Once Upon a Summer

by Brooke Moss

  I run my palm over my nose, despite the ugly noise and slickness that comes with the movement. So what if I'm gross and dramatic? This is real. This is anguish .

  Well, I had an experience all right. The first time my heart broke. I don't think I'll compare my paint to anything in the past again, because they’re all meaningless compared to this.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out. Who could be calling? Thankfully, it's my best friend in the entire world.

  I answer the phone with a sniffle. "Hi, Chloe."

  "Hope?" she asks, tentatively. “Are you okay? You sound sad.”

  I choke on a sob. "I'm so stupid."

  "No, you're not. You're the opposite. Do I need to call up a hitman?"

  I laugh, but it feels pathetic and more like a gasp for air. "Call the hit on me, please."

  "Not someone else?"

  "No." I squeeze my eyes shut. "I'm the asinine one."

  "Why?"

  "Because, there was a guy."

  "That’s usually the beginning to a fairytale or a tragedy."

  "This was a tragedy. Like, a full on Shakespeare-kills-everybody tragedy."

  She snorts. "Well, then, who are the players?"

  "Me."

  "And?"

  My chest tightens. "Paul."

  I don't say anything for a while, but then the words flow. I tell her everything, from our first meeting to just now. I apologize for not mentioning him sooner. I just didn't want to get her hopes up. It's happened before for guys who weren't nearly as promising. Even more, I didn't want to be disappointed. What if we both got our hopes up...then nothing?

  "I'm sorry I've been a bad best friend," I finish.

  "Nope, you don't get to say that. Not when you're hurting. When my girl's heart is broken, we build it back up, not tear it down."

  #

  My things are tucked neatly in my bag when someone knocks, then bangs, on Aunt Isla's door. I called my mom, too, and we decided I should come home a day sooner. Isla gives me a questioning glance, as she has with all of the texts and calls I've ignored from him.

  "Please, Hope, I know you're in there."

  I freeze in the middle of flatting down my things. His voice even hurts to hear.

  "Isla called me."

  I immediately pin her with a glare. "I thought you were on my side," I whisper-yell at her.

  "I only want what's best for you," she says. "Which includes forcing you to face the hard things. You need to talk to him."

  I tuck my hair behind my ears. I have it braided sloppily, but it's falling down, basically the same chaos I'm in. "You're a turncoat, you know?"

  She laughs, loud enough for Paul to hear. "Take it from me, you'll be happy I've done this. Life is too long of a sentence for missed opportunities." She walks up beside me and places her hand on my cheek. "I love you like a granddaughter. I hope you know that."

  I place my hand over hers. "I love you, too. I'm sorry for being this way."

  "I was wreck when it came to love and then I had Arthur. You're allowed to be a wreck. Just find yourself faster, dear. Whether it means you're meant for love or not."

  "This isn't love with Paul."

  "You're acting like it, honey," she says. "But these old eyes sometimes see things that aren't there." She looks at the clock on the mantel of her fireplace. "Now, Arthur and I have knitting class in a few minutes, so the door is going to open."

  "Okay." As much as I hate it, talking to Paul is probably for the best. I don't want to look back on this for the rest of my life as something I didn't do.

  She kisses me on the cheek and goes to the door. When she opens it, Paul looks shocked, but recovers himself quickly. For the first time since meeting him, he’s not smiling. He's pale, with his lips drawn in a tight, grim line, and unable to meet my eyes. There's a dribble of cream paint on his cheeks, with larger blots on his clothes.

  Aunt Isla whispers something in his good ear before walking by him and down the hall. He steps inside the apartment and closes the door behind him.

  "Isla called me and told me what happened," he says, voice raspy.

  "I wish she wouldn't have." I look down at my bare feet.

  "Yeah, me too. I wish you'd have heard it from me." A small piece of me hoped they were wrong. His words prove I was the only one who was in the dark. He comes closer, which makes me step away reflexively. He winces, but reaches for my bag to zip it for me. "What are you thinking, Hope?"

  "I've never felt special, but you made me feel like I am. And I thought...but I'm not… really, am I?" Tears well up, but I blink them away. The last thing I want to do is turn into a sobbing mess. I wish I could do the same for my mouth. "Do you have a side of things to tell? Or are you so calm because I'm right?" I mess with the tip of my braid to hide my anxiety at hearing him say the words. "I know I'm being weird about this and probably not reacting right."

  "You're not being weird," he tells me. "It's fair what you're feeling. I was going to tell you about the others, but I didn't know how to—didn't exactly want to talk about it, either." He finishes zipping my backpack and faces the couch. "Can we, ah, sit down?"

  "Yeah." I point to the couch. "How about I get a towel, though?" I quickly get one out of the bathroom and set it on the couch so he can sit down. I curl up at the end, as far away from him as I can get.

