The Lightness of Hands

by Jeff Garvin

  I had inherited my violent hair-brushing technique from my mother. She used to make me sit crisscross applesauce on the carpet while she perched on the sofa behind me, smoking and spasmodically yanking on my hair with a boar-bristle brush. We’d lived in an apartment on Paradise Road that smelled like smoke and Glade spray, with patchy brown carpet that made my legs itch.

  “No crying,” she’d said, ashing her cigarette into a ceramic turtle. “Beauty hurts. Might as well get used to it.” She’d laughed and kissed my head. “The burdens of being a princess.”

  I realized my hand had stopped midstroke, the teeth of the brush still biting into the back of my scalp. I took in a shuddering breath.

  I didn’t want to think about her.

  I started to make a braid, and then I remembered that Liam had noticed my long hair, so I let it hang free.

  When the knock came, I felt far from ready—but I sprang to my feet, threw aside the partition, and rushed to beat Dad to the door. I was slightly breathless when I opened it to find Liam standing at the foot of the steps. He wore a blue-checked shirt and dark jeans, and when he looked up at me, his eyes widened slightly.

  “You look . . . Wow.”

  I was helpless to contain my stupid grin. “Thanks.”

  He looked down at himself. “I’m underdressed.”

  He was, but it suited him. “It’s not an unattractive look.”

  He smiled. I wondered how many girls he’d wrecked with that dimple.

  “Now comes the part where you meet my father.”

  “I can’t wait. Is he cleaning his gun?”

  Dad was embarrassingly formal as usual, but five minutes later we were in Liam’s vintage Mustang, the tires kicking up gravel as we drove out of the RV park.

  “Where are we going?” I yelled over the roar of the oversized engine.

  “You’ll see.”

  We sped down the dark highway, heading east. The top was down, and my hair flew about in a wild tangle. But despite the cool air and the hot boy who smelled like sandalwood, my mind sank into dark thoughts. Maybe this date was a mistake. Liam was a rich college athlete; I was an awkward, emotionally unstable nomad. We had nothing in common. How long before I said something stupid and ruined the whole night? And even if the date went well, I’d be leaving soon. The relationship was doomed before it started. Relationship? Oh God, I was blowing it already.

  In the void up ahead, I spotted a well-lit one-story building. A restaurant in the middle of nowhere. We pulled into the unpaved lot and parked under a red neon sign that read Graziano’s Italian Restaurant.

  Liam set the parking brake and killed the engine. “Do you like ravioli?”

  “I like anything with cheese.”

  Liam opened my car door for me like it was 1970, and as we approached the restaurant, I definitely detected that varsity athlete strut. I found I didn’t mind it so much.

  When we walked in, the hostess gave Liam a big smile. She was pretty and tall and a couple years older than me.

  “Hi, Liam,” she said. Her tone was flirtatious, and I felt my spine stiffen slightly.

  “Hey, Taylor,” Liam replied.

  Leaning forward on the hostess stand, Taylor said, “How’s things in California?”

  I tried to suppress my frown. California? What did this girl know that I didn’t?

  “Sunny and seventy-two degrees,” Liam said.

  “Taking care of that pitching arm, I hope?” She laughed as if he’d just told a hilarious joke, then looked at me. “Who’s your friend?”

  Liam seemed about to answer, so I cut him off. “Purcilla,” I said. “College friend.”

  “Nice to meet you.” She gave me a toothy smile and grabbed two menus. “Let me show you guys to your table.”

  To his credit, Liam kept his eyes on me as Taylor led us to our booth, swishing her hips for his benefit.

  Graziano’s was cozy—exposed wood beams, red-checked tablecloths, and shelves crammed with knickknacks. Our table was in front of a window looking out on dark farmland, where the almost-full moon shone on the stubs of harvested corn stalks. I could imagine the perfect blanket of snow that would cover this field in a few months, and wondered if I would be here to see it.

