I'll Be the One

by Hazel James

  “What kind of pictures do you take?”

  “Couples. Families. Kids. Pretty much anything that moves.” She grins again. “I’ve been looking for the right truck for a few weeks, but it’s harder than I thought it’d be. A couple have been too new, one was missing the bed, and a few more had too much rust. My clients need to be able to interact with the truck and not worry about ruining their clothes.”

  “Then I guess this is your lucky day.”

  “Looks like it.”

  I consider what she said about her photo series as an idea forms in my head. “Amy, how do you feel about doing a partial trade?”

  “What do you mean? I know I asked to see your breast, but you’re kind of young for my taste.”

  Laughter overcomes me, and I lean against The Beast as I catch my breath. “Not quite what I had in mind. I’m selling my truck because I’m moving, and it won’t make the drive. I’d like to do a photo shoot with my girlfriend before I go. She’d probably like to have some nice pictures of us to look at when I’m gone. How about we take the cost of a session off the asking price?” That should still leave me enough for one electric guitar, so it’s a win-win for me and Ray.

  “You have yourself a deal. And that’s really sweet. Most kids your age don’t think of other people like that.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not most kids my age.”

  We agree on a final price—eight hundred dollars, which should be still be enough to get my guitar—and she said I can keep the truck until the shoot. I can’t wait to get back to the house and FaceTime Rachel with the good news.

  Gran’s resting on the couch when I walk inside. She’s been more tired lately, though no one has actually admitted it. I guess it’s sort of like admitting the Titanic had a weak spot. I kiss her cheek and chat with her for a few minutes, telling her about my busy shift and the upcoming photo shoot.

  “Oh, Ray wants to get all of your pie recipes, by the way. She’s gonna miss them once we leave,” I say.

  “You said you’re getting your pictures taken on Saturday?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “What time?”

  “Before sunset. Amy said something about golden light.”

  “Why don’t you invite Ray over that morning? We can spend the day in the kitchen making pies. I can give her my recipe box before y’all leave.”

  “You’d give her your recipe box? Isn’t that something you’re supposed to pass down to family?” The ancient wooden box was Gran’s mom’s. I never met her, but Gran said she was a phenomenal cook.

  “What the hell do you think I’m doing? In case you don’t remember, finding your soulmate in your teenage years wasn’t all that uncommon when I was a teenager. Maybe it runs in the family.”

  “But Mom’s adopted. We don’t actually share blood, Gran.”

  “Shut up, boy. Nurture over nature.”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say, laughing.

  “There’s one more thing. We have a moving date. February 29. Two days after your photo shoot.”

  That’s in ten days.

  I’m not laughing anymore.

  “I have the perfect pants to go with this shirt. Why do you have to be so damn tall?” Avery asks, flipping through clothes in my walk-in closet.

  “Why do you have to be so short?” I counter with a laugh as I sit on my bed and smooth lotion over my legs. Avery was waiting on the porch when I got back from my twelve-mile run. While I took a shower, she headed for my closet to pick out clothes for my photo shoot tomorrow. I didn’t even bother arguing with her. The weather’s supposed to be a little warmer than normal, so she’s already pulled out a gray ikat patterned sundress and a pair of cutoffs with a yellow peasant-style top. It’s like having a pint-sized, boy-crazy personal shopper. “Hey, how are the prom dresses coming along?”

  “I’m about halfway done with yours. I’ll have you try it on next week so I can make sure the bodice fits right.”

  “Will you have enough time to finish both of them before prom?”

  “Are you doubting my abilities, Beef?” She cocks an eyebrow over her shoulder, trying to look stern.

  “Not at all, Vera Wang. I’m actually looking forward to it.” I toss my lotion back onto my dresser and start finger-combing my wet hair.

  “Well there’s something I never thought I’d hear you say!”

