I stop breathing. It’s impossible to forget that night. Everything about it was incredible. And I’ve spent most nights remembering what it felt like to be inside of her. Afterwards, I always try not to think about when it’ll happen again. Because likely—it’s not going to be anytime soon.
We agreed I wouldn’t fly out to visit until her second semester because if I’m up there with her, there’s a chance the media will start hovering around Wakefield. Give it some months. Let her settle in.
I still believe that.
But the hornier part of me—that thinks with the wrong head—isn’t fucking thrilled about it. Of course I want to touch her. I want to physically be with her.
I think about her words right now: you remember the night we had sex.
“I remember,” I tell her. “It was a good night. The best night.”
“So you’re not upset about it?” she asks, worry in her voice. “You don’t think it’s goodbye sex, right?”
Jesus. “No, Willow. It wasn’t goodbye sex.” My pulse races. “If it were, we would have broken up. We’re still together.” Fuck. “Aren’t we?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Willow says, and I imagine her frowning.
We’re on separate pages. Separate books. Shit, we’re literally on different continents. I don’t know how to jump back. “Willow, you’re my girl.”
“What about the broken heart?” she asks.
I rack my brain for a second, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. “What…broken—” Oh shit. I pinch the bridge of my nose, remembering. “The questionnaire.”
I can barely even explain what overcame me to want to fill one out. I was on Tumblr and scrolled past it, and it just reminded me of her. It was enough to quickly fill in the questions. But why did I have to answer with a broken heart?
I’m an idiot.
Willow says, “I just thought that since I left after we had sex, you were upset about it.”
“Fuck no,” I say strongly. “Willow, that was the best night of my life. I put the broken heart because we’re in this shitty long distance thing and I just miss you.”
She lets out a giant sigh of relief. “That makes more sense.”
“Good.” I pause and sniff the air. I smell something…burning.
Shit fuck shit. I forgot to take the pizza out of the oven. My joints unglue and I race to the oven. As soon as I pull down the oven door, dark gray smoke floods out at my face. I cough into my arm, and seconds later, the smoke detector lets out an angry wail.
“Garrison?” Willow sounds panicked.
“Burnt the pizza!” I yell over the alarm. “Call you later?”
“Yeah, go. I love you,” she says quickly.
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up, and I switch the oven off and try wafting the smoke away from the alarm with a dish towel. It’s not working. I have to find…something that will reach the alarm. Fuck you, eight-foot ceilings.
Seriously.
A knock sounds on my door. “Garrison!” my neighbor yells. “Everything okay?!”
Jared and I haven’t bumped into each other since his girlfriend’s birthday, but the fact that I haven’t deterred him either means he’s a good guy or he just really wants my connections to Loren Hale so he can score points with Ana.
I can’t tell which.
But I do open my door for him.
He glances past my shoulder.
“No problems here, man,” I tell him. “Just burnt a pizza. You can go home.” I’m about to close the door, but he puts his hand on it, stopping me with unwanted force.
I glare.
He’s still looking past me at the oven. “Shit, that looks bad. Hold on a minute and I’ll grab my broom.” He leaves quickly, and I rub at my eyes. Against better judgment—or maybe worse judgment—I don’t shut my door on him.
Jared is back in a flash and instead of passing me the broom, he walks right on into my apartment. I tense considerably. My space is my space, and I don’t remember giving him an invitation. Oh wait, that’s because I didn’t.
I cross my arms over my chest and stay near the doorway, watching as Jared jams the end of the broom up at the alarm. It takes two whacks before it stops wailing.
“These smoke detectors are ridiculously sensitive in the building,” Jared says. “Just a heads up.”
“Good to know.” I try not to sound pissed off or sarcastic or both.
Jared looks around my place like he’s on an apartment tour. “Wow, you’ve got a sweet setup.” He eyes the back wall with the desk and four monitors. Two servers. All the chords are neatly bundled and tucked at the floorboard. It took me days to put everything together and not have it look like a mess.
“You a gamer?” Jared wonders.
Probably not the kind he’s thinking of. I don’t play Call of Duty or Halo or even League of Legends. My true love is the classics on consoles like Sega and N64. But that’s not why I have the computers.
“No,” I tell him. “I’m a software engineer at Cobalt Inc.”
Jared raises his brows. “Damn.” He sounds impressed. “But I thought you said you were at Penn.”
Never said that. He assumed it. Because I look my age—twenty. And this building is affordable and a short distance to campus. It adds up, I guess.
I shake my head. “I didn’t go to college.” I’m not ashamed about that. It’s not for everyone. Definitely not for me.
Jared looks me up and down. “So you’re like one of those geniuses from The Social Network?”
I almost laugh. I’m so far from a genius. I’m just good at what I do.
“Not really.” I’m about to make up some excuse about work. Anything to get him out of my apartment, but he’s already talking again.
“About the other night with Ana,” he says into a cringe. “Sorry if she came on strong. She’s just a huge fan of your family’s.”
