The Truth about Us

by Janet Gurtler

  “She left if for me. I chose to give it to you. It’s okay.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and walks closer.

  “Thank you.” I shift back and forth on my heels and glance down at the ivy. “So where were you at lunch today?” I ask. “I missed you.”

  “My mom asked me to pick up some things up for her. She wanted to bring Kyle for lunch today.”

  “Yeah. I met her,” I tell him, and my cheeks burn.

  “I heard,” he says.

  I wait for him to say more. Hoping he’ll say she liked me. Something. But he doesn’t.

  “She didn’t like me.” I hear the hurt in my voice.

  He reaches out to touch my arm. “It’s not that. My mom just worries.” He pulls away and picks up a spray bottle and mists a nearby plant.

  I shiver, but it has nothing to do with cold. “Oh.”

  “It’s not about you.” He sprays the plant again, watching the water bubbles dance on the leaves. “It’s more about me.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  He leans against the counter, watching me, and puts the bottle down. Then he gestures around him. “You work here. I come for free food.”

  “So?” I put the scissors back in the tool drawer and stare down at them.

  “It bothers her.”

  “Does it bother you?” I ask and look up.

  “I don’t want it to,” he says softly.

  “It doesn’t matter to me,” I tell him. I don’t say it, but it would make me feel much better if his mom liked me. I want her to like me.

  “We come from different places,” he says and stares down at his feet.

  “Well.” I clear my throat. “I mean, maybe we have different stuff. Maybe our families are in different places right now, but it doesn’t mean one is right and one is wrong.”

  He bites his lip and refuses to meet my gaze.

  “We’re not that different,” I say softly. “You and I.”

  He doesn’t look up.

  “Don’t give up on me,” I tell him and swallow an enormous lump that popped up in my throat. “Flynn, we’re not different. Not here.” I point at my heart. “Inside.” I can’t believe the sappy stuff coming out of my mouth. But I mean it. It’s true. I can say this to him. Because it’s true.

  “Maybe,” he says. “I want to believe it.” Finally he looks at me, and then he grins, and the yucky feelings start to fade a little. “Hey, don’t look so bummed. My mom doesn’t pick my friends.” He picks up the bottle and walks closer and sprays me.

  “No, you did not!” I scream and laugh, trying to get the bottle away from him. He sprays me again so I run, and he chases me up the aisle, trying to get me wet. When he catches me, he grabs me by the waist and pulls me in close.

  “I could soak you,” he says.

  But he doesn’t lift the spray bottle. He’s so close, his breath is in my ear. His lip is almost touching my earlobe. I move a little, and I’m tucked right against him. I don’t want to move or let go. He smells like boy. Delicious, beautiful Flynn. We both stay perfectly still, our breaths synchronized, rising and falling at the same time.

  Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, I think.

  And then, for the first time in a long time, I decide to be the brave one. For the first time, without alcohol streaming through my blood and giving me false courage, I take responsibility for my actions. Sock monkey style.

  I slide my hand behind his neck and pull his face toward me and we kiss. I mean, I really, really kiss him. And it’s amazing because he kisses back hard, and it’s the best thing that I’ve ever felt in my whole entire life. If our kiss is any indication, we have enough chemistry to blow up the greenhouse.

  “Wow,” he says when we finally break apart for a breath.

  “Wow,” I whisper back, amazed by my bravado. And thrilled by his response. “I thought you didn’t want to kiss me,” I say.

  “Are you kidding?” he says. “I wanted to kiss you very badly.” He doesn’t let go of my waist.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Because I thought maybe you needed to do it first.” He bites down on his lip, and I watch, envying it so much. “You think we’re not different,” he says. “We are, but it’s okay, because we understand each other. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life,” he says.

  I stop breathing.

  “I don’t want to scare you off,” he says in a husky voice. “Because if we do this. I mean, this. Us. It’s not going to be easy. Not for me. Or for you.”

