by Nicola Yoon
“Since I decided to become a rock god. It’s Zachariah like—”
“Messiah,” I pipe in, getting his joke.
“Exactly! Your girlfriend is smarter than you are.”
I blush and look over to see Olly blushing, too.
“Well that was cute,” Zach says, laughing and strumming air-guitar strings. His laugh reminds me of Carla’s—unself-conscious, a little too loud, and full of mirth. In that moment I miss her desperately.
Olly turns to me. “Maddy, this is Zach.”
“Zachariah.”
“Dude, I’m not calling you that. Zach, this is Maddy.”
Zach takes my hand and gives it a quick kiss. “Fantastic to meet you, Maddy. I’ve heard a lot about you, but I didn’t think you were really real.”
“That’s OK,” I say, examining my hand where he kissed it. “Some days I’m not.”
He laughs too loudly again and I find myself laughing with him.
“Wonderful,” Olly cuts in. “Let’s move this along. There’s a loco moco with Maddy’s name on it.”
A loco moco is a mountain of rice topped with a hamburger patty topped with gravy topped with two fried eggs. Zach’s taken us to a mixed-plate restaurant for a late lunch. We sit at a table outside, the ocean just a few hundred feet in the distance.
“This place is the best,” Zach says. “It’s where all the locals eat.”
“You tell your parents yet?” Olly asks him in between bites.
“About the rockstar thing or the gay thing?”
“Both.”
“Nope.”
“You’ll feel better once it’s out there.”
“No doubt, but the difficultly level is a little high.”
Zach looks over to me. “My parents only believe in three things: family, education, and hard work. By ‘family’ I mean one man, one woman, two children, and a dog. By ‘education’ I mean a four-year college, and by ‘hard work’ I mean nothing involving art. Or hopes. Or rockstar dreams.”
He looks back to Olly now and his brown eyes are more serious than before. “How am I gonna tell them that their first-born son wants to be the African-American Freddie Mercury?”
“They must suspect,” I say. “The rockstar part at least. Your hair is four different shades of red.”
“They think it’s a phase.”
“Maybe you could write them a song.”
His laugh booms. “I like you,” he says.
“I like you, too,” I say back. “You could call the song ‘This Apple Has Fallen Very, Very, Very Far from the Tree.’ ”
“I’m not even sure I’m an apple,” Zach says, laughing.
“You guys are funny,” Olly says, almost smiling, but obviously preoccupied. “Dude, let me borrow your phone,” he says to Zach.
Zach hands it over and Olly immediately starts typing.
“What’s going on with you? Dad still a bastard?”
“You thought that would change?” He doesn’t look up from the phone.
“I guess not,” says Zach, a shrug in his voice. How much does he know about Olly’s family? His dad is so much worse than just a bastard.
“What about you, Madeline? What’s wrong with your parents?”
“It’s just me and my mom.”
“Still. There must be something wrong with her.”
My mom, my mom. I’ve barely given her any thought. She must be crippled with worry.
“Well, I think there’s something wrong with everyone, don’t you? But my mom’s smart, and she’s strong, and she always puts me first.”
I know I’ve surprised them because neither one speaks.
Olly looks up from Zach’s phone. “You have to tell her you’re OK, Mad.”
He hands me the phone and leaves for the restroom.
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Do you have my daughter? Is she OK?
* * *
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I know she’s with you. You don’t understand how sick she is. Bring her home.
* * *
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
Please tell me where you are. She could get severely ill at any minute.
* * *
From: Madeline F. Whittier
To: [email protected]
Subject: (no subject)
I know where you are and I’m on the next flight. I’ll be there first thing in the morning. Please keep her safe.
I stop reading, cradle the phone against my chest, and close my eyes. I’m guilty and resentful and panicked all at once. Seeing all her worry and pain makes me want to go to her and reassure her that I’m OK. That part of me wants to let her keep me safe.
But another part of me, the newer part, isn’t ready to give up the world I’m starting to know. I resent that she’s logged into my private e-mails. I resent that now Olly and I will have even less time than I thought.
My eyes are closed for too long because Zach finally asks if I’m OK.
I open my eyes and take a sip of pineapple juice, nodding around the straw.
“No, really. Are you feeling OK? Olly told me—”
“He told you I’m sick.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine,” I say, realizing that I really do mean it. I feel fine. I feel more than fine.
I look back down at the phone. I need to say something.
From: genericuser033
To: Madeline F. Whittier
Subject: (no subject)
Please don’t worry, Mom. And please don’t come here. I’m really OK and it’s my life too. I love you. I’ll see you soon.
I hit send and hand the phone back to Zach. He pockets it and stares at me.
“So you really bought pills off the Internet?” he asks.
I’m still so shaken up from my mom’s e-mails and worrying that Olly and I don’t have enough time for each other that I’m not prepared to hear my lie coming out of his mouth. I do exactly what you’re not supposed to do when lying to someone: I don’t meet his eyes. I fidget and blush.
I open my mouth to explain, but no explanation comes.
