by Jamie Howard
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Gavin asked, rubbing a hand over his flat stomach.
Rachel groaned. “How can you possibly be hungry?”
“How can you not?” Ian shot back.
“Let’s take a break from the eating,” Ben suggested. “Anyone wanna toss around the football?”
“Do we even have a football?” Ian asked.
“There’s one in the hall closet. Isn’t there?”
Ian shrugged and went to check.
“You in, Felix?” Gavin asked, moving toward the living room for his coat.
Felix wheeled himself behind him. “Depends. Any of you jackasses have good enough aim to get it to me?”
“Language!” Gail shouted, chuckling to herself.
“Sorry!”
Ben reappeared, a football palmed in his large hand. “You girls coming out to watch?” He meant the question for both of us, but his eyes never left Rachel.
“You’re crazy.” Rachel shook her head. “It’s freezing out there.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Gavin whined, zipping up his coat. “Football players need cheerleaders.”
I glanced at Rachel and gave her a whatever-you-wanna-do look.
“Just for a few minutes,” she said. “The second I stop feeling my toes, I’m coming back inside.”
Felix wheeled into the room, our coats already draped across his lap. “Ladies.” He handed them off to us.
“Thanks.” I took it from him and folded it over my arm. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom first.”
I’d already figured out where that was, and by the time I made it back, everyone had already gone outside. Ben ran across the frost-tinged grass, the football arcing over his head before landing in his outstretched hands. With everyone gone, I took a minute to look through the picture frames strewn about the living room. I found one of Ian when he was much younger, seven maybe, wearing the ugliest pair of turquoise glasses I’d ever seen. Down the way, I spotted one of him and Rachel. They were on their way to prom, if I had to guess from Ian’s tuxedo and Rachel’s fancy dress and updo. Did they go together?
I picked up the frame, tilting it in the light. It was strange seeing Ian in this picture. Not because I didn’t know him then or he looked all that different, but because there was a lightness to him. Maybe it was the carefree bent to his shoulders or the lazy grin that stretched across his face. I wish I’d had a chance to know that Ian.
Placing the frame carefully back down, I kept moving. At the very end, several frames hung from the wall, their silver borders stark against the light green paint. The largest was centered on the wall, a family picture of Gail, the two boys, and their father. As much as I wanted to take a good hard look at that, it was the empty space next to it that drew my attention. Had it not been for the organized way Gail hung her pictures and the faintest discoloration to the wall, I never would have noticed a picture was missing. How odd.
Footsteps came up next to me, and I flicked my gaze to the side to find Gail standing there. “You have a very beautiful family.”
She looked up at the photographs. “Thank you.” Her hand reached out toward the center frame, not quite touching it. “It’s the last one I have of all of us before Jerry passed.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Her lips pinched together. “Don’t know what I would have done without my boys.” She turned to face me, resting a hand on my arm. “I was hoping to catch a moment alone with you, but wasn’t sure I’d manage, what with everyone here.”
Oh, crap.
She laughed at my expression. “Nothing to worry about. I just wanted to thank you.”
“For what?”
Waving a hand at me to follow her, she walked over to the window. With a hand she drew back the paisley curtain. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen that?”
I followed her gaze out the window. Ian held the football tucked under his arm, sprinting for all he was worth, Gavin hot on his tail. His cheeks were red from the cold, a smile painted across his face, his chest heaving for breath.
I knew she wasn’t looking for an answer to her question, but thought I knew it all the same—two years. It all seemed to come back to that.
She squeezed my arm again, her face alight with hope. “Thank you for giving me my son back.”
My fingers ought to have been carrot sticks for all I couldn’t feel or move them. We’d been outside for hours, losing daylight in the process. The sky bled red and orange before sinking to a deep purple. There’d been only a brief pause in our outdoor festivities—for dessert, of course.
