by Shari Arnold
There was a time I used to enjoy these events, look forward to them, actually. My mom would take us girls to the salon early in the morning. I felt so important — like I was a grown-up — with my fancy clothes and shoes and hair. Now she goes alone. I guess she’d rather not stare at the empty chair reserved for Jenna, and since I’m not enough to distract her she leaves me at home to fix my own hair.
Outside of the Grand Hyatt it’s no longer raining. The sun went down a couple hours ago but luckily it doesn’t feel as cold as I’d expected. There’s really no place to stand outside where I won’t be noticed by people coming or going from the banquet so I decide to take a walk. Downtown is beginning to arise from its day-slumber. The restaurants are spilling out onto the street with music and people. Everywhere I look the culture of nightlife is calling. At the busy intersection across from the hotel I pause and take it all in. It feels nice to be on the street for once instead of looking down on it.
Once I’m a safe distance from the hotel I slow my pace. It doesn’t take long for him to join me. Somehow I knew he would.
“How was the fish?” Meyer asks, falling into step beside me.
“Greasy,” I answer. “It’s always greasy.”
I steal a quick look his direction and find him smiling at me. I’m not sure what I expected after our last encounter, but I’m a little shocked by his outward confidence. You’d think he’d appear a bit awkward seeing as I ran from him the last time we were together. Or perhaps that’s just me.
My foot catches on the uneven curb and I stumble. “Are you stalking me? You know stalking isn’t in anymore, right? It’s just plain creepy now.”
Meyer ignores me and keeps smiling. “You didn’t want to stay for the dancing?”
I turn away and focus on the street in front of me. “I felt like taking a walk.”
“So I see,” he says, and then nothing. He doesn’t speak again until we stop at the next intersection.
“Blue’s a good color for you,” he tells me. “It brings out your eyes.”
“My eyes aren’t blue, they’re hazel.”
“I know.” His mouth curves into a smile and for a moment I can’t look away.
“I have questions, Meyer. If you’re not hear to answer them, then go away.” I pull my gaze from his and begin to cross the street.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Livy,” he chuckles.
“So then answer my question.”
“You haven’t asked one. Well, that is, not in the last few minutes.”
I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. He just smiles.
“I want to know what happened that night— ”
“Do you?” he interrupts.
We’ve come to the end of the intersection. I feel Meyer’s hand grip my arm as I step up on the curb. He pulls me to a stop as the other pedestrians move on without us.
His hand is warm against my skin. I hate that I like his touch so much, and because of that I try to pull away. But he doesn’t release me.
“There are certain things you will never truly understand,” he tells me. His expression is dark with intent, his eyebrows furrowed. “I promise one day I will explain it all to you.”
His words are so cryptic — so much like James — it sets me back a minute. When he notices the look of surprise on my face he smiles as though what he’s said isn’t nearly as serious as it sounded.
“Just not tonight.”
“Not tonight?” I repeat, staring up at him.
“Nope.” He takes my hand and urges me forward.
“But, why?” I ask, refusing to budge.
“Tonight is about ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” I repeat again, stupidly.
“Yes. Ice cream. We must relieve your tongue of that greasy fish.”
“I don’t want ice cream,” I say stubbornly.
Meyer’s eyes narrow. “How could you not want ice cream? Everyone likes ice cream.”
“Meyer—”
“Livy.” He crosses his arms as though this is the end of the discussion. Our showdown lasts about as long as it takes for him to break his concentration and smile.
“Have I promised you?” he asks just loud enough that I hear him over the street noise. “Have I promised that I will explain it all one day?”
I think back to a few moments ago. “Yes...”
“And I will,” he tells me. “Just not now.” His hand slides down my arm and soon my fingers are captured in his. He gives a slight tug and my feet begin to move. But then I stop.
“Wait,” I call out. “One question.”
His mouth sets into a thin line, and I hurry to explain.
“I just need to know one thing. One thing or you’ll be eating ice cream alone.”
He raises an eyebrow inquisitively and I take that as a green light.
“How did you know where to find me tonight?”
His eyes darken for a moment and then he quickly smiles. “Your mother is famous, right? A politician?”
“Senator,” I say slowly.
“Right.” His smile grows. “Shouldn’t be that difficult for someone to find you, even if they aren’t me.”
I can’t help laughing at his impish grin. “I guess...”
“Shall we, then?” he tugs on my hand once again and this time I follow. I can’t help it. He’s too alive for me not to. I think he must know this about me. It must be why he’s always smiling.
“I thought girls liked the idea of a boy always knowing where to find them, no?” Meyer asks as we make our way down the street.
“Nope. Stalkers are only sexy in the movies,” I tell him. “Real girls are a little easier to please.”
“Yeah?” Meyer says.
“Yeah.”
“So then tell me, Livy. What would it take for you?”
“Me?” I glance up at him so quickly I nearly trip.
He raises an eyebrow in reply and my heart skips around a bit.
“Hmm,” I say staring back down at the ground. “Could it be you’re inquiring about how a boy would go about turning my head?”
