by Holly Ryan
“I know, Avie.” She rubs my shoulder.
I lift my head, blinking away the remaining tears. I place my hand on hers. Maybe my mom is right, and everything does happen for a reason. Maybe the reason she ended up here this morning is to comfort me in the middle of this.
“Hey,” she says. “It’s good. This is good. You have to cry, you know.”
“I know.” I sniffle and finish drying my eyes. “I just wish I didn’t.”
“I wish you didn’t, either. It’s not fair.” She removes her arm. She drops her face in dismay, and then her eyes travel to my nightstand. “What’s this?” she says quietly, reaching over me. She pulls back with the flower in her hand.
I’m tempted to yank it from her, but the only thing stopping me is the fear that I’d break it. So I let her hold it. She already knows what it is. She probably just forgot.
And I’m willing to tell her all about it again. Because why not? This is Mara we’re talking about here. My best friend. She already knows pretty much everything about me. And if anyone’s going to think I’m crazy, I’d rather it be her.
“Here,” I say, holding out my hand, proud of having resisted the urge to take it from her by force. She sets the flower into it.
“Wait,” she says. “That’s not that flower, is it? The one you told me about? You actually still have that thing?”
“I swear someone left it for me. I just don’t know who.”
“You still have it. That’s so sweet.”
“I guess it is.”
“And who knows? Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to find out one day.”
I stretch over, putting the flower back. “That’s what I’m hoping.” I don’t tell her that I hope it was really an angel, and that I hope such things are even real. And that if either of those hopes are true, there would be no way of finding out.
“Anyway,” she says. “Onto bigger and better things. Ethan. So when’s your first date?”
I bet Mara’s happy she distracted me from all the chaos of my mind. She’s done a good job. But I’m not embarrassed; I’m never embarrassed to cry in front of people, which is something surprising I’ve discovered about myself since the attack.
“No idea,” I reply. “We haven’t made one yet. I’m sure I’ll talk to him soon, though.”
Mara rises. “Well, I’ll leave you to that, then.” She checks the time on her phone. “I have to get going, anyway. Oh, which reminds me. My parents are making a dinner tonight. I know – family meals are totally like our thing, and it’s kind of dull after a while. But I really want you to come.”
“You want me to come to your family dinner?”
“Please? I won’t be able to stand it without you.”
I pretend to sigh. Really, I’m grateful for the opportunity to get out of the house after that little emotional outpouring. “Alright. I should be able to.” I’m still afraid of giving a definitive answer in case something should come up. And lately, a lot has been coming up.
“Yes! I’ll let you know the time.” Then she turns around and adds, “Bring Ethan.”
I laugh. “That’s a good idea. A first date with my best friend’s parents.”
“Can you blame me for trying?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s just so beautiful. I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat dinner in his presence. I’ll be too distracted.”
“Oh, get over it, Mara. Looks aren’t everything, you know.”
She ignores me. “He even looks like he’d even smell good.” I can tell she’s thinking about it, staring off. “…Does he smell good?”
“Oh, yes. So good.”
We laugh.
After Mara leaves, I grab my phone and send Ethan a text.
hey. want to do something?
It’s a shot in the dark, but I might as well be the first to offer. Aren’t girls supposed to step up these days, anyway?
My phone chimes a few second later. I grab it a bit too eagerly. Then, once I read the message, my face falls.
I’d love to, but I’ve got a family thing.
Well, that excitement was short lived.
I set it back down. A minute later, my phone rings again. It’s another text message, and it’s Ethan again.
i can be done by 6. does that work?
I smile. I guess the guy’s genuine, after all. And after I send him an answer, I lay back and keep the smile on my face. This feels good. I’ve been so distracted, and so scared, that I’d forgotten what all this felt like – the normal, fluttery feelings of adolescence attraction.
Ethan Harrington likes me. Me. He asked me out. I’m his girlfriend. He’s my boyfriend. Ethan Harrington.
I don’t know if what’s happening between us will last. But this I do know: I want it to, I hope it does, and if he never left my side, that would be perfectly fine with me.
Ethan
That “family thing” just so happened to be going to the prison to visit my dad. Which is basically the complete opposite of a family thing. It’s an anti-family thing …. at least when it comes to normal households, and ours doesn’t qualify.
I didn’t tell her this, though, because that would involve her knowing the truth about my dad and me. I plan to tell her. I do. I mean, I know I’ll have to. But the time has to be right. And quite honestly, the thought of it terrifies me completely.
Of course I wanted to see her the second I saw her text pop up on my phone. It was a relief to see a message from someone other than Julia or Cole, although after what happened at the party the other night, I wouldn’t be surprised if I never hear from either of them again.
And I haven’t since that night. Still, I can’t help but go over in my mind what I’d say to her if she were to confront us, or Avery alone, like I warned her not to. I’m sure she’s thought about it, and it’s funny that she’d compared herself to Cole, because I wouldn’t put anything past her.
