Begin with You

by Burgoa, Claudia

  “Purple,” I flick her nose. “Go, pose for the camera. You look gorgeous as usual.”

  As she walks away, everything hits me all at once. I realize that the day after tomorrow she’s leaving. That I’m going to fucking miss her a lot. She went from being just another one of my parent’s foster children to becoming one of my closest friends. Sadly, the academic demands at Berkeley might take us from best friends to mere acquaintances once she starts classes.

  3

  Wes

  Abby Age Nineteen

  “What do you mean, you’re spending the whole summer abroad?” I grasp the phone tightly, glaring at Abby who is on the other side FaceTiming me. “You said it was only a few weeks in the Dominican Republic.”

  “Well, that’s for the volunteer program,” she says. “Afterwards, I’m going to Exeter.”

  Her eyes brighten, and I swear, she’s glowing. Since she left Denver, she’s changed a lot. It’s as if everything bad that happened to her stayed on this side of the Rocky Mountains.

  “Where the fuck is Exeter?”

  “It’s in the middle of Oxford, England.” The screen goes dark, and the only thing I can see is the word pause.

  She fucking paused me.

  “There, I sent you a picture of the place,” she says as my phone buzzes.

  “Linda approved of my choice. She said that the place is exquisite. Isn’t it beautiful?”

  “Mom agreed?” I arch a brow as I think of ways to convince her to come back home.

  We were supposed to spend the summer together. I miss her. I’ve seen her five times since she graduated high school. The first one was when I joined her and Mom in Spain, and we spent two weeks traveling through Barcelona, Madrid, Seville, Valencia, and Granada. Afterwards, we stopped in Portugal before we came back to Denver, and I helped her drive her car to Berkeley. The second was during fall break. I had to fly to California because the coffee shop where she was working wouldn’t give her the week off.

  On Thanksgiving weekend, Mom decided to indulge my brother, and we all flew to New York where we had dinner together at Sterling’s. For Christmas, we traveled to Aruba, and for spring break, I met Abby in San Diego where she interned for a week at the zoo. It’s a quick program that helped her realize that as much as she loved animals, she didn’t want to work with them.

  “Of course, she’s so excited.” Abby’s voice squeaks slightly with excitement. “Exeter is a school full of history. Do you know that Tolkien was an undergraduate there?”

  “How could I miss that important piece of information, Abbs?”

  “Mr. Sarcasm just showed up. What’s going on, Wes?” She twists her mouth. “You seem a little upset. Is it the new girl?”

  She narrows her gaze and rolls her eyes. “Please, don’t tell me you broke up with Marissa.”

  “I told you it wasn’t serious.”

  “It’s never serious, Wes. One of these days you’re going to meet the woman of your dreams, and you’ll let her go because work is more important.”

  “I’m only twenty-five,” I protest.

  “Something tells me that in a couple of years, we’ll have this same conversation.”

  “How about you?”

  She shakes her head. “Boys are idiots,” she claims.

  “What happened with the last one?”

  “It didn’t work out,” she says with disdain.

  I sigh with relief. The thought of Abby dating doesn’t settle well. She’s too far away, and if someone hurts her I couldn’t be there to comfort her.

  “Yeah, he expected to hit a home run without buying me dinner.”

  “Are we using baseball analogies now?”

  “Why not?” She shrugs one shoulder.

  As I browse the website for Exeter College, I ask about her plans. “What are you going to study in England?”

  “I’m taking just a couple of credits. Literatures of Modernity and Mathematics for Physical Sciences and Engineering.”

  “When are you coming back to Denver?”

  “Thanksgiving … Christmas or maybe next summer,” she says, with a voice void of emotion.

  We spend the next hour talking about the places she could visit during the weekends while in England. I begin to check my schedule and email Sterling about this new development. He’s fond of Abby, and maybe he could visit her too. As much as I trust Abby, I don’t want her to spend the summer alone in another country.