  “Earth to Purcilla,” Liam said. I blushed and hid my face in the menu. “What was that about back there?”

  “I could ask you the same thing, Mr. California.”

  He leaned back in his chair and spun his butter knife on the tablecloth. “Yeah, well. I go to school out there. Cal State Fullerton.”

  “Cal State where now?”

  He laughed. “Fullerton. It’s like an hour from LA. Nothing fancy, but it’s a big baseball school, and they gave me money to go.”

  “Oh,” I said, hoping my face didn’t reveal the storm of thoughts now gathering inside my skull. Liam lived near LA, too? What were the chances? I could almost hear Ripley saying, Apparently, about a hundred percent.

  “What’s wrong?” Liam said, frowning.

  “Not a thing,” I said, and gave him my best smile.

  The food was rich and salty and amazing, and we ate and laughed and talked—mostly about nothing, bands and memes and the smothering omnipresence of fathers. Neither of us brought up Damn Yankees, or anything else about our time at Eastside. It was like we were starting over.

  Time seemed to pass in fast-forward; one minute we were placing our order, and the next a busboy had cleared our plates. I had a moment of panic when the waitress set the check between us, but Liam put down his credit card without hesitation.

  When we left the restaurant, the air was chilly, and Liam grabbed his lambskin jacket out of the back seat and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm and soft and smelled like sandalwood. I wanted to steal it.

  “Do you have to go back?” he said. “It’s still early. We could hit DQ.”

  The thought of running into more Taylors at the local Dairy Queen made me feel sick.

  “If I eat any more, you’ll have to tow me home.”

  “All right,” he said, and reached for his keys, deflated.

  I put my hand on his arm. “But let’s go somewhere else, okay?”

  We sat on the steps at Lakeside Park, watching the roses close up for the night. I still had Liam’s jacket over my shoulders; I had tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it.

  After a particularly long stretch of quiet, Liam said, “I have a confession to make.”

  A chill ran up my spine; I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his confession. The night had been amazing so far, and I didn’t want anything to spoil it. So I spoke up first.

  “Why would a guy like you go to Eastside? Your family obviously has money. Why not Bishop? Or Concordia?”

  He seemed annoyed by the change of subject, but he answered. “Eastside had the best baseball team.”

  “And you want to go pro?”

  He sighed and stared out into the trees. “My dad almost got drafted by the Cubs in 1989.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. But then, one weekend, he went waterskiing on Lake Wawasee and broke his collarbone.” He made a gesture like snapping a twig. “Didn’t heal right. He came back the next season, but it wasn’t the same. Scouts stopped coming to the games.”

  “So baseball is his dream. But it’s not yours.”

  He nodded. “I like playing, but . . . it’s too much to live up to.”

  A surge of irritation ran through me. Poor, misunderstood Liam, forced to play sports at some prestigious school in California. I picked up a twig and tossed it onto the dying grass.

  “Seems like you spend a lot of energy trying to be what everyone else wants you to be.”

  He sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

  “You ignored me after the play because that’s what your friends expected. You say you don’t like that girl from the reception, but you let her drag you off anyway. You even moved across the country to pursue a career you don’t really want, just to avoid disappointing you
r dad.” I shrugged. “I’d be exhausted if I were you.”

  He stared at me, his mouth hanging open. Suddenly, my irritation dissolved like salt in coffee.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m no different. I pretend all the time.”

  He still looked a little stunned, but he said, “I don’t get that impression.”

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “You’re one of the realest people I’ve ever met.”

  I laughed. “You don’t know me. You have no idea how real I am.”

  Liam raised his eyebrows. “Then educate me.”

  His blue eyes were too intense. I had to look away.

  “Ellie isn’t even my real name.” The words sort of fell out of my mouth. “My mother thought I was going to be a boy. Something about how I kicked.”

  “So what did they name you?”

