by Lena Maye
No, it wouldn’t have taken Kepler much effort to ask. But it would have taken a truck-load of effort for me. I’m not sure I could have ever gotten the words all the way to my lips.
“Does my father want to talk to me?” I brace for the answer.
His thumb tracks from my jaw down to my chin. A soft caress I sink into. “I can ask him.”
I’ve been wondering about my father all this time. But he always knew where we were. He had the ability to call. And he chose not to. Maybe he’s not the only one who deserves an apology.
I clutch Kepler. “Just tell me when you talk to him.”
“Okay.” His breath rises and falls with mine. He tilts up my chin. “Stay here with me. Move in.”
“Wait—what?” I push on his forearms. I’m getting used to Kepler’s tendency to make these commitment leaps in the strangest moments. And this request seems tiny compared to the whole official-meeting-with-my-father situation, but it doesn’t make sense. “You’re leaving in a few months.”
“I won’t leave you.” He nods towards where the greenhouse hides. “And I can’t leave that room. I’d never hear the end of it. There are too many reasons for me to stay.”
No. He can’t stay. “Kepler, you have to go to MIT.”
“I’m not sure I’d have the option. I’ve been fucking up in my classes. Missed a few exams. I don’t know what my GPA looks like. I’m not sure it matters.”
“Of course it matters.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s your estimate. You have to go to Boston.”
“No. The decision’s already been made.” There is no waver in his words, no area for me to convince him. “Hey, don’t look at me like that.” He kisses my cheek. “Boston was a guess. Nothing more. I want to stay.” His long fingers brush under my chin. “I love you.”
The words I’ve wanted to hear falling off Kepler’s tongue.
And I love him back. I love him so much that I can’t ignore what it means for him to stay. I won’t let him waste away in Rock Falls with a joint between his lips.
“If I get you, that’s all I need.” His kiss is sudden. I hold back the sob that chokes in my throat.
He pulls back. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” The lie comes easier than I thought it would. I hate myself for it, but my mind is already made up. “I’ve had a long night. I need a moment. Just two minutes by myself.”
His eyes narrow. “But you’re staying?”
“Yes.”
His lips curl into an almost-smile. It’s not enough. I hate that I’ll never see him smile. He glances towards the front room and shifts on his feet. He leans down to kiss me again. The warmth gives me strength.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says. “I stink like someone who’s been in jail. And you can change. Wear anything you find in my closet.”
“Okay.” I attempt a smile.
“Don’t be long.” He climbs the stairs and disappears into the hallway. I wait a few minutes before slipping out of the kitchen and over the wood flooring and into the tile of the greenhouse.
The thermostat is a white box on the far wall. I click it off. I turn off the lights. The lack of their hum makes the room too quiet. I don’t know if it’s enough to do the job.
Pale winter light seeps through arched glass. I open the first curved window, and fat snowflakes fall on my cheeks. I brush them out of my hair and move to the second window, careful not to step into the path of the snow. Six windows later, the room is already freezing. I close the greenhouse door behind me.
What I’m doing is another lie. He’ll never forgive me. But he’ll be released—from me, from this room. He’ll go to Boston. He’ll become everything I know he is capable of being.
I pull the door shut and head up the stairs to the last hours I will spend with Kepler Quinn.
Thirty-One
I almost change my mind when I stop in the doorway to Kepler’s bedroom and discover him shirtless. He splashes water on his face from the bathroom sink. As he bends, the muscles of his back tense and release.
Changing my mind might not matter. There’s likely a thin line of snow on the greenhouse floor. I don’t know how long it will take for the plants to die.
My heart aches at the lie. At what he will say when he finds out.
He unzips his jeans and kicks them off. The elastic of his boxers is askew on his hips. He rakes a hand through his hair and leans into the shower to turn on the water. I have to move into the room to watch. He extends a hand into the water until steam clouds above his head. The boxers drop. He steps into the shower, and the glass door frosts my view.
I should go. Make an excuse and slip out. He’ll probably flop into bed after his shower and won’t go down to his greenhouse for hours. That has to be enough time—right?
“Jean,” Kepler calls. “Um, Min-Sun? What should I call you? The shower’s big enough for two.”
He swings the frosted door open, and I’m helpless. The view of surprising muscles and taut shoulders drags me into the bathroom. He shakes his head, and droplets of water arc towards me.
I jump away, but not in time. Water dots my face. “It doesn’t matter what you call me.”
“Excellent, Lo.” He gives me that irresistible eyebrow raise.
My hands settle automatically on my hips just like a smile settles automatically on my face. “Anything but Lo,” I tease.
My smile falls. I’ll miss this. I’m not sure I’ll ever really smile again. Perhaps it’s the last thing I’ll take from Kepler.
Kepler cups his hands and fills them with water. “Well, then, my lovely Lo. Coming in?”
I shake my head. “I’ll watch.”
He tosses the water at me. I dive to the side and knock into the towel bar. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to get you to take off your clothes.” Another handful of water leaps at me, and hits me on the shoulder.
“Kepler! I don’t have anything else to wear.”