  I lean forward and kiss him again. It goes on for a delicious moment, but then he pulls back. “You’re not the kind of girl who usually gives me a second look.”

  I snort. It’s unsexy, but it doesn’t embarrass me. “Are you kidding me, Flynn?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then you don’t know what you have,” I tell him in awe.

  We stare at each other as if we’re really seeing each other. Looking inside and understanding without saying anything out loud. “I want to tell you,” I say, “what happened to my mom.” My insides seize and I close my eyes and try to get my breath. He tucks a finger under my chin. I press my lips tight and shake my head.

  “It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to.”

  He moves his hands to my face and holds my cheeks. I close my eyes and inhale him. Dread courses through me, but I breathe out and then open my eyes. “My mom was attacked,” I say quietly. “In the park. Downtown. In daylight. She was running. Alone. She had on an iPod and she had it cranked. She was celebrating a sale. A big commission. She sold houses, real estate. She didn’t even hear them come up behind her.”

  I stop to take a breath, and it’s so quiet in the greenhouse, I can hear a fly buzzing at the other end.

  “She loved running and hiking. We spent half my childhood doing that, hiking. Me and my sister and Penny, usually. When we were kids, Penny was over at our house a lot. Especially when her dad got sick.” I take a deep breath, knowing I’m procrastinating.

  He drops his hands from my face and takes my hands in his. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t rush me or tell me to stay focused. He doesn’t ask questions. He waits.

  “Three guys jumped her,” I finally say. “They pulled her off the trail. They searched her for money, but she didn’t have anything on her because, you know, she was going for a run. I mean, why would she be carrying money?”

  “I remember hearing about a woman who was assaulted,” he says quietly. “We didn’t live in Tadita then, but I remember it was in the news.”

  “Yeah. They never named her. But most people know.”

  Flynn shakes his head. He waits.

  “The park was open, but no one heard or saw anything,” I continue. Flynn squeezes my hands. “They beat her up,” I say and stare at a drooping house plant. “There were three of them. And she’s little. She had skin under her nails from scratching them. They never found them. They were wearing ski masks. They had a gun. But they didn’t shoot her. They wanted money, and I guess it pissed them off when she didn’t have any, so they beat her. She passed out at some point, and they left her. Lying in the bushes. They probably thought she was dead.”

  I’m shivering now, and Flynn pulls me close, his arm around me. It’s meant to be comforting, and I lay my head on his shoulder, letting him protect me. “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “A boy found her. He was playing hide-and-seek with friends.” I shake my head. I often wonder about that boy. If he has nightmares.

  “Her face was unrecognizable. They had to wire her jaw shut.” I can’t stop now. I’ve held it in for too long, been forbidden to talk about it, and it’s been eating away at me. Festering and black. And now it’s all rushing out. I push away from him and step back, wrapping my arms around myself.

  “She was unconscious for two days. The only good
thing we heard during that time was that the rape test was negative. When she woke up, she had to talk to the police. Go over and over it. She was in the hospital for weeks. And when she came out, well, she didn’t talk about it anymore. Not with us. I don’t think she talks about it with anyone.”

  “Shit,” he says softly.

  “She had a doctor for a while. You know, like a psychologist or whatever, and he gave her pills. Pills for pain. Pills to help her sleep. And pills to try to fight the anxiety and depression. She’s always tired. She sleeps a lot. But she’s never really come back. You know? Not the mom she used to be.”

  I can feel Flynn watching me. Feel his sympathy.

  “It’s been over two years. Now my dad works all the time and refuses to talk about it. He’s gone most of the time. Traveling for work. And my sister, Allie, she stays at her boyfriend’s house. And my mom. She sleeps.” I look at him then. He strokes my arm. “I hate them,” I tell him, and the rest of the blackness spills out. The force of my words hurt my throat. “I hate those men who ruined my mom, who ruined my family. And sometimes, I hate my family too.”

