by Cecelia Earl
Chase adds: What do you think?
I think you two rock. The Yearbook Bash is set for next Thursday. The band, Epic Showdown, is in.
Chase texts: Okay. We'll make it known.
You've got this: May texts.
We'll see.
I slip my phone back into my pocket and lean against a stone planter. The sun is strong on my uplifted face. Plants breathe the sun in for energy to make food. I feel a little like that now, recharging with the heat and light.
"Do you have dinner plans?" Jax's voice mingles with the sun and wraps around me, soft and comfortable, hot and dangerous, strange and familiar.
I smile with my eyes still closed, sensing his nearness before seeing it. The left side of my body is electrified. I don't doubt the hair on my left arm is standing on end, my cells reaching for him.
"No."
"Care to order a pizza with me?"
"Yes, please." I open my eyes and face him.
"I'm on dinner duty with my sister. If you don't mind sharing me, I can drive us to my house. We can eat and hang out for a couple of hours. I'll get you back before too long."
Realizing I just got here, my smile falters while I debate how to be a good daughter and make time for this memory with Jax. It's how I started looking at my time with him while away. Each moment will become just that, a memory. I can see the end of us even before we've begun. Even if he is interested in me beyond someone he's biding time with at the hospital, where can we go from here? I want to soak him up, like the sun. And like the sun, I realize he's a seasonal perk, one that I can't control and one that won't last.
"I've been known to share on occasion and make it through without a tantrum."
He smiles his smile that reaches his eyes, making the skin around them crinkle and my heart give a little shimmy shake.
Is it me, or did he move a little closer? We're not speaking, but I can't look away. His eyes. On my eyes. Suddenly my lips feel like they're on fire and I can't get enough air. I have to take shallow, sharp breaths. He leans down, hardly perceptibly half an inch, but I tilt my head up and push myself forward as much. I'm in his shadow, but the heat between us is warmer than when the sun lit my face. Every nerve is reaching, reaching for his touch. I still can't look away, can't close my eyes to prepare for the impact.
"Laine!" A car door slams. The car is running and the exhaust is fanning this way. Our moment is shattered, but the fragments of desire linger. Jax turns toward the interruption, and in the space he creates by moving his body, I see Marc.
"What on—" I utter, unable to finish the statement in my astonishment.
Marc rushes toward me. "Look, I know what you said, how you say you feel, but I can't take this. Your picture is plastered all over school. You're all anyone talks about. I can't stop thinking about you."
"I—" What?
Jax's face looks stricken, sick, mirroring the sudden nausea in my own stomach. I look from him to Marc's expectant smile. Marc has no clue.
"No, don't say anything," Marc tells me. "I know."
"You don't. You're not—"
He covers my mouth with his hand. "Please. Look." He bounds back to his car and opens the driver side door and the door to the back seat. I push off the planter to get a glimpse.
I'm afraid Jax is going to bolt. I'm standing equal distance between them, wanting to reach out to one and shove the other.
"What are you doing?" I ask when he finally allows me to get a sentence out, and I realize it wouldn't matter if I'd spoken a paragraph or pages. He wouldn't listen. Hasn't been listening. His car is filled with flowers. Tulips, daisies, roses. I've never seen so many flowers. Jax is backing away, toward the entrance to the hospital, a look of perplexity lowering his eyebrows and widening his eyes, a mixture of surprise and confusion.
"How did you manage to drive here with that amount of smell in your car?" My words are tinted with anger, only Marc is too deaf to notice.
"Fragrance, you mean?"
"It's too much. It smells like flower throw up in there."
"These are for you. For your parents. For the hospital." He rushes at me again and grabs both my hands. For a split second I think he's going to drop to his knees. "You have to know I love you."
"Whoa." I throw my hands up as if in a heist and the cops are aiming guns at me. I think I'd prefer that scenario. I don't want Jax to bolt. "I seriously think the smell of all these flowers is going to make me puke." I look to Jax for help. To make sure he realizes I don't want this. Don't want Marc.