I was still in bed when my phone rang. It was early, for me, at least – I live for sleeping in on the weekends, and I’m usually not seen anytime before ten. I saw Avery’s text and then I jumped out of bed. Downstairs, my mom was already in her typical style, awake and busy, and she confirmed that, yes, we were in fact scheduled to meet with my dad today. Both of us.
It’s a necessary evil of the judicial system, the need to get certain things straightened out and clarified before the court proceedings. Like paternity, and proof of marriage to my mom, and a million other things you’d never think necessary but totally are. And that’s why my mom has to join me. Okay, so we don’t have to. I mean, no one has to do anything in situations like this. But if I can be relied upon as a trustworthy witness, the lawyers say there are certain pieces of information I need to provide.
So now, I put on my jacket. What a way to spend a weekend. But at least my least favorite way to spend a weekend will be countered by my favorite way – I’ll get to see her tonight.
“You ready?” says my mom when I step into the living room. I gather my wallet that’s sitting on coffee table.
“Ready,” I answer. It’s a lie. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.
She holds both of my shoulders. “We can do this.”
I rush out the prison doors and move to the side of the building. The sun hits the back of my neck. I hold one hand against the building’s red brick wall and lean over, clutching my stomach with the other.
I feel like throwing up.
I want to throw up.
He didn’t say anything new. He didn’t say anything more disturbing or sick or twisted than the last time we spoke.
It’s just that now everything is finally hitting me. Maybe it was because my mom was sitting next to me the entire time. And maybe it was the way he was looking back and forth between the two of us, almost as if he was trying to measure us up behind the glass and guess what we’ve been up to without him, all while I tried to communicate to his distracted mind through that stupid black, dirty phone.
But r
eally, I think it’s because of Avery. The fact that I know her now, I’ve seen how sweet she is, and how I can no longer bear to look at that guy without imaging the many ways that he hurt her. And the disgusting knowledge that the part of him that did that to her lives in me, too.
I wish I’d just throw up.
I feel a hand crawl over my shoulder.
“Ethan? Are you okay?”
It’s my mom, of course. I’m glad she came. She didn’t have to, like I said, but I think she sensed my hesitation the last time and sort of invited herself along. I guess it was a good call.
I stand up straight. My hand slides off the wall to wipe my mouth.
“I know that was bad,” she says. “I wish you didn’t have to do this.”
“I don’t have to,” I remind her. “I need to.”
“Is there really a difference?”
“Yes.”
I don’t tell her that the reason I need to – want to so bad – is because I want to put him away for good for Avery. For everyone he’s hurt, but mostly for her. This is all for her.
And even when the nausea doesn’t go away, and I lean over again and actually get sick into the grass, I have no regrets.
“How was your family thing?” she whispers in my ear.
We’re walking up the driveway to her friend’s house. The sun has already set, and there’s a nice breeze in the air.
“It was okay,” I say. I wish I could say more. “This is Mara’s family thing, right?”
She nods.
I hope it goes better than mine, I think to myself.
“I know this is kind of weird. Thanks for coming with me.”
“Hey, no problem. Weird is my middle name.”
She generously laughs at my lame joke.
“Mara’s super nice,” she says. “And I think she wanted to meet you. That’s all.”
“I’m up for that.” This doesn’t bother me. As long as I get to be with Avery, that’s all that matters. I consider myself lucky she allows me to go anywhere with her.
As soon as we begin the ascent up from the porch, the front door swings open. A girl greets us, and I’m assuming it’s Mara. I wouldn’t know – I haven’t seen her around before, and we’ve never been introduced.
“Avie,” the girl says, an excited air to her voice. She looks me up and down and smirks. “Come on in.”
Mara’s house is nice, an average-sized home for this suburb. A long running rug in the entryway greets us, and I slip my shoes off with my feet.
“This is Ethan,” Avery says, gesturing to me.
Mara holds out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I shake her hand. “Hi.”
“Well,” Mara says, “come inside. Ethan, Avery’s been here before, but I’ll show you around, if you’d like.” She laughs. “It’ll give us some time away from my parents.”
“Sure,” I say.
And so she does. She gives us both a minor tour of the house, making sure to point out the restrooms. Avery hangs by my side, along only for my company, I’m sure. After a while, we end up in Mara’s living room. Avery and I take a seat on the large, curved sofa, where we have a good view of both the TV and the kitchen where her parents are cooking something that smells amazing.
“I like it,” I say to pass the time.
Mara just looks at me.
“Your house.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She nods in agreement. “It’s plenty of house for us. And it’s not like I know anything else, seeing that I’ve lived here my whole life.” She lifts her legs onto the coffee table in front of us, then thumbs to the kitchen. “Do you guys want anything? A drink?”
“No, thanks,” I say.
“I’m okay,” says Avery. She speaks quietly, “Are you glad we came, Mar?”
“Yes,” Mara mouths. Then she lifts her hand and twirls her finger against her head, eyeing toward her parents.
Like clockwork, Mara’s parents arrive in the living room. Mara shoots her finger down. Her mom is holding a platter of appetizers, all of which look great right now. I should have eaten something before we left.
