by Kylie Key
I grinned again, shifting my phone, my cast making my typing slow: I am, thanks, goodnight. I added the sleeping emoji.
He replied: Good night Selina
And for whatever reason, in spite of a late night caffeine fix, for the first time since the accident I had a full, uninterrupted sleep.
COLE
She stopped drinking the day after the accident.
The accident that was ultimately my fault. The accident that could have killed my little brother, and our next door neighbors.
Irresponsible
immature
incapable
insolent.
Words my mother used to describe me on a daily basis. It was like she had the dictionary open and was reading through the I words. Random words shouted at every action I did.
I hadn’t gotten anything right since the move.
Nothing.
No thing.
My world as I knew it had crumbled, falling like the Roman Empire, the King of The Hills reduced to a peasant in Maple Flats. Okay, the analogy is over dramatic, but the sentiment is real. I wasn’t the King of Hillcrest Prep, but I was right up there, my enviable reputation—Mr Popular, Soccer Superstar—suddenly blighted by a move to a house that was, well, a tad smaller than I was used to—my bedroom right across from my brother’s and on the same floor as my mother’s. No sensor on the gate, well, no gate. The house sat nestled down a shared driveway, practically within shouting distance of the neighbors. There was no tennis court, no in-home theater and if I dived into the pool, I was already half way across it.
Because I called our new home a shack, my mother labeled me impertinent. When I couldn’t work the archaic air con system she said I was incompetent. When I threw up in the palms around the pool, she called me iniquitous, which I wasn’t sure was the right word, but she’d been drunk at the time, too. (Wait - iniquitous—wicked, sinful, immoral—okay, she was right).
My fall into impropriety (another of her words), wasn’t intentional.
It just happened.
One minute I was a member of a loving, happy family, the next we were savagely ripped apart, taken from our house in the hills, and bundled up into a hotel room. Sure, it was five star, but it was a week from hell as Mom declared she and Dad had irreconcilable differences, and that we were better off without him. Ryan and I were going with her to start a new life and that was that.
There had been no discussion
No counseling
No therapy
No choices
A complete and utter breakdown of the family unit, with zero chance for salvation.
Moving to the house in Maple Drive was the beginning of my descension. Easy-going, charming, likeable Cole was replaced by a moody, broody lookalike. I forgot how to smile and became consumed by bitterness. My brother and I had been wrenched from my father’s life because my mother had decided she no longer wanted to live with him. And she expected me to live happily ever after with her.
I’d protested, of course, begged her to try harder, to try again. I threatened to quit school, quit soccer, demanded she work it out with Dad. She kept telling me this was for the best. I would thank her one day. Life was hard, but she was doing the right thing for Ryan and me.
So, I had no choice. I was here in this quaint house, as Kaedie described it, like we'd moved to Hobbitville. I was here, but I didn’t have to like it. I would forever hate Mom for what she’d done, I would never forgive her and I would make the rest of my senior year a nightmare for her.
That was my intention.
That was my plan.
But the week after Christmas my father suddenly moved to Atlanta.
With a new girlfriend.
And that’s when I realized my mother’s life had been a nightmare for a very long time.
CHAPTER 10
A week at home meant I was more than keen to go along with Dad to watch Charlie and Hayley at their little league games, especially as I wasn’t able to do my yoga class. Trieste had suggested we meet at Mooki’s later, and she said she could drop me home. It sounded like a good plan.
Charlie’s game was first and we were all hoarse from cheering, even though his team didn’t win. Hayley stood on the outskirts of her team, taking her time in tucking in her bright orange shirt. Dad stepped in, handing her a helmet. She fiddled and adjusted it and said it didn’t fit properly. I was useless in helping, so Dad fixed it.
Hayley took position at the back of the line as her team came up to bat. I knew she wasn’t the sportiest kid, but she looked downright miserable out there. I cheered as loud as I could when she came up to bat. Being left-handed, she looked awkward and nervous out there.