Meyer laughs softly under his breath. “I might be, Livy. I just might be.”
“Well, then,” I say with a smile. “There is one thing that gets me every time.”
We walk a few more feet before Meyer takes the bait.
“And what might that be?” His voice is soft, his footsteps much slower.
I smile up at him, nearly catching my breath at the serious gleam in his eyes.
“A straight answer,” I tell him.
His eyes widen for a moment and then he bursts out laughing. And that full-belly laugh of his is like a gift I never knew I wanted, until now.
“You present quite a challenge, Livy,” he says, still smiling.
“Apparently,” I mumble, and he laughs again.
Meyer takes me to an ice cream place I’ve never been to before where they mix up your selections right in front of you on a cold stone and then scoop it into a large cup. It is delicious. Better than I was expecting. When I don’t finish mine (because they gave me enough for two Livy’s) he takes my spoon from my hand and finishes it himself. He nearly licks the cup clean. I am hypnotized watching him. There are moments when he can be so youthful, like a child who is experiencing something for the first time. And then other times he seems like an old soul trapped inside a teenage boy’s body.
Meyer’s eyes crinkle in the corners as I continue to study him. I should look away, but I don’t. He doesn’t seem bothered by my curiosity. It’s almost as though he enjoys it. He likes being noticed by me.
My phone buzzes and Sheila’s face appears on my screen. When I don’t answer she immediately calls back. She knows I’m keeping something from her. I turn my phone off before she begins a text-assault, and slip it back into my pocket.
“You know, ice cream is my favorite,” I tell Meyer before I can stop myself. I’m so comfortable in this moment, comfortable and yet slightly exhilarated. It only
makes sense that something would slip past my Jenna-guard.
“What about me, Livy? Am I your favorite?”
I blink up at him, and all thoughts of Jenna fade away.
“I wouldn’t mind being your favorite, you know,” he tells me. “I think it would be rather… interesting, actually.”
When I continue to look at him without speaking, he laughs softly under his breath.
“Perhaps one day you’ll answer my question, Livy.”
“Maybe,” I whisper, but I doubt he hears me. He’s halfway to the trashcan with our ice cream cups in his hand.
Meyer walks me home soon after that. My mom has already texted me twice. The first time was to find out where I was hiding. After I told her I’d stepped out to take a walk, she asked if I would need a ride home. I didn’t mention I’d been gone for hours, or how I’d missed her speech. What she doesn’t know generally keeps me from irritating her.
In front of my apartment Meyer and I stand facing each other, like it’s the end of a date. And I wish it were a date because then I could lean in, and he could lean in, and this thing I’m feeling would stop simmering in my stomach and instead take flight like the rest of me.
Just kiss him, I tell myself. Who needs words when a kiss says so much more? My last boyfriend used to kiss me all the time, even when the mood wasn’t quite right, like when I’d have just returned from taking Jenna to one of her treatments. I know it was his way of showing support, but to me it was just another thing keeping me from breathing.
I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I kissed Meyer? He’s so different from other guys I’ve known. I imagine every other kiss I’ve experienced will feel like a rehearsal.
“Goodnight, Livy,” Meyer says before our silence stretches on any longer. His eyes are dark, his lashes lowered, and that stirring in my chest returns with a vengeance.
In that moment I realize I want him. The feeling comes out of nowhere. It must have been hovering just off in the background waiting for the right moment to make its presence known. I want Meyer. I want him close. All at once I am dizzy with it, the need for something of my own.
“When will I see you again?” I flinch at how desperate I sound, but I can’t just let him walk away.
“I promised you,” he says while walking backward. “You will see me again. I owe you answers, remember?” His face is lit with mischief and I smile back at him before he sprints off down the street.
And even though I’m left feeling kiss-less, I carry his promise with me as I enter my building. It’s more than anyone has given me in a very long time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The elevator doors slip open and I step out into a dimly lit apartment. I don’t expect my mother to be waiting up for me, but she’s usually still roaming the halls when I arrive home. Tonight, however, everything is still and quiet, only the faint smell of my mother’s nightly cup of jasmine tea remains.
“Mom?”
It’s funny how the sound of your own voice in a silent room can startle you and set your heart racing.
“I’m here, Livy,” my mother calls out, her voice slightly muffled, coming from deep inside her bedroom.
I find her sitting on the floor in her closet. Her arms are resting lightly on the tops of her knees and her head is leaning against the back wall. She’s sitting amongst her racks of shoes, the bottoms of her dresses nuzzling the top of her head. It wouldn’t be unusual for my mother to randomly decide to organize her closet, but that’s not what she’s doing. If anything it looks like she’s playing hide and seek, and the sad expression on her face is a clear sign that nobody has come to find her.
The last time I found my mom looking this lost was the day the doctor started using words like “terminal” to describe my sister.
“Mom?” There’s an edge of panic in my voice. I can hear it so I’m sure she can too, but she doesn’t react to it.
“Did you know there are five white bath towels in my bathroom that have never been used?” Her eyes are closed, her voice soft. “Five beautiful, fluffy, brand new bath towels. I bought them last December, just before the Mayor’s ball.”
