A Kiss For You

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “It’s not fair,” I said, but it came off a lot whinier than I intended. “Everyone knows me, but everyone is a stranger to me. I’m practically a stranger to myself.”

  “Child, I hate to break this to you, but did your father somehow give you the impression that he’s the warm and cuddly type?” Nadine pulled a ladle out of a drawer.

  “No,” I answered immediately.

  “Well, in a way, the two of you have always been strangers. So, in that way, things are exactly as they were before,” she announced with a smile.

  I bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

  Nadine shrugged.

  “And my mother? Who goes to the spa when their missing kid is on the way home?” There was no hiding my bitterness, because I was bitter.

  Nadine winced, like she’d been hoping I wouldn’t ask about my mother. She kept her attention on whatever she was mixing up. “Spa is a code around here. It either means she’s holed up at a hotel somewhere or she’s drying out at a rehab or a desert retreat or whatever it is she does to clean out her abused liver.” She wiped her hand on the towel on her shoulder. “I mean. I just—”

  I was already over hearing about my mother so I cut Nadine off when I felt like she was about to make an excuse for her behavior. “What are you making?” I asked, leaning forward on my elbows.

  “Your favorite; breakfast for dinner!” My heart sputtered when she scooped up some batter and poured it onto the hot griddle. When she used a spatula to flip the contents of her pan over I saw Preppy, standing in her place, wearing his favorite red lacy apron.

  “Pancakes,” I whispered, my heart sputtering into an all-out seize. I felt suddenly light headed. Stars danced in front of my eyes. I braced myself on the counter so I wouldn’t fall off the stool.

  Nadine came over and set down a plate in front of me with three perfectly circular pancakes in the center, dripping with syrup. A square pad of butter swam around on top before completely melting and falling to the plate. The sweet smell assaulted my senses, dragging out every ounce of hurt and pain I felt the night I watched my friend die.

  “You don’t like pancakes anymore?” Nadine asked, misinterpreting my reaction.

  I shook my head. “That’s not it,” I said, struggling to make the words come out of my mouth.

  “Then what’s the problem, baby girl?” Nadine asked, placing a concerned hand on my shoulder. I didn’t answer.

  I couldn’t.

  So when she pulled me into her soft chest and cradled my head, I didn’t bother resisting her hold. I was so concerned about King in the weeks after Preppy’s death that I never realized I hadn’t properly grieved for my friend. I didn’t realize I was crying until I felt my shoulders shaking. “Why the tears?”

  “Because,” I managed to spit out on a short exhale.

  “Because, why?”

  “Because…pancakes.”

  Doe

  Nadine held me until I calmed down. She pushed away the plate as if it really was the pancakes that had been the source of my little episode.

  We both agreed that what I needed was a good night’s rest. Nadine led me up the stairs to a door at the end of the hallway.

  My room.

  Lacey white curtains, soft blue walls, and a poofy pink comforter. A small off white chandelier with electric candles hung above the bed, which was lined with stuffed animals. Looking around, I couldn’t help but think of another small bedroom in another town not too far away. One with a flat mattress, the most comfortable faded blue blanket, and a broken fan blade from when Preppy’s head connected with it after enthusiastically jumping up and down on the bed.

  My heart did a little flip.

  In this room—my room—a corkboard hung above a simple white desk. Pinned to the board were sketches drawn on pages torn from a notebook. I walked around the room slowly, running my hand over the slightly textured walls, the shiny fabric of the throw pillows on the little window seat, and finally, over the sketches themselves, which were mostly landscapes mixed with a few portraits. I recognized a few as Sammy and another as Tanner. In the center of the board was one of the both of them together, sitting under a tree, smiling straight ahead, presumably at me.

  “You love to draw. Your father about had a coronary when you said you wanted to go to art school,” Nadine offered from the doorway. “All of this has got to be hard on you.”

  Yes, and for more reasons than you think.

  I felt Nadine’s eyes on me as I walked around the room, willing for something to jump out at me as familiar. “I know that look,” she said.

  “What look would that be?” I asked. Plucking a sketch from the board, I walked over to the bay window and held it up. The drawing of the view matched perfectly; right down to the window frame and the buttons on the cushions, as well as the expansive lawn and scattered oak trees, including the one partially obstructing the window. Nadine came into the room and sat down on the corner of the bed. I kept my back turned and continued comparing the drawing to the real version.

  “Sadness. You are a beautiful girl, but sadness is not a good look on you.” I turned around and caught the tail end of Nadine’s sad smile.

  I set down the sketch on the desk. “Honestly? I don’t know what to think.”

  “This may sound odd, especially since you don’t remember me, but I love you like you’re one of my own babies. And no matter what your friends were doing, you were always your own person and had a good head on your shoulders. So I knew that when you disappeared out of thin air that you didn’t run away like they said. And I certainly didn’t buy the Paris crap. You just weren’t…that kind of girl.”

  A blast of laughter escaped me. “Not that kind of girl? Apparently I’m the daughter of a senator, a teen mom, and was doing shady enough shit for my entire family to write me off as a runaway, so excuse my laughter, but I have no fucking clue what kind of girl I am.” It all came out in one long breath leaving me feeling a pang of guilt the instant the harsh words left my mouth.