He’s already guessed the truth by the time I finally meet his eyes.
“Are you going to tell him?” I ask.
“No. I’ve been lying about myself for so long. I know what it’s like.”
Relief washes over me. “Thank you,” I say.
He just nods.
“What would happen if you told your parents?” I ask.
His answer is immediate. “They’d try to make me choose. And I wouldn’t choose them. This way, everybody wins.”
He leans back in his chair and strums. “All apologies to the Rolling Stones, but my first album’s going to be called Between Rock and Roll and a Hard Place. What do you think?”
I laugh. “That’s terrible.”
He grows serious again. “Maybe growing up means disappointing the people we love.”
It’s not a question and, anyway, I don’t have an answer.
I turn my head and watch Olly as he walks back toward us.
“Doing OK?” he asks before kissing my forehead and then my nose and then my lips.
I decide not to bring up my mom’s impending visit. We’ll just make the most of the time we have.
“I’ve never felt better in my life,” I say. I’m grateful at least that I don’t have to lie about this.
THE MURPHY BED
IT’S LATE AFTERNOON by the time we get back to the hotel. Olly flicks on all the lights and the ceiling fan and then does a diving somersault onto the bed.
He lies on one side and then the other. “This side is mine,” he says, meaning the left side, closer to the door. “I sleep on the left,” he says
. “So you know. For future reference.” He sits up and presses down on the mattress with his palms. “You know what I said before about Murphy beds being the height of comfort? I’m going to take that back.”
“Are you nervous?” I blurt out. I turn on the lamp on the right side of the bed.
“No,” he says, too quickly. He rolls over, drops off the side of the bed to the floor, and stays there.
I sit down at the edge of my side and bounce an experimental bounce. The mattress squeaks at me.
“Why do you sleep on the left when you sleep alone?” I ask. I move onto the bed and lie down. He’s right. It’s breathtakingly uncomfortable.
“Maybe it’s anticipation,” he says.
“Of what?”
He doesn’t answer, so I roll over to peer down at him. He’s lying on his back, one arm flung across his eyes.
“Company,” he says.
I retract my head, blushing. “You’re kind of a hopeless romantic,” I say.
“Sure. Sure.”
We slip into quiet. Above us the fan whirs softly, coaxing warm air around the room. Through the doors I hear the ding of the elevators and the low murmur of passing voices.
A few days ago just a single day outside seemed like it would be enough, but now that I’ve had one, I want more. I’m not sure if forever would do.
“Yes,” Olly says after a while. “I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
He takes a breath that I don’t hear him release. “I’ve never felt about anybody the way I feel about you.” He doesn’t say it quietly. If anything, he says it too loudly and all in a rush, as if the words have been wanting to tumble out for a long time.
I sit up on my elbows, lie back down, sit up again. Are we talking about love?
“I’ve never felt this way either,” I whisper.
“But it’s different for you.” There’s frustration in his voice.
“Why? How?”
“It’s your first time for everything, Maddy, but it’s not for me.”
I don’t understand. Just because it’s the first time doesn’t make it less real, does it? Even the universe has a beginning.
He’s silent. The more I think about what he’s saying, the more upset I get. But then I realize that he’s not trying to dismiss or belittle my feelings. He’s just scared. Given my lack of choices, what if I’ve just chosen him by default?
He takes a breath. “In my head I know I’ve been in love before, but it doesn’t feel like it. Being in love with you is better than the first time. It feels like the first time and the last time and the only time all at once.”
“Olly,” I say, “I promise you that I know my own heart. It’s one of the few things that’s not completely new to me.”
He climbs back into bed and throws an arm out. I curl into him, put my head into the Maddy-shaped nook of space between his neck and shoulder.
“I love you, Maddy.”
“I love you, Olly. I loved you before I knew you.”
We drift off to sleep curled around each other, neither of us talking, just letting the world make some noise for us for a while because all the other words don’t matter right now.
ALL THE WORDS
I COME AWAKE slowly, languidly, until I realize what we’ve done. I glance at the clock. We’ve been asleep for over an hour. We barely have any time left and we’ve spent some of it sleeping. I glance at the clock again. Ten minutes to shower and another ten to find the perfect spot on the beach to watch our first and last day together come to an end.
I shake Olly awake and rush to get dressed. In the bathroom, I slip into my one-size-fits-all dress. One size can fit all because the skirt flares out and the top is ribbed elastic that can stretch to accommodate most anyone. Forgoing my scrunchie, I let my hair have its way, and it falls curly and full around my shoulders and down my back. In the mirror my skin glows a warm brown and my eyes glitter.
I am the picture of health.
Olly’s seated on the top rung of the railing on the lanai. His position looks precarious, even though he’s holding on to the railing with both hands. I remind myself he has plenty of control over his body.
He smiles, more than smiles, when he sees me. He’s Olly and not-Olly again, eyes sharp and tracking my approach. I’m aware of every single sparking nerve in my body. How does he do that with just a look? Do I have the same effect on him? I stop at the sliding glass doors and look him over. He’s wearing a close-fitting black T-shirt, black shorts, and black sandals. The angel of death on vacation.
