Underneath the Sycamore Tree

by Celeste, B.

  I frown. “What rumors?”

  His jaw ticks. “People kept giving her shit about her body type. Had an eating disorder or something and got caught throwing up in the bathrooms. Rumors got pretty bad. She … it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t go here anymore.”

  “So she transferred out?”

  He hums.

  I think about all the times people glance at me before saying her name, like we’re connected somehow. But I don’t ask Kaiden about it anymore because he’s clearly shutting down. I’m shocked I got as much as I did as is.

  Kaiden draws one leg up, so it’s bent at the knee. He drapes his arm over it and looks at me with distant eyes. “I am curious about something.”

  I hold my breath.

  He grins. “Which paper plates did you buy?”

  A relieved laugh bubbles from my lips.

  “I didn’t buy either.”

  We fall back into silence.

  At some point I fall asleep. I only know this because I’m pressed against a warm wall of hard muscle that smells faintly like cedar and cinnamon. Christmas trees and cookies. Kaiden grumbles as we near his car, but I can’t make out the words. I’m tired—too tired to tell him to put me down. I close my eyes and nuzzle into the warmth, feeling him tense.

  The next time I come to, we’re passing street lights. The yellow color casts shadows on Kaiden’s tight expression, which I get a perfect view of from where he put me in the back seat. His jaw is hard, but the way it moves is like he’s grinding his teeth.

  My head feels too weak to pick up, so I lay there and watch him. The radio is playing a rap song I’m unfamiliar with, but I listen to the lyrics and try to stop staring at Kaiden like a weirdo.

  He glances back when the car slows for a stop sign, seeing my tired eyes on his. “Would have been nice if you’d woken up before I had to carry you.”

  How did he get over the fence at the cemetery? I ask him as much and he grumbles and starts driving again.

  “Had to walk the long way around.”

  “Oh.” My voice is tiny.

  He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. We just sit there until the song ends and a new one begins. “We’re almost home.”

  I force myself to sit up, yearning to cry over how my body reacts to the movement. Dizziness sweeps over my vision and everything around me blurs until I almost fall down.

  Kaiden, unfortunately, notices. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  Thinking back, I realize the last thing I ate was a sandwich late this morning. It’s going on nine o’clock now. “Not since you saw me making something earlier.”

  He curses and pulls into the driveway. I frown when he turns to me with an irritated expression on his face. “You have to eat, Mouse. You’re too skinny as it is.”

  My jaw ticks at the comment. “What has my father told you about me?”

  Silence.

  I scoff. “Let’s just go inside.”

  He sighs and gets out, surprising me by opening the back door. “What? Do you have an eating disorder or some shit? You could be prettier if you just gained some fucking weight.”

  Not wanting him to see me cry, I slide out of the car and storm to the front door. Maybe the Riley conversation triggered something beyond my knowledge, but it’s no reason for him to treat me like trash.

  There aren’t any lights on, but the front door is unlocked. As soon as we’re inside, Kaiden stops me from going anywhere.

  Biting my lip to contain the yelp of his grip on my wrist, I glare at him. “Let go of me, Kaiden.”

  He does. “Go to the kitchen.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “Christ, Emery. I’ll make you dinner.”

  I’m speechless at his words. This is only the second time he’s used my name. And the sound of it rolling off his tongue…

  I swallow. “I’m sure they brought back the food they ordered. I’ll eat that.”

  He crosses his arms on his chest, causing his shirt sleeves to hug the biceps I shouldn’t be staring at. “You don’t even like Mexican food.”

  “I ordered a salad.”

  “You need protein.”

  “I’m sure there are beans on it.”

  He scoffs. “Just get your ass into the kitchen. I’ll make you eggs or something.”

  My brows rise.

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” he informs me coolly. “I want an omelet, so I’ll make you something too. I won’t be your bitch boy again.”

  For some reason, I follow him into the kitchen and sit at the island. The stools are cushioned, so I’m not uncomfortable as I watch him pull things out of the fridge.