“Here you are, kids,” Mara’s mom says with a huge grin on her face. She’s obviously proud of what she’s serving; I get that. She sets the big tray down in front of us and I have to keep myself from jumping right into the buttery crackers layered with cheese and fresh salmon.
“Thank you,” Avery and I say at the same time. Then we both reach in. Looks like she’s just as hungry as me. And I’m so glad she likes salmon.
“I’m sorry,” Mara’s mom goes on. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Oh, Mom,” says Mara, not bothering to get up from her place on the couch, “sorry. This is Ethan.”
“Ethan,” the woman says. She shakes my hand with a smile that gradually fades. “I’m Mrs. Kramer.”
“Nice to meet you.”
She nods her head and wipes her palms down the front of her apron. “Well, if you kids need anything, let me know. Dinner will be ready soon.”
And with that, we’re left alone once again, sitting here on Mara’s couch, cupping our hands under delicious individual crackers so as not to spill. I guess one of us should have asked for plates, but with that odd look she gave me during our introduction, I wasn’t going to have it be me.
Avery’s been quiet. She’s eating while watching the TV, slumped comfortably back into the cushions. I glance behind us, over the short room divider and through a layer of fake potted plants. Mara’s mom is back in the kitchen, talking to her husband. Their voices are slightly raised and they’re talking back and forth about something I can’t make out from this far away. Mrs. Kramer holds out her arm in our direction. As I watch, Mr. Kramer shakes his head and walks away.
I turn my head back around.
Avery looks at me, giving me a reassuring smile as though she somehow knows I’m concerned.
“Do you guys like this show?” Mara says, leaning toward the remote control. “Ethan, you like football? I wish there was a game on tonight.” She scrolls through the guide.
“I do,” I say as I take another bite of cracker.
Mara finally settles on something. She leans back and sighs, resting the side of her head against her arm. “Nothing. So, Ethan. Do you, like, know everything about what happened to Avery?”
Avery almost spits the food from her mouth. “Mara,” she says, her eyes wide.
“Sorry,” says Mara, although she doesn’t sound like she is.
I keep my mouth shut.
Avery grabs a pillow and sets it on her lap. “I don’t know how much he knows,” she says. “Yet.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about this, so my mouth stays shut.
“Sorry,” Mara says again to Avery, and this time she sounds genuine. She repositions herself on the couch, pulling her legs under her.
Avery turns to me privately. “I’m not hiding anything.”
I smile and nudge her playfully, but her words make me cringe. I’m not hiding anything either, Avery. I wish I wasn’t hiding anything. Soon, I won’t be hiding anything.
“Kids,” a voice sings from the kitchen. “Food’s ready.”
Mara clicks off the TV. I help Avery up, and when she rises she lets my hand slip out of hers, following Mara into the kitchen. We take our seats and Mrs. Kramer goes above and beyond, serving us each individually a meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob.
“There’s bread right here,” Mrs. Kramer says as she takes her seat. “I hope you don’t mind that we’re pretending it’s Thanksgiving.” She scoots her chair in with both hands, and the legs make a grating noise against the floor. “We enjoy the festive food so much that we like to do that around here.”
Mara gives us both the crazy look.
“Not at all,” Avery says. “I love it, too.”
“Turkey’s my favorite,” I add pathetically.
“So how are you kids enjoying the school year?” Mr. Kramer asks. He’s cutti
ng up his meat and piling it into his mouth.
“Dad, they don’t want to talk about–”
“Ethan. You look familiar.” He wags his fork in my direction.
My grip on my corn on the cob tightens. “I, uh– I used to play football for my last school. I was pretty good.”
“No, no, that’s not it. What’s your last name?”
Oh, God. I have to tell him. I have to. I can’t make something up in front of Avery.
“Harrington,” I say, clear as day, because why not.
Mr. and Mrs. Kramer’s silverware clangs against their plates at the same time. They look at each other.
I’m in trouble.
Mr. Kramer places his elbows on the table. He clasps his hands and looks straight at me. I don’t dare take another bite with that look he’s giving me. Mara and Avery continue eating, sensing the tension, I’m sure, but wisely choosing not to contribute. After a moment, he leans back. He plays with a white fabric napkin hanging off the edge of the table.
“And have you lived around here long?” he asks.
I put my corn down and wipe my mouth. “My whole life,” I answer honestly.
“You don’t say,” Mr. Kramer says. His voice is slow, and almost as steady as his gaze.
He’s thinking about me.
But he’s not just thinking about me; he might be thinking about my father, too. It’s hard to tell.
He raises a brow.
He definitely knows something. He’s got to know something. But what?
It was a mistake to come here. I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to resume a normal life. Stupid, Ethan. Stupid, stupid.
I turn my head to Mrs. Kramer, trying to gauge whether or not she’s picking any of this up. For all I know, she knows exactly what her husband knows. She could have been talking with him about me in the kitchen. And if they spill what they know, everything I’ve just started with Avery could be over, just like that, in the blink of an eye.