  He stares at me for a long time, like he's searching my face for his next sentences. Doubtful. "Everyone here is family to me and they all want to make me a real family member. Before I went overseas, I couldn't get a date to save my life. I think girls thought the old-timers were contagious or something. So everyone set me up with the girls who would come to town. After a while, I realized that wasn't working either, but I couldn't turn anyone down. When I came back home, it was worse. It felt like I had a new date every other week, but nothing stuck. They all wanted the war-hero, but not the damaged goods that come with it." He looks away, his gaze going somewhere else entirely. "Then I saw you—got to know you—and, Hope, you are special."

  I feel stupid for using the word special. What does that even mean—special? I wring my hands in my lap. "I'm so sorry. I'm overreacting. We haven't even known each other very long."

  "You're not," he assures me. He reaches for my hand and tugs on it gently. Once our fingers lace together, he pulls me toward him. I come willingly, until our thighs are pressed together and my head is on his shoulder.

  "I just always feel so behind, but then I met you and I thought I was on the right page. I found out about the other girls and I was behind again," I explain.

  He kisses the top of my head, his lips lingering there. "You're not behind. I'm in the same place you are. Believe it or not, the way I feel is new to me, too."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. I've always thought I was destined to be an eighty-year old bachelor, probably still living here. And then you came along. Now I’m hoping..."

  My mouth drops and I pull away to see if he's serious. "You're kidding."

  "I'm not."

  I catch him off guard by kissing him, but he quickly catches on and starts kissing me back. "I think you're my soul mate," I say against his lips. "Old souls and all."

  He chuckles. "Who knew my fear would be the thing to thaw you out."

  "I realize I'm not the only person in the world who feels this way, but it's nice to be with somebody who does." I grin at him. "It makes the future seem less scary."

  "Why? So we can be lonely together?" he jokes and I elbow him in the ribs. "I know what you meant."

  Seriousness washes over me at the idea of us being together in any sense. "So where does this leave us?"

  "It's been on my mind for a while. I'm not ready for what’s going on between us to end, but I know it's time for you to leave—even if it's sooner than we thought." He tucks my hair behind my ear and I automatically reach up to run my thumb along the crevasse of his dimple. "I want us to keep seeing each other and talking to each other. Exclusively, obviously. But I
also know I want you to go home and think hard about your future. Not ours. I think it's important you realize what you want. Like I said, this place is my home, so I want you to think about where your home is."

  "You sound like a teacher, not a boyfriend."

  "It happens when you live with old folks," he says. "Am I making sense, though?"

  "You are. I agree. I need to find myself first." This time I know I won't be able to stop my tears. I bury myself in his chest, before continuing in a rush, "Thank you, Paul. I'm finally on track with where I want to be and it’s all because of you."

  "No, you took the chance. I just happened to be here."

  "I'm not sure what I thought I was looking for this summer, but this is it."

  #

  A year later, Chloe and her very-soon-to-be-husband say their vows, saying words I didn't really understand until Paul. I watch Chloe enjoy the happiest moment of her life since this is the instant we've been gushing about for months. I've been excited to see the love in their eyes, to see them both cry, and witness the beginning of their forever. Basically, all the gooey stuff I never thought I'd be able to face without being jealous.

  Except, instead of looking at them, I search the audience for my guy. This is the first time he's visited my hometown. Normally, we meet halfway or I stay with Aunt Isla. There was a wreck on the highway, so I was disappointed when I got the text saying he would be late. We had been planning for him to come see me before the wedding, but instead he had to go straight to my house to catch a ride to the church with my family.

  Even though I knew he made it here thanks to a text, I think I would've felt his presence no matter what. The second I started walking down the aisle, my arm linked with the best man's, chill bumps rose and my heart pounded. Being in the same room with him still turns me into a wreck of emotions and reactions. He's sitting on the end of the four-person row next to my dad. When I passed, he reached for my hand and kissed it, giving me his signature lopsided grin.

  He still smiling now, but differently—like he's thinking the same way as me and imagining us someday up at the altar. Then again, it could be a signal I'm picking up from my mom.

  After I talked and talked and talked about Paul, my family rented a beach house near Isla's retirement home. My mom instantly loved him and seemed to have our entire life planned out—not that I hadn't done so already. Sam, who morphed from Teenage-Shut-In to Mr. Outgoing in the blink of an eye, hero-worships Paul. The person I was most worried about was my dad, but he instantly clicked with him, too. My dad even sometimes calls him if he has questions about something he's trying to fix, since Dad's lost when it comes to that stuff.

  When the ceremony ends, I walk back down the aisle, my legs as loose as putty. Even though I talk to Paul almost every day, seeing him still unnerves me. For three weeks, we couldn’t see each other with our schedules out of whack.

  Our long distance thing isn't working, even if we're as close as ever, so I really hope he understands my decision.

  We're ushered into a small room to wait for pictures, which ends up being fun and a little nostalgic when Chloe and I get solo ones. I want this night to drag out in a good way for my best friend, but I'm also ready for it to speed up so I can spend time with Paul. Seeing Chloe so happy and in love, makes me want what she has.

  I do love Paul. We haven't formally said it to each other, which is weird because most my friends say it in like month two. It’s what makes our relationship more important and special. We aren't rushing anything because we want to be sure.

