Now I’m celebrating my girlfriend absolutely destroying me. Twice.
I kiss Marley quickly on the head, and she nuzzles closer to me, everything feeling absolutely perfect. We just need one thing.
“Hot chocolate?” I ask Marley, redirecting us toward a booth of treats and sweets, filled with enough candy to keep our local dentist in business until next Christmas.
She nods, eager, her teeth chattering in the cold.
“Two hot chocolates, please,” I say to the bundled-up barista behind the counter. “Extra whipped cream. Extra marshmallows.”
Marley watches as the barista makes the hot chocolates, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s a lot of sugar,” she says.
“Are you talking about the chocolate melted in milk? Or just the whipped cream and marshmallows on top?”
She turns to look at me, the both of us laughing. “When you put it that way…”
“There’s no such thing as too much sugar,” I say, tugging lightly at her scarf as the barista hands us our hot chocolates, a thin trail of steam drifting off the frothy top. “Not at the Winter Festival.”
The hot chocolate is incredible, rich and creamy and sweet, exactly like I remember it.
Marley takes a small sip, a blissful smile appearing on her face. I reach out and grab her free hand, her fingers cold in my palm, as the two of us wind through the crowd to the holiday light show.
It’s awesome, lights of all different colors forming trees and reindeer and snowmen, a blanket of white underneath them. The twinkling colors guide us to the heart of the display, a long, glittering tunnel of blinking lights hanging down around us like falling stars.
We come to a stop in the center, and Marley takes a long sip of her hot chocolate, letting out a sigh. “You’re right. There’s no such thing as too much sugar.”
She pulls the cup away, whipped cream clinging to her upper lip. I reach out to wipe it off, but her voice stops me. “Oh boy.”
“What?” I ask, and she points up, tilting her head back, her rosy cheeks glowing in the waterfall of lights.
I look up to see mistletoe hanging just above us in the exact center of the tunnel.
“You know what that means,” Marley says, her gaze warmer than the hot chocolate in my hand.
I raise my eyebrows, surprised as I look around at all the people. Marley, who almost didn’t want to come out today, wants to kiss in public?
“Yeah?”
She nods, the whipped cream still lingering on her lip. “Yeah.”
I bend to kiss it off, and her hand twists into the front of my jacket, pulling me closer, the kiss intensifying. I lose myself in it, her lips cold but sweet. When we pull away, I’m short of breath, dizzy in the best kind of way.
I tuck her scarf closer to her neck, glancing to the side to see a familiar pair of brown eyes at the end of the tunnel.
Sam.
“Shit,” I say as he shakes his head at me, like he’s disappointed.
“What?” Marley asks, surprised.
“Sam.”
Her head whips around, but Sam’s already walking away, his broad shoulders fading into the distance between the twinkling holiday lights.
The moment is kind of deflated after that, so we head out from under the lights, walking slowly along the path to my house, Marley’s hand lacing into mine.
“I’m sorry,” she says, tugging gently on my fingers. “About Sam.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve been trying to tell him,” I say, looking up at the snow, a few flakes landing on my forehead. “It’s just…”
“He’s never seen you with anyone else,” Marley fills in.
I nod, lowering my head.
“Will it be okay?” she asks.
I stop and pull her into my arms, reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes. “It will be okay. Sam just has to get used to it.”
I say the words with total conviction, but I’m not entirely sure it’s the truth.
22
“Happy New Year,” Sam says, ducking inside the back door of my house. The holidays were so hectic I haven’t gotten a chance to see him since the Winter Festival a week ago.
He peers around, clutching a huge lump under his jacket. “Where’s Lydia?” he asks, walking past me to peek into the hallway, his head turning right and left.
“She’s out. I told you,” I say, watching as he hams it up, making a show of checking under the kitchen table. I’m relieved he isn’t being weird.
“All right,” he says, unzipping his jacket to reveal a six-pack of beer. “It’s game time. UCLA going for bowl glory. Kickoff was ten minutes ago.”
A car drives past outside, and he quickly zips his jacket up, craning his neck to peer out the kitchen window.
“She won’t be back until tonight,” I say as he unzips his jacket again. I smirk as he clutches the beer to his chest the entire way to the living room, his eyes darting suspiciously around.
“You scared of my mom, dude?” I ask, elbowing him.
“Who? Mrs. L.?” he says, plopping down on the couch. “Absolutely.”
We laugh, and I flick through the guide, clicking on the game. UCLA is already up by six, going for the extra point.
“How’s Marley?” Sam asks casually, his eyes fixed to the TV screen. I study his face, waiting for the snark. The punch-in-the-gut comment.
But it doesn’t come.
“She’s fine,” I say. This is the first time he’s asking about her freely, but I don’t give him too many details.
Sam nods, popping open his beer and drinking the entire thing down.
Like… the entire thing.
“Dude,” I say as he grabs another beer and pops it open. I lean forward and grab it away from him.
“Look, Sam, if you’re pissed about seeing me and Marley last week, then—”
“I’m not,” he says, cutting me off. “I mean, I wanted to be. I tried to be, but…” His voice trails off as he avoids my gaze, his eyes darting around the room, to the TV, the window, the bookshelf in the corner. Everywhere but me.
