by McLean, Jay
Chapter Sixteen
Mia
“Sooooo…” Holden drags out the single word as though it consists of multiple syllables.
“So?” I contain my giggle as I watch him fiddle with his truck engine, acting like he knows what the heck he’s doing. He has a bottle of water in one hand, but he’s untwisting the coolant container.
“Leo Preston’s here,” he murmurs, and I wait for him to uncap the water and tilt the bottle before shoving him out of the way.
“That’s where the coolant goes, dingbat!” I laugh out, uncapping the water container for him.
“Oohhh, dingbat,” he mocks, holding a hand to his heart. “That one physically hurt.”
“Shut up!” I watch over him as he fills the container and snaps the cap back on. “And thank you for stating the obvious.”
He looks confused. “About dingbats?”
“No! About Leo…”
“Oh yeah.” He pulls me back by my shirt and drops the hood before leaning against his truck. “Did you know he was coming?”
I shake my head. “No idea.” Of everyone in my life, Holden knows the most about Leo and, obviously, he only knows what I’ve told him, which isn’t much. He knows that, out of all the Preston boys, Leo was the only one to ever talk to me and that we’d occasionally go on bike rides together. He doesn’t know about our conversations at the water tower or the feelings we shared or the events that led to me leaving what should have been my new home.
Back then, I didn’t want to expose too much, fearful of being teased by him, but also, it didn’t feel right to share what I thought Leo and I had. It seemed too… big. Too meaningful. Putting it out there in the world felt like I was dividing our encounters with whoever else knew, and I wanted to keep it all for myself. It’s silly, now that I think about it, but as a fourteen-year-old, it made all the sense in the world.
I haven’t spoken Leo’s name since I left his house two years ago, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about him. Luckily, I’ve been able to keep most of my thoughts to those last few minutes we had together. I remember how it felt to be cold and embarrassed as I stood under the dock, the water to my neck, listening to my body and my life be shamed by people who didn’t even know me. And then I remember the anger, the sadness that the one person who did know me allowed it all to happen.
It was easy to override the small, meaningful moments with that one torturous one.
“I didn’t know you still kept in contact with him,” Holden says.
“I don’t,” I reply. Too loud. Too defensive. And now, my best friend’s skeptical of my reaction. Great. I tone it down. “I don’t know how he’s here or why. All Papa told me was that a boy was helping him fix the house over the summer. He didn’t tell me who it was or that he’d be staying at the house.”
“Wait.” Holden stands taller. “He’s staying at the house?”
I nod.
“Jesus, Mia.” He drops his head between his shoulders, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“Leo’s not dangerous.” I don’t know why I’m protecting him. Or lying. Leo is dangerous, just not in the way Holden’s thinking.
He glances up at me, his features pinched. “That’s not what I’m worried about.” I take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. He’s changed so much in two years. When he left, he was just a boy on the verge of adulthood. And now—at sixteen—he’s a full-grown man with a jawline and stubble. It’s no surprise that every time I called, he’d be with a new friend, a new girl. Unlike Leo, he never hid me from anyone. He always told them who I was to him, and every time he did, there was a hint of pride in his voice. He was the first phone call I made when I got into town just after midnight last night. Sometimes, I wondered if I expected too much from Leo since the only males I had to compare him to were Holden and my grandpa, and they set the standard pretty damn high.
Over the past two years, Holden and I had watched each other grow and mature from afar thanks to social media, but it wasn’t the same. I’d come back last summer, but he couldn’t, too busy with all the sports and socializing he had going on. My time here wasn’t the same. But now, having him back, with me, it feels like home again.
“You’ve changed, Mia,” Holden says.
I lean against the truck beside him, my eyes on my feet and my voice cracking when I reply, “So have you.” I don’t know why I’m suddenly somber, but the idea of losing him to his new life, his better life… it’s terrifying.
“Not like you, though,” he says, shifting to face me.
I keep my gaze low. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, even though I already know. I’ve found a skincare regimen, discovered a workout routine, grown a few inches, and lost more than a few pounds.
It’s kind of pathetic that how you physically look affects how people treat you.
It doesn’t change anything on the inside. I’m still the same girl who, when insecure about how I dressed, he’d tell, “Fuck off. Fuck them. And fuck you, because you look kick-ass.”
“It means,” Holden starts, “and I’m going to regret saying this, but you’re kind of a smoke show, Mia Mac.” He makes a gagging face that has me laughing.
I flick the brim of his cap. “Shut up.”
“I’m serious,” he says, adjusting his cap back in place. “And this Leo guy hasn’t seen you since you left there, right?”
I nod.
“Just be careful, okay?”
“It’s a non-issue, Holden. Really.”
He shrugs. “Maybe for you.” His expression turns serious. “Just promise me.”
“I’ll be careful,” I assure.
“I mean… with your heart.”
I blow out a breath as he stares me down, and I realize maybe… when it comes to Leo, Holden’s better at reading between the lines than I am. Or was. “I promise.”
* * *
It was a mistake telling Holden that Leo had accidentally walked in on me coming out of the shower. His face turned red, and he scoffed, “Sure…” then air quoted, “Accidentally.” And then he drove us a half-hour away to the nearest hardware store and paid for a lock for the bathroom door.
