This kiss is different. It’s not the perfect, playful kiss from a few days ago. It’s a real kiss, a kiss mixed with lingering doubts and fears. It’s mixed with the pain she’s feeling that I want so desperately to make disappear.
The kiss is soft and slow. I pull back to look at her, her soft cheeks in my hands.
She looks up at me. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
I pull back, confused. What the hell is she talking about? The rush from a few minutes ago of knowing she’s feeling what I’m feeling stops. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t lead you down this path with me. I just can’t.”
She turns her face away now, staring off to the left, into the distance. I get off the bench, kneeling in front of her, taking her hands in mine. I wait for her to look at me. “Marley, what’s wrong? What are you talking about? Talk to me.”
She swipes at her tears. “Alex, you’re amazing. You’re this perfect guy with a perfect life ahead of you. And I thought I could be the girl you needed. I thought maybe, just maybe, we could carve out a future together, that maybe the past was really over. But these last few days, I’ve realized I’ve been kidding myself. I told myself when I first met you to shut those feelings off, that I wasn’t good enough for you. But then, I don’t know, maybe it was love and the craziness of it, but I thought maybe, just maybe, we could work.”
“We can work, Marley. I know it’s scary and we have some stuff to figure out. But we have time. I’m on residency for a few years.”
“But I don’t want to suck you into all this. I’m not good for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about my baggage. My past. I’m fucked-up, Alex. My family is fucked-up, and so am I. I’m never going to be the woman I want to be, and I’m never going to be good for you.”
“Hey, stop.” I squeeze her hands.
“You don’t understand,” she says, shaking her head.
“Make me understand, then.”
She wipes at her tears, taking a moment to try to compose herself. I stay put, kneeling in front of her, afraid if I move, it’ll break her will to talk.
“I can’t leave her. Ever. I can’t leave my mom behind. She needs me.”
“Okay. Then we’ll stay here.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you. If you need to stay here, we’ll stay here. We’ll figure it out. Like I said, we have time.” I squeeze her hands again before lifting one to my lips and kissing the top of it, feeling surer of this than anything else.
She studies my eyes. “You need to know what you’re getting into.”
“Then tell me.”
She nods, and, sensing I’ve finally gotten through to her, I take my seat beside her again, pulling her in close.
“My dad killed himself when I was seven. He’d been struggling with mental health issues. He was in this bad place. Mom tried to pull him out of it, tried to get him help. It didn’t work. He killed himself on the Cedar Bend Bridge. Took a pistol, shot himself right there.”
“Marley, I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling her pain radiate through me.
She takes a deep breath. “Dr. Conlan and Margaret were there for me. They tried to shield me from it all. They did. For a long time, I thought my dad had just died in an accident. But they couldn’t shield me from the fact he was gone and that mom was falling apart. She sunk into a depression and eventually turned to alcohol. They sent her to rehab, and I lived with them for a while. She came back, and she seemed okay. But she wasn’t. How could she be?”
I squeeze her to me, kissing the top of her head, my heart ravaged by her sadness. It’s deeper than I thought. She continues.
“When I finally found out what happened to Dad, I was devastated. How didn’t I know? Why didn’t I do anything? Why couldn’t I be enough for him to want to live? As an adult, I understand that I was only seven and couldn’t be expected to shoulder that kind of weight. I know, deep down, I couldn’t have stopped him. My dad was sick. He’d struggled with mental illness his whole life. But a part of me, that little girl in me, still wonders why I couldn’t do anything.”
“It’s not your fault,” I declare. The words feel cheap and too simple, but I don’t know what else to say. My heart burns with a desire to fix this, but it also burns with the knowledge that I can’t.
“I know. Rationally, I know. But I also know that Mom blames herself. Mom’s come treacherously close many times to sinking into the same place my dad was. I vowed to myself I wouldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t save my dad because I was too young. But I can save my mom.”
“That’s a lot on your shoulders,” I remark.
I see her jaw clench. “I can handle it. I have to.”
“But you don’t have to do it alone, Marley.”
“I’ve had help. Margaret and Joe have been a godsend. They’ve been there every step, helping me, saving me on nights Mom was in a drunken rage. Margaret, in many ways, was the mother to me that Mom could never be. Mom’s not easy, I realize that now. But I know it’s not her fault. I know I can’t blame her.”
“Still. That’s a lot of weight you’ve carried.”
“I can handle it.”
“And so can I,” I vow now, turning her chin to me. “I can handle it all, too. Let me handle it with you. Let me be there for you.”
“But how can I let you? How can I drag you into this mess with me?”
“You’re not dragging me anywhere. I love you, Marley. All of you. Everything that made you who you are. When I look at you, I don’t see baggage or a broken woman. I see a survivor. I see strength. And I see beauty. Not just physical beauty, but emotional. You make life worth living. You make life exciting. I want a piece of that with you, no matter what that looks like. I want to help you find happiness, too. I want to help you find a version of your dreams, no matter what it takes. Let me be there for you.”
She’s breathing hard now, like she’s at a crossroads, a pivot point. My heart beats fast, wondering if I’ve gotten through.