“Is that a new lamp?” he finally asks, pointing to a lamp that has been in this room since we thought girls had cooties.
“Come on, Sam,” I say. I thought we weren’t going to be like this anymore. I turn to him, and the light from the TV reflects off the glass bottle in my hand, hitting me square in the eyes and sending my head throbbing.
It’s been weeks now since it’s hurt, but when the pain does come back, it’s as bad as ever. Isn’t this supposed to get better the more time passes? I grit my teeth and fight through the ache for my words. “Whatever it is, just say it.”
He finally looks at me, eyes serious. “I’m leaving.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as he starts to fidget, his leg erratically bouncing up and down. I kick it like I have since we were kids, telling him to knock it off.
He chuckles uncomfortably and forces his leg to be still.
“Is this because… because of what you saw?”
He pins me with a look. “You know, not everything is about you.”
I blink, replaying what I just said. Shit. But if not that, then why…?
“Kim did it,” he says with a small smile. “Her essays helped get me into UCLA. I leave next week.”
Next week?
“That’s… that’s great.” But it doesn’t feel great at all.
I stop, realizing I’ve done it again. I’ve made this about me, when it’s actually about Sam. And if Sam is ready to move on, then I have to let him move the hell on.
Just like he’s let me move on. It’s what I wanted for him. But I somehow didn’t imagine it quite like this.
“I need to do this, man,” he says, sensing my confused thoughts, a skill from more than a decade of friendship. “The last year and a half has been…” He stops, swallowing hard.
Year and a half? What is he talking about?
“Damn it.” He reaches up to run his fingers through his thick, da
rk hair. “You know I didn’t mean to do it, right?”
“Do what?” I ask, confused. “Didn’t mean to do—”
“The block,” he says, frustrated. “I lost focus for one freaking second and he got past me. When I heard that crack…” His voice trails off, his eyes wide. Haunted. “I thought I’d never get that sound out of my head.” He rubs his face with his hands, shaking his head. “Now everything you lost, everything we’ve lost, goes back to that one moment. The moment I fucked up.”
“Sam, this isn’t on you,” I say, wanting to make him see. “I know you didn’t mean to miss that block.…” I stop. Why does he feel this way? I think of Kim that night in the car. What she said. “But I still made you pay for it, didn’t I? You and Kimberly both. I leaned on you guys for everything.”
Sam gives a harsh, rueful laugh. “And again, it becomes about you.”
But isn’t that what he’s talking about?
“Yes,” he says, nodding. “I regret that block. I hate what it did to your career. I’d take it back if I could, but…” He pauses, his voice trailing off. “Maybe not only for the reason you think.”
I lean back on the couch, confused.
“If I hadn’t missed that block, then I would have had no reason to make it up to you. And since then, that’s all I’ve been trying to do—make it up to you.…”
The pieces start to align.
“And because of that, I chose you over Kimberly. I chose you over myself.” He puts his hand over his chest. “Your feelings had to come first because I fucked up,” he says, swallowing. “Every time she cried, I wanted to tell her I loved her. Every time you fought, I wanted to step in and shield her.”
I see it now. The bouquet of blue tulips resting against the grave. The way he looked at her the night of our graduation. All these things that were invisible to me for so long, simply because I hadn’t been looking.
“I still love her like that. I can’t shake it. And if I’m honest, I don’t want to,” he says, his fists clenched in his lap. “I’d rather love her forever and hurt the entire time than let her go for even one second. Maybe someday… maybe someday I’ll be able to. But for now I can’t.…”
He’s quiet for a moment before he looks over at me.
“The minute you said Marley’s name, I knew she wasn’t just your friend. I knew because that’s how I feel about Kim.”
I drop my head, rubbing my face with my hands. Shit. This is a lot to process.
“God. I’m sorry, Sam. I’m—”
Sam puts his hand on my bad shoulder, cutting me off. “This was my fault, and so were the choices I made after. But… I’m letting that go. I have to.”
I shake my head as I look up at him. “You both should have tossed me to the curb a long time ago.”
Sam snorts and rolls his eyes. “Shut up. As if either of us could have gotten rid of you. You don’t give up on people, so we don’t give up on you,” he says, giving me a rueful grin. “Besides, Kim tried. Seven. Times.”
We both break down in laughter. It feels good, though. Healing and sad all at the same time.
“So… you’re doing it,” I say as our laughter dies down. “You’re leaving.”
He nods. Solemn but hopeful. “Yep. I’m outta here.”
“You know I’ll be coming to visit, then?”
“You better.” Sam smiles, and we look at each other for a long moment. Sam, the glue that held the trio together, held me together, is taking his place in the world.
“I guess this is what growing up feels like,” I say, hating it.
“It kinda sucks, if I’m honest,” Sam says, echoing my thoughts. Instinctually, we do our handshake, pausing during the last fist bump to smile at each other.
“Always forward,” I say as I reach up to clap him on the shoulder, knowing that our friendship will stretch and change for years to come, but if it didn’t break after all this, it never will.
23
Things are strange without Sam around.