He steps out of the shower. Water pools on the floor as he reaches for me. I dance away from him.
He follows me and corners me against the counter. “I have a variety of t-shirts you can wear.”
“Variety? That’s taking license with your cement-colored wardrobe.” I shriek as he wraps his wet arms around me. Water drips from his hair onto my face. He shakes his head, and more droplets fall. I’m sure there’s a wet imprint of him on my clothing.
He plants a kiss on my forehead. “You stayed.” The wonder in his voice makes my heart beat double time. “I thought you might slip away from me.” He grips me with such force I can hardly move—I will feel his strength forever.
Being captured by him should terrify me after recent experiences, but it doesn’t. The tears prick at my eyes before I can stop them. “I’ll stay until you tell me to leave.” My throat closes in with the honesty.
Wet lips press against mine. His kiss deepens as he lifts me. Water pelts my hair, and my feet scratch over the lip of the shower.
I break off the kiss and give him a slap on the shoulder. “You did not drag me into the shower with all my clothes on.” But I’m already soaking, my jeans weighed down by the water.
The corner of his mouth slips up. “Hell, yes, I did. And I like it. You may have to get used to it.”
His eyes lighten—a color like the last moments before a storm. The lightness washes over him. His forehead softens. His jaw eases. The curves of his lips pull up into something kind and—happy.
Kepler Quinn is smiling. Water trickles over his smile and falls onto mine.
He keeps smiling through his kiss. His hands pull up my wet clothes. Unhurried movements as he pushes down my jeans. The slowness with which he undresses me makes every part of me tingle.
The urgency in my fingertips seems to create a little of the same in him. He laughs into my neck, and I lean back so I can see him smile again.
Then, before he can read my thoughts, I press my forehead into
his chest to hide my tears.
When I wake, it’s immediate. I curse myself for drifting off. There’s a hollow in the bed next to me.
I wrap a sheet around me. The wood floor is cold under my feet. The bathroom is empty. I step into the silent hallway. The house is a gaping maw of questions.
Kepler’s not in the front room with the tall fireplace, and he’s not in the kitchen.
There’s only one other place he could be.
Not yet. I’m not ready.
The greenhouse door is open. He stands in the middle in his gray boxers. Footprints lead from the doorway to where he stopped in the snow.
The snow’s deep—covering his ankles and still falling in fat flakes. The plants bend under the weight of it. Some of the leaves have turned to a sickly brown, but most are green under snow. Like Christmas trees.
Kepler’s breath clouds in sharp puffs. “You did this.”
“Yes.” The truth falls easily.
“Is this the only reason you wanted to go upstairs? Is this the only reason you agreed to stay with me?”
“I wanted to stay. But I also wanted you to go.” The words are inadequate. Such little words to describe a huge, all-consuming feeling.
The gray in his eyes is light, almost as if he’s freezing into ice himself. He shivers. His ankles are red from the cold.
His silence is a pronouncement. I’m the one who should go.
“I never thought about doing it this way.” He stares up at open windows. Snow clusters on his eyelashes. “I’d thought of disconnecting the irrigation system. A bottle of weed killer. But I never thought about opening the windows.”
He rubs one hand over his neck. “My grandfather didn’t grow weed in here. He grew orchids. Rare orchids. I inherited this house when I was seventeen, and I let my mother sell them. She started growing. I always thought it looked strange. The orchids were so much more beautiful.”
He steps farther into the room, his footprints twisting over each other as he spins. He touches some leaves with his fingers. “I could still save them. It hasn’t been long. And the soil isn’t dry.”
I wrap the sheet tighter around me. “Are you going to?”
He leaves another shift in the snow as he walks over his tracks to the doorway and me. He steps into the hallway. The snow clings to him. His feet leave wet marks on the wood.
“Why?” he asks.
“I did this to free you, Kepler. From me and from that room. I know what it’s like to be tethered to this town. What it’s like to want something and think it will never become reality. Now you can go to Boston. And I—please don’t hate me. I understand if you want me to go, but don’t hate me. I did it because…” I sputter out, unsure about the look on his face.
“You’re trying to help me.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. I shiver against the cold wind that swirls snow behind him. The flakes in his hair melt and drip down his face. But now they fall on tight lips and a hardened jaw. No smile.
So many darkened hallways with the wrong fucking guy, and finally I’m here with the right one. I would pick him again and again. No matter what he chooses.
He takes a long breath and opens his eyes. “This is what you think I should do? Let the plants freeze. Walk away from all of this?”
I nod. “Yes, Kepler, that’s what I think you should do.”
He stills, and I can almost hear his thoughts shifting. Walking away won’t be easy for him. What if he doesn’t? What if…
He kicks the door shut behind him. “Then I will.”
He pulls me to him. His skin is cold under my fingers. But as we hold onto each other, I feel the warmth of him again.
Thirty-Two
“I finished my self-work.” I sink into the sleep-inducing chair across from Claire.
She sets her tablet down and gives me her full attention.
I hold out a sheet of paper. One word is written on it.