  “Promise you won’t say it out loud.” I turned to look him in the eye, and he held my gaze.

  “I promise.”

  I pressed my lips together, then said, “Elias Dante Jr.”

  Liam looked at me, and I couldn’t tell if he was stifling a laugh.

  Then he smiled. “It’s different. I like it.”

  I felt a pleasant lifting in my chest—and then the quiet descended again, liquid and oppressive. I didn’t know why I’d told him. I wanted to take it back.

  Slowly, Liam moved closer until our arms touched. Mine broke out in goose bumps. I needed to say something to break the tension.

  “What do you want to do when you grow up, Liam Miller?”

  He let out an uncomfortable laugh and ran his hand over his short hair. It was a stupid question, but it had done the trick.

  “I don’t know. Travel, I guess.”

  “To New York?”

  He looked at me. “How’d you know?”

  “There’s a giant framed photo in your bedroom.”

  “Oh. Duh.” He smiled. I felt a twinge in my chest. “You’ve traveled a lot,” he said.

  “I guess.”

  “What’s it like? You know, once you get past the soybean sea.”

  “Why are you asking me? You’re the one who moved to California.”

  “Yeah, but that’s moving, not traveling. There’s a difference.”

  I looked at him, at his dark blue eyes and his slightly stubbled jaw. I felt an impulse to lean forward and kiss him; instead, I bit my lip and looked away.

  “There’s this saying,” I said, “‘Wherever you go, there you are.’ Traveling is like that. New places are fun for a while, but then you start to miss where you were before. You find things not to like about the new place, and eventually you realize that the thing you don’t like is you.”

  Liam stared at me. “You’re like a ninety-year-old woman trapped in a sixteen-year-old’s body.”

  It was a weird compliment—but it made me smile.

  “What about you?” he asked. “Are you going to be a magician like your dad?”

  My smile faltered. “No,” I said. “Definitely not.”

  “Do you hate it?”

  I leaned back and looked up. The clouds had cleared, and I could see Orion’s shoulders hanging low in the western sky. “No,” I said, “I love it.”

  I exhaled, and it was like I had shrugged off that X-ray vest. I’d been pushing back on Dad for so long, trying to stay focused on my future, that it was a relief to finally tell someone how I really felt. And now that I had started, the words spilled out.

  “I love the way the lights blind you when you step onstage. That big black chasm full of people you can’t see. The way they all gasp at once when you’ve really surprised them. It’s . . .” I shook my head.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about anything,” Liam said. “Why don’t you want to do it?”

  I closed my eyes. What was I supposed to say? That I hated living in an RV and texting on a shitty phone from 2016? That I needed expensive pills to keep from drowning myself in a truck-stop bathroom? Here was a guy who had everything, who ate canapés and won scholarships and drove a vintage Mustang. How could he understand anything about me? I looked down at my mother’s old shoes and hoped he hadn’t noticed how scuffed they were.

  “I’m going to be a psychiatric nurse,” I said, glancing at him to see if he was going to laugh. He didn’t.

  “That sounds intense.”

  “I want to make a difference. Not just be a dancing monkey.”

  “I don’t think you’re a dancing monkey.”

  “Nurses are in demand. And they get paid really well.” I was babbling now, and I couldn’t stop. “I’m going to get my diploma and go for an associate’s in nursing. I’ll have a job and insurance before my dad turns seventy. And an apartment. With a balcony.” Finally, I bit my lip to stop my blathering.

  “Balconies are good,” Liam said.

  I shivered, and he reached over to turn up the collar of the coat he’d lent me. His warm finger brushed my cold cheek, and I shivered again.

  He shifted closer. “Why did you leave Eastside?”

  I felt a momentary rush of relief; he hadn’t seen the videos. But even so, what should I tell him? That I’d gone crazy at a party? That I couldn’t take the stares and the whispers anymore? I decided no—I would keep that to myself.

  “I missed too many days traveling with my dad. Online school was easier.”