“They’re not my family,” I correct him. They’re Willow’s. I’m just…adjacent to them.
He scratches the back of his neck. “Right, sorry.”
“I have to work,” I tell him.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll get out of your hair.” He picks up his broom. “If you have issues with your smoke detector again, you know where to find me.” He leaves quickly. A weird feeling crawls under my skin, and I know it’s from his sudden saccharine neighborly friendliness. It seems fake, but I really don’t want to judge him.
I lock my door and then assess the kitchen. The smoke is almost all cleared out. Checking the pizza, my stomach grumbles and I let out an irritated breath.
Crispy and inedible. Pizza should be neither of those things.
I end up grabbing a Lightning Bolt! energy drink from the fridge and sink onto my desk chair. My computer is one of the few places I can just get completely lost in. Right now, that’s all I want.
Willow’s Tumblr Questionnaire
Age 17
Rules: Complete the form by answering each section truthfully. Once you’ve finished, tag other users to complete the task. Begin by sourcing the person who tagged you.
Have you ever…
Been cheated on: never gave anyone the chance to
Kissed someone and regretted it: never been kissed (don’t judge)
Drank hard liquor: a couple times. I didn’t like the taste
Been drunk and thrown up: nope
Met someone who changed you: I met Loren Hale once (my only celebrity run-in). He was standing on my front doorstep (long story). Loren Hale left within like five minutes—but he actually spoke to me. He noticed my Mutants & Proud pin, and I mentioned liking X-Men Evolution (the cartoons). Then he made a comment about the comics and Lily Calloway. He called her his girlfriend, but they were and are still engaged if Celebrity Crush is right. It made me think that girls could read comics too—and the way he spoke, he presumed I already did. I never tried to read them until that moment, until he left and I thought yeah, I’m allowed to read these too.
I s
tarted New X-Men and related so much to Wallflower, a girl I really needed a year ago, when my dad divorced my mom. And I would’ve never read comic books and fallen in love with them if I didn’t meet Loren Hale
Fallen out of love: I’ve never fallen in love to fall out of it
Found out who your true friends are: this is why I keep my circle small. Maggie is the truest friend there ever could be
Lost glasses: multiple times. My little sis sometimes takes them to be funny
Sex on the first date: …idk maybe I’d do it? Thinking about it makes me nervous…
Been arrested: in a nightmare
Turned someone down: for what? Like dating?
Fallen for a friend: no. I don’t like the guys at my school like that (you wouldn’t either if you were me)
What was your…
Last drink: Fizz Life
Last phone call: umm, my Grandma Ida. She wanted to crochet me a scarf for next winter and needed to know what color yarn. I told her blue
Last text message: “I bought it! I bought it!” to Maggie, in relation to Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud—I’ve been saving up babysitting money to purchase the comic book. I read ANYTHING that Loren Hale recommends (my comic book guru), and he suggested this one not long ago on social media
More questions…
Do you have any pets: my dad hates pets, but when he moved out a year ago, my mom let Ellie get a hamster. It smells really bad
What did you do for your last birthday party: ate out at the Noodle House with just my mom, sister and Maggie. I don’t like big parties, especially not ones about me
Name something you cannot wait for: A REBOOT OF NEW X-MEN (PLEASE HAPPEN!!! I’LL TAKE ANYTHING!!!) Also, for Maggie to meet Scarlet Witch (aka Elizabeth Olsen) one day.
What irritates you: being forced to speak up in large crowds
Nickname(s): none (I’m not that cool)
Relationship status: single
Favorite TV show: tie between Gravity Falls & X-Men: Evolution. I love them
High School: ready for it to expire
College: wish I could go. I’m working on it
Hair Color + Length: light brown, straight, and about to my chest?
Height: 5’5’’
Your crush: TOM HIDDLESTON!!! (aka Loki)
Tattoos: my dad says no
Right or left-handed: Right
Any surgeries: nothing that serious
Any piercings: double lobe piercings on both ears, just four little studs, two bats and two stars
Favorite sport: sports? *runs and hides*
First vacation: never left Maine before, but when I was really little, we used to go to the coast, about 4+ hours from Caribou, and we went sailing one time. I can’t really remember it, but my mom has pictures. Everyone seems happy
What do you like…
Hugs or kisses: hugs for now
Shorter or taller: taller than me. Even if it’s only a little taller. That works too.
Older or younger: older but not too old—I couldn’t do what Daisy Calloway does with her boyfriend, who’s like seven or eight years older (I can’t remember)
4 BACK THEN – August
Caribou, Maine
WILLOW MOORE
Age 17
“We’re not having this conversation! It’s Ellie’s birthday!” my mom shouts, the familiar octave present only when she’s around my dad.
“Her birthday ended twenty minutes ago!” my dad yells. I haven’t seen them endure each other’s presence since the divorce. I invited him to my 17th birthday dinner back in March and he said he wouldn’t come. His exact words: not if your mom is there. Now August, he’s willing to stomach my mom for Ellie—his little bundle of princess joy.
