” she whispers.
I try to reach for the ring but she pushes me away.
“It’s so beautiful and thoughtful and perfect and you’re ruining my moment with it.” She slips the ring on her pointer finger and smiles. “It was made for my shooting finger,” she says, shoving her hand under my nose.
“It’s stupid.”
“Stop it.”
I look over at her now—her smile back in place and her emerald eyes gleaming under the porch lights.
“It’s lame,” I say, because apparently I like beating dead horses. Or maybe I just need her to assure me that it doesn’t suck.
She purses her lips and narrows her eyes at me. “You’re lame!” Then she scoots closer and hugs my waist, and swear it—I think I actually sigh. She clears her throat before saying, “I’ve been thinking about something lately, but I don’t really know how to bring it up…” she trails off and I know that whatever it is—it’s not good.
“So just say it,” I tell her.
“The other day, when your friend Chloe was here, I thought it was Natalie.”
“Yeah. I figured.”
“I don’t know, Josh. I kind of just felt weird about it.”
“Is that why you’ve been a little…I don’t know, standoffish?”
She shrugs. “Is she nice?”
“Who? Chloe?”
She shakes her head.
“Natalie?”
She nods.
“I don’t really know. She hasn’t been around since Tommy was born.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh. I thought maybe—”
“No,” I cut in.
“Have you thought about what you would do if she came back in your lives?”
“Every day.”
She doesn’t respond, not with words, but she backs away and lowers her gaze.
With shaky fingers, I take her hand, bring it to my lips and kiss it softly. “Becca, I need you to say what you’re thinking.”
With her eyes fixed on our joined hands, she whispers, “Would you want her back?”
“No,” I say quickly. “That ship’s way passed sailed.”
“So…”
My shoulders drop with my forced exhale, causing her to look at me. “She’s Tommy’s mom, Becca. I’m not going to lie, if she came back and wanted to be part of Tommy’s life, I can’t, and I won’t, stop that from happening. I’ve spent nights thinking about it. At first, I told myself that she would have nothing to do with him. That I’d shut her out and protect him. But then I realized I wasn’t protecting him. I was protecting my heart… and he deserved to have both parents. If the time ever comes…”
“Do you still love her?” she asks.
I hesitate.
And that slight hesitation is answer enough.
“I can’t lie, Becca.”
“I understand.”
“Do you, though?”
She glances toward her house, where the sound of Tommy and Chazarae’s laughter echo through our surroundings. “Nothing can replace a mother’s love,” she says, but there’s something off about the way she says it, almost like she’s mad that such a statement exists.
Chazarae opens the door and pokes her head out. “Tommy’s all tucked into my bed. He asked if he could stay the night?”
I nod. “Sure.”
Becca releases my hand and stands up. Then she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Josh, and thanks again.”
★★★
Hours go by and I spend those hours in bed, tossing and turning. And then tossing and turning some more. I check my phone for what feels like the millionth time.
It’s just past two in the morning.
Finally succumbing to the voices in my head, I pick up my phone and dial a number.
Not hers.
Hunter answers, whispering a “Hey.”
“Sorry to call so late.”
“No such thing, Shitstain. Everything good with you?”
I nod even though he can’t see it. “I met a girl.”
“So Chloe’s told me. I’ve been waiting for this call,” he says, and I picture him smiling lazily. “Tell me everything.” A door clicks shut at his end and footsteps sound, as if he’s walking away from the bed he shares with his wife. “What’s she like?”
“Insanely hot.”
He laughs. “What are we talking here? An eight? Nine?”
“Eleventy-three.”
“Niiiice.”
I bite my lip, preventing the grin from forming. “We’re such pigs.”
“True. But I know you, Josh. She’s not just hot. That’s not why you’re calling me at two in the morning. So?”
I cover my eyes with my forearm and sigh heavily. “She asked about Natalie.”
“What about Natalie?”
“She asked if I still loved her.”
“You told her the truth, didn’t you?”
I clear my throat. “I didn’t have to.”
“You know, I was thinking about you the other day.”
“Yeah? Was I naked?”
“Shut up, asshole.”
“Continue.”
“Natalie—she’s kind of like your version of cancer.”
With a chuckle, I say, “Wow. We’ve called her a lot of things before but never a terminal disease.”
“No. Hear me out. It made sense when I was thinking about it… maybe not so much now.” I wait a moment, knowing he’s gathering his thoughts into words. “So, before I met Chloe, she’d been afraid to get close to people because of the cancer. It was always in the back of her mind, you know? Forming a relationship and then having to end it… I mean, I get it, but I wouldn’t accept it. She pushed and pushed me away until she finally realized I wasn’t going anywhere.” He blows out a breath and continues, “Natalie—she’s kind of your cancer. She’s the thought that plagues your mind—that haunts you—so much so it makes it hard for you to move forward, to build relationships, to fall in love. And one day your cancer might appear, just like it did with Chloe. But it shouldn’t stop you from building the life you want. There are some things you have no control over, and some things you can take control of. How you deal with the Natalie issue is your choice.”
