by Jay McLean
He laughs. “Why’d you keep watching?”
I could watch you forever.
He looks up from the phone, his eyes meeting mine. I shrug, trying to play cool, but deep down, my heart’s picked up pace—reacting to the way he’s looking at me.
How do you know when Tommy wakes up? I type, pushing away the feelings creeping beneath the surface.
“He’s so used to me being out here, he just opens his window and calls out to me.”
Silence falls between us while I look up at the stars and get lost in his scent. He still wears the same cologne that drew me to him all those years ago. “You still wear that stupid ring?” he asks.
I frown and look down at my hand, at the ring he’d given me while we sat in this exact spot on my eighteenth birthday. “Not stupid,” I whisper, then swallow the ache. Not just in my throat, but in my heart. I’ve never taken the ring off. Not once.
He sighs while I drop the phone on my lap and spin the ring around my finger, my thumb skimming over the words I shoot like a girl. I pick up my phone and angle it so he can see what I type, It was one of the best nights of my life, Josh. Don’t take that away from me.
He blows out a breath, long and slow.
I change the subject. Chris told me that Grams made you guys drink rose petals in lemonade?
He laughs once, but it’s sad. “You know, I was thinking about your grams… about all these things she’d done when I was home that I didn’t pick up on at the time. That was one of them. Another time I came home and she was out in the garden in the back yard on her hands and knees. She said she was looking for her earrings. She doesn’t even have her ears pierced. The next day, she was out there again, and when I asked her why, she said her toothbrush was missing. We found it in her fridge.” He shakes his head, his mind lost in the memories. “I don’t know why I didn’t see things earlier, Becs. I’m sorry. I should’ve.”
I stay quiet a beat, replaying his words in my head. Where was her toothpaste?
“That’s what you got from that?” He laughs, his eyes narrowed and his head shaking in disbelief. “Where was her toothpaste?”
A giggle builds in my chest, then releases in silent laughter.
“Why are you laughing about this?”
I wait until I’ve settled, then type: It’s Grams—she was always a little nutty anyway, before any of this happened… so this just makes her more… eccentric? Besides, what would be the point of life if we couldn’t find laughter and joy amongst the turmoil?
Josh just stares, and stares, and then stares some more. Then he says, “I got your letter, Becs.”
And just like that, there’s no laughter, no joy. No logic to my actions. My eyes drift shut, my stomach dropping to the floor. It’s not as if I didn’t expect him to get it, but I’d hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t bring it up. Regrets are stupid, and just like that letter, I can’t take either of them back.
He says, “I was only home for a few days before I had to travel again. Then I was gone three weeks. When I got back, it was there waiting for me. I knew it was from you, I could tell by the handwriting. But I couldn’t force myself to open it because I knew whatever it was, it would either ruin me, or I’d somehow ruin us.” He pauses a beat, his eyes distant, his hand rubbing his jaw. “For a week I carried that letter around, waiting for the right time, and it never seemed to come. It wasn’t until I was on a plane to Brazil for a tournament that I finally got the balls to do it. I almost made Chris turn the plane around when I saw what was in there. I was going to call you, message you, tell you that I’d gotten it, but I wanted to wait until I saw you in person.” He turns to me, his lips thinned to a line.
“And…” I type, my eyes never leaving his.
He breaks the stare. “And… six months passed before I finally got the nerve. I went to tell your grams that I was going to see you but before I got the chance, she started talking about you. She told me everything you were doing in college, working on the paper, working at Say Something, getting your license. I know how hard that would’ve been for you, so you must’ve been doing really well. And I…” His voice cracks, and he clears it before adding, “I didn’t want to ruin everything, because I know me, and I knew that I would. Somehow, I’d fuck things up for you, and as much as I wanted to see you, as badly as I wanted to be near you, I couldn’t do it.”
There are so many words, so many responses flying through my mind and I want to say all of them. Want to speak every one. But my voice doesn’t work, neither do my hands, because I can’t even find it in me to give him the reply he deserves.