The first swing she took went above the ball, making her stumble off balance. Dad and Charlie shouted and clapped. The second swing knocked the stand, making the ball drop off to the ground. The queue of batters groaned in unison.
The coach repositioned the ball, the tension so mighty that I held my breath and crossed my fingers, silently praying, “Please hit the ball, please hit the ball.”
Hayley’s swing was so wild, it sent her twirling around and the bat slipped from her grip. The giggles from the kids broke my heart.
“You got this, Hayley,” I called, but the scowl on her face showed that my encouragement was not helping. It looked like she wanted to disappear. With no limits, Hayley finally connected on the seventh swing. Dad and Charlie high fived and I jumped up and down.
“You did great,” I praised, as we headed back to the car.
“No I didn’t,” she muttered.
“You were fantastic,’ Dad said.
“No I wasn’t,” she said, pouting out her lower lip, her face surly.
“We can do a little practice at home,” Dad said, “we just need to tighten up your swing.”
"Can we get ice cream?" Hayley asked, making us all laugh. Ice cream fixed everything, even a bad day at tee-ball.
Dad dropped me near Mooki's, leaving me to walk two blocks. I had my arm in a sling, which made me feel self conscious, but I needed to elevate it whenever possible.
Dominique, Trieste and Felix were sitting at a table in the corner, waving me over as soon as I walked in the door. Felix stood and pulled out a chair for me. Impressed, I smirked at Trieste, who grinned widely.
I didn't know much about Felix, even though we'd been through high school together. He had been in my nutrition class in junior year, but he was pretty low key. He was tall and wore glasses which seemed to automatically label him a geek.
Everyone wanted an update on my injuries, but I was very quick to downplay it. Let's face it, a small fracture of my radius was nothing compared to Malachi's burns or Dominique's knee reconstruction. I told them I was recovering well and would be back at school on Monday. Domi reminded me that she would pick me up and we'd walk together.
"This won't put you out of the marathon, will it?" she asked.
"Not unless Selina's planning on crawling it." Trieste laughed at her own joke, but it made me guiltily realize that my broken wrist was not going to be a good enough excuse to pull out, as I’d hoped.
"Of course I'm in," I said. "I desperately need the exercise."
"Is your neighbor still bringing you coffee and cupcakes?" Domi sniggered, and proceeded to tell Trieste and Felix about the humongous bouquet that Cole had given me.
"It's the sweetest thing," Trieste said, "Felix won me over with cupcakes." She nudged him in the elbow, making him blush.
"I don't think Cole is trying to win me over," I said dogmatically, "He has a girlfriend."
"A boy who brings you flowers, offers to drive you around and brings your favorite latte everyday?" Domi questioned dramatically, "Uh, I think he likes you."
"He's certainly doing all the right things," Trieste said smoothly, making my cheeks flush.
I changed the subject quickly. "So where's Malachi? Is he working today?"
Domi nodded towards the counter. "He's in the kitchen, probably do
ing the baking." It made the three of them laugh hysterically.
"Wow," I said, and turning to Felix, "You're not working today?"
"I worked earlier this morning," he said.
"Oh, you work in the mornings before school, is that right?" I was desperate to keep the conversation away from Cole Parsons.
"Yep."
"Is Malachi really doing the baking?"
"No," Domi said, "he thinks he's chief baker, but he helps clean up."
"He has a lot of good ideas," Felix said, "I think I might-" He stopped, took in a breath and made intense eye contact with Trieste. "I think they might train him to help with baking."
"So Selina, about the marathon," Trieste pounced, now seeming to want to steer the conversation in a new direction, "uh, are you keen to help with fundraising. Felix and I are designing some flyers and we want to get as many people involved, not only raising money for burns survivors, but also to walk the marathon as a group."
"Oh," I said, "so is it going to be more than the six of us?"
"We're hoping for more," Domi said, "So far there's thirteen."
I hadn't realized it had gotten so big, or serious. "Like who?"