I let his words sink in, and I think about Chloe and how little my problems seem compared to hers. “I’m sorry. About Chloe and the cancer.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says. “About Natalie. You shouldn’t be sorry about Chloe, though.”
“Were you scared when you found out?”
“Yeah. Just like one day, whoever you’re with will be scared that Natalie might one day show up in your life. But if the girl loves you half as much as I love Chloe, she’ll stick around. And she’ll regret it if she doesn’t. You and Tommy—you’re worth sticking around for.”
I laugh to hide my true emotions. “You’re such a little bitch, Hunter.”
But Hunter will know I’m faking it because he knows me better than anyone. Still, he laughs. “And you, dear Joshua, need to get laid.”
“Why the hell do you think I’m calling you at two in the morning?”
“Because you woke up from a dream about me naked? That’s cool.”
“Good chat.”
; “Nice talk.”
“Later, Hunter.”
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“All bullshit aside, I meant what I said. Don’t sell yourself short. Don’t settle. The world owes you and Tommy. You’ll get it one day. You’ll have it all.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Tell C-Lo I love her.”
“Will do.”
“Go back to your wife.”
“Go back to your rub and tug.”
I hang up and stare at my phone. Then I shoot out of bed, forgetting the time and everything else that’s important. I draw open the curtains and look at Becca’s window. Then I dial her number.
“Hello?” she squeaks.
“Can you look out your window?”
“What time is it?” she whispers.
“It’s late. And I’m sorry. I just really want to see you.”
The instant her curtains separate and I can see her clearly, I can’t help but smile.
She has one eye barely open and her face is scrunched. But damn, she’s beautiful. “What’s up?” she says, her voice scratchy and her eyes unfocused.
I tap on my window and her eyes dart to mine right before they widen in surprise.
“Hey…”
“I get scared,” I tell her truthfully, trying to collect my scattered thoughts.
Her eyebrows pinch and she looks so damn cute that I have to turn away because if I keep looking at her I’ll lose the courage to tell her everything. “I’m sorry that I hesitated when you asked about Natalie. It’s not easy for me to talk about my feelings about her. I hate her but I can’t. I feel like I shouldn’t love her, but I look at Tommy and I see her in him and she gave me that, you know? So I can’t love her. I can’t hate her. She just is. But when it comes to you and me and whatever we might be—she doesn’t matter. Or at least she shouldn’t.” I scratch my head in irritation because I’m rambling but I can’t stop. “And I’m sorry because I feel like I’m saying all the wrong things at the worst possible times. I mean, yeah, I’ve always kind of imagined having that conversation we had with someone far, far into my future. I didn’t expect to find someone who I had to explain that to so early on and I’m not even sure I’m prepared for it at all. So just kick my ass if I do something wrong. Because I’ll change, or I’ll try. I guess what I’m asking you—begging you—is to please, please be patient with me. Because I really don’t want to let go of this. And you—I don’t want to let go of you.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Of us.”
Moments pass and I wait for her response. It never comes. I inhale a sharp breath and muster all the courage I need to finally face her, but her curtains are closed and she’s gone. I check my phone—she’s still connected. “Becca?”
Then there’s a knock on my door that echoes through my phone and I practically run out of my room and down the hallway—tripping over my own feet to get to her. I end my magnificent display or overly-excited clumsiness by crashing my shoulder into the wall. I recover quickly and brush down my clothes, attempting for a look of “casual-calm” when I open the door. But it doesn’t matter how I look because when she rises to her toes and plants her lips on mine—phone still to her ear—whatever calmness I’d faked is replaced with everything good and right in the entire fire trucking world.
She pulls back, a half-smile playing on her lips and holds her hand to my chest. “Sweet dreams, Skater Boy.”
I watch her jog back into her house and I can’t contain my grin as I close the door. And when I drop my gaze, my eyes catch on a piece of paper on the floor by my feet. I quickly pick it up and turn it over. It’s the picture her grams had taken earlier that night. Tommy’s sitting on her lap focused on blowing out the candles… and behind him Becca sits, her eyes open and her smile full force, but she isn’t looking at the cake, she’s looking at me, just like I’m looking at her and even through the picture I can tell how badly the boy’s falling for the girl, just like the girl’s falling for the boy. I sigh/laugh—the kind of reaction you have when something unexpectedly phenomenal happens. That’s a Hunter term, FYI, and I’ve never understood it until now. I carry the picture, along with the healed heart, to my room, and set the paper against my lamp on the nightstand. And I fall asleep with a smile on my face and my heart in her hands.
13
-Becca-
joy
dʒɔɪ/
noun
a feeling of great pleasure and happiness.
“Happy toomuffvenessee,” Tommy yells, flowers in his hands and big goofy grin on his face.