Claire raises her eyebrows. “Contortionist? Do you have some talents you forgot to mention?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“Future circus dreams?”
“It’ll be like running away with the circus.” I fold the list and put it in my pocket. “I’m taking a year off before grad school, and I’m going to go, um, somewhere.” I researched train tickets to see how far away from Rock Falls I could travel. Nebraska is all I can afford. It’s not Korea. But, hell, it’s somewhere. A start.
“Why contortionist?” Claire’s a sucker for metaphor.
“I like the image. Someone who adapts and bends. But someone who’s strong. I don’t know exactly what I want to do, but I know who I want to be. I mean, I know you wanted me to figure it all out, but—”
Claire shakes her head. “The goal was never for you to figure out exactly what you want to do.”
“Seriously?” I sit up. “Then why the hell did you make me write the damn list?”
“The goal was for you to see the possibilities. That there’s something more than a blank, white wall.” She clicks on her tablet. “It’s too much to expect anyone to know what they want out of life at twenty-two.” She points to herself. “Or twenty-six.”
“Or forty-four?” My mom’s birthday was last week.
Claire nods and spins her chair. “How are things with your mom?”
“She’s still my mom.” I pause and think about that statement for a moment. Fucking therapy making me think. “Moving in with Sloane won’t solve every little problem.”
Sloane made the offer to her the night after Greg was arrested. It was more of a directive than an offer but, shockingly, she jumped at it. Even though Sloane told her there would be rules. Rules about men in the house. Rules about drinking. Rules about keeping her job. Rules about the rules.
All my mom said was, “Maybe that’s what I need.” And the matter was settled.
Although not everything feels fully settled. Sloane was put on administrative leave after the incident at Greg’s. I guess it’s mandatory to do an investigation after an officer shoots her mom’s boyfriend. Even if he is an asshole.
But I worry about her. It’s weird seeing her out of uniform all the time. And Sebastian left for the summer—or maybe forever. She seems so lost lately.
Of course, Sloane just snaps at me and says she appreciates the free time. She used it to put our mom’s house on the market, and soon it will belong to another family. Then that little building won’t anchor us down to the past so much anymore.
“There's something else.” I can’t stop a grin from spreading across my face. “Sloane set up a bank account. Half the money from the house goes to me. On one condition.”
“What’s the condition?” Claire picks up her tablet. Sometimes I wonder how much she shares with Sloane about what I say. Which is fine—I gave Claire permission to disclose everything to my sister.
“The condition is I use it for my education.”
“And what do you think of that?” Claire asks, even though I’m pretty sure she can read my expression.
“Really fucking hopeful.”
Sometimes I still feel an elbow across my neck in the middle of the night when I wake. A replacement to the falling dream. Claire and I have talked about all of it for more hours than I can recall. Along with conversations about ex-boyfriends and darkened hallways. But it also feels like long ago. Like all that stuff happened to a different girl who had these crazy thoughts. A girl who was too busy fighting everyone else to realize what she should have been fighting for all along—herself.
Now I can finally breathe.
Epilogue
I glare at Kepler. “Don’t you dare touch this wheel.”
His evil hand lingers over the top of the steering wheel. I bat it aside and return to navigating his car around a corner. I point to the GPS on his phone. “You’re in charge of directions and nothing else.”
“Nothing else?” He leans dangerously close. His lips press against the tender skin of my neck. Traffic melts away as his fingers f
ind my knee and slide up my thigh.
I bat at him again.
He presses into his seat with a chuckle. “I can’t wait until I can drive. The hoops the judge is making me jump through are ridiculous.”
“They aren’t ridiculous.”
He sighs. “I know. That’s what irks me more.”
I wonder what he really thinks about it. As much as he plods along, doing everything the judge ordered him to do with both a DUI and two prior drug arrests, I wonder what his deeper thoughts are. He hasn’t given up smoking, but he cut back. And when his mother told him that he needed to fight against the rehab sentence, as she called it, he used two words common in my vocabulary. He hasn’t spoken to either of his parents since.
Although fucking therapy has taught me that not talking is a poor solution. Something Kepler reminded me of when he stuck a Post-it to my mirror. The phone number he wrote across it starts with eighty-two. The country code for Korea. He didn’t write a name on the Post-it. He didn’t need to.
Maybe it’s time to see how much an international phone call costs. On the other hand, maybe it's not. Maybe just having the number is enough.
Kepler shifts in his seat. It’s hard to pay attention to the road or my thoughts when he’s staring at me like that, but we’re almost there. If I pull over now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish the drive to our destination. Part of me wants to steal him away and never let him out of my sight.
“I don’t want to be away from you,” he says quietly. His fingers find my knee, but this time it’s a soft pressure. “That’s the ridiculous part. I wish there was another way.”
The judge ordered Kepler to a treatment facility. Two months away from him. My heart deflates at the thought.
But I don’t disagree with the order. I don’t know if Kepler needs rehab, which is probably what this place really is, but two months of self-work might do him some good.
It always comes back to the same thing: being whole first, being together second.
I can’t wait for the day when being whole isn’t an effort.