“Anyway…” he mumbles, probably sick of waiting for me to respond. He changes the subject, his voice lighter. “What was wrong with that one nurse I liked? She had experience with dementia patients and she seemed to get along well with your grams.”
I pick up my phone and get Cordy to speak, grateful for the switch in conversation. “Who? Sadie?”
“Yeah. I thought she was perfect.”
I roll my eyes.
“What?” he asks, clearly confused.
I joke, “She is perfect. For you. Young, leggy, blonde.”
He laughs under his breath. “Are you serious? Becca, I didn’t even look at her like that. Besides”—he shrugs and pulls on a strand of my hair—“I’m not into blondes.”
I bite my lip to contain my smile. “The mother of your son is blonde,” Cordy reminds him.
He grimaces, his eyes shifting from the phone to me, over and over again. Then he looks away. “She doesn’t count.”
I scoff. It’s silent. “So maybe I just didn’t like the way she was looking at you.”
His eyes light up with his smile. I squirm when he leans closer, his touch like fire on my bare leg. “Stay with me tonight?”
It would be easy, almost too easy, to fall into him again. To have the safety of his arms be the reason I wake up with my mind at ease regardless of what’s going on around me. And I know it’s wrong—and swear, I’m not messing with his head on purpose. I just don’t know if I can handle wanting him the way I do. “I leave in two days,” Cordy says.
He leans closer again, his lips curving on my shoulder. “So stay with me for two nights.” Then he pulls back to read my reaction.
He must see the battle playing behind my eyes because he smirks, knowing the effect he has on me.
I kiss his cheek softly, then stand and make my way to the front door.
Behind me, Josh chuckles. “Good night, Emerald Eyes.”
I run inside, closing the door behind me, and up the stairs, away from my feelings. Away from Josh. Away from my heart. I pace my room, over and over, trying to make sense of the things I just ran away from. Then I bite down on my thumb, a thousand regrets—each a heavy weight—filling my chest. I could watch you forever, I told him. What the hell was I thinking?
I sent him the letter.
I sent him the truth.
And the truth is the one thing I can’t escape.
I look out the window so I can watch him some more, because I can’t not. I’m drawn, like a million moths to an inferno of flames. My teeth grind into my thumb and I push away the pain, and wait for the punishment. But it never comes. My bite loosens when a smile forms, caused by Josh’s when he sees me watching him. He does a couple tricks on his board before he picks it up—his eyes never leaving me. Then he makes his way up to his apartment, and I wait with baited breath until the light comes on in his room. A second later, the curtains draw, and he’s there, opposite me, his grin matching mine. I release my thumb completely and focus on my phone as I type out a message. I stare at the words, one letter at a time, until I finally find the courage to hit send.
Becca: Sweet dreams, Skater Boy.
20
—Becca—
I swallow my pride as I walk up Josh’s stairs the next morning, Sadie’s footsteps following behind me. “So is Josh home a lot?” she asks.
My shoulders lift with my shrug, but I don’t make a
n effort to face her. Facing her would mean looking at her and even though Josh was right—that she is the best suited for the live-in nurse’s position—it took everything I had to send her the message this morning and offer her the job. She’s pretty. No, that’s a lie. She’s insanely beautiful. And tomorrow, I’ll be gone, and she’ll be up close and personal with my boys. My stomach turns, jealousy swarming in my veins.
Tommy answers the door, still dressed in his camera-patterned pajamas with a bright green top hat. He looks like a sleepy leprechaun, only a thousand times more adorable. “Top of the mornin’ to ya, madam,” he says through a giggle, tipping the hat and taking my hand. He kisses it once, just as Josh calls out from somewhere in the house, “Tommy! I told you not to answer the door without me.”
Tommy rolls his eyes—a trait Josh swears he learned from me. “It’s just Becca and some lady,” Tommy moans.
The door opens wider and Josh appears wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. His dark hair’s wet, beads of water hanging off the ends, falling onto his shoulders, down his chest, past the dips of his abs and into—“Becs,” he says, and my eyes move to his, but my mouth’s hanging open and I can’t seem to shut it. “You want to borrow Tommy’s camera? Take a picture? It’ll last longer.”