Trieste opened a notebook and read a list of names, "Domi, Malachi, Ella, Damon, Domi's parents and Cassian, me, you, Ains, Logan, Garrett, Ethan."
I looked at Felix, "You're not doing it?"
"I'll be riding my bike," Felix said, "as support person. I'll carry drinks and snacks."
"And plasters and ice packs," Trieste said with a giggle, "And I'm trying to get Mom to do it, too. When she finds out Cassian is doing it, I think she'll be in." Cassian was the plastic surgeon who worked on Malachi's skin grafts. He was Domi's older brother, the father of Daniela, the amazing tennis player. Trieste's mother unashamedly swooned over his movie star good looks; all women did.
"I could ask Mom too, then," I said. Mom was used to doing all-day hikes, she'd probably jump at the chance to get involved.
"That would be awesome," Trieste said, "I'll email you all the details about fundraising, so you can show her. And if you have any ideas, let us know.”
"Mooki's is going to get us t-shirts printed," Dominique said, "so we’ll look like a team."
"Hey," I said, lowering my voice, "why don't you ask Mooki's to donate five or ten cents per cup of coffee sold to the cause? That’s a popular way to fundraise.” I turned to Felix. “Could you do that?”
Felix startled. “What? Me?” He and Trieste stared at each other as if I'd asked them to walk through the cafe naked. Felix adjusted his glasses.
“Uh, well, you work here,” I said, “Couldn’t you ask management?”
Felix and Trieste both whooshed out a breath at the same time. “Yes,” she said, “Felix, you could ask your boss. That’s a great idea. Perhaps all coffee sold on the week of the marathon could go towards the charity.”
“What about a month before?” Felix said. “And not five or ten cents, but twenty. Or fifty.”
“They’re probably trying to run a business, Felix,” Dominique said, “let’s not get too greedy."
Dominique was waiting around for Malachi to finish his shift so Trieste gave me a ride home. It was overwhelming how quickly Trieste and Felix's relationship had progressed and I well and truly felt like the third wheel as Felix sat in the front, and I was crammed into the back of her small convertible.
"What are you guys doing now?" I asked, as I made her drop me down the corner from my house. I figured I could do with walking the short distance home, especially after the brioche and iced vanilla frappe I'd had. For some reason it felt that buying myself a hazelnut latte would be a betrayal to Cole.
Not that he would know. Or find out. I wondered what he was doing now. Playing soccer? At Kaedie's place? Drunk?
"We're going around to Felix's to work on the logo for the t-shirts," Trieste said. "Then I've got to help Mom with some house staging." She raised her eyebrows at Felix, making him smile. Like they had some secret code between them.
"Okay, thanks for the ride," I tried to sound bright, but I was struck by a pang of jealousy. Trieste and Felix were spending the afternoon together, so were Domi and Malachi and no doubt Ainsley and Logan were somewhere doing something fun. My afternoon was probably going to be spent curled up with Ruby on the swing or swamped by Hayley and her llamas.
Mom returned from grocery shopping, so I put forward the idea of walking the marathon. Mom’s enthusiasm was immediate.
“I didn’t know it was going to be such a big thing,” she said.
“Me neither,” I said, “I thought it was just going to be our group, but Mooki’s is going to sponsor t-shirts and the more money we raise for burns survivors, the better. You know, Malachi has to have ongoing surgery, he’ll have skin grafts for years to come.”
“Yes, he has quite a journey ahead, but what a fabulous project to be involved in,” Mom said, “and it will be a real boost for college applications.” Funny how parents always had to find an ulterior motive for everything you did, as if fundraising for the sake of it wasn’t enough.
“So, you’re definitely in? We have to train and all. What about Dad, would he? Dominique’s parents are doing it.”
“We can ask,” Mom said, “what about Aunt Vicky? I bet she’d be keen.”
I hadn’t thought of her, but my aunt was a fitness freak. I was pondering a list of possible recruits (Ms Cartwright from the Wellbeing Club being one), when Mom said, “What about Millie? I’ve seen her out jogging.”
