by Maya Hughes
3
Marisa
Senior Year - High School
“I thought you were coming home tonight?” I shuffled down the stairs with my phone cradled against my shoulder and a death grip on the banister. The wood creaked under my sock-covered feet.
“This is an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”
“Since when is Atlantic City a once-in-a-lifetime trip?” I winced. My hips ached. The bruises were intense. It was a small price to pay, but I needed some painkillers.
“Since I’m not paying and Frank is a high roller, so we’re staying in a Presidential Suite.”
“What am I supposed to do tonight?”
“Why don’t you go to LJ’s house? It’s where you’re always running off to anyway. Or call your father. Sorry, I forgot. He ran off to god knows where and didn’t look back.”
I gritted my teeth, steering her back to the only shitty parent currently speaking to me—her, and away from the only people I could count on.
“I’m not there that much.” I made sure to never be there more than a few times a week during the school year, and I only slept over once every two weeks. During the summer, I let myself bump it up to weekly sleepovers and four days hanging out.
Overstaying my welcome wasn’t something I ever wanted to do with LJ’s family. I felt like I’d already overstayed my welcome with my own mother.
“It’s not my fault your father decided he’d rather run off with all his extra special sport’s groupies and leave us to make due. All those promises to send birthday money or Christmas presents and we’ve never heard a peep.”
Another reminder and comparison, which wasn’t helping my stomach trying to eat itself.
“The doctor said I should take it easy for a few days.” Plus, LJ’s whole family was still at the hospital after the bone marrow donation the day before yesterday. They’d been in Charlie’s room taking shifts since the chemo had started.
“You looked fine to me two days ago. And shouldn’t his family be taking care of you? They owe you after what you did. God knows, we’re not getting child support from your father. They could throw us a bone.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and attempted to pace around my room before giving up. Everything out of her mouth was always about how shitty everyone else was—trust me there was more than enough to go around between her and my dad, but I needed someone here. Now. I pulled my shorts away from my hips. The bruises made me look like I’d owed some bookies money, but they were yellowing. Still sore, though. “I did it because it was the right thing to do. We’ve known their family since I was in the third grade. They don’t owe me anything.” If anything, I owed them.
“You should’ve gotten something. Asked for some money or something. No one gives anything away for free. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“So what are you giving up for your trip to Atlantic City?” I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Sounds like you’re perfectly fine and back to normal after your little hobbling act at the hospital.”
Yes, the limited movement walking out of the hospital after going under general anesthesia and having someone drill into my hips to harvest bone marrow had totally been an act.
This call needed to end. But my stomach and I weren’t on the same page about letting her off the hook so quickly. “I guess I’m just too tough for my own good. Did you leave any cash?” If she was going to be gone for an indeterminate amount of time, I’d need to buy more food.
She let out a sigh like my request for money for food was the same as whining for a shiny new BMW for my birthday. “You’re eighteen. You’re strong and independent. I’m sure you can figure it out, sweetheart.”
“When are you coming home?” Not that I minded her being gone. At least I wouldn’t have to hear the hundredth nitpick about me or the millionth rant about Ron and how she’d given up on her dreams and goals to be with him and was left saddled with a kid. But she’d at least order some food or give me cash to buy some, if she were here.
She talked to someone who wasn’t me. “The next hand of blackjack is starting and I’m Frank’s good luck charm. I’ve got to go.” The call ended.
I stared at the blank screen. After all these years, it shouldn’t surprise me. I shouldn’t have any expectations about my own parents. I flung my phone down like it had something to do with the person on the other end of the line always finding new ways to dig that knife in a little deeper. I blinked back tears and massaged my hip.
I’d made so many promises to myself that I wouldn’t get my hopes up about her possibly remembering she had a daughter, but, without fail, I did. No matter how much I pretended I didn’t care and it didn’t matter, it broke something a little more inside me every time she didn’t swoop in at the last minute to reassure me that everything would be okay.
Shuffling my feet and bracing my hand against my hip, I walked down the stairs. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but I didn’t want the pain or my mobility to get worse. It wasn’t like there was anyone to help me.
Downstairs, I evaluated my food situation.
Half-empty ketchup and mustard bottles rattled in the fridge. The packages of turkey, ham and cheese I’d stashed inside earlier were gone. So was my deli pickle and the loaf of brioche bread I’d been drooling for. I’d used the last of my money to buy bread and lunch meat for sandwiches. Counting on my mom to cook anything for me would’ve led to starvation.
I slammed the fridge closed, sending the meager contents inside toppling over, muffled by the sealed door. She’d stolen my freaking food. I let out a scream of frustration.
Taking painkillers on an empty stomach wasn’t ideal. Puking wasn’t at the top of my list of activities for today, not that I’d have anything to puke up if I didn’t eat, but the rollercoaster of nausea wasn’t a line I wanted to stand in either.
I checked the normal spots my mom stashed cash and found only empty bottles. Back to the kitchen I went, confronted with what we had left. Cans of light tuna in water and dry cornflakes were my options.