Jax's shoulders have relaxed and he's stopped retreating. He's looking at my face when he says, "I should go."
"No." I reach an arm toward him, another is wrapped around my stomach now, like I can hold in the emotion and nausea.
Marc is startled. He's only just realized we're not alone. "Who’s—?"
Jax takes a step forward. He's looking only at me when he says, "Am I intruding, or is he?" He takes another step. His expression is hinging on disbelief and realization.
My two worlds have collided in this moment, and I'm forced to be two people at once, who I was and who I am, real and unreal, caught in a paused movie reel with one finger hovering over the play button and another touching rewind. The fast forward button doesn't exist. It's been removed from my remote. There's only the play option. Slow and steady, life has to play out in real time. The surprise ending remains a mystery. There's no paging forward to eliminate the near-painful suspense.
I want the unknown.
I want the unsteady.
I want to take a chance on losing everything, on heartbreak and failure.
I want the challenge.
"He's interrupting," I whisper, stepping toward Jax, facing him, turning my back to Marc. Louder, I say, "I want you to stay. Please."
He nods, erases the pavement between us and puts a hand on my back, drawing me toward him.
"I'm sorry, Marc." When I turn toward him, his face morphs from shocked to hurt to anger.
Redder than I've ever seen his pale skin, even the roots of his hair look like blood when he says, "What's going on?"
"You didn't listen. I didn't want any more flowers. And I didn't want you. When I said we were through, I meant it."
"Why?" He slams the back car door. "How long have you even known this guy? Where's he from?" His hand closes into a fist, and I wonder if he'd throw a punch. Does he really have that kind of emotion in him? For me? My old emotions for Marc don't even touch on my feelings for Jax. Something changed that first night I met him. Everything changed. Even if it doesn't last, I'll always have a part of that. A part of something new.
"Hey, man. I think we're done here." Jax's hand slides toward my side, pulling me nearer yet. He leans forward like he's going to become a barrier between Marc and me if necessary.
Marc charges, but I leap in between him and Jax, both my hands on his chest. "Let's take these flowers inside. I'm sure there are a lot of people who'd appreciate them."
Marc lowers his fiery eyes, and they soften when they reach mine. I see that he's true, his feelings are true, and I've hurt him. I take both his cheeks in my hands and rise up on tiptoe to graze his cheek with my lips.
"I really am sorry, but everything in my life has changed. I'm not even the girl you think I am anymore. If you knew . . . you wouldn't want me any more than I want you."
His eyes and lips harden. "I'll take care of the flowers myself." He steps one foot into his car, but before sitting down, he turns wet eyes toward me. "Goodbye, Laine."
We watch him drive off before moving back into the hospital.
As we push through the revolving doors, I wonder how much of life circles around, and how much plows forward without looking back.
How hard we try to hold onto memories, images and words, and what for?
For now, I'm going to step out of this spinning glass and continue stepping forward.
For now, Jax is by my side, and for now, I'm going to trust his hand on my back, and I'm going
to lean into him a little.
For now, I'm going to let go.
28
breath on my lips
For a split second, I think of Marc's car driving off, worrying he's not calm enough to drive. But deep down, I think he's not really as attached to me as he thinks. Plus, after his older brother's accident, he's the most careful driver I've ever met. Still, there's this tiny fleck of fear or dread, a feeling that something somewhere is not right. Maybe it has nothing to do with Marc and everything to do with being in a hospital, surrounded by illness and death. Maybe there's no getting away from that.
Except.
Jax's hand has slid from my waist, down my arm, to my hand. We intertwine our fingers. His hand is electrifying. I can barely contain this new sensation of heat and want. It's so strong I am breathing it in and know it's encompassing both of us, as if this new electric field surrounds us. Nobody else can be let in, so the effect is almost isolating. Every passerby is a blur—there, but nonexistent in our self-contained realm. I can't doubt that we're feeling the same way. It's so strong and sure. We're in the elevator now, just the two of us. I've let go, and letting go means letting in only Jax.