I open the door wider and look from him to Josh who’s wearing the same goofy grin.
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the flowers from him.
Josh leans over Tommy and kisses my cheek. “What he was trying to say is Happy two month anniversary.”
My jaw drops and so does my stomach. “I didn’t get you anything,” I whisper.
Josh rolls his eyes. “You mean you forgot?”
“I didn’t—”
“I’m kidding,” he cuts in. “I was just being lame.”
“No!” I mouth, then pout while I sniff the flowers. Grams comes up behind me, sees the flowers, sees Josh standing in front of me, and does what I didn’t know I wanted—she takes Tommy and shoves me out the door, right into Josh’s arms. Josh waits for her to shut the door behind us before taking a few steps back and leaning against the porch railing, his hands on my waist, pulling me between his legs. Then he grabs the flowers and throws them over his shoulder.
My jaw drops, again, and my eyes widen in shock.
He shakes his head. “I don’t even know if it’s our anniversary, and I picked those flowers from the neighbor’s yard. I just wanted an excuse to ask you to go out with me—like, on a proper date. Dinner, movie…”
Without meaning to, I scrunch my nose.
He tilts his head back and looks down at me. “Or a helicopter ride to my penthouse mansion, maybe?”
I scoff and laugh at the same time. Something he calls a scaff, and it’s something I apparently do a lot.
“So that’s a no to the date?”
My lips purse tight.
His smile widens as his hand rises—his thumb brushing against my lips. “I think I’ve gotten pretty good at reading your facial expressions but I don’t know what this one means.”
I place my hands flat against his hard chest and look up at him, and I just stare at him for a while because really, who wouldn’t want to? I clear my throat, my mouth dry. “I like what we do,” I tell him, and it’s the truth. The last couple of months we’ve spent every spare second together, even after Tommy goes down. He tells me about his work and what jobs he’s doing, and what Tommy’s up to. Sometimes he’ll apologize for talking too much but he really enjoys having someone to talk to, and the truth is, I really enjoy listening to him talk. I mean, one of us has to, right? I add, “I don’t really think we need to go out and do anything fancy.”
“But you don’t want to… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “You can get all dressed up, I’ll get dressed up, we’ll go out…”
I lean closer and undo the top button of his work shirt, then press my lips to his chest. “I’d rather you dress down,” I tell him.
He engulfs me in his arms, holding me to him. Then lowers his mouth to my shoulder. His breaths warm against my ear, he says, “I’m so lucky to have you.” Slowly, he releases me but I don’t go far. He adds, “I just don’t want to fail on all my boyfriendly duties.”
I try—unsuccessfully—to suppress my grin.
“What?” he asks, giving me a crooked smile I’ve come to love.
“Boyfriend,” I whisper.
He nods slowly. “Well, yeah. Am I not that?”
Returning his nod, I smile full force.
“Your only boyfriend, right?”
I roll my eyes and plant my lips on his, kissing him longer than the last. His hand drifts under my shirt, rough but gentle. He moans into my mouth as I bite down on
his lip. Then he curses and half-heartedly attempts to push me away. I don’t budge. Not even a little bit. “So this date?” I ask.
He nods, his eyes on my chest pressed against his.
“Where would Tommy be?”
“I was going to ask Kim and Rob to watch him,” he says to my breasts.
I tug on his hair to make him look at me. He just laughs—no shame. “So what if we do have a date… but instead of going out, we stay in?”
His smile fades. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he swallows. “W-w-we can do that.”
“Okay.”
His eyes drop to my chest again.
“So when?”
“Huh?”
“Josh.”
He finally looks up.
“Focus.”
He smirks.
“When?”
“Next Friday?”
★★★
Josh slumps down next to me on his couch after putting Tommy to bed. “That took forever. He just kept wanting to tell me story after story.”
“It’s cute.”
“The first two, yeah. The ten after that, not so much.”
“What did he say?” I ask, turning to him.
He grabs my legs and puts them over his. “Anything. Everything.”
I fake a smile and somehow he knows it’s fake. He shifts me until I’m on his lap and his arms are around me. “Are you okay?”
I rest my head on his shoulder but don’t look at him. “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep well.”
With his finger on my chin, he makes me face him. There’s a frown on his face—one I’m sure I caused. “Did you have another bad dream?”
My eyes shut when he holds me tighter and I hesitate to nod because I don’t want him to know how fucked up I am.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not—” My voice breaks, and my hand automatically comes to my throat. “Not really.”
His eyes narrow, his frown deepening. “Is your throat sore?”
I nod again.
He replaces my hand with his. “You been straining it?”
“I think so,” I whisper.
His thumb, gentle and soft, rubs across my neck. “I got this tea for you—it’s supposed to be able to help with that.”
He moves me off him, stands up, and goes to the kitchen. I follow. After pulling out a bag from the pantry, he leans back against the counter and starts reading the instructions on the back.