  4

  Wes

  Abby Age Twenty

  Today I left work early. Dad’s on his way to Costa Rica, and I have plenty of time to build a new computer. All the parts arrived this week. Of course, my plans were interrupted by a text from little Abby asking if I had time to FaceTime with her. I couldn’t waste the opportunity to see her, and the conversation was going great until her news …

  “So, you speak Spanish now?” That’s all I can manage to say while searching for the right words to change her mind.

  “I can say more than cerveza porfavor,” Abby says with a smile.

  She moves closer to the telephone and whispers. “That’s beer in case you didn’t know.”

  “Do you remember who your translator was while we visited Spain?” I arch an eyebrow.

  “Whatever,” she says, letting out a loud breath and rolling her eyes.

  “It feels like you’re avoiding coming back home,” I suggest.

  Last summer she went to England and ended up staying there for an entire year. I hoped that she’d fly back to Denver and spend the summer with us. However, she traveled to the Dominican Republic to volunteer for a month. Afterwards, she flew to Costa Rica where she is with Mom who, like Abby, loves to help others whenever possible. Dad is joining them, but he didn’t invite me this time. I have to stay behind to take care of the company.

  “You should try this,” she shows me the ocean and the beautiful orange, purple, and blue sky with wispy clouds around the deep yellow halo. “Helping others while enjoying the most amazing landscapes.”

  She turns the phone around and that beautiful face brightens my day. Those soulful eyes have a shine that makes me want to lose myself inside of them. This gorgeous girl is so different from the one who arrived to us broken a couple of years back. The new Abby is full of life and makes me want to save the world along with her.

  Fuck, I miss her so much.

  It’s been weeks since the last time I saw her. This past year I made sure to visit her often. Dad wasn’t happy about my continuous traveling, but I ignored his rants. Maybe next year I’ll quit the company and start my own business. I’ll finally put something in motion and begin my own life.

  Abby makes me want to do that. Be my own person and stop living under the shadow of my father while trying to make up for Sterling’s behavior. I’m not sure if I’m capable of leaving Dad when it seems that he needs me now more than he used to.

  “What’s going on, Ahern?” Her sweet voice pulls me back to her and away from my problems.

  “Nothing, Abby girl. What are your plans?”

  “After Costa Rica, I’m going back to school.” She shrugs. “I loved taking lit classes, but my favorite subject is math. I’ve finally decided to pursue an accounting degree.”

  “You could do that here, at DU,” I suggest. My heart beats fast as I wait for her answer.

  Please, say yes.

  “Nope, you know how I feel about going back to Denver. The nightmares stayed there … Life is much better anywhere but there.”

  Her words hit me right in the chest, collapsing my lungs.

  “Are you ever coming back?” I grasp the phone as if it’s my lifeline.

  She presses her lips together. Her gaze moves away from the phone. I stare at her gorgeous profile. That turned up little nose, her plump lips and the long curl of the lashes that frame her eyes. Abby’s olive skin is darker, and her long hair is fixed into tiny braids. She’s classically beautiful, has a confident grace as well as a giving heart that makes me want more t
han I can have.

  There’s a need inside me begging me to jump on the next plane and fly to her side because I fucking miss her. Every day, I fight my attraction toward her, but it’s getting so hard. She’s not only my confidant and my best friend, she’s becoming my whole reason to be. Yet, I know that nothing can ever happen between us. I’m not good at relationships. Fuck, I’ve never had a long lasting one. And I don’t plan on making a move on Abby when I know beforehand that I could lose her.

  If I lose her, I’d lose myself and my heart. I run a hand through my hair, trying to make sense of my thoughts and feelings for her. There’s no point in fighting them, but how do I set them aside and continue being just a friend?

  “There’s no point in discussing that,” she finally answers. “I have three years to decide what to do with my life.”

  “Two,” I protest.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head. “The classes I took for the past year won’t count toward my degree. Technically, I’m going to start my sophomore year.”

