by RH Tucker
She picks up the photo album. “I don’t get to show these often, so I have to take every chance I get.”
Flipping through the pages, I see adorable Micah when he was a baby. The photo is weathered, and Justine’s holding her baby close to her, while Jacob stands next to them both, looking at them like they’re his world. He looks so much like Micah as his younger self, I let my mind wander for a second, hoping that Micah stares at me like that when I’m not aware.
“Here he is, just after the art bug bit him.”
Micah appears to be about five or six, and he proudly holds up a portrait of a stick figure. He’s sitting at a table, Jacob next to him, with what looks like rulers and drafting tools laid out across the table.
She turns the page to another picture, same table and setting, but Micah’s not drawing. He’s sitting at the table, mesmerized, with his hands under his chin, while Jacob seems to be working on some sort of design. I know Micah’s told me how much he looks up to his dad, and this picture encapsulates that perfectly.
Justine turns another page, and this one is of Micah and her sitting at the table. Again, Micah looks as proud as can be, but Justine seems like she’s trying not to laugh. Sitting between them is a massive platter of candy bars, slices of bread, some corn on the cob, and mustard and ketchup squirted over all of it.
Justine lets out a laugh. “Ah, yes. Micah’s first Mystery Box. He’s told you about our little system of cooking, setting the table, and washing the dishes?” I nod with a smile. “Well, one night he said that I work too hard. That he wanted to make dinner for us. What was he, Jacob? Five?”
“Six.”
“Right,” she chuckles. “So, we said okay. We let him loose in the kitchen and offered him help, but he wouldn’t take it. He just kept telling us we were in his way. Finally, after about ten minutes, we decided to just let him make whatever he wanted to make. We called it Micah’s Mystery Dinner. It wasn’t ’til a little later when we thought he was old enough to use the oven—”
“And knew he finally outgrew just throwing random items together,” Jacob adds with a chuckle.
“Yes, that was important. I’d eaten as many ketchup and mustard bananas as I could eat by that time. But when we thought he could make something at least somewhat edible, we let him use the oven and started calling it Micah’s Mystery Box.”
“Wow,” I let out a quiet laugh, running a finger over the picture. “You guys are amazing. Micah’s incredible, you should be very proud.”
“We are,” she replies, giving me a heartfelt smile.
After going through a couple more pages, Micah walks into the room. “It’s done!”
Jacob gives me a weary look. “This is it, Veronica. Once you try the mystery box, there’s no turning back. You can walk out the door now, and none of us will think the less of you.”
I laugh, and Micah scoffs. “Oh, ye of little faith. Just because I haven’t cooked one in a while, doesn’t mean I don’t still got my chops.”
“We’ll see,” Justine counters.
“I didn’t hear much cooking,” Jacob says as we walk into the dining room.
“That’s because there wasn’t much cooking,” Micah replies. I look over at him to see a smile. He reaches around a corner, and grabs two large plastic bags, putting them on the table.
“Cheater!” his dad yells at him.
“Oh, come on,” Micah laughs, taking out cartons of Chinese food. “You guys are my parents. I’ve always known you wouldn’t get rid of me. But I’m not taking that chance with Veronica.” He winks at me, and I shake my head, giggling. Setting down five different boxes, he grabs a handful of plates and cutlery, placing them in the middle. “I got your favorite, V. Beef and Broccoli. Kung Pao for you, Dad. And I didn’t forget the chicken egg rolls for you, Mom.”
“How did you get this so fast?” I ask him.
“Magic.” He twirls his fingers around. All three of us exchange unconvinced stares and then look back at him. “Okay, I sent Taylor a text message. I knew he was getting off work and had him pick up some food from the Chinese restaurant next to the gym.”
We all laugh, and Micah sits down next to me. While we eat, his parents exchange more stories of him growing up, and find out a little more about me. As different as our families are—mine with the huge extended family and siblings compared to Micah being an only child—it still feels the same. The same closeness. The same kind of love his parents have that I know my parents have. And that love I’ve been feeling for him keeps getting deeper.
After we finish eating, Micah assumes the station that he tells me is customary and begins to take the plates to the sink. I grab the cups we used and follow him along.
“It’s okay, I got this.”
“I want to help. I already messed up dinner.”
He bumps me with his hip. “You didn’t mess up anything. That was my fault.”
“Well, I still want to help.”
Adding soap to a sponge, he starts cleaning a plate. “So, that wasn’t so bad, right?” he whispers to me.
“No,” I whisper back. “It was great, actually.”
“I told you they’d love you.”
His words hang in the air. It’s not a romantic or intimate setting, but it feels like he wants to say more. It feels like I should say more. Before either of us can say anything, though, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” Justine calls out as Micah looks away. “Oh, no. Honey, what are you doing here?”
Micah gives me a confused look. I hear the door close and then muffled voices.
“What’s going on?” Micah asks.
He dries his hands and walks over to the door. I hear Jacob stop him. “Micah, maybe just let your mom deal with that.”
“What is it?”
“It’s … Lana.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. I dry my hands but stay by the sink, unsure what to do. Micah hasn’t responded to his father, and I still hear the shrouded voices. Then the door swings open and the sounds are clear again.
“No, I know you said to give him time, but I just need to talk to him, Justine.”
“Lana, honey, I’m sorry, but—”
“Lana, what the hell?”
“Micah! Micah, please, I just want to talk to you.”
“How’d you even know I was going to be home? What are you doing here?”
“Your mom told me—”
“Mom!”
“No, Micah, it wasn’t like that. I told her—Lana, I told you when you called, he was coming over with his girlfriend.”
“Mom, why are you telling her anything? Lana, you need to leave. Now.”
“No, Micah. Please! Please, I know I screwed up, but I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It was a mistake. Please, you have to believe me.”
“Believe you? Are you kidding me? You cheated on me. Twice! Why the hell should I ever believe anything you say?”
“Please, I’m sorry, Micah!” Her voice strains. She’s crying. I feel bad for her, but I also wish she’d just listen to Micah and leave.
“Mom, give us a minute.” It’s not a question. I don’t hear Justine’s voice, just the door close. More muffled sounds.
Even though I can’t make out the words entirely, he sounds mad. Even madder than when I heard him talking on the phone back in the café. And she sounds hysterical. Then silence. I take a deep breath, unsure what’s going on out there. I want to check on him, but I don’t. His relationship with her is nothing like the one I had with Tim. Tim cheated on me and made it seem like it was no big deal. Lana truly sounds heartbroken. And even though I know she brought it upon herself, I feel sorry for her.
The door opens and closes.
“Mom, what the hell?”
“Micah,” Jacob’s voice thunders and there’s silence for a moment.
“Sorry,” Micah says. “But seriously, Mom. What were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t tell her to come over though.”
/>
“But what did I say, Mom? I said please don’t tell her anything.”
“But, Micah, she seems so broken. And she knows it was a mistake. I can’t just overlook that.”
“You have to. I don’t care if it was a mistake, she screwed up. There’s no coming back from that. I don’t want to go back to whatever we had. I have something else now. I have someone else now.”
My nerves and anxiousness start to disappear. Maybe he is at the same place I am. Maybe he does love me. But before I can feel warm over his words, his mom drops ice down my spine.
“But people make mistakes, Micah. I know you like this girl, but you have so much history with Lana. You guys were so good together.”
“Justine,” Jacob’s voice echoes again. Only this time, I know it’s not a warning for his wife about talking to Micah. It’s because he’s the only one of the three that remembers I can hear them.
“Shit,” Micah hisses, and I hear his footsteps. When he turns a corner, I stand there, nodding at him, a helpless expression on my face. “I’m sorry you had to hear that.”
“It’s okay.”
Justine hurries into the kitchen, walking past her son. “Veronica, I’m so sorry. Honey, I didn’t mean it how it sounded. Please, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I give her a small nod and smile. “You’re right. They do have a lot of history. Um, I should probably be getting back home now. Micah?”
He nods, giving me the same defeated expression I know I’m wearing. “Yeah.”
Chapter 15
Micah
It’s been two days since the meeting with my parents, which at the time I thought was going great, but turned into a fiasco. I don’t get it. I don’t understand why my mom is being so forgiving toward Lana. Why she wants me to hear her out and possibly forgive her. It’s not like I want her to hate Lana, she doesn’t even have to dislike her—though that’s another thing I don’t understand why she isn’t feeling—but why is she so intent on being kind to her still?
“It’s just been weird, man,” I tell Taylor as we hang out behind the counter at our gym. It gets slow during the midweek, so other than cleaning, we have a lot of free time. “My dad’s telling me to give my mom time. That she’s just being sympathetic. Why the hell is she being sympathetic to a girl who was screwing behind my back?”
“What about Veronica? She say anything about it since?” he asks.
“No,” I answer, staring at the counter. “She seemed fine on the way home that night. At least, as fine as a girl could be, after hearing her boyfriend’s mom go on about how great he and his ex were together.”
“Just eighty-six her, man. Block her number, get your parents to block her number, tell your friends to not talk to her. Shun her, bro. Send a cease and desist letter if you have to.”
“I don’t want to be a dick. I just want her to move on.”
“Micah, she cheated on you.”
“Thanks, I didn’t know that.”
“Seriously, bro.” He laughs. “Cut that bitch out of your life. You’ll be better off.”
I thought about it when I broke it off with her. And even though she’s called me a few times, it hasn’t been like it was the first time. But getting ahold of my mom, and more importantly my mom freely talking to her and giving her a shoulder to cry on, is not helping.
Taking out my phone, I open my contacts and find her name and number. It’d be easy to block her, and maybe I should. As aggravating as everything has become, perhaps it’d be best for both of us. I wouldn’t have to hear from her, and it might finally force her to move on.
“Okay, well,” Taylor speaks up, “you can block her number all you want, but it’s not going to do any good if she stalks you.”
“What are you—” I start to ask, and he looks out of the front windows of the gym. Lana’s standing against her car, peering inside. “You gotta be kidding me.” I look around the gym for my manager. “Where’s Bill?”
“In the back, working on payroll.”
“I’m gonna go handle this.”
“Yeah, go. If he comes up, I’ll tell him you’re taking a break.”
“Thanks.”
There’s no appreciation in my voice. It’s all annoyance. Before going outside, I stand in front of the glass doors. She’s looking inside, and I know she can see me through the window, but she just stares. The other night she was bawling her eyes out. If it had been any other night, at any other time, I might’ve been a little more sympathetic. I wouldn’t have gotten back with her, but I might’ve consoled her a little more. But with Veronica inside, I was furious. My anger’s calmed since then, and she seems more in control, too.
“Lana, you gotta quit this,” I call out, walking to her.
“I know,” she answers, which catches me off guard.
“You know?”
She nods, taking a deep breath. “I know I have to stop. I know you have a new girlfriend. I know this isn’t healthy and I know I need to move on. I know all of that, Micah. But I can’t. I can’t move on. Screwed up doesn’t even begin to describe what I did, but I need you, Micah. I need you now, just as much as I needed you then. You’re my rock.”
“I can’t be your rock. Not anymore.”
“My parents,” she looks down at the ground, wrapping her arms around herself, “they loved you. They still love you. When I told them we broke up, they asked me what I did this time. They knew, Micah. They knew I messed up because you’re perfect.”
“I’m not perfect. No one is.”
“No. You are. Everyone saw it. When we were in school, remember how Emma and Jen would joke around how you were Prince Charming?”
“Lana, don’t do this.”
“You’re my Prince Charming, Micah. And I can’t let that go.”
“It’s already done. You already—” I stop myself because we both know what she did. We both know it’s her fault and I don’t want to keep throwing that in her face. “What’s done is done. It’s better to just accept it and start moving on.”
“But I can’t move on, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You were supposed to be with me. Me and you, high school sweethearts, just like you always used to say. I’m an idiot. I have no excuse for what I did. But I promise you, Micah. I promise I’ll spend my life trying to get you to forgive me. Because you were supposed to be my life. My home.”
Her tears are falling again, but it’s not like at the house. She’s not sobbing and wailing. She’s standing in front of me, her arms still hugging herself, the tears streaming down her cheeks.
I want to counter everything she just said, but I know it won’t help. She’ll make an excuse, or tell me how she’s going to try and change. She’ll promise to do better, or she’ll keep begging. For every valid reason I give her that I can’t and won’t go back to her, she’ll try to counter it. So I don’t.
I turn around and pull out my phone, waving it at her as I walk back to the gym.
“I’m blocking your number. Don’t call. Don’t text. Just move on with your life.”
Getting inside, I don’t turn around to see if she’s still standing there. I’m walking around the counter when my phone rings. Letting out a growl, my fingers clamp around it.
“Motherf— I just told her not to call.” Gripping it tighter, I see the caller ID and let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God. Hey, you.”
“Hey,” Veronica answers.
“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice. I was about to throw my phone through a wall.”
“Yikes,” she says with a chuckle. “What’s wrong?”
Should I tell her? Will she get upset that Lana seems to be officially stalking me? But I don’t want to lie either. “Lana. She just showed up at work.”
“Oh …” I hear the timidity in her voice.
“V, you have nothing to worry about. Seriously. I’m blocking her number right after I finish talking to you. I honestly wish she could just move on.”
“Right.
Yeah, okay.”
“So what’s up?”
There’s a pause. I hope everything that’s happened the last few days isn’t starting to scare her or give her second thoughts about us. “Well, see …”
“Everything good?”
“Yeah.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “Are you okay with me spending the night tomorrow night?”
I smile. “I’m okay with you spending the night every night.”
My response seems to put her at ease. “Okay, it’s just … tomorrow’s my birthday.”
“Really? Why didn’t you tell me before, we could’ve set something up? Had a party or something.”
“I don’t want anything like that. I just kind of want a nice night in, you know?” She laughs. “Listen to me. I’m gonna be nineteen, and I’m already talking about spending a nice night in.”
“Silly girl. Of course, whatever you want. We can watch Netflix, and I’ll get you chocolate covered pretzels.”
She sighs with a giggle. “You know the way to my heart.”
“Need me to pick you up?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m gonna hang out with Cindy earlier in the day, and she’ll drop me off.”
“All right. Sounds good.”
“Um, Micah?”
“Yeah?”
There’s a pause. “Uh … this is so stupid.” Now a nervous laugh. “I wouldn’t bring it up, but I don’t want to show up and you not …” Another nervous laugh. “Do you have … protection?”
I laugh. I know it’s a serious question and from her tone, I can tell she’s nervous and little embarrassed. That’s not why I laugh though. I laugh because the word protection comes out muffled and quiet and I can only imagine she’s in her room, or somewhere no one else can hear her, but she’s still trying to be as quiet as possible.
“It’s not funny,” she scolds me.
“No, but it is cute. And yes, I do.”
“Okay. Good to know. Not that you’ll be needing it since you just laughed at me.”
“Silly girl.”
“Dumb boy.”