After getting groceries for dinner, he drops me off at home, having a “prearranged meet-up” (hook-up) that he had to get to.
Papa’s in the living room when I enter the house, watching an episode of MacGyver I’m sure he’s seen a hundred times already. “Where’s Leo?” I ask him, dumping the bags on the kitchen counter.
Without taking his eyes off the TV, he answers, “Shower.”
I work on a quick dinner and am almost done when Leo appears. He’s in dark denim and a plain gray tee—keys in one hand, book in the other. Like Holden, he, too, has changed a lot in two years.
Not that I’m looking.
Not that I care.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me. Then he turns his head toward my grandpa, but his eyes stay on me. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he says.
I pretend to focus on the salad and ask, “You’re not staying for dinner?”
“Um…” He’s moving toward me; I can sense it. He stops beside me, his front brushing my side, and I can feel him everywhere, all at once. With his voice low, he says, “I figured I’d give you and your grandpa some time alone. Let you catch up.” It comes out a question—as if he’s asking for permission or acceptance.
Like I give a crap what he does. “You should’ve told me. I wouldn’t have made so much.” Blahhh. A simple “okay” in response would’ve sufficed.
Leo doesn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even on his broad chest to show that he’s breathing. I look up at him, my brow raised.
He simply stares back.
And he’s close. So close.
Now I can’t breathe.
Ugh!
Blindly, I reach into the grocery bag and take a second to find what I’m looking for. I pull it out, slam it against Leo’s rock-hard stomach. He breaks our stare s
o he can look down at the lock. Licking his lips, he takes it from me, flips it between his fingers. “What’s this?”
My voice a whisper so Papa doesn’t hear, I say, “A lock for the bathroom door.” He quirks a single eyebrow, and I add, “Holden got it for me.” Pshh. Because that part’s important.
“I’ll see ya tonight,” he says, so cool, so calm, so damn collected.
He takes a step back, and then he…
He smirks.
Dang it!
Holden was right. The motherfluffer is dangerous.
In every possible way.
Chapter Seventeen
Leo
It’s easy to find a diner. It’s the only thing open. Mia had described her town to me in the past, and she said it was small, but I lived in a small town, so I figured: how different could it be?
It’s very, very different. The sign upon entering reads: “Population 200.” In white paint, the 200 is crossed out and replaced with 198. I imagined an old couple dying peacefully in their sleep, and the entire town mourning. Then some sucker was tasked with the job of changing the sign. Hopefully, no one has a baby soon because that sign’s going to need another makeover. A strange thought, I know, but I tend to have a lot of them.
There’s only one other patron in the diner, and I’m guessing he’s the driver of the 18-wheeler parked out front. He sits at the end of the counter, and I take up a booth in the corner. The server, a middle-aged woman with bleached-blonde hair and black roots, stops by my table. Her smile is one that can’t be faked, and she aims it right at me when she asks, “You here for the summer, baby?” There’s a southern twang in her words, which is similar to Mia’s—though she’d deny she had an accent at all if you brought it up.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Workin’?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Which one?”
I tilt my head, focus on her name badge: Sandra. “Which… one… what?”
She’s still smiling that same smile. “Which farm, hon?”
“Oh no, I’m just helping out a friend. Kind of,” I ramble. “Well, it was a farm, but not anymore, I’m just—”
“Oh, you’re at Papa John’s?”
I nod.
“He’s a good man, that one.” She puts pen to paper. “What can I get ya, sweetheart?”
I place my order and then follow her movements to the server window, where she shouts out a bunch of words too quickly to make out.
The book that my sister had shoved in my bag before I left sits on the bench beside me, but I already know I won’t be able to concentrate enough to be able to read. I’d left the house for two reasons. One: to give John and Mia time to catch up. And two: I needed to escape reality. Even if it was for an hour or so, I needed to be in a different world, a different life, and what better way than getting lost in a book.
Lucy reads. All the time. She can read a full-length novel in the time it takes for me to read a couple of chapters. She likes to read romance, and sometimes she’ll pass them on to me if she thinks I’ll enjoy them. Then, when I’m finally done, she likes to discuss the book in its entirety. While her topics of discussion consist of things like “Oh my god, how hot was that dude!” Or “How hot was that sex scene!”—which yeah, are incredibly awkward things to examine in-depth with your sister—my discussions are based more around the “What the fuck were they thinking?” variety.
The philosopher, Edmund Burke, once wrote that the first and simplest emotion which we discover in the human mind is curiosity. Burke was definitely onto some shit because, swear, I’ll never stop being curious about people. About me. Sometimes I think I’m wired differently, like something is actually wrong inside my brain. I catastrophize basic situations, but when there’s an actual catastrophe, I don’t seem to grasp the severity of it.
Until it’s too late.
Case in point: Mia.
Before I can get lost in that train wreck of a situation, Miss Sandra’s back with my food. “Enjoy, baby,” she says, placing my order on the table. “You tell Papa John I said hi, okay?”