She looks at me, for a long time, and it’s like I can see the past Marley, the pained Marley, coming to terms with the current woman she is.
“Okay, Alex Evans. Okay.”
“Okay, then,” I agree, and I kiss her again.
Chapter Thirteen
Alex
“So, where are we going?” Marley asks when I pick her up after her shift at Georgia’s on Friday.
“You’ll see. Trust me,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow and pretends to scowl, but I can see the smile behind it.
“You have your journal, right?” I ask. I only texted her three times today to remind her. Without it, this whole plan is going to fall apart.
Not that it might not fall apart anyway. I’m still a little nervous. But nothing risked, nothing gained, and all that cliché business. We all have to go outside of our comfort zone now and then, and I think Marley just needs a shove.
“Yes, but I’m a little worried.” She tosses her apron onto the counter and waves to Evelyn as we leave Georgia’s, walking into the starry night.
“Don’t be. It’s a good thing.”
She wraps herself around my arm like she always does, her free hand swinging. We trudge along, my hands in my faded jeans, my official “date night” button-up on.
“You need to undo a button. You look too… stuffy,” she remarks, stopping me on the sidewalk to undo two buttons.
I reach down and claim her lips, kissing her as she clutches my shirt. I pull back. “We need to go so we’re not late.”
“So let’s go then,” she says, grinning, kissing my neck down, down….
“If you keep that up, we’re not going to move past this square on the sidewalk.”
“Well, we might want to take it somewhere else. Officer Randy is no joke when it comes to indecent exposure,” she whispers in my ear, her lips close, making me s
truggle to contain a groan.
I pull back, yank on her hand. “Come on. Let’s go. I don’t want to ruin your surprise.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, doctor boy. Have it your way.”
I lead her to my Chevy, which I’ve managed to sort of clean out in preparation for tonight. There’s a grocery bag of empty water bottles, Gatorades, and Dorito bags. But hey, at least they’re contained… sort of.
As soon as she hops in, she flips the radio to the pop station, puts her feet on the dash, and starts singing.
“You know you shouldn’t ride with your feet up,” I say.
“Relax. It’s fine,” she argues, rolling down her window to stick her arm out. I shake my head. This girl’s a disaster waiting to happen.
But I take a deep breath and remind myself to relax. That’s just Marley for you. Free, wild, and a little reckless. It’s not always a bad thing to live on the edge a little.
I guess.
We drive for twenty minutes, Marley constantly asking how much longer and begging me to tell her the surprise.
I pull up to the swanky little bar, Delilah’s. I found it online. It’s exactly what Marley needs, what we need.
“What are we doing here? You brought me to a bar?” she asks, smiling, her eyes questioning me.
“You’ll see. Just come on,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt. We’re only five minutes early. We don’t have a lot of time.
Marley unbuckles her belt and hops out. I walk around the car to take her hand and then lead her to the door.
Inside, a smoky jazz singer is belting out a song into the microphone on the stage up front. There are a few tables with couples sitting and a few people at the bar. It’s not too crowded, but that’s okay. It’ll be the perfect way to ease her in.
We head to the bar and I turn to her. “Iced tea,” she says.
The bartender eyes me. “Same.”
We get a condescending look, but I ignore it, handing over a ten and taking our iced teas to an empty table up front.
The jazz singer, in the meantime, finishes her song, and a woman heads to the mic, clapping furiously.
She’s got permed hair that’s bigger than life itself and a bright, neon-orange dress on. She’s laughing and clapping. “Thanks so much, Martha. Wasn’t that just astounding? Gorgeous. Wow. So I see some new faces, and I’m excited about that. Thanks for coming to our monthly poetry reading. I’m excited to see support for the arts,” she says.
Marley turns to me and grins. “A poetry reading? Cool.” She turns back to the stage, and she looks entranced.
“So as many of you know, my mother was an aspiring poet. When she died last year, I thought it would be a neat way to pay tribute to her and to give some budding poets a platform if we started a monthly poetry night. Tonight, we welcome several new poets to the mic. First up, we have Bradley Jonas. Let’s give him a warm Delilah’s welcome.”
I put my iced tea down, clapping for Bradley. Marley puts her hands up to clap wildly. The bar is empty, but the excitement is palpable. I’ve never been to a poetry reading—not quite my thing—but I find I’m excited, too.
Of course, it may be because Marley’s eating this up. And I hope to hell the sentiment continues, because I’m not done with her yet.
***
When Bradley is done with his poem, I feel the sweat beading. His sonnet or ballad or whatever the hell it was seemed to take forever.
My palms are so sweaty, I wipe them on my jeans, knowing what’s coming out of Delilah’s mouth next as her permed hair bounces back up to the mic. “Wow. Just wow, Bradley. Thank you. And next, we need to give a warm welcome to our latest poet to be joining us. She’s from Rosewood and works at one of my favorite coffee spots around. Let’s give a warm welcome to Marley Jade.”
The crowd claps, and so do I. Marley doesn’t, though. She freezes, staring at the mic. Then, slowly, she turns her head to face me, eyes huge.