  “What do you want?”

  “Scrambled is fine.”

  He gapes. “You need more than scrambled eggs. Will you eat bacon if I make it? Toast? Cheese, for the little Mouse?”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  He waits for an answer.

  “Fine. Yes, I’ll eat those too.”

  He smiles victoriously.

  While he gets to work, I peer around the empty kitchen. The fridge is littered with pictures and random magnets, there’s a calendar with dates circled and bill payments in sharpie on it, and the dishtowels are all the same shade of blue that match the placemats on the table.

  There’s no noise, but I know Dad and Cam are here. Their cars are in the driveway indicating as much.

  “Where are our parents?”

  “They know to leave me alone when I leave for a while,” is his terse reply.

  I play with an orange from the fruit bowl placed strategically in the center of the counter. Everything about how Cam decorated the home is with a plan—the exact opposite of Mama’s house. There, nothing matched. It was organized chaos.

  “They don’t know that about me.”

  He shrugs. “You were with me.”

  “How could they know that?”

  “Because I told them I’d get you.”

  Nothing but the butter sizzling in the pan fills the silence. He cooks effortlessly, like he cooks his own meals all the time. He’s rarely at dinner, but almost always eats breakfast with us.

  By the time he’s finished, he sets a steaming plate full of eggs sprinkled with cheese, bacon, and a slice of buttered toast down in front of me. My mouth waters at the sight and smell as he passes me silverware.

  He cleans up his mess, hands me a bottle of water from the fridge, and leaves the room.

  He never made himself an omelet.

  Chapter Five

  I’m out of school Monday after waking up Sunday in my worst flare yet. When Cam found me in bed with swollen arms and a tear-stained face, she made Dad call my rheumatologist. Since I refused to go to the emergency room, the doctor suggested staying in bed and resting.

  I nearly laughed when he also advised me to try avoiding stress. Life is stressful. While I attempt to minimize putting myself in situations that can cause flareups, they happen. Since moving in with Dad, new stresses have presented themselves—his actions toward me, Mama’s silence…

  Early Tuesday morning, I’m sporting fuzzy yellow pajama bottoms and a sunflower tee when Kaiden shows up in my room. He doesn’t knock before opening up, so I’m thankful that I’m just curled up with a book beside me.

  He takes one look at me and frowns. “I take it you’re not going to school again?”

  I shake my head. The exhaustion is still bone deep, but the pain is nowhere near as bad. Besides a migraine I’ve been battling since yesterday afternoon, everything else has been tolerable to deal with. Yet, the judgment in his tone doesn’t make me want to continue the conversation.

  He gestures toward my pajamas. “Aren’t you hot in those? It’s like eighty outside and probably just as warm in here.” Walking over to the space heater, he shakes his head at the setting I have it on.

  I heard him ask Cam yesterday why I’ve been in bed. It’s one of the few conversations I’ve heard him have with her. The others usually end in a fight wi
th him storming out and her clamming up. I want to feel bad for Cam, but I’m still not over how dinner went down over the weekend.

  From what I overheard, Cam never told Kaiden what’s wrong with me. In a way, I’m grateful for that. When people hear you’re sick, they have three reactions—they either pity you, refuse to come near you, or don’t believe you at all. None of those situations are worth my time, not the fake sympathy of people who pretend they understand what I go through, not the people who think I’m contagious and stay ten feet away, and certainly not the people who refuse to accept invisible diseases are a thing.

  I’ll always remember the doctor appointment that led to me breaking down in the passenger seat of Mama’s car. As soon as the doctor walked in and realized I was the patient, his mind was set. I was “too young” to be sick. I was like any other young girl who liked to “exaggerate” for attention.

  My tears had streamed silent down my cheeks, but Mama was no fool. She pulled over and coaxed me into looking at her. What she saw, I’m not sure. Probably someone flawed and broken—someone utterly defeated.