My mouth snaps shut, my brows knitting. I give him the most dramatic eye roll I can muster, then point over my shoulder.
His smile widens. “Hi, Sadie.”
“Top of the mornin’ to ya, Sadie,” Tommy says.
Josh’s gaze flicks between Sadie and me. “Who’s watching Ma’am right now?”
Sadie answers, “She’s with a nurse from the hospital. Don’t worry. I sat in through all the important stuff. Everything’s taken care of.”
Josh straightens, his welcoming smile switching to an arrogant smirk. “We were just getting ready to have some breakfast. Would you like to join us?”
I step inside, not bothering to wait for a response, and march to the kitchen where I turn on the coffee pot and start pulling out things for Tommy’s breakfast.
Josh says, “Why don’t you have a seat, Sadie?”
I hate the way he says her name, like there’s an ulterior motive behind it. Sadie. Sadie. Sleep with me, Sadie? “Morning,” Josh whispers, his mouth to my ear and his hand on my waist as he stands behind me. I reach into my pocket, pull out my phone, and without looking at him, type: Get some damn clothes on!!!
He chuckles when he reads it, but he doesn’t say anything else. He just steps to the side, tightening the towel around him. He makes quick work of pouring coffees and getting Tommy’s cereal for him, all while walking around practically naked—no shame to his game. He says, “Tommy, doesn’t Becca look beautiful today?”
Tommy smiles up at me. “Beautiful!” he repeats.
“In fact, I’d say she looks pretty damn hot.”
“Pretty damn hot!” Tommy repeats again.
Sadie giggles.
Josh announces, “I’m going to get dressed.” Then he moves toward me, a smirk still in place, right before he throws me over his shoulder. I’d scream. You know… if I actually could. But I fight. My fists thump on his bare back the entire way down the hallway and into his room. He lowers me slowly onto his bed and hovers over me, his weight held up by his outstretched arm. His eyebrows rise. “So you called Sadie?”
After shoving him out of the way, I stand quickly and move to his dresser where I pull out a pair of his boxer briefs and throw them at his head.
He laughs. “Sure you don’t want to dress me?” he asks, already slipping them on under the towel. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you jealous and I gotta be honest, I’m kinda really into it.”
Wow. He got real cocky overnight.
I cross my arms. “Shut up,” I mouth.
He laughs harder. “You know, I’ve always said green was your color.”
I pull open another drawer, pick out the first T-shirt I see and throw that at his head, too. Then I do the same with a pair of sweatpants. He dresses himself, his stupid grin never leaving him. “Yo. What size do you think Sadie is?” he asks, moving around the cardboard boxes lining his wall. “I think I have some girls’ clothes here.” He rummages some more. “Here they are.” He holds up a pair of bright pink shorts. “Red Bull booty shorts. You think she’d like them?” His nose is in the air now, like he’d just found a solution to world peace, not mastered the ability to push my buttons. As ashamed as I am to admit, it works, because something takes over me. I’m not sure what. But the next thing I know, I’m jumping on his bed, using it as leverage to leap up and grab the stupid shorts from him. He holds them behind his back just in time and wraps his free arm around my waist, trapping me to him. He’s laughing—an all-consuming laugh—and I fight the urge to do the same. He dips his head, his mouth to my ear again. He smells like soap and memories of mornings helping him get ready for work—back when work meant hanging dry-wall. “I like this game we’re playing, Becs. I could do it all damn day.”
I unpin my arms from his hold and wrap them around his neck so I can see my phone. “Why are you in such a good mood?” Cordy asks for me.
He kisses my neck. Just once. But enough for my mind and body to spiral into an abyss. “I got this text from a girl last night—a girl I’ve been borderline obsessed with for years—and I dreamt about her. It felt so real, so raw, and when I woke up, I swore she’d be in my bed with me. She wasn’t, though. But she will be tonight, and so I’m going to make the most of the day until night falls and she’ll be in my arms again, her breaths warming my skin, her fingers in my hair, taking away this ache, this longing I’ve had for too damn long.”