“What the hell?”
My stomach lurches. I try to sell it, though. “You’ve got this. Just go for it.”
“No way. I can’t.”
I stare, the fearless Marley at a loss for words. The go-get-it girl is stuck, freaking out, and drowning.
I reach across the table for her hand. The crowd’s trying to keep the clapping going, but it’s fading. Delilah just stands at the mic as it makes the signature screech from feedback.
“You’ve got this. It’s time for you to go after your dreams,” I assure her.
“I’ve never shared anything before. I’m not very good,” she hisses at me.
“I don’t believe it, Marley. Don’t think about it. Just go do it. Go after your dream. What do you have to lose?”
“What if I blow it?”
“You won’t. And if you do, I’m right here. Just look at me. Just read your poem to me.”
She contemplates the scene for a moment. Finally, very carefully, she digs her journal out of her bag. She trudges to the stage as if she’s on a death march, one foot painfully placed in front of the other, her head unmoving as she stares straight ahead. She stiffly stands before the mic, her face pale.
“Hello, I’m Marley Jade. I’ve never done this sort of thing, ever. I’m sorry if you hate it.”
The crowd chuckles and murmurs a little bit.
“Okay,” she says, flipping through her journal until she finds the one she wants. I don’t take my eyes off her. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, the moment she’s been waiting for but didn’t know it.
“It’s called ‘The Rose.’”
And then, Marley Jade reads her poem.
When she finishes her reading, she stares, and the crowd is silent. She bites her lip, readjusts her hat, and walks off stage, head down.
A clap begins from the back, and slowly, surely, all hands are slapping together in the bar. I find myself leaping to my feet, and a few others do the same. We clap for the beauty of a budding poet finding herself right before us. We applaud for the truth that something’s shifted before us. As she makes her way back to the table, I hug and kiss her.
“You did it. You were amazing,” I whisper, kissing her cheek.
I pull back to see tears in her eyes, Marley clutching her journal. “I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe you did this for me. Thank you.”
And I know at that moment, the risk was worth it.
***
When we leave Delilah’s, there’s a silence between us in the car, like we both know something has shifted for her.
“Thank you again. That was the best night of my life,” she whispers.
“You betcha,” I say, smiling at her, glad things worked out. “Your poem was intense and beautiful.”
“Thank you.” There’s a pause as she glances at me. “I wrote it for my dad.”
“I thought maybe you did. It was a beautiful tribute.”
“He was a beautiful man, even though he had his demons. I hate him sometimes for what he did, but I don’t. I know I can’t understand what he had to deal with.”
I pull out of the parking spot and head back toward Rosewood. Reaching down, I turn the knob on the radio to turn it down, wanting the appropriate atmosphere for what I’m about to ask.
“Can I ask you something serious?” I venture, a little nervous again.
“Of course.”
“That night. On the bridge.”
I glance over at her as we stop at the stop sign.
She nods. “Go on.”
“Were you…. I mean… what were….”
“You want to know if I was trying to kill myself?” she asks solemnly.
“I’m sorry, Marley. I know you said you weren’t. It’s not that I don’t trust you—”
“It’s fine, Alex. It’s a fair question. But the answer is no. Truly, no. I’m not going to say I haven’t ever thought about it over the years, because there were dark days. But no. I saw what happened in the aftermath of my father’s suicide. I saw what it di
d to those who loved him. I couldn’t do it.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You had something you needed to ask. Don’t apologize for that.”
“What were you doing out there then?”
She shrugs, taking a moment to answer. “Sometimes, when things are getting intense, I go out there. I sit where he sat. I guess I just feel like maybe it’s where I can feel close to him. I don’t feel him at his grave. I guess I just want to get perspective, to see what he saw last.”
“What about the bag?”
“It was alcohol.” She says it as if it’s a simple fact.
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say.
“I wasn’t getting drunk, if that’s what you’re thinking. I take it with me because the only thing I remember about my dad was that he liked drinking Jack Daniel’s. It’s like a weird tribute. I also take it because it’s also my mom’s drink of choice when she’s going on a bender. I take it to remind myself how messed up it can make you. I take it as kind of a fuck you to the universe, like a go ahead and throw your best shot at me. I’m not biting.”
“I see.” And I sort of do.
“You don’t.” I glance over at her, but there’s no anger on her face. Just the Marley smile. “It’s okay. How could you? You’re from a different world, Alex. A different life. And I don’t begrudge you that. It’s just, there are some things you’ll probably never understand about me. I’m okay with that.”
“I want to understand.”
“I know. And I hope in time you will. But a part of me is also afraid if you truly understand, completely, you won’t want to understand anymore. I’m a little scared, Alex. More scared than when I walked on that stage tonight, and let me tell you, I was freaking scared.”
“You don’t have to be scared about me. I love you. All of you.”
I reach for her hand and pull it to my lips, letting them linger for a moment too long.
“I love you too.”
We drive the rest of the way to her house in a silence befitting the mood, the moment, and the revelations we’ve just experienced.
All of You Page 10