  He did say it one night, when it was late and we didn't get to talk until about one in the morning—way passed when we both usually go to sleep. He fell asleep talking to me, right before murmuring those three words. I spent the whole night rehashing them, going from one extreme where I was elated, to another where I figured I was hearing things. It didn't make matters any better because neither of us mentioned it again.

  Then, about a month ago, I was so excited to see him I said it in a rush, only I said it in his deaf ear.

  After the pictures, the MC of the night announces the bridal party so we can make our entrance into the reception all. I hold my bouquet up and do a little dance, but as soon as the spotlight's off of me, strong arms wrap around my middle and warm lips press against the crook of my neck.

  I wrap mine around his neck and turn my face to see his side profile. He's clean-shaven, which makes his skin feel softer than ever against mine. Admittedly, I still love his scarred parts the most. I love kissing and touching him there and reminding him how I find him handsome not only in the way he looks, but also in his courage.

  Not everyone decides to put their life in danger by defending their country because they set out to find themselves.

  "I missed you," he says against my skin, chills rise like an army ready for battle.

  "I missed you, too. I'm so glad you came."

  "I told you I would—I remember promising," he says, chuckling.

  "And, you're always right." I turn around in his embrace and lean back to get a look at him. He's wearing a fitted gray suit with a white shirt underneath unbuttoned at the collar, showing off his beach worthy tan. Most importantly, he's wearing his ever-present grin and staring at me like I'm the only girl in the world.

  "You're perfect, Hope," he says and runs his hand down the side of my face. "You look beautiful."

  I blush and fight the urge to run my hands down the soft fabric of my dress. I love the fit and feel like I am beautiful, something I haven't really felt since Aunt Isla made me over. But, at the same time, I also keep stressing about the dark purple color clashing with my hair, which seems exceptionally bright against it.

  Confidence, Hope. Confident people make big decisions, so it's time to step up to the challenge. My hair, my mind, my life is on the right track, even if it's not always easy to see.

  I link my hand through his, letting it lay with his on my cheek for a minute as I gather up my courage. "I want to show you something."

  "Right now?" he asks. "Don't you have duties to do?" He looks around, but the rest of the party has scattered. The new Mr. and Mrs. are even at opposite ends of the room talking to people.

  "Yes, right now." Before I lose my courage again. I had meant to talk to him when we'd last met, but I wimped out. It’s now or never, since my plans basically go into place tomorrow.

  I pull him behind me out toward the parking lot, where my car has been sitting all day long.

  "Is this the part where you murder me for all my worldly possessions?" he asks. "I don't have a will, babe. So it ain't gonna work."

  "Unless, I wrote up a fake." Joking with him eases my anxiety.

  When we come to a stop behind my blue car, I look up at him, waiting for him to see it. He doesn't, of course. Instead he just stares at my car like he's seen it before and is completely lost.

  "Sorry," he says, running a hand through his hair. "Care to share?"

  I swallow. I have to point it out. This probably wasn't the best way to go about this. I point to the new little emblem, now in the corner of my rear window where my old university logo used to be. "I'm transferring."

  "That's literally a half-hour away from the retirement home," he says evenly.

  "Yeah..."

  "Hope, are you saying...?"

  I turn to him and say in a rush, "You said I needed to figure out myself and my home. I honestly worked at it this past year. But every day, I would end up looking forward to your calls, to the next time I would see you, to when we would get to spend more time together. I would leave anything and everything behind for you. You're my home, Paul. Wherever you are, I want to be. I never wanted to put myself out there because I was afraid to change or leave my comfort zone. But with you, I'm not. " I look up into his eyes, trying to convey the strength of the words I'm saying and everything in between. "I love you."

  He's stoic and for a split second I think he's going to tell me he doesn't love me back. I'm used to a serious Pau
l. But even though everything about him is still, I can see twenty million emotions swirling around in his eyes. It's as if he's feeling too much to show any of it.

  Then, all of a sudden, he kisses me, transferring every single one of his emotions between our lips. I can feel the words he's trying to convey without having to hear them, because they've started to grow in my soul.

  "I love you, too," he murmurs. He pulls back in a state of awe. "I'm your home."

  "We'll just put a welcome mat at your feet."

  He chuckles. "You're mine, too, you know. I probably would've moved if given the chance."

  "I know, but you love it where you are and I love it there, also."

  "They are our speed."

  He pulls me into a hug, still laughing out of happiness and excitement for the future. With his deaf ear close to my lips, I say the words I'm ready for, but not sure if it's time for, "I wish to grow old with you."

  SNEAK PEEK AT STEP TOWARD YOU

  CHAPTER ONE

  Silas

  One: We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.

  The alcohol is the first thing I smell. It always is. It’s also the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the only thing on my mind for the rest of the day.

  Beer is always my drink of choice when I’m alone, but when someone’s near, it’s always vodka. Clear, no smell, no one ever guesses it’s on me. Tonight, though, I didn’t go with either of those. I wanted whiskey. I wanted the burn of it as it rushed down my throat, infecting me. I wanted to forget yelling at my mom, how I’d called her something nasty and regrettable—and how it hadn’t felt nasty at the time and I didn’t regret it.