Maybe a cereal and tuna fish sandwich? I grabbed the bread still sitting in the breadbox.
If the green fuzzy spots dotting the loaf were anything to go on, this had been here since the last time my mom had gone grocery shopping two months ago.
I grabbed the cereal box and opened the can of tuna, standing in front of them like a dare gone wrong. The cornflakes could be like mini scoops. Like tortilla chips. Same thing, right?
A knock on the door broke me out of my debate on whether contemplating this as a meal made me insane.
I rushed to the door as quickly as my hip would allow, which probably looked more like a hobble. The pain of attempting to run was still better than dealing with the mush mixture sitting on the counter.
Nudging the curtain in front of the window in the door, I spotted a face I was always happy to see. His neutral look tied my stomach into knots.
My heart clenched and I opened the door, bracing myself for the news. “LJ, what happened?”
“I’ve been calling your phone for the last half hour. Where have you been?”
The phone I’d thrown down in disgust after talking to my mom was somewhere in my bed or on my floor. Apparently I’d been on my foraging adventure for at least that long. Maybe that was why my stomach rumblings were getting louder.
“Right where you found me. How’s your dad?”
His face brightened. “He’s good. They did the transplant today. It only took a few hours.”
“Really? Already? I figured once they harvested it from me, it would take more time.”
“Nope, they move quickly. Mom’s bringing him home tomorrow. The doctors said he’s doing well, which means…” He grinned, rubbing his hands together like his diabolical plan was all coming together. “I got this for you.”
He shoved the bakery bag under my nose while turning his away. “I got you an everything bagel with strawberry cream cheese.”
I snatc
hed the bag out of his hand. “Seriously?” Peering inside, my saliva glands went full waterfall. “How can you not like an everything bagel and strawberry cream cheese?”
“Because my stomach has a sense of self preservation. Poor food choices aside, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I shoved a chunk of the salty, sweet, crunchy food into my mouth. “Surprise?” I mumbled around the dough. A seed or two might have escaped my mouth.
He tugged one of the napkins that were wrapped around the outside of the bag and handed it to me. “We’re going on the senior trip.” Wiping his hand off on my shirt, he gestured to his.
He was wearing our senior trip t-shirt. The same one I had been supposed to go on, but couldn’t pay the full price for and had lost the deposit I’d saved for the whole summer to put down. That was what I got for believing my mom when she said she’d help me out with the rest of the cash.
I shook my head, stuffing my mouth even more. “Our whole class left three days ago.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t have one of our own.” He rubbed his hands together with a state-championship-wide grin. The kind he hadn’t worn in a long time, not since Charlie had gotten the results back from the doctor. Lymphoma.
“How are we going to take a senior trip?” I opened the door fully.
“You’ll see. Get your shoes.” He vibrated with an infectious excitement.
I turned, wincing and holding onto my hip. Now I could take my pain meds.
“Shit, what am I thinking? I’ll get your phone and your sneakers.” He barged into my house and looked around before rushing upstairs to my room. He hadn’t been in there as much as I’d been in his, but he knew the way.
I shuffled into the kitchen and dumped my monstrosity into the trashcan before he could see. It would be an unholy smell when I got back, but I’d deal with it later.
The pain meds were on the counter. I downed them dry and shoved the bottle back into my pocket.
He jogged back down the stairs with my phone and shoes in his hand. “Where’s your mom? I thought she was going to be taking care of you after the surgery.”
“A friend broke her hip, so she had to go visit her in the hospital.” I folded my arms over my chest. My long sleeves covering all but the tips of my fingers. “She’ll be back in a little bit.”
LJ had a bad case of white knight syndrome. He was always the first to try to swoop in and save someone. Sometimes, it led to things like his dad’s bone marrow drive, other times it led to him badgering me to get in touch with Ron or have a heart to heart with my mom about my feelings, and the flames of those two attempts still licked at the edges of my heart. So no, he didn’t need to know my mom was out getting bombed somewhere with some guy she probably barely knew.
LJ would probably show up with a full list of rehabs and family therapists, but people could only be helped if they thought there was a problem. In my mom’s eyes, her only problem was leaving for New York in less than a couple months.
“Cool, let her know where you are.” He handed over my phone. “Did you want pants or are you good in those?”
I lifted an eyebrow. “How long have you known me?”
He handed over my sneakers and held up his hands. “I’ll never get how your arms and hands are like ice blocks, but your legs are a furnace. Are you sure you weren’t pieced together in Frankenstein’s lab?” He shot his arms out in front of him imitating a reanimated corpse.
“Maybe I was.” I did the Frankenstein’s monster walk right alongside him, but mine was more convincing since the pain meds hadn’t kicked in yet.
“We’re already off to a good start. Come on, let’s go.”
He hurried me out the door and I didn’t protest nearly as much as I normally would’ve because right now, choosing between going anywhere with LJ and staying stuck in my house alone with my barren cabinets was a no-brainer.
Opening his car door like he always did, he kept tight-lipped through all my questions.