“Okay.”
She lifts her head and looks at me — her eyes so blue, and so like Jenna’s, I nearly tear up staring into them. “Have you seen them? Have you seen these towels?”
“I didn’t take them,” I quickly point out. Is that what she’s been up to? Is she on a mission to find her missing bath towels? “Maybe Dad—” I begin, but her laughter stops me.
“They aren’t missing, Livy.” She wipes her eyes and her laughter comes to a halt. “They’ve never been used!”
“Yes. You mentioned that.”
“And do you know why?” She brushes her blonde hair back off her face but it isn’t her hair that’s battling for her attention, it’s the dress she wore to her last inauguration hanging directly above her head. Red and black, like a ladybug. The bottom swings back and forth as if taunting her, but after a couple of pitiful swipes, she just ignores it.
“Do you, Livy?” she asks when I don’t respond fast enough. “Do you know why my bath towels were never used?”
“Why?” Suddenly I feel very tired. I slip to the floor across from her.
“They’re too nice!” She pushes her hands through her hair and then leans her head against the back wall again. “Your crazy mother bought the most expensive Ralph Lauren bath towels she could find, brought them home and hung them up so that the bathroom looked just right and then I never used them!”
“Why?” Only now do I realize my mother’s eyes are red and puffy with dark smudges underneath.
“Because…” She takes a deep breath and then rubs her eyes, which makes the dark smudges worse. “Because I was saving them. They are too special for every day. I called them my Special Occasion Towels. Just like I save the best part, the best bites of every meal, for last.” She breaks out into this sad mix of laughter and tears and says, “But of course I never get to take those best bites because by the time I get to them I’m already too full!”
I think I already knew this about my mother, although I’ve never really thought about it until now. I’ve watched her eat for years, her fork always hovering around the pieces of lettuce with just the right amount of salad dressing and cheese, but then she’ll move on to those pieces that remind you you’re eating rabbit food. She avoids the shrimp in her favorite dish, Shrimp Scampi, forcing herself to eat the pasta first and rarely having a big enough appetite for the rest. It’s almost as if she’s punishing herself.
“And who has time for leftovers,” she mutters, carrying on the conversation with herself.
“And the bath towels?”
She lifts her head up, her expression as far away as her thoughts.
“They’re still as fluffy as the day I bought them,” she tells me. “That is, they look fluffy.”
“Mom—”
“No. It’s my turn to talk.” She scoots forward so that she’s perched on her knees. Her hands reach out for me and yet we’re not close enough to touch. “You were with me when I bought those towels, Livy.” Her eyes well up making mine sting a little. “You used to always want to be with me.”
She shakes her head when I attempt to speak.
“I’m going to let you do it, Livy.” She takes a deep breath and pushes her shoulders back. She tries to look at me but it’s as though her head is too heavy to hold up. “I’m going to let you help Jilly.” Her lips quiver when she says her name. “I don’t like it, but I get it. You can take those tests.”
My breath catches in my chest and I’m not sure if it’s fear or excitement that settles in my gut.
“You always believed there was a way to save her. Both you and your father.” Her unfocused eyes stare off above my head. “We did everything we could. Everything.”
“Mom?”
Her eyes snap to me, and just like that she’s back. She clears her throat and wipes at her eyes. Her features tighten back into her
fighting-face, and my heart squeezes.
“I can’t keep you from doing something good just because I’m—” She stops and shakes her head. “I only ask that you keep me informed of every little detail. And I plan on coming with you to your appointments.” She reaches up to smooth her hair again and I notice her hand is trembling. “I have a lot of questions.”
“Of course. Whatever you want.” I’ll do anything to keep her yes from turning back into a no.
“What I want is for none of this to be happening!” She takes a deep breath and then runs her hands down the sides of her pants as if she can smooth out her outburst. “Not you. Not Jilly,” she says calmly. Not Jenna.
“But it is,” I tell her.
“Yes. It is,” she whispers back, each word more difficult than the last.
She goes on to explain how she’s already made an appointment for me to go tomorrow morning for more tests. My heart skips a beat when I hear the word “tests.” I wish it would stop doing that. I want to do this. I have to. Now is not the time to think about needles and anesthesia. Or hospitals where I’m the patient. I must think about Jilly. Only Jilly. But what happens if I still can’t save her?
Before that thought paralyzes me completely I push it right out of my mind. My mom said yes! I must focus on that. I’m one step closer to saving Jilly. One stop closer than I was yesterday. So that’s something.
It’s too late to call the hospital and talk to Jilly and I wouldn’t tell her anyway, not until we know more. But it’s not too late to text Sheila, and that’s exactly what I do. Sheila immediately texts back filling the screen with exclamation points. No words are needed, apparently.
Tomorrow. You. Me. Celebratory snacks. Yes?
I text back: Yes
I stand up, noticing how my legs are back to feeling slightly shaky. The hug I throw at my mom catches her by surprise and instead of pulling away quickly, the way I normally would, I linger a bit longer.