  “Oh,” he said, but the word was weighted.

  “Oh? What does oh mean?”

  “I just . . . thought you left for other reasons.”

  My chest tightened. “Like what?”

  “I’m sorry. Can we just forget it?”

  “No, we can’t.” I folded my arms—why was I antagonizing him?—but I couldn’t stop myself. “What did you mean?”

  He looked away. “You were always, like . . . I don’t know. One day you’d be chatty and smiley with your friends, and then it seemed like you wouldn’t talk to anyone for a week. I’d see you sitting on the stairs, and I wanted to come say something to you, but you projected this, like, fuck off vibe, and I didn’t want to bother you.”

  I gaped at him. Even after the play, he had paid attention to me. Enough to keep track of my moods.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m just surprised you noticed.”

  He looked at me with a bemused expression. “How could I not notice you?”

  We were still for a moment. I could have sworn I felt our faces drifting closer, like two satellites drawing together, each caught in the other’s microgravity. The tension was too much.

  I said, “What’s your confession?”

  He pressed his lips together and looked straight into my eyes. “I had a crush on you during the play.”

  My lungs felt suddenly empty. “Liar,” I whispered.

  He smiled. “Your turn.”

  My mouth was dry. I licked my lips. “I’ve never been on a date before.”

  Liam didn’t even flinch. He just leaned in and kissed me.

  CHAPTER 7

  HIS LIPS WERE FIRM BUT gentle, his hand warm on the back of my neck. My whole body began to heat up, and little red bursts of light bloomed on the backs of my eyelids. He drew me in tighter.

  Suddenly, it was too much. I put a hand on his chest and pushed.

  Liam pulled away immediately and took his hand off my neck, leaving a cold void where it had been.

  “Was I too fast?” he asked.

  I tried to say no but couldn’t get the word out.

  “Is it . . . Do you have a boyfriend?”

  I shook my head. “It’s my first date, remember?”

  “Oh.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “What happened? You sort of . . . detached.”

  I hugged myself in his jacket and looked away. I couldn’t tell him the truth—that I was afraid of going manic and freaking out. That even just kissing was too intense. Who would want a girl like that?

  “I’m sorry
,” I whispered. “I knew I was going to ruin this.”

  Liam looked at me as if I’d just spoken a foreign language.

  “If you think this is ruined, I have bad news for you about dating.”

  I frowned.

  “Tonight was awesome,” he said.

  My throat cinched up. “It was?”

  “One of my best dates ever,” he said. “Top fifty, easy.”

  I smiled and punched his arm. He smiled back. His attention was like a spotlight. I wanted to bask in it.

  I wanted to flee.

  He had made a move, and I had pushed him away. But he was still here, still engaged, being a total gentleman. I looked at his face, searching for a defect, something I could cling to when he finally saw the real me and ran away screaming.

  I said, “Tell me something about you that I won’t like.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I showed you my baggage.” I hadn’t. “It’s your turn.”

  He laughed. “I told you mine. Privilege with a side of daddy issues.”

  “That’s not . . . I meant something actually bad.”

  He seemed to hold his breath for a moment. “Why would you want me to tell you something bad about me?”

  I turned my head to stare into the trees. “Because I’m leaving soon, and I need this not to be perfect.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was the best I could do.

  The lights in the parking lot flickered and went out. It was like a signal that our time together was almost up.

  I could feel Liam’s eyes on me.

  “I want to kiss you again,” he said.

  Heat blossomed in my chest like a road flare.

  “Okay.”

  Half an hour later, we cracked the windows, and Liam started the engine. We’d moved things to the car because I had started to shiver; now my cheeks were red from his stubble instead of the cold, but the shivers persisted. I wanted to bottle every sensation, capture it so I could replay it over and over. I desperately wanted to enjoy the present moment, but instead I was dreading the next one, when we said goodbye and I went back to my real life.