“Come here,” he says, and I nestle into the V of his legs. He goes still and his grip on the rail tightens. I inhale the fresh scent of him and look up. His eyes are a clear, summer-blue lake that I can’t see the bottom of. I touch my lips to his. He hops down from the railing, pushing me back against a table. Before I know it, I’m flush against him and he’s kissing me with a groan. I open for him and we kiss until I can’t breathe, until my next breath is one of his. My hands are on his shoulders, on the back of his neck, in his hair. My hands don’t know where to stop. I am electrified. I want everything, and all at once. He breaks our kiss and we stand there, drawing ragged breaths, foreheads and noses touching, his hands gripping too hard on my hips, my hands flat against his chest.
“Maddy.” His eyes are a question and I say yes. Because it was always going to be yes.
“What about the sunset?” he asks.
I shake my head. “There’ll be another one tomorrow.”
He looks relieved, and I can’t help but smile. He walks me backward through the lanai doors until the backs of my knees are pressed into the bed.
I sit. And then stand right back up. It was easier jumping from Black Rock than doing this.
“Maddy, we don’t have to.”
“No. I want to. This is what I want.”
He nods and then squeezes his eyes shut, remembering something. “I have to go buy—”
I shake my head. “I have some.”
“You have some what?” he asks, not catching on.
“Condoms, Olly. I have some.”
“You have some.”
“Yes,” I say, my entire body blushing.
“When?”
“At the souvenir shop. Fourteen ninety-nine. That place has everything.”
He looks at me as if I were a small miracle, but then his smile turns into something more. Then I’m on my back, and his hand is tugging at my dress.
“Off. Off,” he says.
I scramble to my knees and pull it off over my head. I shiver in the warm air.
“You have freckles here, too,” he says, sliding his hand across the tops of my breasts.
I look down to confirm and we both laugh.
He puts his hand on my bare waist. “You’re all the good things wrapped into one good thing.”
“Um, you too,” I say, inarticulate. All the words in my head have been replaced with one—Olly.
He pulls his T-shirt off over his head and my body takes over my brain. I run my fingertips over the smooth hard muscles of his chest, dip them into the valleys between them. My lips follow the same path, tasting, caressing. He lies back and keeps himself still, letting me explore, and I kiss my way across the landscape of him down to his toes and back up again. The urge to bite him is irresistible and I don’t resist it. The bite pushes him over the edge and he takes charge. My body burns where he doesn’t touch, and burns where he does.
We gather each other up. We are lips and arms and legs and bodies entangled. He raises himself above me and we are wordless, and then we are joined and moving silently. We are joined and I know all of the secrets of the universe.
MADELINE’S DICTIONARY
in•fi•nite (ˈinfənit) adj. 1. The state of not knowing where one body ends and another begins: Our joy is infinite. [2015, Whittier]
THE OBSERVABLE WORLD
ACCORDING TO THE Big Bang theory, the universe came into being in one single moment—a cosmic cataclysm that g
ave birth to black holes, brown dwarfs, matter and dark matter, energy and dark energy. It gave birth to galaxies and stars and moons and suns and planets and oceans. It’s a hard concept to hold on to—the idea that there was a time before us. A time before time.
In the beginning there was nothing. And then there was everything.
THIS TIME
OLLY SMILES. HE will not stop smiling. He gives me every variation of smile that there is and I have to kiss his smiling lips. One kiss leads to ten until our kissing is interrupted by the sound of Olly’s stomach growling.
I break our kiss. “I guess we should eat something.”
“Besides you?” He kisses my bottom lip and then bites it gently. “You are delicious, but inedible.”
I sit up, holding the blanket to my chest. I’m not quite ready to be naked again despite our intimacy. Unlike me, Olly’s not feeling at all shy. He’s out of bed in a single movement and moves about the room completely naked. I lean back against the headboard and simply watch him move, all grace and light. No dark angel of death now.
Everything’s different and the same. I’m still Maddy. Olly’s still Olly. But we’re both more somehow. I know him in a new way. And I feel known, too.
The restaurant sits right on the beach and our table faces the ocean. It’s late—9 P.M.—so we can’t really see the blue of the water, just the whitecaps of the waves as they crash against the beach. We hear it just beneath the music and chatter all around us.
“Think they have humuhumu on the menumenu?” Olly teases. He jokes that he wants to eat all the fish that we saw while snorkeling.
“I’m going to guess that they don’t serve the state fish,” I say.
We’re both starving from all the activity of the day, so we order every appetizer on the menu: poke (tuna marinated in soy sauce), crab cakes, coconut shrimp, lobster pot stickers, and Kalua pork. We don’t stop touching for the entire meal. We touch in between bites of food and sips of pineapple juice. He touches the side of my neck, my cheek, my lips. I touch his fingers, his forearms, his chest. Now that we’ve touched so intimately, we can’t stop.