  Fuck, three more fucking years.

  I groan. “That’s it, I’m moving to Berkeley with you.”

  “Would you?” Her eyes narrow and her lips quirk a bit into a smile.

  “Maybe I’ll quit and open my own company. You’re close to Silicon Valley,” I remind her. “It might work.”

  “That’d be perfect,” she whispers. “I could see you every day.”

  5

  Wes

  Abby Age Twenty-One

  This year, Mom decided to celebrate Abby’s birthday in Berkeley, at her apartment. I wasn’t a fan of her last-minute decision since I had other plans in mind to celebrate the occasion. They included bar hopping and not my parents. I love my mother, but some days she can be too overbearing.

  “We’re renting a house in Tahoe,” Mom announces while passing the bread to Abby.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Abby hands me the basket and gives me a please help me glance.

  Sorry, Abbs, this time I support this idea.

  “Mom, Abby can’t eat wheat products,” I remind her.

  “Sorry, dear,” she apologizes, handing her the bowl of salad instead.

  Last year, after coming back from Costa Rica she was sick for almost a month. She could barely eat solid food. The doctor diagnosed her with gluten intolerance. Mom tries her best to pay attention to Abby’s new diet, but sometimes she forgets about it.

  “You could use that money on something else,” Abby suggests.

  “We spend summers together—always,” Mom insists.

  It’s only been four summers, but I’m not going to argue with her. She’s set on keeping this as a tradition. Of course, Sterling isn’t part of it. Not if my father keeps criticizing his career. My little brother isn’t doing that bad for himself. He lived in France for a couple of years while doing an internship and just moved to London to work for a gallery. Dad thinks he’s just wasting his time and money traveling.

  “I’ll be working,” Abby prompts.

  “Yes, at a very nice lodge,” Dad who researched the place as soon as Abby announced her summer plans continues, “but if you want, you can work for me, dear.”

  “Maybe next time?” she looks down at her food while she pushes it around her plate.

  Abby isn’t ready to head back to Denver. Last December she came back to Colorado—to Aspen—for a couple of weeks. Every night, she woke me up in the middle of the night screaming for help. She told me that it was the first time in years that she’d had a nightmare. She made me swear I wouldn’t push her to come back home for the summer.

  For a change of scenery, last February I invited her to Tahoe. It’s close enough to Berkeley and Denver. Since then, we’ve been meeting there at least twice a month. We spent weekends skiing until mid-April when the season ended. Later, we’d go hiking or kayaking on the lake. During one of our visits, she saw that they were looking for seasonal employees for the summer. Abby found a new excuse to stay away from Denver.

  “Next year you’ll come back and work for me,” Dad decrees.

  Abby’s eyes open wide; I’m almost sure that she’s not breathing.

  “Dad, Abbs will come to work for us when she’s ready,” I say, taking a swig of my beer.

  But if she doesn’t, I have a plan. By next year, I’m going to quit working for him, and I’m opening my own company here, in California. Abby will work for me, and she won’t have to go back to Denver.

  “Darling,” Dad says, pulling an envelope out of his jacket. “You’ll come to work for me whenever you’re ready. In the meantime, here’s your birthday present.”

  Abby frowns, then looks at me. She adores my parents but would rather not receive all the expensive presents they like to gift her.

  “This … you can’t,” Abby gasps as she reads the letter inside the envelope. “You’re too generous with me.”

  “We love you like our own,” Dad says.

  “Like the daughter, we never had,” Mom reiterates.

  “Yes, but … these are too many zeros, and I don’t deserve your generosity.”

  “We know that you’ll use this money wisely.”

  Mom and Dad decided to open a trust fund. Unlike Sterling’s and mine, she can do pretty much whatever she wants with it. There’s no age requirement to withdraw the money, nor a limit of how much she can use during the year. According to Dad, Abby has a good head. He trusts her judgment and common sense.