  Nadine rose from the bed. “I’ll let you get some rest,” she said, smoothing down her pants with the palm of her hands and straightening her shirt.

  “I’m sorry,” I said softly as she reached the door.

  “Me too,” Nadine said, our apologies hanging in the air between us. Her once casual demeanor turning professional. Her smile, easy and genuine when I’d first arrived, was now tight and forced. “Your mama isn’t feeling well these days. She will see you in a few days when your father gets back.”

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “In bed with a migraine,” she said flatly.

  “I’ve been gone for months and on the day I return my father is working and my mother is in bed with a headache?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Nadine confirmed, leaving the room and pulling the door closed. Before it clicked shut, she added, “All is back to normal.”

  I spent most of the night examining the sketches on the cork board. Looking through the closet at clothes that were my size but not my taste. Lots of matching skirt suits and long-sleeved shirts. Too conservative. Too expensive. Too…everything. I finally found a pair of sweatpants and a yellow tank top at the bottom of one of the drawers, and after I had a shower in the attached bathroom, I got dressed and searched through the desk for anything that might trigger a memory. I found a pink iPhone and tried turning it on, but the battery was dead. I plugged it into the wall charger on the nightstand.

  I stopped when I glimpsed at my reflection in the full-length mirror. I lifted up my shirt and examined my flat belly. How on earth was there ever a baby in here? I ran my hands across my smooth skin and stuck out my stomach as far as I could to mimic a pregnant belly. It was weird to see myself all puffed out, especially since I was skin and bones before Preppy’s cooking added some meat to my bones.

  Preppy.

  My knees buckled and I caught myself on the edge of the desk right before I hit the carpet. I still didn�
�t want to believe he was gone. I keep thinking that I was going to see him come around a corner or hear him yell something that was going to make me laugh. But it wasn’t just Preppy. In a way I felt like King had died too, because no matter what lay ahead for me, nothing would ever be the same. If the senator went back on his deal with me, like he had with King, the chances of King ever being a real part of my life again were almost nonexistent.

  Suddenly feeling a level of tired I hadn’t felt since sleeping on park benches, I moved to the bed, sweeping the plethora of stuffed animals onto the floor. Crawling up toward the pillows, I landed on my side. The mattress and comforter were plush and soft, but the bed felt empty.

  It’s because he’s not here.

  Only a few months ago I was just a girl without a home, a name, or a family.

  Then I was Pup. A girl who lived in Logan’s Beach with the family of her choosing and a home I loved.

  Now I was Ramie Price, daughter to a senator, a mother. I was finally back where I’d come from. Where I belonged.

  I was finally home.

  Drifting off into a heavy sleep I wondered why this place which was supposed to be my home, felt like anything but.

  Standing in the middle of the ice, I take a hesitant step toward the shore, the first echoing crack of the ice under my heavy boot is deafening. I have to take another step. I have to make it across before it’s too late, but I can’t move my legs. All I can do is stare in disbelief as the crack expands into millions more, and like jagged snakes, they race in every direction, sending the thin foundation of ice, and me, crashing into the freezing dark waters.

  It’s so cold.

  I’m going to drown.

  Deeper and deeper I sink into the dark water until two arms appear above me, hands extended out, calling for me to grab them so I could be saved. One arm was adorned with a gold wristwatch, the other was wrapped in a thick leather belt. I try to grab onto both of them, but I can’t reach and they don’t reach into the water any deeper.

  It’s then I realize that in order to be saved, I can only choose one.

  I reach toward the belted arm and grab hold, but instead of being lifted out from the abyss and thrust back into the frigid air as I expected, the arm turns me around and pushes me down deeper and deeper until I have no choice but to inhale the murky water.

  I fade into oblivion wondering if there really was a right choice, because I have a feeling that no matter which one I chose, they both would’ve pulled me under.

  Doe

  Tap, tap, tap

  I thought what I was hearing was still the ice cracking from my dream, but when it grew louder and more impatient I opened my eyes and realized that the sound was coming from my window.

  When I opened my eyes I realized that the TV I’d left on for light had turned off sometime during the night and I was encased in darkness that made my fear spike to epic proportions.

  And then I heard the distinct sound of the window slowly sliding open. I froze, having no clue where there might be something I could defend myself with and not wanting to bring any more attention to my location. The only thing I could do was clutch my comforter to my chest, and wait.

  The unavoidable shadow slinked through the window, one long leg after the other. I spotted a snow globe on the desk and was about to make my move to grab it and launch it at the intruder when the shadow started toward my bed. Then to my surprise as the shadow moved closer to the bed, my panic receded.

  There was only one person whose very presence could quiet my overwhelmingly loud fear of the dark.

  King.

  My anger toward him, which I’d been suppressing all day, was barely a thought in the back of my mind as I leapt out of bed. But just as I was about to jump into his arms, a cloud rolled away from the moon, the light beaming into my room like a spotlight, revealing my visitor’s identity.

  Tanner.

  I stopped abruptly and when I realized I was still holding my arms open in the air, I lowered them and awkwardly held my wrist behind my back.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I told you I was coming to talk to you,” Tanner answered. “And who did you think I was?”