  “Prom means James will be back here to visit,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. It still hasn’t hit me that he’ll be gone in three days. We’ve spent a lot of time together this week and, for the most part, I’ve managed to keep the tears in check. At least around him. I asked him if he could see anything about Florida or his new school, but he said not yet. He looked almost upset by it, now that I think about it. And he’s still pretty skeeved out about Avery’s secret admirer. I had to promise him I’d text pictures of anything else that comes in while he’s gone.

  “Here, this is the last outfit.” Avery walks out carrying a pair of pink jeans and a cream-colored top. “I’ll pretend that I didn’t just rip the price tag off your pants, which tells me you’ve never worn them.” There she goes again with the stern look.

  “You’ve seen me almost every day for the last year. You know I’ve never worn them. Hell, I even told you I would never wear them when you forced me to buy them last summer. I’m a woman of my word,” I say smugly.

  “You’re a pain in my ass is what you are,” she grins. “But your ass will look great tomorrow, that’s for sure.”

  “I just hope I look good next to James. I have no idea what he’s wearing.”

  “You really don’t give me enough credit, Ray.” She rolls her eyes and flops down next to me on my bed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I FaceTimed James two days ago to pick out his clothes.”

  “Seriously? Why do you act like we’re both three years old?” I say, giggling. There’s no use in saying I can’t believe she did that. Because I totally can.

  “Like I’m gonna let a photographer with seventy-five thousand Facebook fans photograph my best friend and her boyfriend without my help in the wardrobe department. Besides, I had to tell him what not to pack.”

  I guess that makes sense.

  “So you’re baking pies with Gran tomorrow, then doing your photo shoot?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “Yup. James said Gran is really starting to look sick. I hope I don’t burst into tears when I see her.”

  “She’ll kick your ass if you do.” I can’t help but laugh at that, mostly because she’s right.

  “That’s right, just grate the butter into that bowl there, and then we’ll add it to the flour.”

  “How am I supposed to do that if it’s frozen?” I ask.

  “It works because it’s frozen. Otherwise, you’d just have a globby mess,” she says from a chair next to the counter. “This is easier than dicing the butter, trust me.” The fact that she’s sitting down and not moving all over the kitchen like she used to doesn’t go unnoticed, but James texted me this morning and told me not to mention it. I haven’t seen her since she came to my house, and he was right—she looks sick. Like, sick sick.

  “Gran, this is cold,” James protests. He reaches for a paper towel, but Gran swats his hand away.

  “You want linty crust, boy? If your sissy hands can’t handle a little bit of cold for a few minutes, then use this.” She reaches for the butter wrapper and folds it several times before handing it to him. “This will help until you get to the end. Then you’re just gonna have to get a big straw and suck it up.” She smiles and lovingly pats his cheek. Where her body is slowing down, her quick wit and sharp tongue are still in full form.

  “Yes ma’am,” he laughs. I can’t help but giggle too. I love watching James get put in his place by a woman more than three times his age. We follow the rest of her directions and several minutes later, we’re rewarded with two great looking balls of dough. “Okay, what’s next?” James asks.

  “Cover the bowls
with plastic wrap and put them in the fridge. Then grab that box off the kitchen table and set it on the counter next to me.” James does as he’s told and returns with the box, staring blankly at Gran.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks. “Start packing! I’ve got a few hours of child labor while the dough chills, and I’m getting my money’s worth,” she laughs. James looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. Just like with Avery the Wardrobe Nazi, there’s no use arguing with Gran. He helps her to the couch without making it too obvious that he’s actually helping her, then tosses me a fresh roll of packing tape.

  Six hours later, most of the kitchen is packed and our pies sit on the counter to cool under the watchful eye of Lazarus, who is guarding them from the floor below. James passes me a damp paper towel and a glass of lemonade, which I down in about three gulps. I gave up on not breaking a sweat somewhere between the pantry and the lower cabinets. Gran has a ton of shit. I asked her why she didn’t hire a company to do all of this for her, but she just grumbled something about thieves taking her stuff.