My face tingled as we made our way inside, the warmth of the house barely detectable on my frozen cheeks. I breathed out a sigh of relief and pulled off the ridiculous, oversized hat Ian lent me with a gloved hand. Despite the cold, I was still sweating underneath all the layers.
“Who’s got marshmallows?” Gavin bellowed from the kitchen. He pushed through the door, holding the plastic bag in the air. “That’s right. Gavin’s got marshmallows. And oh, what’s this?” He pulled a box of graham crackers and a bag of chocolate bars from behind his back. His mouth dropped open in fake surprise. “S’mores in the living room!”
I bit back a yawn and shrugged out of my coat and gloves, unwinding the scarf from around my neck. Ian walked by, and I snaked out a hand to get his attention.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“Do you mind if I call it a night?”
“Of course not. You sure you don’t want any s’mores though?”
I shuddered. “Please, no more sugar. I don’t think I can take it.”
“We’ll have to work on your stamina.” He ran a hand through his hair, and it stood straight up. “You can sleep in my old room, upstairs. I think we’re all crashing in the living room for the night.”
Well, that answered that question. Guess I’d have the bed to myself tonight.
“You sure you don’t want to hang with us? You’re more than welcome to doze off on the couch. Can’t promise you won’t get your hand dunked in warm water though.” The smile was back—the one that did funny things to my pulse, sending sparks straight down to my icy toes.
I considered it for a half a second. Selfishly, I really wanted to. I’d never smiled as much as I had in the past few hours. But, I’d already confiscated almost all of Ian’s favorite holiday. I didn’t want to intrude any further. He’d given me an entire day; the least I could do was to give him these few hours with his friends. “As tempting as that offer sounds, I think I’ll stick with the bed.”
He walked me to the stairs and rested a hand on the bannister. “First door on your right. Your bag should already be in there.”
I climbed onto the first step and turned around, resting my hands on his shoulders. “Thank you for making me come today. It’s been . . . amazing.” Leaning toward him, I paused halfway to his mouth. “Can I kiss you?”
His eyebrows scrunched together, like he couldn’t understand why I was asking. Instead of answering, he closed the gap for me, his lips a soft pressure against mine. I drew back and patted him on the cheek. “Try not to wet your pants tonight, hm?”
“Me? Don’t you worry about me.” He took a few steps backward. “Ben, on the other hand . . .” Lifting a shoulder in a half shrug, he gave me one more of those devastating smiles before disappearing from sight.
I ran my fingers over my lips, pressing them there. I tried to memorize the sensation of his lips on mine. It wasn’t something I ever wanted to forget.
After changing into my pajamas, I headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth. As I stuck the toothbrush in my mouth, I bypassed the lock screen on my cell phone to read through any messages I’d missed in the last few hours.
Pulling open my e-mail, I saw one unread message from my parents. My finger hovered over it in indecision. Maybe I should just wait until tomorrow to read it; it’d been such a great day, and I really didn’t want to ruin it.
I set the phone d
own on the counter and switched my toothbrush to my other hand. I tried to ignore it, but now that I knew the e-mail was there, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Maybe they’d just e-mailed to wish me a “happy Thanksgiving.” It might not be half as bad as I was making it out to be.
I opened the e-mail before I could change my mind again.
Dear Bianca,
We hope this e-mail finds you well. We’ve had a chance to review your travel plans and although you’ve indicated that you wish to fly home on the twentieth of December, that simply is not possible. With the upcoming election, we hope you can understand the importance of sending out our family Christmas card, as we do every year. The photographer has informed us that the fourteenth is the absolute last day he can meet with us and still provide the cards in a timely fashion. We hope you appreciate the lengths we have gone to, to make these adjustments to our schedule. Below, please find your updated travel itinerary with a flight leaving the morning of the thirteenth.
Sincerely,
Mom and Dad
I set the phone down with trembling fingers and spit out the water I’d been swishing around, wishing I could spit out the bitter taste in my mouth as well. They hadn’t even bothered to wish me a “happy Thanksgiving.” One tiny sentence, and it was too much effort for them. Forget effort, they just didn’t care.