  It didn’t matter that there was a family history of medical problems. If doctors can’t find one single element that stands out the most physically, they think you’re overreacting because that’s what young people are known for.

  As if children don’t die from cancer.

  As if Logan didn’t die from lupus.

  He must have seen the note in my file.

  Sister: deceased

  Cause: systemic lupus, kidney failure

  He didn’t care. None of them did. I wasn’t showing any physical symptoms. I was in pain. I was tired. I was…young. Just young.

  Nowadays, there’s no denying I’m sick. Just like Lo, you wouldn’t have thought anything was wrong at first. I wasn’t rail thin, my hair wasn’t falling out, and I looked healthy. Inside, my immune system was waging war against itself until every part of me was drained from the fight.

  I’m glad Kaiden doesn’t look at me any differently than before. Cam never mentioned that what I have is lifelong, or that I could suffer the same fate as Logan. Since I barely said anything about her the day he took me to the sycamore, I haven’t divulged any further information about my best friend.

  Sometimes I’ll find little post-its of pictures in different places though. Pictures of paper plates with blue flowers, and trees with endless green leaves. I save every single one I find in places only I would be.

  The way he watches me with eyes full of irritation doesn’t put me at ease. While I don’t want his pity, I also don’t want his unwarranted hatred either. Sometimes, I wonder if coming here was a mistake. Like moving in was an act against him for space and attention. Although, he doesn’t seem like he wants any attention when he’s here.

  He gets his fill at school.

  “Are you going tomorrow?”

  I sit up so my back is against the frame of my bed. It is white metal bent into an intricate design that I don’t get. But it’s pretty, prettier than the boring wood frames that Lo and I had in our old bedroom.

  “I plan to,” I answer quietly.

  He nods once but doesn’t move. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but he acts like he wants to say something. Instead, he shakes his head and leaves, almost angry. I’m reeling as to what I said or did to make his lips pinch that way before he slams my door closed behind him.

  Realizing it isn’t worth my time, I curl up on my side and open my newest book. Dad checked on me before leaving for work. He’s been going earlier the past few days, probably so he doesn’t have to deal with me. I can tell my illness makes him uncomfortable, like he doesn’t know how to deal with or treat me.

  I don’t either, but I can’t tell him that because then we’ll have common ground. I’m not sure I want to have any with him. I don’t hate him, but in many ways, I don’t love him either. We’re stuck at an impasse—a merry-go-round of unspoken feelings and questions.

  Why did you leave?

  Why did you barely call?

  Why didn’t you love us?

  Forcing the thoughts out of my head, I lose myself in my novel. It’s better than thinking about reality. Reality is ugly and painful and full of the kind of heartache that some books help you forget exist for a short period. I get to fall in love thousands of times over, a feat I’m afraid I’ll never accomplish if my illness brings me to Lo instead of my future husband.

  I fall asleep wondering if Lo is watching over me.

  When Lo and I were young, Mama always sang You Are My Sunshine to us when she was in a good mood. I remember days in the kitchen when she’d sing and make chocolate chip cookies, our favorite, splitting up some dough for us to share while she baked the rest.

  To this day, I love the song. It reminds me of Mama when she was happy. When I saw the rainbow at Lo’s funeral, it made me think of the tune. I even started humming it until Mama walked away from us. Grandma told me it was okay, but I still feel guilty.

  The song is one that I play on my bad days. It gets me thinking about all the good times I had growing up. My childhood wasn’t sad, not until Lo passed. Mama and Dad would take us on long rides every Sunday where we’d stop for snacks and sodas. They’d take us to waterparks where we’d ride every single ride until we were sunburnt and sore. Dad leaving was only step one into the roller coaster of hell, but up until that point we were fine.

  When I get out of bed to an empty house, I’m reminded that it’s no longer like that for us. The family outings I used to look forward to are nothing but distant memories. When Dad and Cam leave, they don’t always ask if Kaiden or I want to go. They assume we won’t want to, and it makes me want to ask if he remembers the Sunday rides and little vacations like I do.