  I set my glass in the sink and toss the paper towel in the trash. “I’m definitely not going to our photo shoot looking like this. Do you mind if I shower before dinner? I can just change into my first outfit now.”

  “No prob. Mom and I share a bathroom, so you can use all of her girly stuff. Towels are under the sink.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Now, if you don’t mind me, I’m gonna use Gran and Grandpa’s shower and try to not imagine my hot ass girlfriend naked in my bathroom.”

  He kisses me on the cheek and walks toward his bedroom, leaving me to compose myself enough to get my bag out of the car. Did he say that because he already knows what I have planned tonight? I press my hand to my stomach to calm the butterflies and walk outside praying that he has the psychic version of bad reception. When I come back inside, Gran sits up, her head barely poking over the back of the couch. She reminds me of the Incredible Shrinking Woman.

  “Did y’all leave my recipe box out like I asked?”

  “Yes ma’am, it’s still on the counter.”

  “Bring it here, would you?”

  I set my bag down, retrieve the box, and bring it around to the front of the couch. Gran pats the cushion next to her, so I sit down and prop my feet up on the coffee table. If I’m not careful, I might pass out from exhaustion right here. Gran runs her fingers over the worn edges of the box, tracing the outlines of dings, scratches and a burn mark in the top right corner.

  “This recipe box was my mother’s. My father made it for her, and it’s lived on the kitchen counter ever since I can remember. It’s survived the Great Depression, a few wars and more family celebrations than I can count. She gave it to me when I got married, and I’ve added to it over the years. My Sunny is wonderful at many things, but she never took to cooking or baking like I did. You’re the next girl in the family, so I want you to have this.”

  She passes the box to me and lays her frail hand over mine. I try to swallow, but a lump the size of a golf ball makes it difficult. Dad’s parents died when I was a baby, and we only see Mom’s parents once or twice a year, usually on Easter and Christmas. Needless to say, family traditions have never been a big deal in my house, so Gran’s gesture is just… wow. Especially considering I’m not technically family. And that I’m—.

  “Before that teenage brain of yours goes to ruining the moment, yes, I know what I’m doing. Remember what we talked about a few weeks ago?” I nod my head in response, trying to keep the tears in my eyes from spilling over. “Good. Now take this and enjoy adding more to it.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I take a deep breath and clear my throat, trying to dislodge the lump. “I don’t really know what to say.”

  “I do. Go take a shower. You look like crap.” She smiles and pats my hand as I stand up. I can still hear her cackling when I reach the bathroom.

  Amy and her megawatt smile greet us outside the red barn next to her house. She looks even more beautiful than her profile picture. Her short jet-black hair is clipped back, perfectly framing her face, and two cameras hang from her neck. She hands a third one to the girl standing next to her, then gives us a hug. I like her already.

  “I’m so excited to see y’all! This is my assistant, Reshma,” she says, gesturing to a petite girl who looks to be a couple of years older than us. “James, I’ll have you follow us down this path in the truck. You can park next to the oak tree. We’ll start there, and we’ll work our way back here after the sun sets,” she says. The fact that he gave up some of his profits so we could have pictures is mind-boggling. I really, really hit the boyfriend lottery.

  We grab our bags for our outfit changes and hop into the cab. Since it’s a short ride in the country, I skip the seat belt and slide over to his side while he backs up. The reality that this is my last ride in The Beast hits me like a lead brick. “Quick, say something funny,” I say, trying to distract myself from the tears that threaten to ruin the little bit of makeup I put on.

  “What lies on the bottom of the ocean and twitches?”

  “I dunno. What?”

  “A nervous wreck.”

  “Har har har,” I say with a laugh as I roll my eyes. He winks, then pulls under the canopy of a massive tree and kills the engine.

  “You ready, Mrs. Tennyson?” He holds out a hand to help me down from the driver’s side of the truck.