I left my toothbrush in the bathroom for the morning and traipsed back toward Ian’s bedroom, desperately clinging to the unraveling strands of my blissful mood. Laughter drifted up the stairs, calling me like a siren song.
Sinking down onto the top step, I dropped my head in my hands and ran my fingers through my hair. From my vantage point, I could see pieces of the living room—Rachel curled in a chair with a red afghan tucked around her, Felix stuffing a marshmallow into his mouth, the sticky remnants clinging to his fingers. One by one, he licked them and wiped them on his pants.
Listening to them laugh and joke all day was like listening to the soundtrack of everything I’d always wished for—love, family, camaraderie—but never found. It didn’t matter what I did, how hard I worked, how much I gave. It was never enough for my parents.
A warm tear rolled from the corner of my eye and dripped off the end of my nose.
“Bianca?”
I hadn’t even heard Ian come up behind me, and I didn’t bother picking up my head. The first I saw of him was long, bare toes poking out from beneath blue flannel pajama pants, before he sank down onto the step next to me. His hand rested lightly against my back. “What’s wrong?”
Running my tongue across my lips, I sniffed and flicked away the wetness from underneath my eyes. I shook my head and turned toward him, resting my cheek against my hand. “I’m never going to be enough for them.”
His eyes squinted at me from behind his glasses. “I don’t understand.”
I took a deep breath and checked another item off Renée’s list. “A glass of water.” A laugh that’d been drained of all its humor slipped through my lips. “You wouldn’t think that something like that could completely change everything you know about yourself. I should’ve been in bed; it was long past my bedtime. But I was thirsty and couldn’t sleep, so I tiptoed down the stairs, skipping the stair that creaked. I’d just made it to the kitchen when I heard it—my mom, on her cell phone. She was talking to a friend, I’m still not sure which one.” I remembered the way the moonlight burst through the kitchen window, drowning Mom in white, leeching out the color. I hid behind the kitchen island, hoping she wouldn’t catch me out of bed. “She was talking about how much she hated my father for getting her pregnant. How much she fought him on the idea, detesting the need to ruin her body to further his political aspirations. How much of an inconvenience I was to her.
“I should have guessed at the truth. They’d always been distant with me, pushing me to be successful, providing me with the resources and money I needed to do so without actually giving me any type of actual emotional support. But it wasn’t until that moment that I realized they never even wanted me in the first place. I was just another pawn in their political scheme.”
My eyes scanned in front of me, but I was stuck in that moment—peering around the corner of the island, my toes clenching inside my slippers, and my mom, pacing back and forth across the floor, a glass half-full of amber liquid gripped between her fingertips. “That moment could have broken me. Maybe it would have been better if it had, but I heard it almost as a challenge. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I did everything just right, then maybe she wouldn’t regret me as much. Maybe he’d be proud of me. Maybe they’d even love me. But I worked myself to death, and it didn’t even matter. I worked so hard that I forgot to eat, and the only thing they cared about was how my poor decision-making reflected on them.
“Then, today, God, I didn’t even think families like this existed in real life. All the love with none of the requirements. I got a peek at everything I always wanted; I felt it.” I squeezed my fingers into a fist and pressed it against my chest. “But it’s like . . . trying to hold water in my hand. I can see it, I can feel it, sometimes I can even smell it, but it’s always slipping through my fingers. After all this time, I think it’s finally sunk in. It’s just never going to happen for me. Ever.”
Another hot tear tracked down my cheek, salting my lips.
I swallowed through the lump in my throat, trying to rebury all the feelings of shame and inadequacy I’d kept hidden for so long. It felt like someone had stripped off my skin, and all my raw wounds were exposed for Ian to see. I tightened my arms around myself, hugging harder and trying to hold myself together.