“You got it.” I force a smile and wait until she’s gone before digging in.
I’m done in five minutes, used to having to share food with five other growing boys.
And then I just sit, stare out the window, and wait.
I don’t really know what I’m waiting for, some kind of sign maybe to let me know it’s okay to go back to the house. Or maybe I’m waiting for me. For me to be okay.
My phone vibrates on the linoleum tabletop, and I pick it up, notice it’s a text from the sibling group chat.
Lucas: You good, Leo? Get there safe and everything?
I hate that he’s checking in on me as if he’s my dad. I already spoke to our actual dad yesterday and told him everything was fine.
Leo: Yep.
Logan: Any hoes?
Leo: Of the gardening variety, plenty, I’m sure. Your type of hoes? No.
Logan: Sucks.
Lucy: Have you finished that book?
Leo: You gave it to me yesterday…
Lucy: Bahhhh!
Logan: Are there any hot chicks? They don’t even have to put out.
Lucas: Shut up, Virgin.
Logan: YOUR MOM’S A VIRGIN.
Lucy: BOYS!!
Logan: Hey, Leo. You might want to wash your sheets before you get back in them. I had a little accident.
Leo: What the fuck?! Get out of my bed.
Lucy: You’re so gross, Logan!
Logan: What? I said it was a fucking accident!
Leo: I gotta go.
I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and place it face down on the table. With a heavy sigh, I look out the window. It’s still light out. Summer days seem longer here.
“You want a top-up, sugar?” Miss Sandra asks. I hadn’t even realized she was beside me.
“Yeah, thanks.”
She looks out the window like I’d just been. “You waitin’ on someone?”
“No. It’s just me.”
“Well, you’re waiting on somethin’,” she murmurs.
“Honestly, I think I’m just waiting for darkness to fall.”
Her lips pull down at the corners. “Hmmm,” is all she says. Then: “You want anything else?”
I release a long, drawn-out breath, and stretch my arms. “You got any cake?”
“We only got chocolate left.”
I smile. “Chocolate cake’s my favorite.”
When the sun goes down, I get in my car, thanking Miss Sandra on the way, and take the ten-minute drive back to the house. The headlights shine on the porch, where Mia and John are both standing, hugging each other. No. They’re dancing.
I should back out, give them more time together. But that would be weird considering they’ve already seen me. Still, I sit in the car for a solid minute, contemplating doing exactly that before I kill the engine and step out.
The music is soft, so soft I didn’t even hear it playing from the cab of the car. It’s a song that played on repeat on that water tower, introduced to me by Mia. Etta James’s soulful voice fills the air, and I keep my head low as I walk toward the porch. But then I look up when I hear Mia sing, “At laaaaaast...”
She rests her head on her grandpa’s chest as they rock back and forth, spinning in slow circles. “Ah,” John says, “I see New York is teaching you some things.”
Wait. What? New York?
John glances at me, his eyes distant, and he tells me, “My feleség—this was her favorite song.”
Standing on the porch, hands shoved in my pockets, I lean against the railing and raise my eyebrows in question. It’s Mia who speaks. “His wife, my grandmother—it was her favorite song.” She rears back, just enough to look up at her grandpa. “It was your wedding song, right?”
John nods and lifts a hand to Mia’s cheek. “You have her eyes, baba.”
I look away. It’s too intimate, too personal, and yet… it’s too familiar. I’d witnesse
d Dad and Lucy having these exact exchanges, and I’d felt the same way then that I do now: sorrow.
The difference is, I know what happened to my mom. Mia knows what happened to her. But she never told me about her grandmother. Now that I think about it—she didn’t share much of her life with me at all.
Besides Holden.
“Goodnight,” John says, kissing Mia on the forehead.
Mia releases him. “Goodnight, Papa.”
“Szeretlek.”
“I love you, too.”
“Goodnight,” I tell John, and he nods in return before making his way inside.
And now it’s just Mia. And me. And the darkness around us.
I push off the railing and sit on the porch swing, wincing when it groans under my weight. Tugging at the chains attached to the roof, I ask, “Will this thing hold my weight?”
Mia’s still standing, wringing out her hands. She’s
dubious,
hesitant,
uncertain.
She says, her eyes downcast, “Holden and I sit on it together, so you’re good.”
Fuck that guy.
I kick off the floor, swing slowly. “So, you’ve been in New York?”
Mia nods and looks up at me. “Uh-huh.”
“With your dad?” It’s the only thing that links her to there.
“Yeah.”
“You know…” I say through an exhale. “About a week after you left, there were signs all through town looking for the owner of a lost bike. It was pink and purple. White basket. Looked a lot like yours.”
Mia sits down on the rocking chair and heaves out a breath as if resigned to the fact that this conversation is inevitable.
“The sign said it was found in front of the church.”
Mia chews her bottom lip, refusing to meet my eyes.
“It’s funny. I searched everywhere that night... everywhere but the church.”
Her breaths are shallow now, soft, uneven. Yet they’re amplified in my eardrums as if she’s inside my goddamn head. “I called him that night,” she tells me. “From the church steps. He sent a car to pick me up.”
