How to Make a Wish

by Ashley Herring Blake

  And when I take a breath in, it’s all Eva. Her soft jasmine scent, the silky slide of her skin, the way her mouth is slightly parted like it’s waiting for me. We stay like that for a long time. Long enough for everything in me to loosen, relax, think clearly. Feel clearly. Eva’s patient. She doesn’t talk or ask me questions. Doesn’t make a move to kiss me. She simply trails her hand over my face, my hair, my shoulders, and my back while we watch each other and my eyelids grow heavy.

  Eventually I fall asleep. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out when a crack of thunder wakes me. I startle in the bed, but Eva’s arms are there, tightening around me.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.”

  “Did you sleep?”

  “A little, I think.”

  I nuzzle closer to her, everything about this moment so warm and perfect, scattering every dark thought and fear and worry.

  “Was I really your first kiss?” I ask, my lips brushing over Eva’s mouth.

  She smiles, gliding a finger down my cheek. “Yep. I had so many other offers, but I was waiting for a blond girl with freckles on her nose. Had to have a blond girl with freckles on her nose.”

  “Redheads can’t be trusted.”

  “Not a bit.”

  I smile, but it fades quickly along with our silly jokes. She fits herself even closer against me, our bodies perfectly aligned.

  “Totally worth the wait,” she whispers against my mouth.

  It’s that word that wakes me completely and undoes something in me. Worth. Suddenly, everything about this moment feels urgent. Desperate. I can’t even respond with words. There’s no time, because I have to cover her mouth with mine. Like, if I don’t kiss her right here, right now, I might die. Just stop breathing and dissolve. She opens her lips to me, touching my tongue with hers, and I can breathe again.

  The boat bobs underneath us, a gentle sway pushing us together. My fingers curl around the hem of her shirt, pulling it up so I can touch her skin, sweep my thumbs over the firm planes of her stomach. Goose bumps break out below my touch, and I smile against her mouth. Soon, she’s reaching out too, her hands on my bare waist. My stomach isn’t nearly as toned as hers, and when her fingers brush the skin there, I suck in.

  “This okay?” she asks, pulling back for a minute.

  I relax. “Yeah. Is it okay for you?”

  She smiles and we kiss until I’m dizzy, until my entire body aches and all I want is more. More her. More us.

  I lift her shirt over her head, revealing a Tiffany-blue bra with a little swath of lace over the top of each cup. She’s so beautiful, I can barely see straight. I meet her half-lidded gaze and she nods, gliding her finger up my rib cage. I dip my head to the slope of her collarbone, tasting the hollow of her throat, sliding down to press a kiss to her sternum. My hand drifts up, over her bra and her small, soft breasts. Her breath catches and she arches a little into my touch.

  “Lift up,” I say, and she does. I unhook her bra and slide it down her arms.

  “You too.” She grins and pulls at my purple shirt. “It’s only fair.” I tear it off, my bra following quickly. Our skin presses together. Curves and planes, light and dark, an amazing sort of sameness mingling with all the differences.

  She releases a long breath, or maybe I do, because being together like this is such a relief. I glide my fingertips up her thigh. She huffs out a gaspy laugh, so I do it again and soon we’re both breathing heavily but sort of laughing at the same time, and the whole thing is just so right, it feels almost wrong.

  The thought intensifies my touch, which encourages hers, and soon there’s no more talking. She rolls over so she’s hovering above me, her fingertips light, her mouth warm, a glint of wonder in her eyes. I’m totally aflame. That’s the only word for it. Red and crackling and hot. As she touches her mouth to mine again, her hand drifts south and flicks the button of my denim shorts free.

  “Okay?” she asks, pausing.

  I can only nod, and the zipper zurps downward.

  “I want to take care of you, Grace,” she whispers, her voice trembling a little.

  “You are. We don’t have to do anything else for that to be true.”

  She inhales a shaky breath. “I know.”

  “You’re nervous. We can stop—​”

  “I don’t want to stop. I . . . I know I’m not experienced with this stuff, but I want to be with you. I want to take care of you this way too.” She holds my gaze, her teeth pressing over her lower lip. “Can I try?”