For just this moment, I want to pause everything else. In the back of my mind, I’m aware that all the horrors of my life will come rushing back as soon as we unpause. Life will come rushing back full force.
"He's the complication you mentioned?" His voice is gentle, almost a murmur.
I've backed up against the wall, tugging him along with me. His one hand is flattened at the wall next to my ear. The other is still clasping my hand at my thigh. Wherever our skin is touching, or nearly touching, is alive with the current traveling between us. He's lowered his head, his nose, his eyes level with mine. When he speaks, I feel his breath on my lips.
I nod. "That's him."
"What he said, that he loves you, did that bother you?"
"Bother me?"
"Do you believe him? Did him saying that change your feelings for him? Make you want him back? Or not want him?"
"I—no." I shake my head.
"Did him using that word change anything? Do you not believe in love? Disapprove?"
"No, that's not it. Not why."
"I know I said I like a challenge when it comes to girls, but I don't like to play hard to get."
"No, I—"
"I like to be honest, up front." He swallows, squints a little, like he's trying to see my eyes clearer.
I can't help myself. I raise my free hand to touch his cheek. It's harder to focus on his words when I'm touching him. I lick my lips.
"Honest," I whisper, trying to nod, but I'm staring so intently at his lips now I'm not sure if my head cooperates. "I’m over him."
"Because. I’m falling." His eyes drop to my lips. "For you."
"Me too. For you," I manage to say before our lips have collided. Our bodies are crushed against each other. My arms are wrapped around his neck. He's got an arm behind my back, holding me to him.
There's no air. There's only this extraordinary, pent-up longing. I run my fingers through his hair, taste his lips. I can't get enough. His fingers skim the skin at the small of my back. My fingers are grasping at the shirt on his back.
"Laine," he whispers, pulling back to breathe and look in my eyes. "I—"
"Jax, shhh—" I pull his lips down to mine, never wanting to be apart again. If I never breathe air again I'll be okay. This can never end.
Then everything will be okay.
Fine, even.
The elevator beeps. We're disoriented momentarily, but then we race to the panel of buttons and Jax pushes the close doors button and punches in a floor higher up, so we lurch and begin to rise.
He runs his hand through his hair and he looks calmer than I've ever seen him. Relaxed. He's not bouncing. "I just wanted to talk to you. About Him. Us." He smiles sheepishly. "Just talk."
The doors open, and I'm ridiculously saddened. Looking at him makes me want to kiss him and taste him and wrap my arms around him all over again.
He reaches for my hand and I take his. We exit the elevator looking at each other, with smiles that spread wide. I don't even know what floor we're on.
"Sorry if that was too much. I'm not sure—" he says.
"Shhh. Stop." I put my fingers to his lips. "It wasn't." I mean, it was. Our dads, but I repeat, "It wasn’t."
"Meet me in an hour? For pizza?"
"Yeah. Where?"
"Probably not near an elevator."
Cue nervous giggle. "No."
"Outside the front entrance? There's a white bench—"
"Yeah," I say. He's lacing and unlacing our fingers, sending shivers down my arm. "I've seen it. Off to the side. Dedicated to Betty—"
"Ashman. Yeah, that's the one. I like sitting there sometimes," he says, rubbing his thumb across the top of my hand, "when I need to get away, get some air. I'd like a bench dedicated to me one day. A place where people will sit and remember or wonder about my story."
He's prolonging our separation with this wistful talk, but I think about that. About Betty. "She must've been special. Had a special story."
"One people will never forget," Jax says. "Loved."
I nod. "Loved enough to have a bench dedicated to her and her memory." His fingers have stilled. I squeeze his hand and let go. "See you in an hour."
"I'll be there." He leans down and kisses me, soft enough that I'm left wanting, quick enough that I can't do anything about it.
I find Mom in by Dad. She looks up, questioning me with her eyes.
"Marc showed up."
"Really. How'd that go?"
"Not so well. He had a carload of flowers. I turned him down. Again."
She looks back to her journal. "Nobody messes with our Lainey and gets away with it."