My eyes drift shut, his voice still like a symphony playing in my ears.
He rears back, his hands on my shoulders. Then he nods, as if answering a question only he knows. “You should definitely kiss me now.”
“What?” I mouth, pushing against his chest. So damn cocky.
“Fine. Be stubborn. I’ll kiss you.”
I turn and walk out of his room, hearing his chuckle all the way down the hall. In the kitchen, Sadie’s sipping on her coffee, nodding as Tommy talks to her between mouthfuls of cereal. “My Becca taught me how to take photographs.” Chew. “She has special eyes and takes pictures of adventures all over the world.” Swallow. “Daddy said our Becca is in college.”
Sadie smiles when she sees me. “So you guys…” She points between me and Josh, now standing beside me.
He throws an arm over my shoulders. “Me and Becs? No.” He shakes his head. “She won’t even kiss me.”
Tommy laughs. “Oooh shit!”
“Don’t swear, Tommy!” Josh snaps.
The reverse beeping of a truck has Josh moving to the window. “Supplies are here,” he says, before turning to Tommy. “You ready to dig some holes, bud?”
* * *
Josh helps unload the truck while I sit on the porch steps with Tommy like we’ve done so many times before. He shows me the pictures he’s taken on his very own Instagram account. The kid’s five and has over twenty thousand followers and a bunch of blurry skate shots.
Sadie’s back in the house helping Grams change for the outdoor temperature.
Grams was a little standoffish when Sadie came in first thing this morning, but once Sadie explained that Josh had chosen her to help out, Grams seemed to accept her fate.
With hand signals, I ask Tommy if we can use his camera to take pictures of all the new potted flowers that just arrived. He agrees and tells me to come with him to choose the lenses. When we come back out, Grams is outside, her body so weak she has to hold on to Josh’s arm to help her stand. I stand behind them, smiling while Grams gives Josh orders about plant placement, and I remember the first time I saw them like this. I hadn’t yet gotten the nerve to come out, so I watched from behind the curtains of my bedroom, my interest piqued, my mind lost in wonder about the boy who would later steal my heart. My soul. My very existence.
“The roses
should line the porch. I’ve always liked them there and they do well in the shade,” Grams struggles to say. “You know who loves roses, Joshua?”
“Who, ma’am?”
“My grandbaby Becca. Oh, I miss her.”
Josh turns to me, his eyes as wide as mine.
Grams adds, “Did I tell you she’s in college? Over in St. Louis. She’s going to take the world by storm with her photographs one day. Just you watch and see.”
Josh faces her. “Ma’am, Becca’s not in St. Louis right now.” He releases a breath, causing his chest to fall. “She’s here.”
There are currently over 1,025,000 words in the English language and not a single one of them could ever describe what I feel when Grams turns around and sees me. Not when her eyes fill with tears. Not when she steps forward, her palms cold against my cheeks. And not when her eyes drift shut after recognition fills them and she whispers my name like it’s a stolen memory. Not even when she repeats the words of a little boy who so easily became my best friend. “Becca’s home.”
21
—Becca—
should
ʃʊd/
verb
1. used to indicate obligation, duty, or correctness, typically when criticizing someone’s actions.
I help Sadie with Grams to settle in for the night, and then take any personal things from my room to the spare one, making space for Sadie to move in. I say goodbye to the curtains, the window, the wallpaper I once loved/hated, my chest aching and swelling at the same time. Then I begin to pack what little things I’m bringing back to St. Louis and shoot off a text to Dad, keeping him informed with all that’s going on with Grams.
My phone beeps with a reply no more than a minute later, but it’s not from Dad. It’s from Josh.
Josh: Look. I’m just going to be honest here. I’ve been out in the driveway nailing trick after trick for over an hour trying to get your attention. I’ve even treated your grams’s porch steps as if they were the gnarliest three-stair I’ve ever ripped. I know you’re heading off early tomorrow, so I’m working against the clock, but are you planning on coming out and kissing me any time soon? Or should I just stab myself in the chest, rip out my heart, and leave it out in the open?