  All I can do is nod, my throat tight with tears—​the best tears that have ever threatened to fall. I feel totally undone. Again. Something knotted and hard and perpetually pissed off and nervous unravels inside me.

  She slides off my shorts. When she starts to lie down, I hook my finger under the hem of her own shorts, tugging a little. Her brows lift and I tug a little harder until she laughs and wiggles them down her legs. They get caught on one ankle and she shakes her foot, sending them flying across the tiny room.

  “Oh my god,” she says, lining up her body next to mine and pressing her mouth against my shoulder. “Are we really doing this?”

  “I think so,” I say, huffing a laugh. Eva actually giggles, which just makes me laugh harder.

  But soon the laughter fades, our shaky breaths the only sound remaining. Her fingers glide over my skin and down my stomach and between my legs, over my underwear. I inhale sharply, my entire body igniting in a way it never has before. I’ve experienced this plenty of times with Jay and a couple other guys, plenty of times alone, but nothing can compare with this, with her.

  I bury my hands in her curls, holding on as her fingers slip inside my underwear and touch me. Her mouth is on my neck, then my lips, but not for long because I can’t breathe, can’t share breath. She presses her face to my hair, lips against my ear. My stomach tightens in all the best ways, and soon I’m touching her, too. Our hips seem to reach for each other, hungry for contact, for movement and feeling. It’s not long before I can’t tell the earth from the sky, can’t even remember my own damn name.

  There’s only her. Only this.

  Soon my world goes white, every nerve in my body firing down to the very tips of my fingers. Her touch slows and stills, but mine remains with her until she tenses and shudders against me too, my name a ragged whisper on her lips. We stay pressed together, both of us trying to get air into our lungs again.

  “Wow” is all I can get out.

  She laughs. “Yeah?”

  “Um, yes.”

  She presses her face to my neck. “I was worried I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “You knew enough.”

  “You did too.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  She bites down on my shoulder a little.

  “Hey, now!” I say, arcing away from her, but pulling her with me because our legs are tangled together.

  “That was a big wow for me, too,” she says quietly when we’ve settled again.

  “First time in a girl’s pants?” I ask teasingly. “And first time with a girl in your pants. Lots of girls in pants going on here.”

  She laughs and props herself on her elbow. “I really can’t believe that just happened.”

  My stomach does a little anxious flip. “Like, good can’t believe it?”

  “Yes,” she says, sliding her mouth over mine. “So good.”

  Later we curl up side by side on the bed, still naked and happy, and eat peanut butter right out of the jar.

  “Happy birthday,” I whisper into her ear.

  And I know I mean it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  TWO DAYS LATER, LUCA FINDS ME AT THE BOOK NOOK. I’ve been sitting here for a good half-hour, staring at the keys, the music, my hands. Not playing. Every now and then, Patrick clears his throat dramatically. Eva’s nestled in one of the upholstered chairs by the front window watching YouTube videos of this famous ballet dancer Misty Copeland. She gets up every five damn minutes and wan
ders around the store, tossing me a smile like she’s casually browsing instead of making sure I’m still alive.

  This goes on and on until Luca’s shaggy head appears in the storage room doorway. I watch him as he hovers, my eyes never leaving his.

  “Hey,” he says, sitting down next to me on the piano bench.

  “Hey.”

  “Not playing much today?” He gestures toward my still-closed music books.

  “I can play without them.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not. And you never play without them for important pieces. Aren’t these important pieces?” He flicks the edge of my Schumann book.

  “Did you come to harass me about the audition or talk?”

  “Don’t you know me at all? Both.”

  He grins and nudges my shoulder and I nudge back, and that’s when I know we’ll be okay. We’ll always be okay.

  “I’m sorry, Gray.”

  “About which part?”

  “All of it. It’s been hard, adjusting to Eva in the house. Not because we don’t want her there. It’s just . . . Mom’s always trying to help her, you know? And, I’m sorry, but Maggie—​”

  “I know.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Because I mean it. I wish things were different. For you, for Eva.”