  I shook my head and waved my hand dismissively. “Oh, no one. You just surprised me is all, when you came through the window,” I lied. “Who’s with Sammy?”

  Tanner gave me a look that said he wasn’t buying my answer, but thankfully he moved on anyway. “My mom’s watching him.”

  “Oh,” I said, twisting around at my waist, while avoiding Tanner’s gaze.

  “I’m sorry I surprised you. And honestly, I didn’t even think about coming through your front door instead of the window, because unless I had Sammy, this is just how I always came¬” Tanner stopped and closed his eyes tightly. He shook his head and moved over to the bed. He shot me a tentative look and I nodded. Taking up only a small portion of the corner of the bed, he wasn’t really sitting, more like bracing himself. “I keep forgetting that you don’t remember any of this.” He motioned between the two of us.

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me,” I said.

  But despite my protest, Tanner attempted to explain anyway. “Your father… He’s an ass, always has been. But you’ve probably figured that out already. He only mildly tolerates me because of my family’s last name. My dad’s a fourth generation Redmond Shoes C.E.O. and although the senator has been trying to convince you to get rid of me since we were in diapers, after we had Sammy, I think he finally came to terms with the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere. But no matter how much he likes my name, I’m still the dude that knocked up his teenaged daughter. So even though we share a kid, I’m still climbing that damn tree and sneaking in your window like I’ve been doing since we learned how to climb trees, because your disapproving father likes to think he has control over everything that goes on in his house.” Tanner flashed me a smile that glinted in the moonlight. “So, yeah, me being here, like this, is…frowned upon.”

  “Frowned upon?” I asked. The turn of phrase sounded out of place being spoken by someone my age.

  “Your father’s words, not mine,” he admitted. “And you know what I mean, Ray. Don’t be a smartass,” Tanner said playfully.

  I sat down at the foot of the bed. “I have so much to ask you. My head has more questions than answers, but I don’t have a clue where I should start,” I admitted.

  Tanner nudged my elbow with his. “Well, I have some questions of my own…if you don’t mind,” Tanner said. “So how about we trade off, one question at a time. But you have to promise to answer honestly. We’ve never lied to each other and I’m not about to start now.”

  “Okay,” I agreed.

  “You start,” Tanner said. “What do you want to know first?”

  There was one thing I needed to know first. “I want to know about us, about Samuel. Sammy. I was a bit in shock earlier to ask you too much about it.”

  Tanner clapped his hands onto his knees. “Then I shall start at the beginning,” he said in some sort of strange accent. I raised an eyebrow, not sure how to react to his brand of humor. He looked down at the carpet and continued on, accent free. “You and I have been together since we were in diapers. If you take the shortcut, it’s only a five-minute walk between our houses. Our moms were close, well, before yours decided that vodka made a better friend than people do. We were in every class together growing up. We used to pretend to get married in our fort when we were little. Another one of our friends used to pretend to be the reverend. She even cut up one of her dad’s Hugo Boss shirts to make her ‘sacred robes’ and got herself grounded for a week, and after her parents told ours, the three of us didn’t see each other for the entire summer.” Tanner laughed nervously. He rested his chin on the back of his hand and sighed. “It feels really weird to try to explain us to you.”

  “I can assure you that hearing it is probably weirder,” I admitted.

  Tanner struggled, stopping and sta
rting again, but he took a deep breath and continued, “We were fifteen when Samuel…happened. We had originally planned to wait to have…to be…physical, until we graduated.” He looked pained, as he tapped his sneaker on the floor. “But, then I got sick. Real sick.” He turned to face me. “Leukemia.”

  I didn’t know how to react under the circumstances so I gave him a small smile and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  He pressed his lips together then continued, “On the day they told me I might never see graduation, we moved up our plans. We were young and stupid, but we said our own made-up vows to each other right here in this room.” Even though the story he was telling was pulling on my heart strings, I felt removed from it. Like it wasn’t partly about me.

  Tanner scratched his head and again looked through the open window. “I promised to always smash Cheetos into your sandwiches and you promised you wouldn’t forget me when I was gone. And then we…” he trailed off awkwardly, but quickly recovered, “…and then we made Samuel.” He smiled again, this time a large proud smile that told me he was genuinely happy with what we’d done.

  And who we’d made.

  “It’s a night I’m really hoping you’ll remember someday, because I may have been at death’s doorstep, but it was the by far the best night of my life,” Tanner finished. He folded his hands on his lap and with his chin to his chest he looked up at me, waiting for my response.

  Unsure of what to say, I said the first thing that came to mind, “The Cheetos thing I still do,” I admitted.

  Tanner offered me a small smile and an even smaller laugh. The emotional weight of what seemed like the most important part of our history together, obviously weighed on him heavily. “Are you still sick?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Much to your father’s dismay, I survived. Shortly after we found out you were pregnant I got accepted into an experimental treatment program in Colorado. By the time Sammy was born, I was back home and getting better every day. I still have to take some pills here and there, but the cancer is gone, and now they think I will live forever, like a vampire, or better yet, like a mutant,” he said, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue.