by Zart , Lindy
“Grayson? Can we help you?” It is Georgia who asks this, her eyes shifting from Lily to me and back.
“Where’s Scott?” Cindy asks, her high voice causing me to wince. She’s a pretty blond with a sweet disposition. I find her annoying, but whatever works for Scott.
“Can I talk to you?” I lock gazes with Lily, feeling faint from this simple look.
“I…”
“Lily, you don’t have to talk to him,” Sam tells her, his hand squeezing hers.
Averting my eyes, I wait for her answer.
“No. It’s okay.”
Why does hope slam through me at this concession? Doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t change anything. I feel eyes on me as she walks my way and glance over to see Henry watching me, his fingers a steeple beneath his chin. I wonder at the intensity of his gaze, but I don’t really care that much about why he is looking at me the way he is looking at me.
Lily stops beside me, her hair pulled back with a thin black headband barely detectable in the ebony locks of her hair. Her slim frame seems thinner and I hate that this breakup is hurting her like it is hurting me. Khaki shorts and a white top make up her outfit and I am surprised to find plain brown sandals on her feet. She crosses her arms and leads us away from curious eyes.
When we get to her prone brother, she pauses. “What happened to my brother?”
I wince, absently fingering the hand with throbbing knuckles. “He wasn’t going to let me talk to you.”
“So you just—just hit him?” Incredulity makes her voice almost as high as Cindy’s natural one.
“It just kind of happened,” I answer lamely. Scott groans and fidgets on the floor. “See? He’s okay.”
“He doesn’t exactly make a good doormat.” Shaking her head, she steps over her brother and out the front door with me following. A faint shriek alerts us Cindy has found Scott, which both of us ignore.
The sun coats us in heat as we stand beside the porch. Lily rubs her forehead. “What do you want, Grayson?”
“Why was your dad looking at me like that?”
“What? Like what?” Rubbing her face, Lily sighs. “I don’t know. He’s being all Detective Dad lately. He’s been dropping hints that I should be with you. Also, he hates Sam.” Good. No, not good. Fuck.
“Why are you wearing those sandals?”
Frowning, she says, “What does it matter what kind of sandals I wear?”
I shrug, shoving my hands into the pockets of my gray shorts. “I don’t know. They just don’t seem like something you would wear. They don’t fit you.”
She stares at me for a long time, her lips trembling. Finally Lily admits, “Sam doesn’t like flashy stuff, especially shoes.”
“Sam’s an idiot,” is my immediate reply.
I can tell she is fighting a smile, her features turning into that scowly expression, but she is working hard for it. “Classy women don’t wear flowers on their feet. His words.”
Leaning toward her, our faces inches apart, I say softly, “Who said you were classy? Fiery, passionate, insatiable, exceptional, unique—sure. But classy?” I slowly shake my head, watching her lips part as she struggles for air. “And I wouldn’t want you to be.”
“Grayson—“ Lily swallows, looking down.
“Are you happy?” I demand.
Closing her eyes, Lily moves away, stepping onto the porch. “Of course.”
“You’re lying.” I move to stand on the step below her, still taller than she is, my chest grazing her back. I put my mouth close to her ear, the shiver of her body going through me as well, and say, “If you can’t be with me, if you don’t want to be, fine. I mean, it’s not fine, but I accept it now. Not accept. Tolerate. I tolerate this condition. Okay? I tolerate that we can’t be together, because I have no choice. But don’t settle, Lily. Please don’t settle. And don’t—“
I take a deep breath, running a hand through my hair. “And don’t date someone just because they’re nothing like me. That’s wrong,” I say in a low voice. “You forced me to do something for myself, but for you too. Do this one thing for me, okay? And for you. Be happy. Be with someone who makes you smile, makes you laugh. Don’t waste yourself on a filler guy. You’ll regret it. And wear the shoes you love, for shit’s sake. If someone can’t love your shoes, then they can’t love you. Not the real you.”
Lily slowly turns around; her lips so close to mine. Eyes large and overflowing with sorrow and tears, she nods. “Okay, Grayson.”
The urge to kiss her is strong and so I step away, closer to my house and farther from her. “And quit leaving random wrappers for me to find. I don’t appreciate it.” I unclench my hand and a foil ball falls to the porch steps, Lily’s eyes following it.
When she lifts her eyes to mine, one blink of the eyes and the pooling tears trickle down her cheeks. I turn away. I turn away from the picture of a broken Lily, my chest tight, my pulse thudding with the wrongness of walking away from her. Right and wrong—neither really matters. Another truth I know.
***
I stare at the room I’ve called my own for over ten years. It’s just a room, but it holds so many memories. It is August 1st and I am leaving, finally. It is an overdue exit. My eyes go to the ceiling Lily and I painted, then to the walls that match her eyes. My chest is tight and I inhale deeply, trying to loosen the pressure. Is this really what I want do to? Leave it all, never come back? The only thing I have here now is Aidan. I feel awful that I’m leaving him. I feel like I’m abandoning him. But I also know he will be okay. Lily will make sure of that. It is one of those truths I can’t doubt.
My eyes fall to the corkboard resting on the floor beside my dresser. Hundreds of shiny sayings stare back at me. There are two on my desk; two I have been saving to add to the collection—two specifically for Lily. I grab a couple pushpins from a drawer in the desk and post the wrappers to the board. I already asked Aidan to drop it off at Lily’s after I leave. I know I promised her I would keep it, but it feels better leaving it with her, at least for now. Maybe someday I’ll be able to have it back. The quotes play through my head as I finish packing.
‘Forget the rules and play by your heart.’
‘Be free. Be happy. Be you.’
Hand on the duffel bag that holds everything I’m taking with me, I walk out of the room and pull up short. My mom is waiting for me in the hallway, her arms hugging herself. I wait for her to speak first, my emotions conflicted. I’m glad I’m escaping the backlash of her alcoholism, but there is also a hollow place in me where the love for her should be, and I mourn that.
“I just…I wanted to say goodbye.” With no makeup on and her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she looks younger, innocent.
I look down, nodding.
“I’m leaving in less than a week.”
My head lifts. “Where are you going?”
“I’m…” She tries to smile, but it falters. “I’m going to a rehabilitation center, Grayson. I’m going to get help.”
There is a twinge in my heart at those words. “I’m glad,” I say simply.
She gives a shaky laugh. “It’s pretty bad when your child is more of an adult than you are. Maybe I did something right by not doing anything.”
I don’t respond.
“Can I…” She swallows. “Can I give you a hug? Would that be okay?”
Taking a deep breath, I nod once, tensing as she approaches. My mom enfolds me in her arms, her head barely coming to my chest; the scent of lavender teasing my senses. After a long moment, I relax and lightly touch her back. Sorrow blindsides me, fast and without notice. It pains me to think of all that could have been and wasn’t, because of actions on both of our parts. Maybe I could have been more forgiving; maybe I could have tried to understand more. Maybe she could have opened up to me, tried harder to reach me. Anyway. None of that matters now. All that matters is how we decide to be from this moment on.
“Mom?”
She pulls back and wipes her eyes. “Yes?�
��
“Maybe—maybe someday you can tell me about it, about whatever made you scared to love us.”
Tears trail down her face and she looks away, her shoulders trembling. My mom meets my eyes, smiling sadly through her tears. “I will try, Grayson.”
“That’s all I ever wanted.”
She touches my hair, her hand slowly falling away. “I’m proud of you,” she murmurs, turning toward the stairs. My mother pauses there, looking over her shoulder at me. Her face is full of confliction and I wait with bated breath. Lips parting, she takes a deep breath. Her voice is so quiet I tilt my head to hear as she says, “It was my brothers. No one ever talked about it. My parents…well…you know they’re gone now. But even when they were alive, they never talked about it. How can you move on from something you pretend never happened? My father was an alcoholic. It was how he dealt with things and I guess I decided that was how I would too.