  “I would never let Eva get hurt, Luca.”

  “I know you wouldn’t mean to. But you don’t see clearly when it comes to Maggie. You know you don’t. And she’s your mom, so I don’t blame you for that. But look at what’s going on, Gray. You’re living in a crappy motel room. Again.”

  I look away, embarrassment filling me up like wet concrete poured into a pothole. My throat starts to ache, threatening tears. “You know what’s weird?”

  “The way Patrick keeps peeking through the door? He’s freaking me out.”

  I laugh and wipe at my eyes. “He feels very invested in my playing. If I’m quiet for too long, he clears his throat or just point-blank lectures me about how practice makes perfect.”

  “Or he heard you’re living at the Lucky Lobster and he’s rubbernecking.”

  “Or he heard I’m living at the Lucky Lobster.”

  God, it sounds so awful when I say it out loud. Like Wes Anderson got really depressed and this is the movie he made.

  “What’s weird, Gray?” Luca asks.

  I take a deep breath and glance toward Eva on the chair. Her eyes are on her phone’s screen, probably watching leaps and pirouettes or whatever you call them. She looks beautiful just sitting there. She looks sad, too, and I know she misses more than her mom.

  “I just . . . it’s so easy with Eva,” I say.

  Luca tilts his head. “And that’s weird?”

  “A little? I don’t know. I feel happy.”

  Luca frowns. “You mean, you’ve never felt happy before now? God, I am a shitty friend.”

  I laugh. “No, you’re not. It’s just different with Eva. You and Emmy have always made me feel . . . hopeful. Safe.” I look down, sliding my finger over middle C. “I know I’m too much sometimes.”

  “Hey.” He nudges my shoulder until I look at him. “You’re not too much. At least, no more than me or Eva or whoever the hell. You’re just . . .”

  I lean against his shoulder. He leans back.

  “I’m just what?” I ask.

  He sighs. “You’re just a kid who’s had to be a grownup way too many times.”

  Tears spring into my eyes, but I squeeze them back. “Being a grownup sucks.”

  He laughs and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “It looks like it sucks. Let’s never get old.”

  “Neverland, here we come.”

  “I’ve always wanted to wear a leaf shirt and tights.”

  “Will Kimber be your happy thought?”

  He grins and waggles his eyebrows. “Well, I know who yours will be.”

  I flap my hands and lift up a little like I’m about to take flight right there. Soon we’re laughing and Luca’s trying to noogie me to keep my butt on the piano bench.

  “How long are you going to be in the motel?” he asks after the laughter dissolves.

  “Not sure. Mom’s looking for a place.” At least, I think she is. I haven’t seen her much, to be honest. I’ve spent most of my time at work or here, practicing. When I went to sleep last night, she’d been AWOL all day. I set my alarm to wake me up every hour, and around three, I lifted my head to see her small form curled up on the bed, reeking of cigarettes and beer. Most likely, she’s been hanging out at Ruby’s, but I don’t have the energy to fight her on it. At least she’s not asking me to go, which is both a relief and worrisome.

  “Come to dinner tonight,” Luca says. “Eva’s got to work and I know she’s your girl and all, but some you-and-me time wouldn’t hurt, you know? Mom said she’d make whatever you want. She hates that you feel like this. We don’t wish you were different, Gray. We really don’t.”

  I smile and nod, relieved as hell that Emmy wants me there.

  “Pizza fries?” I ask.

  “Pizza fries.”

  I lean my head on his shoulder, and he swings an arm around me.

  “I think you’re good for her,” he says. “For Eva. She’s happy—​well, happier. And I think she’s good for you, too. I just wanted you to know that.”

  “Thanks. I mean it.”

  Suddenly, he shoves me upright and flicks open my music book in one motion. “Now get your ass to work.”

  I plant my fingers on the keys and smile like I’m posing for a picture. He ruffles my hair, and I start the beginning of Fantasie as he leaves.

  But as soon as he’s out the door, my fingers go still.