I jotted down her name, adding some question marks, when a flash of brilliance came to me—if I could get Millie and Cole involved, that could help repair their relationship. Cole was in his school’s varsity soccer team, he had to be fit. And the training could be something to bond over, help them out of the deep, dark hole they’d fallen into.
Mom agreed it sounded like a great idea and joked we could all train together, but I saw the skepticism in her eyes—how likely was it that Cole Parsons would walk a marathon for charity? Considering my friends had slammed him and treated him as if he was the lowest of lows, a zero chance.
But, if I didn’t ask, it would be a less than zero chance.
I didn’t expect Cole would bring me coffee on the weekend because he was bound to be out partying and I would be the last thing on his mind. So, I wasn’t disappointed come bedtime and no coffee or cupcake.
However, the next morning I woke to see I’d missed his late night text: Hey, sorry I can’t deliver a latte, am away at soccer camp, won’t be back till tomorrow night.
I was astounded by the mere fact that he had thought to text. My clumsy fingers trembled as I typed, deleted and retyped a reply: You don’t need to be sorry and you don’t need to bring me coffee everyday.
COLE
Christmas Day in a luxurious hotel sounds glamorous and cool. I can assure you it's not.
It's hollow
and empty
and soulless.
Dad had suggested it, just us boys, him, me, Ryan. I wanted it more than anything—if only to deny my mother a family Christmas, to have her celebrate alone. Heartless, yes, but what she deserved.
On Christmas Eve we gamed all night, or until Ryan fell asleep. By then, my father and I were drunk.
There were no Christmas presents to unwrap the next morning, Ryan and I learning that all the gifts we'd received from him in the past had actually been from Mom. He pulled out a wad of cash and peeled off some notes and that was supposed to make us happy.
He told us to order room service and then went back to his adjoining room and locked the door, and said he'd meet us in the hotel dining room at noon.
I should've had suspicions then, but all I could think was how good it felt that Mom had woken up alone. Ryan called her, excitedly telling her Dad had given him $500 and that we were eating bacon and eggs and hash browns and donuts and cranberry juice in bed. He'd handed the phone to me.
"Happy Christmas, Cole," she'd said.
&
nbsp; "Yeah, you too," I'd grunted back, light headed from the previous night's drinking.
"I hope you're having a good time." She paused, her voice on the verge of cracking, and I deeply regretted that I hadn't bought her a gift. She inhaled shakily and composed herself, "Have a good day and take care of your brother. Love you."
I didn't know where she was, I hadn't asked. She'd said she was going away for a few days. I hoped she was all alone in a hotel room, though she might have gone to her best friend's house.
"Yeah," is all I said.
At five minutes to twelve Ryan and I got dressed into our good shirts and pants, as directed by Dad, and went down in the elevator. We waited in the lobby, as he had also directed. I wondered why we didn't wait for him in his room, but I had an inkling not to ask.
He arrived fifteen minutes later, clean shaven, suave, head turning in a dark blue suit and crisp white shirt. My father commanded attention wherever he went.
"Hi boys," he said, as Ryan and I stood, but he appeared to be looking past us. "Come through."
He let a waiter guide us to a table and Ryan stopped and took a photo of the large gingerbread house that was the centerpiece in the room.
"It smells so good," he said, "just like Charlie's house. Wait till he sees this."
We were seated, but Dad stayed standing. He looked anxious, a slight sheen on his forehead and his eyes narrowing. His eyes roved around the room, and then stopped on something behind Ryan and me.
"Boys," he said, pulling his lips in tightly, "there's someone I want you to meet." As if on cue, a woman appeared at his side. "This is Madison."
As soon as he said it, I was thinking Madison is not the name of a woman his age, and as soon as I saw her, like truly saw her, I thought She's younger than him. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a low bun and she had long, dangly silver earrings and her gray eyes were round and large, like larger than the average person's eyes. She wore a blue, low cut dress that was tight, and all I could think was that Mom would never wear a dress like that.