“It was a boating accident. I was sixteen. My brothers—Alexander and Joseph—were eighteen and twenty. They both died. I just…” My mother blinks and tears fall down her cheeks. “I didn’t cope well. I was already in trouble long before I met your father, Grayson,” she whispers. “And whatever I’ve said in the past, please know I never meant it. I was wrong, I was lashing out. I was scared to love because I was scared of losing you, all of you. But I’m going to get better now. I just—I just hope you haven’t completely given up on me, even though I deserve no less. That’s all.”
I stand unmoving long after she has left, blinking away tears I never thought I’d cry for her.
“Ready, Grayson?” my dad calls from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah,” I yell back, straightening my shoulders.
Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I make my way down the stairs. My dad claps me on the back. It’s the only goodbye I’ll get from him, but that is okay.
Aidan blinks his eyes continually, trying hard not to cry. He is always trying to be so strong, so brave. I grab him and hug him. His wiry arms wrap tight around me. “Hey.” I give him a light shake when he doesn’t respond. “Aidan.”
“What?” he croaks, finally looking at me.
“I’ll be seeing you in a few months. I’ll call and text every day. We can Skype. I’ll contact you so much you’ll get sick of me. Okay?”
Nodding, he wipes his eyes. “Okay.”
My dad and Aidan go to the car and I begin to follow, my steps faltering as I gaze at her house across the street. Weighed down by remorse, I can’t make my feet move. I just want to see her one last time. As though she knows my thoughts, she is suddenly walking toward me.
I can’t leave you, I think, caressing her features with my eyes. Even now, even after everything, she is it for me. My chest tightens as I wait. Lily’s eyes are gray today, dark with sorrow and quiet strength. She stops a few feet from me. I lift my hand and let her silky hair slid through my fingers.
Lily takes my hand, kisses the palm, and presses something into it. My brows lower as my hand closes around the small piece of foil. She cups the nape of my neck and slowly pulls my head down until our foreheads touch. I have to tell her, I have to tell her one last time—I need to tell her I love her yet, that I always will.
“Just one more. For now.”
“Lily—“
“Shh,” she whispers.
Slowly, painfully her lips touch mine. Everything in me tightens—everything I’ve tried so hard to ignore, to remove so I no longer hurt—is ripped raw with longing and need. The kiss is bittersweet, profound in its singular purpose. It is a goodbye kiss.
When I open my stinging eyes, she is gone. I hunch my shoulders against the agony inside me, rubbing my damp eyes as I head to the car. It’s not until we’re almost to the airport that I finally open my hand and gaze at the Dove wrapper, reading the message.
‘Take good care of yourself.’
Epilogue
I’m still not used to it—the fans, the emotions, the way people look at me and act around me. I don’t know if I ever will be. I am nothing special. I am nothing extraordinary. I’m just a guy who likes to write music and sing. The screams are loud, ringing in my ears. The fans are jumping up and down, shouting at me. It’s so hot in the packed stadium that sweat is rolling down my skin and dripping from it. I wouldn’t be surprised to find someone trying to bottle it to keep as a souvenir. It’s humbling the way they idolize me. It’s also a little scary.
I keep my glasses on because I was told by my agent that the fans, especially of the female variety, love them. My blond hair is an unruly mess and I’m wearing a pale blue tee shirt and jeans. I didn’t have to change my exterior image at all to be a star—just all the stuff on the inside.
This is it—the first big concert. This is what I gave it all up for a little under a year ago—Aidan, Lily, college. This is what I changed into so I could survive—a tattooed performer with all kinds of people around and yet no one I care about. I stare into the crowd of nameless, faceless beings and I don’t know if it was worth it. I can’t yet answer that statement Lily tossed at me the last time we were in my parents’ house together.
I feel that she was right, in a sense. It was a necessity that I go—there was no other way. So for that, I can thank her. For the hole in my heart that hasn’t yet healed and never will…well, I suppose I can thank her for that as well. I’m not bitter about it anymore, but there is a hollowness to me that is never able to be filled and that hollowness belongs to Lily.