  School tomorrow will be a nice distraction from here. I can bury myself in homework instead of thinking about what once was. Staying in the past means halting the future. I may not get one, so I want to at least try making the most of the present.

  After pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I sit on the couch in the living room and turn on the television. It isn’t often I watch anything because Dad and Cam like to watch the news at night after work, so I leave them to the depressing reports on twenty-first century racism, sexism, and shootings. The few times I do watch TV, I indulge on my two guilty pleasures—soap operas thanks to Grandma and reality shows thanks to Mama.

  It’s ironic, really. Mama would always tell Grandma how ridiculous soap operas are because they’re not real. Yet, any reality show I’ve watched is the same. It’s all fake drama focused on one-upping people in extravagant ways, highlighting the type of lives that people like us fantasize about having. Mama likes getting lost in a life she doesn’t live, just like Grandma loves losing herself in drama that isn’t her own.

  They just have different motives. Mama doesn’t want to think about Lo. Grandma doesn’t want to think about Mama’s denial.

  And me? I just like the posed fights.

  I’m surprised when three o’clock rolls around and the front door opens. I’m still binging episodes of The Bachelor with my bare feet perched on the couch when Kaiden strolls in. A few feet behind him is Rachel.

  Her high pitch giggle makes me cringe as Kaiden closes the door behind her. She’s got a huge pink purse dangling from her elbow as she brushes against Kaiden’s arm. I feel awkward staring, but it doesn’t seem to faze her.

  Kaiden notices what I’m watching and makes a face. “You actually watch this shit?”

  I blush. “I used to watch it with Mama.”

  Rachel glances at the screen. “Oh! I love this show. This season has been amazing.”

  Kaiden snickers. “See, you I’m not surprised over.”

  The insult seemingly goes right over her head, because she smiles at him like he just complimented her. I stifle a giggle and cover it with a cough. Kaiden catches on, grinning at me from beside her.

  “Aren’t we going to your room, Kaid?” Rachel practically purrs the words at him.
Suddenly, I feel awkward for being here and blush over what I may hear if they do disappear behind closed doors.

  My eyes widen when he grabs her bag and pulls something out. “We brought you some homework. Figured you’d want to catch up on some shit before tomorrow.”

  Hesitantly, I accept the papers.

  Rachel whines. “Kaiden—”

  “Head up. You know where it is.”

  When she turns, he smacks her butt. My cheeks burn. Trying to play it off, I glance over the homework to see what I’ve missed.

  “Thanks for getting this.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  I look up at him. He’s watching me with a tilted head and curved lips. “You might want to put some music on. Rach gets loud.”

  My jaw drops as he winks and heads for the stairs. Not knowing what to do with that, I grab my phone, earbuds, and backpack, before heading outside. It’s nice out, not too hot or cold, and settle at the picnic table with my schoolwork.

  When You Are My Sunshine pops up on the screen at random shuffle, I get the answer to my question earlier.

  “I love you, Lo,” I whisper to the wind.

  Chapter Six

  During lunch on Wednesday, I choose the furthest empty table from the others and pick through my salad. A dull headache still resides in my temples, which does nothing for my appetite. I force myself to nibble on some lettuce since I skipped breakfast this morning despite Cam’s insistence on eating my eggs.

  The morning flew by. I handed in my late assignments and caught up on class notes. Teachers told me I could see them during free period if I need help, but I have no intention of doing that. Once I get home, I’ll close myself in my room and go through what I missed. Thankfully, nobody bothers me there, so there’s no excuse as to why I can’t study.

  I’m playing with a crouton when a chair across from me is pulled back, the legs scraping noisily against the tile floor. Wincing at the noise, I glance up to find Kaiden there. Brows arched, I sit in silence waiting for him to tell me why he’s graced me with his presence.