I don’t think I ever fit into what he wanted me to be. His words over the years have been etched into my head.
If you liked more girl things, you’d have more friends, Willow.
If you actually went to a party like a normal girl, you’d have more friends, Willow.
If you wore more makeup and made an effort, you’d have a boyfriend, Willow.
If you stopped watching superhero cartoons, you’d have a boyfriend, Willow.
Every girl your age has one.
But mostly I hate that he left in the first place. I hate that he just walked out on my mom and broke my little sister’s heart and tore through their lives, even if he’d already been tearing through mine.
He just said, “I can’t live with your mother.” And as a teenager, I’m not privy to the details I guess, but the lack of them has only made hate fester more for him than it has for her.
I hate that his leaving caused my mom to cry every night for three months. I hate that Ellie asked repeatedly, “When’s daddy coming home?” I hate that I was the one who had to say the truth over and over, and I had to watch tears roll down her cheeks every single time. I hate that he wasn’t here to stomach their hurt—that he never woke up to it, never went to sleep to it, the way that I did. When I look at my dad, I only see the man who has hurt me by hurting the two people I love most.
“Willow?” Ellie whispers again, tugging on my wrist. I look down at my six-year-old sister, her eyes wide like saucers. And she mutters, “Can you tell them to stop?”
I fix her plastic crown that droops to the left. “Only if you wait here.”
“I will. I promise.” Then Ellie jumps onto my bed and plops down beside my laptop. I notice a Barbie doll in her hand. It must be new.
I leave her quickly, my bare feet on the old carpet, and I squeeze down the narrow stairs towards the kitchen.
“We’re not talking about this here, Rob!”
His tone lowers to a heated growl. “Yes we are.”
I stop short of the kitchen, able to peek beside the doorframe. The yellow linoleum floors are half littered with wrapping paper and pink balloons, the trashcan stacked with dirty paper plates. My mom hangs onto the kitchen sink, her knuckles whitening.
I only spot this much outward emotion from my mom when she’s not noticing me or forgets I’m here. Though after the divorce, I’ve seen this side of her more often. On a normal day, she’s sweet and subdued. Rarely heated. Almost never angry. She tries to bottle most dark sentiments, something I’ve learned to do.
As I creep from the corner, I gain a better view of my mom.
Just forty, she has kind eyes, a smooth pale complexion and rosy cheeks, but her usual put-together persona cracks beneath welling tears. She stands opposite a middle-aged man with light scruff, narrowed eyes, and a Miller Lite shirt. And I mentally take sides—I take hers, even if I’m supposed to remain nonpartisan.
I see him.
I see him hurting her.
I see him causing her these tears.
My mom who never asks more of me—when what I am is subsequently less.
I clutch onto the doorframe, watching as my dad crosses his arms over his burly chest.
He says to her, “We’ll never finalize this fucking divorce if your lawyer keeps putting this off.”
My mom inhales a shaky breath. Her nose flares and she fights tears again, straddling more sadness than rage.
No. Tell him to fuck off, Mom. Tell him you don’t want him. I bite my tongue, hoping she’ll stand up for herself.
“Please, Rob…” she cries. “Just come back home.”
My stomach is queasy. I just want her to kick him out, to grow the strength to rip apart the thing that causes her pain. Come on, Mom. You can do it.
I wish I had the bravery to help her, but my feet cement to the floor, weighed like shackles of tar-filled balloons.
Through his teeth, he sneers, “I’d rather burn in fucking hell than be with a woman who spent over seventeen years repeatedly lying to me.”
A chill races across my arms, and I swallow a lump.
“It has nothing to do with you, Rob.” Her voice trembles, and then tears burst forth in a guttural cry. It pierces me through the chest, and I stagger one
step. I’m blown back.
Meanwhile, he just stands there.
He just watches in disgust.
How could he—
“You abandoned your son,” he says so passionately, so soulfully and hatefully that his face turns blood-red.
And I go utterly cold.
“Your fucking son,” he repeats with glassy eyes. “The one that I knew nothing about!” He points a finger at his chest. Vibrating—he’s vibrating in anger and pain.
I’m shaking with it too.
I don’t understand…
My dad licks his lips and adds, “How does the fact that you saw the father of your son on twelve separate occasions for two decades, not affect me?”
No.
I rock back.
He’s to blame.
Isn’t he?
He has to be.
Tears crest my eyes as I try to block out the truth. No.
Think about it, Willow.
I don’t want to. It’s easy believing one way for so long, to put all of my emotions in this one drawer that makes the most sense. It hurts having someone yank open the drawer and dump out its contents, destroying what I know is real.
She’s my ally.
She’s my confidant and my friend.
She’s my mom.
She wouldn’t lie. She wouldn’t abandon anyone. She’s my mom…the person who spent five hours helping me with a science fair project in eighth grade—who took me to the midnight showing of Avengers, even though she had work early in the morning.
She’s kind-hearted and loving. She’s sweet-tempered and generous.
Whatever It Takes Page 3