The music starts and the roar becomes deafening. I glance at the guys behind me that make up the band and grin, the excitement of the crowd filtering into me, getting me pumped. I sit on the stool with the microphone in my hand and smile at the mass of people watching me. The screams turn insane. I block it out, focusing on the music.
The song starts out slow; my voice quiet.
“Never had to choose between you and me. Never had to be someone I didn’t want to be. But now you’re making me, oh yeah, you’re making me…”
The beat picks up; the drums and bass dominant. The strobe lights are blinding, making it impossible to see anything but a glow of light. My voice gets louder and faster as I get to my feet.
“Push me away, shove me down, make me something I don’t want to be. Push me away, shove me down, make me what I need to be. Push me away, shove me down, make me…make me…incomplete.”
The song is almost at an end when I see her. I glance down and there she is. I don’t know how I am able to see her when everyone else is a blur, but I do. She’s standing next to the metal bar that separates the stage from the fans. Her hair is shorter, layered around her face. It makes those chameleon eyes of hers bigger, prettier. And she is smiling. Lily is smiling at me. But there is an ache in the twist of it, longing in the thinness of it, saddest in the smallness of it, that reflects my own. I turn away so I’m able to finish the song without screwing it up, my heart pounding.
I sing the final note and before the music has even ended, my eyes are on the spot she was a moment ago, only she is no longer there. The crowd is going crazy, erupting in cheers, and it is all background noise to my heartbeat thundering in my ears. My brows lower as panic skyrockets my pulse rate. She can’t be gone. The compulsion to find her is undeniable and I am racing off the stage, not caring that the concert just started. I can’t let her get away, not again.
“What the fuck, Grayson?” The guitarist, Jackson Grapes, grabs my arm and squeezes.
I fling him off. “I’ll be right back. Just…stall them.”
“What?”
“Just stall them!” I ignore the angry and confused looks of the rest of the band and stumble down the backstage stairs, almost falling to my knees, but catching myself. Each breath I take is a raspy gasp and I can’t think straight. I just have to find her. She is here for a reason and I have to know what it is. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, since I’ve heard her voice and I am aching for her. I feel like I’m finally awake for the first time in a long ti
me.
“Grayson!” My agent, Susie Long, strides toward me, her expression less than pleased. “Turn around. Go back on the stage. And sing.” She grabs my arm and tries to turn me around.
“No, I just—I need a minute. Okay?” I tug my arm away, scanning the long, crowded hallway.
“I understand. You’re nervous. But you’re a performer. And a good one. You can do this. Go back and show them what you got.” Her tone is soothing, encouraging, and completely fake.
“I don’t have time for this!” I shout, beyond frustrated. I take off running, shoving past people. I don’t even know where I’m going or where she would be, but I can’t give up.
I search for close to half an hour before a mob of furious entertainment people usher me back onstage. I get through the rest of the gig, but it’s a hazy, surrealist blip of time. When the concert is finally over, I’m drained emotionally and physically. The success of the performance is overshadowed by the inability to find and talk to Lily.
I leave the stage feeling dejected, nodding to well-wishers and those involved in putting the concert together as I make my way to the room the band hung out in before the show. I’m the first one back. I’m sure the guys are lapping up the attention. I remove my glasses and rub my eyes, tired in every way imaginable. I’m also sweaty and I stink.
The room is large, filled with black leather furniture, an extensive bar, and a television that takes up most of one wall. Air fresheners give it a fake strawberry smell that mocks the strawberry scent of Lily. Flowers and cards overflow from a table, all unread by me.
It isn’t until I set my glasses back on my nose that I catch the glint of shiny blue and gold on the table. I slowly walk toward it, my throat thick. I pick up the small piece of square foil, a faint smile forming at seeing the wrapper minus the chocolate that is supposed to be within it. I already know who it is from. And who ate the chocolate.