“What do you have planned?”
He turned on the car and headed toward his house. “I’ve had a lot of thinking time being cooped up in the hospital. Contrary to what you might think, it’s not a non-stop party in there.” He winked, still smiling. It hadn’t faltered since he walked inside.
The relief of the transplant being over had lifted a weight he’d been carrying for a long time. The whole family had. When we’d done the bone marrow testing drive at school, we’d hoped to get more people into the registry. A match was a pipe dream. Helping LJ coordinate it had been easy—anything for Charlie. When the news that I was the person they’d been looking for came, all eyes were glued on me.
For the past month, while Charlie had undergone chemo and we’d sorted through all the insurance red tape, everyone kept watching me. They’d whisper when LJ and I walked past in the hallways, or they’d ask tons of questions about the procedure and complications and what would happen to Charlie after.
At least now it was over. The school year would be finished in a couple weeks and we’d have the summer before college started. Before LJ and I would be going our separate ways. He’d be going to Fulton U and I’d chosen a school in New York.
The art history program there was one of the best in the world, right along with the price tag, but the scholarships and financial aid forms, which I’d had to fill out myself by digging through my mom’s tax forms, would get me there. And the museums. I could spend the rest of my life and still not see every piece of art housed in all the collections in the city.
Art had always been an escape for me. I could check out books from the library and pretend I was a Renaissance woman who was a muse for a famous painter. Or imagine what it would be like to sit beside the lake covered in water lilies. Once I could take the train, I’d spent a lot of time in museums in the city. I was under twelve way into my teens for the free admission. Sitting and watching the paintings, and how people reacted to them and the other artwork. I’d try to imagine their lives, making up stories about where they were coming from or going.
Hiding out at the museum had helped when I didn’t want to overstay my welcome with LJ’s family. It was quiet, not too crowded, the perfect temperature and no one bothered me if I was there for hours. My escape to art became a love I couldn’t deny.
We pulled up to LJ’s house, where Mickey Mouse-shaped balloons arched around their doorway and floated from the railings leading up to their porch, swaying in the gentle breeze.
“How did you do all this?”
His eyes crinkled and he jumped out of the car before sliding over the hood and opening mine.
I stared at him, wanting to rub my eyes to make sure it was all real.
He held out his hand and I took it, gritting my teeth as I shoved out of the low bucket seat.
We walked up the driveway, which was lined with cut outs of the mouse silhouette on popsicle sticks shoved into the ground.
“Seriously? How did you pull this off?”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet.” He took my hand.
Electric sparks traveled from my fingers and wrapped around my heart.
We walked to the porch, hand in hand, all my aches and pains washed away with a single touch. My body tingled and blood pounded in my ears.
His fingers tightened around mine as we walked up the solid steps. He opened the door and I gasped, covering my mouth with one hand, still keeping my fingers intertwined with his.
“Oh my god.”
4
LJ
PRESENT
A sharp pain jabbed me in my ribs, and I fought against my smile, keeping my face lax as the weight shifted beside me. It had been three weeks since Marisa moved into my house—into my bed.
Liv had shown up at The Brothel a few days after the fire, cursing Ford’s name and swearing to Marisa that she would exact a vivid and slightly disturbing torture on him for whatever he’d done.
After a couple weeks of the two of them living on ice cream and mixed drinks, Liv ha
d packed up her things, bought us a few cases of beer as a thank you, and practically floated out the door under the watchful gaze of her no-longer-broken-up-with boyfriend, so there was another sleeping option for Marisa—or me. But we kept sharing my bed. Lying next to her each night, I fought to keep my hands to acceptable points of contact like a brush against her back or arm.
Sleep also gave me a level of plausible deniability about the morning wood tenting my sweatpants. That had been much harder to control.
On my side, under the blankets with my back resting against the wall, I kept my hands in front of my face.
Her hair brushed over the back of my fingers, tickling them.
I shifted a finger, letting the strands slide against my skin. This close, her French toast smell invaded my lungs. Not the baked dessert, but the cereal. No one should ever let her anywhere near their stove or oven.
More hair brushed over my hands. Next the tickle moved to my neck and chin.
I wanted to slide my arm under her head and hold her against my chest. I wanted to trace my thumb down the curve of her neck. I wanted to taste her lips.
Having her this close for the past few weeks and having to keep myself under control had been one of the hardest things I’d ever done. After nearly losing her, I wasn’t going to do anything to freak her out.
I kept my eyes closed, stilling my lips from the creeping smile trying to invade my muscles.
The hair traveled up my cheek, and I curled my toes against the twitching tickling feeling.
Then it shoved straight up my nose.
My eyes shot open.
Bathed in the late morning sun, Marisa stared back at me propped up on her elbow grinning with a lock of her hair pinched between her two fingers.
She burst into a fit of laughter.
“What the hell, Marisa?” I knocked her hair away, rubbing at my nose the same way I did on the field when a bug decided that, out of the entire world, my nostril was their new favorite spot.