  “You shouldn’t have, but thank you so much for this gift. I promise to make good use of it,” she says, folding the paper and putting it back into the envelope. “I love you both, not because you shower me with gifts, but because you care so much for me. Because you love me too.”

  Abby’s eyes fill with tears. I rise from my seat and take her into my arms. “Don’t cry, sweet girl,” I whisper hugging her tight against me. Abby sniffs, I clear the tears rolling down her cheeks with my thumb.

  “I’m not sure where I’d be if it weren’t for your generosity and love.”

  “Everything we give you is with love,” Mom insists, crying just like Abby.

  I pull out the small velvet bag I’ve been carrying around. Carefully, I untie the knot and take out the rose quartz bracelet I bought for her in Boulder. It’s supposed to reduce anxiety and stress. The moment I saw it, I thought of her. She loves pink and she’s always counting objects to soothe herself.

  “Happy birthday, Abby girl.

  “It’s perfect, just like you.” She looks at the bracelet and then at me. Her warms eyes radiate happiness and love.

  “I love it, Wes. Thank you.”

  Those words hit me right in the middle of the chest. I want her to change the pronoun and say “you.” I love you, Wes. If I could, I’d kiss her senseless.

  Instead, I take a step backward confused with myself, my thoughts.

  What’s happening to me?

  — — —

  “I love your parents,” Abby says, opening the refrigerator, bending slightly to peer inside.

  My heart thumps fast as my eyes land on her ass. That skimpy skirt she wears rides up showing me part of her butt-cheek. Fuck, those long, tanned legs make my dick twitch.

  Down boy. She’s a friend. My best friend, who happens to be fucking beautiful.

  “Wait, I adore them,” she squeals straightening, a big smile on her face and a bottle of white Zinfandel.

  She throws a mischievous smile. “Would you like to share?”

  “I’m pretty sure Mom brought that for herself—not for the underage kid,” I tease her.

  Abby’s tiny and could barely pass as an eighteen-year-old. She’s almost a foot shorter than me, her long brown hair is usually set into loose braids. She holds a certain innocence that many have lost at her age. Yet, I know about the darkness she harbors inside her soul.

  Her brows furrow. “I’m twenty-one, thank you very much,” she says snidely.

  She looks at the wine bottle, then at me. Her brow rises. “Wel
l then, what are you drinking, old man?”

  She taps her chin with her index finger pretending to think. “I have some warm milk, Grandpa.”

  “Brat,” I say shaking my head and taking the bottle from her to uncork it. “We’ll have to drive to the liquor store to restock Mom’s wine.”

  “It was really nice of them to rent a house for the summer,” she suddenly changes the subject.

  She scrunches her nose, scanning the kitchen.

  “But?” I invite her to share her thoughts.

  “You know there are plenty of buts.” She shrugs, chewing on her bottom lip.

  Abby doesn’t like when my parents spend money on her. She’s been part of our family for four years and hasn’t grasped the idea that my parents see her as their own. If they could, they’d adopt her.

  “This is too much,” she waves her hand in the general area.

  “You gave them no choice,” I say, opening the wine. “You decided to take a job in Tahoe for the summer.”

  I pour the wine and give her a stern look. “To avoid going back home.”

  “It’s not an excuse, Ahern. I need to learn how to be independent.” She grabs her glass taking a few sips.

  “When I saw the bulletin with this job, I had to apply.” Abby walks around the kitchen grabbing a couple of bowls. She fills one with strawberries and the other with the gummy bears I brought her. She loves all candy, but those are her favorite.

  “Kids Activities Coordinator at a lodge,” her voice carries a lot of excitement. “It sounded like so much fun.”

  You could be independent at home. I study her closely.

  “Why in the world would they rent a house because of me?”

  “That’s the way they are,” I say sweeping away the conversation.

  The truth is that renting a house out in Tahoe was my idea. A seed that I planted during dinner a weekend after Abby announced that she had found a summer job.

  “Where is she staying?” I asked Mom, even when I knew the answer.