"Nope." Lainey, remember to have compassion alongside your drive and pigheadedness, I can hear my dad say it even in his sleep. "I let him down easy. I don't feel the same anymore. Regardless of what happened at prom."
She looks up again, tilts her head. "Yeah, senior year, planning to head off to college will do that to high school romances. It's okay, Laine."
I shrug. I didn't need her approval, but it was nice she woke up to my world for a minute, remembered about Marc and prom.
"Any other news on Dad?" I ask.
"None today. He's scheduled for a biopsy tomorrow. There's a spot on his lung they need to check out."
"Spot? Like cancer?"
"Probably not, but they have to be thorough."
"How much more before he will be cleared to get a kidney if one comes in?"
Comes in . . . like we're waiting for an order to arrive.
"The biopsy is the last test. He's checked out so far. Just the kidneys causing him problems. And he's severe enough that he's high on the list. If a donor comes in soon, I think he has a good chance of getting it."
I remember what Sue said, about Mom not understanding. I hope this is true, and she's not only hearing what she wants to.
"That's good, Mom."
"St. Jude is coming through for him," Mom says.
I jolt. "What?"
She looks at me. "Something your dad believed in a long time ago. When we were first married."
"What changed? Why'd he stop believing?"
"I don't know. The world changed him, I guess. By the time you two were born, he didn't really talk about his faith much anymore. And his family had given up on him. Seemed important now somehow, though."
"Nice not to feel alone," I say, more to myself, thinking of the words in the prayer. When the world started caving in around me recently, and panic came from not having control and from being alone. There seemed to be only one thing left to do.
Pray.
If only I believed it mattered.
29
lofty aspirations
"That looks so disgusting," Margaret, Jax's sister says, pointing at the pizza Jax ordered.
She and I have already hit
it off simply because I have better taste in pizza flavors than he does.
"She's known you her whole life, and she's still not used to you and your flavors?" I ask him.
He rolls his eyes. "Not flavors. Ingredients. Puh-lease stop with the flavors."
"Did your ex-girlfriend really enjoy the same pizza flavors as you?" I smile.
"Yeah," he says through a mouthful of pineapple, mushrooms, anchovies, and red peppers. "She did. And she called them ingredients, or maybe toppings. Either way, she didn’t call them flavors."
"Or maaaybe, she didn't want you to know the truth. Maaaaybe she went home and puked every time you ate pizza together."
He chews and nods thoughtfully.
"Did you actually watch her eat it? Or did she put it on her plate and poke at it some. Maybe hide it under a napkin, throw it in the garbage when you left the room?"
He swallows. "Poor Tigger has looked a little skinnier since we broke up, now that you mention it."
Tigger is their golden retriever. When I arrived, Tigger jumped up on me and practically knocked me over. Jax explained that when Tigger was a puppy, he was energetic and since Jax had been a little boy who loved Winnie the Pooh, they'd named him Tigger. I couldn't help but add, "So he's a lot like you, then?"
"How so?" Jax had asked.
"Can't stop bouncing? A ball of energy?"
"Who? Me?"
"Your girlfriend never mentioned that either, huh?"
"Like I said, she was too agreeable. I needed a challenge."
"You needed someone to tell you what's what."
"Right, honesty. Truth."
Margaret had been laughing at us the whole time. Then she came over and gave me a hug. Jax said that was a good sign. She was quite picky when it came to him making new friends.
"Mmmm. This sausage and mushroom is delicious," I tell Margaret. "And so is this empanada."
"Tia Elena will be glad," Jax says. He's eating a slice with artichokes, zucchini, and shrimp, complete with shrimp sauce instead of pizza sauce . . . . I have to look away.
"Try. Try." Margaret is pushing more aji sauce my way for my empanada. Their family is from Colombia, and the empanada is one of Margaret's favorite snacks. It's a pie crust with potato and beef stuffed inside, baked until golden brown. The aji is a Colombian-style salsa for added flavor. It's delicious, but I've already had two, plus all the pizza. I haven't eaten this much in weeks.