  “Yup. I’ll be the one getting photographed next to the best boyfriend on the planet. Thanks for doing this for me.” He takes me in his arms and runs his hands down the sides of my face before bringing his lips to mine. His kiss is gentle and slow, as if we have all the time in the world to explore each other, instead of just twenty-four hours. Which is why I’m going to make the most out of every hour I can tonight. A light breeze blows pieces of my hair around our faces. He smooths them down in one fluid motion, then wraps his arms around my back, pulling me into a hug. I love that my head fits perfectly into the space between his chest and neck, and I especially love the way he smells right here. It’s a mixture of shampoo, cologne, and him. It’s one of the things I’ll miss the most when he leaves.

  “Do you see this, Resh? We hit a goldmine tonight!” I feel my cheeks flush as I turn toward Amy’s voice. I didn’t forget that they were there, but… well, I sort of forgot they were there. “Don’t move!” she shouts. “James, lean back against the truck and put your hand by Rachel’s shoulder. Rachel, keep your eyes on me.” She fires off a few shots, then checks the back of her camera and takes several more. She shows Reshma the LCD screen and lets the camera fall back around her neck. “Your chemistry is absolutely off the charts. If the rest of the shoot goes as well as this, you might just be the poster children for this photo series.”

  I’m not exactly sure what that means, but she seems happy. She spends the next hour positioning us in various spots on and around The Beast, telling us to talk and interact like we normally do.

  “If I was thinking about it, I’d have asked you to bring Lucy,” I say, leaning on James’ shoulder. I’m in my cutoff jeans now, and my yellow top picks up the yellow stripes in his plaid shirt. I was surprised that Avery chose it, considering she’s not a big fan of that pattern, but it goes well with the laid-back country vibe of the shoot.

  “I meant to, but maybe I can make up for it. If I have a signal, that is.” He pulls his phone from his back pocket and pulls up YouTube.

  “What’s this?” I ask, looking at the screen.

  “Before your final race, you asked me about recording songs on my own YouTube channel. Well, I made one. I thought it would come in handy if we ended up going to different colleges. I was gonna surprise you with it at graduation. Once I found out we were moving, I decided to surprise you early.” I take the phone from his hand and scroll through the songs, recognizing most of the titles. “These are all songs that make me think of you in some way,” he continues. “I think I’m up to about thirty, and I’ll keep adding to the
list from Florida.”

  “Is that Fletcher?” I ask, pointing to a thumbnail image.

  “Yeah, he recorded a few with me. I just thought this would take some of the sting out of me moving. Between our photo shoot, our FaceTime calls, and this channel, it’ll be like I’m still here.”

  “It most definitely won’t be like you’re still here, but that’s okay. I absolutely love it.” I thank him with a series of kisses as his version of Ray LaMontagne’s Trouble plays from his phone. He pulls me to my feet when the second chorus starts, and we slow dance for the rest of the song. When Just Ask begins, I raise an eyebrow and poke him in the chest.

  “Cheater!” I tease. “You said these were all songs you sang.”

  “Mine’s on here too, but I didn’t think you’d object to the official version.”

  He’s right, and for a moment, I’m convinced the gods of love and courage have called in a favor. Neither of us says a word as we continue swaying together, chest-to-chest, our feet no longer actually moving back and forth. Verse three starts, and my fingers find their way under his shirt to the words inked along his ribs. I close my eyes and remember the first time he told me about this tattoo. About what the lyrics meant to him. About how they made him feel. Adrenaline courses through my body, causing my heart to beat in double-time. I wonder if he can feel it through my thin yellow shirt. Rachael Price launches into the final chorus, and I take one more deep breath before looking James square in the eyes and ask the biggest question of my life.

  “Question twenty,” I whisper. I can feel him suck in a quick breath. His hands, which were resting loosely on my hips, tighten their grip in anticipation.

  “Will you be my first?”

  He doesn’t say anything for seven seconds.

  Seven.

  Long.

  Seconds.

  And then he smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile. He spins me around in the grass beside The Beast, then lowers his forehead to mine and kisses me senseless.