All winter long we make it a point to talk every Saturday morning, FaceTiming while I take blue tulips to Kim’s grave, the weather slowly getting warmer as bundled walks through snowstorms give way to April showers.
Between spending time with Marley, and my internship, and starting journalism classes at the local community college, it feels like I blinked and the seasons changed.
Pretty soon, it’s 75 degrees out, and the park is filled with people running around in tank tops and sunglasses, acting like it’s summer.
I set up the last of the folding chairs and stand up to stretch, my shoulder a little sore from all the lifting. I do a final once-over of the outdoor classroom I’ve spent this entire May morning setting up, nodding when I see the rows are perfectly straight. A few minutes later the middle schoolers start to trickle in, but the teacher…
Missing in action.
I scan the perimeter, searching for that familiar trace of yellow. My eyes catch sight of a yellow skirt, its owner pacing nervously back and forth by the pond, a tiny gang of ducks trailing behind her.
I grab a single yellow Doris Day rose from my bag and head over, stopping to straighten the hand-painted sign reading HOW TO TELL A STORY in cursive far neater than I could ever dream of writing. The ducks turn to look at me as I get closer. I mumble my “excuse me’s” to them as they part, a clear path forming straight through to Marley.
“Hey,” I say as I reach out to take her hand. She gives me a panic-stricken look, her features frozen with worry. “You’ve got this.”
She lets out a long sigh, clearly not convinced. “How did you talk me into this?”
“You’re the best storyteller I know,” I say, meaning it. “You can do this.”
She looks doubtful, but I know it’s going to be great. I know more than anyone how special she is. Every day she opens up a little bit more, becoming more and more herself.
And now, today, she’s going to share a small part of herself with more people than just me. Something that we’ve talked about since she let me read her stories last fall.
I pull the rose from behind my back and finally get a glimmer of a smile. “My favorite,” she says as she takes it from me. “I love… it,” she adds, taking me back to Halloween night, our little catchphrase.
“You talking about me or the rose?”
The smile grows, and she squeezes my hand. “Both.”
Hand in hand we head up to the tent, almost all of the seats taken by eager students wielding notebooks and pens. Old-school. No laptops or tablets. Writing the way Marley does it.
I made sure to put that in the free advertisement Scott was nice enough to include in the Times two weeks ago since he’s trying really hard to get me to stay on another semester.
I kiss her cheek and slide into an empty seat while she walks to the front of the makeshift classroom, a sea of eyes staring up at her. She freezes and I hold my breath, silently willing her to talk while internally screaming, You can do this, Marley!
“What,” she starts finally, her eyes locking on mine, “is the first thing you need to tell a story?”
“A character?” a girl in the front row calls out, and Marley’s attention turns to her, a smile appearing on her face.
“Characters are important, for sure,” she says, nodding. “But even before that. What do you need?”
Someone calls out, “Something for them to do?”
Then a voice from the back shouts, “An idea! An idea! You need an idea.”
“Yes,” Marley says, excited. “You need an idea.” She pauses for a second, holding my gaze. “You need a dream.” I do a quick scan of the crowd to see all the middle schoolers at the edge of their seats. She’s crushing this. Just like I knew she would.
I watch in awe for the rest of the class.
With every minute that passes, she gets more and more confident, the Marley I know and love finally breaking out of her shell for everyone else to see, her enthusiasm inspiring everyone here to tell the sto
ry they are longing to tell.
After the class ends, a small crowd of middle schoolers overtakes her, asking her questions, hoping for another class in the future. I take a Tylenol and start to clean up the chairs, smiling to myself.
Shoulder pain and all, this has been more than worth it.
Two arms wrap around me after I finish, the last of the students heading out of the park, notebooks tucked under their arms.
“That was amazing,” Marley mumbles into my shoulder.
“You were amazing,” I say, turning around to kiss her, my hand finding the familiar dip of her waist. “We should celebrate. Do something fun.”
“Like what?” Marley asks, reaching up to touch my face, her fingers gentle against my cheek.
“Anything!” I say.
She thinks, her eyes lighting up, a smile appearing on her lips. “Anything?”
* * *
We pull up to the animal shelter, and Marley peers out the window, excited.
This is definitely not what I had in mind when it comes to celebrating, but… this is big for her. She’s been talking about getting a dog since winter, but something always stops her.
I smile at the determined look in her eyes. Nothing can stop her today.
Plus, I’m pretty excited myself. While I’d never say it out loud to her, a dog is way cuter than a fully grown duck hell-bent on getting popcorn snacks.
She turns to look at me, hand on the door handle.
“What’s up?” I ask, reaching up to push a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You’ll help me, right? Take care of the dog?”
I nod, reassuring her. “Absolutely.”
“Because what if I can’t and something happens to it…?”
“You just saw what you can do, Marley, even when you think you can’t. You’re amazing.” She still looks doubtful, so I add, “But I’ve got you. Always.”
She grins, her enthusiasm returning.
We head inside, and Marley stops along the way to examine the budding flowers as we go, the warm spring afternoon making everything feel new and happy and right in the best way. I nudge her lightly as she leans forward to smell a blossom, catching her before she topples over, the both of us laughing.
All This Time Page 14