  All the ugliness living and breeding inside me has leaked out, and now I’m exposed for who I really am. “I started doing stupid things to try and forget. I lost my best friend. Most of the time, I don’t even know who I am anymore. Except that I’m a bad person.” My shame is bared. I’m naked. I’ve exposed to him the darkness in my soul.

  But Flynn only pulls me close, holding me tight. “You’re not bad,” he tells me. “You aren’t. You’ve been trying to deal. You’re a good person, Jess. You are.”

  I sniffle and blubber, like a little baby, but he holds on.

  “I miss them. The way we used to be. The way I used to be,” I say to his chest. My face is pressed against it, and it’s hard and comforting.

  “I know,” he says. “I know.” I press tighter against him, wanting to crawl inside, wanting him to take away the parts of myself I hate.

  He pats my back gently until my crying stops. Eventually I’m only sniffling, and I realize with surprise that it feels lighter. I’m not as afraid. The noise that’s always buzzing in my head, the pressure and constant tangible tension, it’s gone.

  I loosen my hold on Flynn and breathe. Really breathe. Then I lean back and stare into his face. “Thank you,” I tell him.

  He smiles. I trust him. And it feels better. It’s released something in me, freed me.

  He bends down then and kisses me gently, and when he licks the inside of my lip, it’s so surprising and so delightful, I gasp. We wrap ourselves around each other, and we kiss and kiss and kiss.

  And then there’s a bang.

  The door to the greenhouse is open, and Kyle is inside, staring at us. Stella is right behind him, frowning.

  “Flynn, where were you?” Kyle asks. “You were supposed to come and get me at least ten minutes ago,” he shouts with five-year-old despair.

  Flynn and I drop our arms to our sides and step away from each other, but it’s too late.

  “You were kissing Jess. You were.” Kyle runs over and wraps his arms around my thighs and squeezes me tight. He frowns at Flynn as if he stole his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine.

  I pat Kyle on the head. “How’s my favorite five-year-old?” I glance at Stella, but her arms are crossed and she’s scowling. Uh-oh.

  “Me!” Kyle yells. “I’m your favorite five-year-old.”

  I bend down so I don’t have to face Stella, and I’m nose to nose with Kyle. “Of course you are.” I lift my hand for a high five, and he whacks it hard so I make an oof sound and stand.

  He makes a loud humph sound and crosses his arms like Stella. “I thought you were my girlfriend. Not his.” He points at his brother.

  Stella’s watching all three of us without a word. Without a pleasant expression.

  I ruffle Kyle’s hair. “You’re better than a boyfriend. You’re at the top of my boy-who-is-a-friend list,” I tell him. “Like best friend.”

  He studies me, and his body relaxes and he nods. “Yeah. That’s better. I don’t like that kind of kissing anyhow,” he says.

  “Well, good,” I tell him. “You’re cute, but you’re a little young for me.”

  “That’s enough, buddy,” Flynn says, holding his hand out toward his brother. “We should go get Mom. She’ll want to take you to the park.”

  “All by myself?” Kyle asks.

  “Yup. She doesn’t have to work this afternoon,” Flynn says. He turns to me and touches my arm. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Wait for me?”

  “She’s needed in the kitchen,” Stella tells both of us.

  “Cool. Then I’ll meet you there,” Flynn says. He ignores Stella’s obvious crankiness.

  I nod, too afraid to say anything in front of Stella, but he walks by her, pats her shoulder, and whispers something in her ear.

  Kyle flies out the way he came in, and Flynn follows behind.

  Stella turns to go. “Don’t forget to lock up the greenhouse,” she says to me, and her voice is harsh.

  “Stella?” I call. I don’t want her to be mad at me.

  My cheeks heat as her disapproval radiates off her in thermal waves.

  “There’s a lot on Flynn’s plate, Jess,” she says. “You shouldn’t be getting involved in his life. You’re just visiting this world. He lives in it.”

  I don’t know what to say or how to say it, so I nod and drop my gaze to my feet. She’s trying to protect Flynn. From me. She walks out of the greenhouse, leaving me all alone.