Ian’s hand ran the length of my thigh, tracing up my forearm. His fingers slipped between mine like they were made to fit together. “Bianca, if they can’t see what an amazing, incredible person you are, then they don’t deserve you.”
I bit my lip to try and stop it from trembling, but couldn’t keep back the sob that burst out. My vision blurred as the tears fell, and I ducked my head so that he couldn’t see. Ian gathered me in his arms, dragging me into his lap. He held me like he was afraid I would break, smoothing the hair back from my face, and whispering shushing noises into my ear. With my head buried in his T-shirt, my fingers twisting in the fabric, I cried ten years’ worth of heartache.
Chapter 30: Ian
2 Years Earlier
I couldn’t stop smiling. I tried, but it popped right back into place. Smoothing a hand over the linen table cloth, I glanced around the empty restaurant. Not just any restaurant—Maggie’s favorite restaurant. I’d rented out the whole damn thing for tonight.
The owner peered out from the back, giving the place a final once-over. He gave me a quick wave and let the kitchen door swing shut behind him.
Nervous energy buzzed through me like an electric current. I couldn’t keep still. My fingers were reaching for my phone and dialing without any conscious thought.
It rang twice on the other end before being answered. “Be quick, Maggie’s in the dressing room.”
“Status update?”
“We’re just wrapping up here. We’ll be there in twenty minutes, tops,” Rachel said. “Hold on.”
Something shuffled against the phone, and I heard, “The black one, definitely the black one.” A pause. “All right, you pay, and I’ll meet you out front. I’m gonna give Gail a quick call and see if she needs me to pick up anything for dinner.”
A few seconds later, Rachel was back. “You still there?”
“Yeah. So, you think she suspects anything?”
“For the thousandth time, no. She’s been moping all day. Trust me, she has no idea that you’re not in Miami like you said you were going to be. Speaking of, I’m still mad at you for making me lie to her. I hate lying.” Rachel humphed into the phone.
“Well, let me thank you, again.” I picked up a fork and twirled it between my fingers. “Seriously, Rachel. Thank you. I haven’t been around as much as I wanted to be this year, and I just want to do something s
pecial for her.”
“You really need to stop with the amazing romantic gestures. You’re giving me a serious complex and setting incredibly unrealistic expectations for my future husband.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “Oh! There she is. Gotta go!”
The line snapped off, and I re-pocketed my phone. I took in a deep breath, my nose searching for the elusive scent of Maggie’s perfume that I’d been missing for almost a month. I flicked my gaze to the clock hanging on the wall.
Twenty minutes until I saw her again. I could last another twenty minutes.
I paced across the restaurant—adjusting the napkins, picking up the wine bottle and putting it back down, pulling back the curtain to peek outside. Every time voices passed by the front my body tensed, anticipating the sight of Maggie walking through the door.
My gaze dropped to the brand new splash of ink on my wrist—the other half of Maggie’s anniversary present. It was perfect. Exactly what I asked for, and then some. I couldn’t wait for her to see it.
And she would. Any minute now.
I forced myself to sit down, but my knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. Up, down. Up, down.
My eyes were back on the clock—twenty-five minutes from when I spoke to Rachel.
Thirty.
I called Rachel. No answer. I shot off a text message. And then another.
Forty-five.
I called Ben. He hadn’t heard from them.
Fifty-seven minutes.
With the relentless path I was pounding into the carpet, I’d be wearing holes in it in no time.
Where the fuck were they?
Fifty-eight minutes.
The phone rang, and I snatched it up, worry choking me until I could barely breathe. A number flashed across the screen that I didn’t recognize. I hesitated, not wanting to have to deal with the press if I didn’t have to. Normally they bugged Ben for that crap, but no matter how many times I changed my number, they kept finding it. My mind reminded me that Maggie or Rachel could be borrowing someone’s phone. Maybe something happened to their car. That had to be it. They’d gotten a flat tire or broken down, and they were borrowing someone’s phone to call me. I managed to breathe in a tight, constricted breath.