  Luca and I are in the middle of the most epic pizza-fry war in our history when my phone rings. I have about five overlapping strings of cheese stretching from the plate to my mouth. Luca has only three, which means for the first time in years, I’m winning. My mouth is full of fries and pepperoni. Emmy sits on the couch in the living room and plans out a fall menu for LuMac’s, mumbling that we’re going to choke to death, but she’s got a little smile on her face.

  When I first got there, Emmy gulped me into her arms and held me for what seemed like hours, so I know Luca must’ve filled her in on everything that’s happened and what’s going on between Eva and me. It felt so damn good to prop my chin on her shoulder, I let her hug me for as long as she wanted.

  “You know I love you to pieces,” she whispered in my ear. “And I love Eva to pieces, but I worry about you both. Put the two of you together and double the worry. Do you understand what I’m saying?” I could only nod against her shoulder. We didn’t say anything about Maggie. What was there to say?

  Turns out, Emmy refused to feed me a meal consisting solely of pizza fries, so she made roasted chicken with mashed potatoes and green beans, which was a little slice of freaking heaven after two days of vending-machine food and LuMac’s doughnuts. But she’s nothing if not a total softy, so she cooked me up a batch of pizza fries too. Now it’s nine o’clock at night, my stomach is close to popping from the home-cooked meal, and I’m stuffing fried potatoes covered in cheese and processed meat into my mouth in Luca’s kitchen.

  And I love every minute of it. Because I’m laughing and Luca’s laughing, and I think he and Emmy both knew I needed this.

  My phone trills in my bag, and Luca points a finger at me that says, Don’t you dare answer that.

  I ignore him, chewing rapidly and, unfortunately, breaking my victorious strands of cheese. Grabbing a napkin, I wipe my face while I dig my phone out of my bag’s depths. Only one person would be calling me right now, and I say a few silent prayers to the gods that she’s not stranded at Ruby’s or some guy’s apartment a town away.

  But it’s not Mom.

  It’s Eva, and the second I see her name, a little flare of happiness ignites in my stomach, despite all the food in there right now.

  “Hey,” I say after I swipe my
finger over the screen. “I thought you were at work.”

  Nothing for a split second, but I think I hear her sniffle or something.

  “Eva?”

  “Yeah. Hey.”

  Her words flow out on an exhale, and her voice sounds small. Small and tired and scared. Immediately, my hackles are up, and I’m out of my chair and walking toward the front door.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  “What’s going on?” Luca’s out of his seat too, following me. I shake my head at him and hold up my forefinger.

  “Um,” Eva says, her voice shaking. “I’m . . . I’m at the hospital.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’m okay. Just a bump on my head, but—​”

  “Just a bump on your head? What the hell happened?”

  Luca disappears from my view, and I hear him call for Emmy. On the phone, Eva doesn’t answer me, but I hear her labored breathing and some beeping in the background.

  Hospital noises.

  “Grace, please come. I’m so sorry, but please come. They won’t let me leave and it’s too . . .” She takes a deep breath before going on. “I can’t be here alone. I can’t breathe. They’re about to call Emmy, but I had to call you first—​”

  “Okay. It’s okay, I’m coming, but tell me what happened. Did you get hurt at work?”

  “I left work early.”

  “Why?”

  Another pause. Another attempted deep breath. “I was . . . I was with Maggie.”

  The floor feels like it falls out from under me. My knees sort of buckle, but I grab the front door’s knob, keeping myself upright. “What?”

  “She called me and she was really upset and I was worried, so I went with her.”

  “Where?”

  “To that place, Ruby’s? She just wanted to dance, I guess. After a while, I convinced her it was time to go and she said she was fine to drive, but—​”

  “You got in a car accident?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know she was that drunk or I wouldn’t have—​”

  “Is she okay?” My voice is quiet. A pinprick. A wish.

  “She . . . I think she hurt her arm. Maybe it’s just a sprain. They won’t tell me anything, but she was conscious when the ambulance came. She wasn’t going super fast, and the airbags came out when she ran into a tree.”