  I glance around, still a little shaky from baring my soul. Wrong or not, when I’m with Flynn, it feels like I’ve found the place where I belong. It’s incredible. Amazing. But he feels it too. I know it.

  chapter sixteen

  When Flynn walks into the kitchen with a big smile, some of my worry disappears. The glow on his face dulls my fear that maybe everyone is right about us. His mom doesn’t approve of me. Stella doesn’t approve. Nance doesn’t approve. But when he smiles, it doesn’t matter what other people say.

  “You almost done?” he asks. “Stella’s giving me grief for being back here.”

  “Yeah.” I’m more than ready to rip off my apron and hang it on the designated hook. “I just have to put the cakes in the fridge.” I point to the full trays.

  “Can you meet me outside when you’re done?” he asks. “On the picnic table by the side building?”

  When I’m done putting the cakes away, I grab my gear and float to the staff room to punch out my time card. Pulling the plant book from the locker and holding it close to my chest, I hurry outside so Stella won’t see me go.

  There’s a small crowd of regulars hanging outside around the front entrance. Some are early for the dinner lineup, and some hang out with nowhere else to go.

  “Hey, Jess,” I hear as I slip into the fresh air.

  “Hi, George. How’s your foot?”

  “Better,” he says. “Thanks for asking.”

  “Hey, Chickadee,” another broken-toothed regular calls and gives me the thumbs-up. Somehow my nickname with the regulars is Chickadee. Thanks to Wilf.

  I smile and tuck my head down, passing by more guests as I move toward the side of the building.

  He’s there.

  Flynn sits on top of a picnic bench. The same kind of bench I’ve sat on a million times. With my mom at the park, having picnics with Allie and Penny. I jump up and sit beside him, putting my book on the other side. He presses his leg against mine.

  “Stella is pissed at me,” I say and glance down at rude graffiti on the table. And bird poop.

  “Why?”

  “I think she believes I’m forcing you to make out with me.”

  I expect him to laugh, but he puts his arm around my neck, so we’re staring into each other’s eyes. “It’s not wrong. You
and me.”

  “Tell that to your mom.” I lift my chin. “Or Nance.”

  Flynn stares at me. “Nance?” His jawline hardens. “She thinks I’m not good enough?”

  I touch his arm. “She’s wrong.”

  “You know, when people tell me I can’t have something, I want it more,” he says.

  I contemplate that. “Is that what this is? Proving you can get the rich girl?” I try and sound like I’m joking.

  “No. I’m not trying to prove anything. But I wanted you to know I’m stubborn.” He grins.

  “I’m glad.”

  I watch him pull something from his pocket, and then he holds out his hand. There’s a small piece of wood on his palm. “I made this.”

  I peer into his hand. “What’s this?” I take it from him. It looks like a tiny squirrel.

  “I’m that bad at whittling? It’s a monkey.”

  I hold it closer. “You made it?”

  He’s wearing a playful grin. “My dad taught me to whittle. He taught me to make cowboy boots first, and then animals. You have a monkey on your purse. I made it for you.”

  I bump my shoulder against his. “I love it. But now I feel bad. I haven’t gotten you anything.”

  “You haven’t?” He pretends to snatch the monkey away.

  A dorky giggle squeaks out of me, and I reach for it and a sliver of wood pierces my finger.

  “Ouch.” A drop of blood oozes out. I lift my finger to my lip and suck it away. “It doesn’t matter. It’s adorable.”

  He leans closer. “You’re pretty adorable yourself,” he whispers in my ear.

  A breeze of nerves washes over my skin. My face flushes, embarrassment fusing with pleasure. I’m unable to articulate actual words. I tuck the monkey into the front pocket of my jeans.

  “I want to kiss you,” he says. “But we’re in public. And that’s like a Public Display of Affection.”

  “That is a PDA,” I tell him and laugh. He glances around. People are milling about the building, but they don’t seem to be paying attention to us.